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Bugout! A Novel Coronavirus Novel Ch. 56

From the woods the farm looked deserted. An occasional distant snort broke the rural Iowa stillness where men are men and pigs are bacon. The humid air smelled of corn bread and baked beans loaded with white hunks of hog fat.

Ashley adjusted her pig snout mask.

Sterling did the same.

They moved out.

Crawling on his hands and knees toward a bare light bulb above the barn door, Sterling reminded himself why they were there by quietly reciting out loud a few facts he read on the internet. About 6,200 pig farmers do business in Iowa. In recent years Iowa producers marketed almost 50 million hogs.

Ssshhhhhhhh, Ashley said.

Ashley likewise reminded herself of the mission’s importance.

Crawling on her belly, she pondered fearful pigs passing gas. The poor things then contribute to the ozone layer that traps toxic chemicals and increases global warming, burning the planet to a fried pork rind that adversely alters plant and animal life on earth. Mutations change species’ behavior and make a novel animal virus stew that creates disease that kills vulnerable people. Terror-induced explosions from fearful little pork butts might one day help end the world.

Flashing lights across the open field indicated the staging area for the Memorial Day parade local officials grudgingly cancelled due to COVID-19. But that didn’t stop local yokels from assembling their trucks, cars, quads and Harleys to parade to the town square in a misguided spirit of fighting tyranny. After the parade they planned to hit the community swimming pool where they bribed the local Lions Club president to allow them to organize an all-you-can eat barbecue short rib special. State and local police turned a blind eye to numerous stay-at-home infractions, calling the reckless potential for infection an act of loyal American civil disobedience.

Ashley opened the massive unlocked barn door.

The Porky Pig Farm didn’t break any butchering records as only 500 pigs lived there until they didn’t. Still, enough meat left the slaughterhouse each day to provide a fat living for the Porky family. Dozens of workers had already come down with coronavirus. A dozen died. Porky Pig Farms didn’t miss packaging a single pork chop.

Sterling now crawled into the spacious agricultural arena that smelled a hundred times worse than his high school golf team locker room. Ashley stood amid frantic pigs on high alert, sensitive beasts that seemed in tune to the vibe that a jail break was in the works. Frenzied grunts increased ten-fold in volume as Ashley threw the switch that opened the main door.

Ashley and Sterling had undercounted the pigs. Instead of 500 swine, 5,000 pigs raced to freedom, slamming into each other like a punk pig mosh pit, tripping and regaining their footing before picking up speed and racing into the early morning dawn.

Ashley bellowed.

Free the pigs!

Sterling roared.

Free the pigs!

An army of berserk porkers charged the parade staging area, kicking up dust and dirt as they rampaged, looking more like a frontier buffalo stampede than a prospective meat staple bound for dinner tables and grills across the land.

When the pigs overran the line of parked motorcycles, hogs, as it were, they changed direction and headed for the community pool. Crashing over the chain link fence, the hog horde hit the shallow and deep ends at the same time, making a splash at a pig pool party unlike anything anybody had ever seen. Once in, most pigs refused to come out, choosing instead to swim and lounge in hog heaven.

By the time Ashley and Sterling regrouped and slowly drove by the scene in the van, a police helicopter hovered over the swimming pool and a disoriented SWAT team commander was ordering the pigs over a bullhorn to come out of the water with their hands up. None of the pigs complied. The third-generation proprietor of Porky’s Pig Farm stood stunned by the open barn door and wept as a smart-ass TV reporter ended his report with a smirk and a catch phrase that rightfully got him fired as soon as he returned to the studio.

Tha-tha-tha- that-that’s all folks, he said.

And, as a rattled nation awoke to a new day in the pandemic, America’s two newest freedom fighters congratulated each other on a successful attack on meat production. Piggy power mattered.

We did it, Ashley said.

Wee wee wee, Sterling said.

All the way home.

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