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The Sweet Smell of Success

Living After the Migration

By James McMechanPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
3

The Sweet Smell of Success

Even before the Migration, the folks of Hays hated the stench of the B & G processing plant with a passion. Day or night, whenever the brisk winds of the rough Kansas prairie shifted to the north, the air would push the putrid stench down the hill and into the unsuspecting noses of decent folk. The entire community was constantly complaining about it, of course. Every month or so the crowds would press the city fathers to do something. Anything. Hell, on some days, the smell could literally bring tears to your eyes, even burn your nostrils if you inhaled it deeply enough. Most folks could hardly stand it.

Me, I never minded it much. No sir, I embraced it. Welcomed it. Invited the smell deep into my lungs. Every time I unloaded a truck, I knew those vags were lining my wallet. Providing a paycheck. This was the sweet smell of success. Nothing more. Nothing less. You see, as long the smoke was billowing from the smelters, I was earning a living. And these days if you didn’t work, you didn’t eat. In fact, if you didn’t live under the protections of the Cooperatives, you were a vagrant. Spending most of your days, running from the likes of me.

I shifted the semi down a couple of gears as we came over the rise toward the entrance of the plant. Julio, my runner, was asleep in the bunk behind me, but the downshift made him stir and rub his eyes.

“We there?” He murmured.

I nodded.

The load we’d picked up outside of Sioux City needed to be dropped, and frankly I was more than ready to unhook the cab and head into town for a warm shower and a soft bed. I sighed. The older I got, the harder it was to make these runs more than a few times a week. I mean, by the time we got to the center, prodded the stock up the chutes, and then locked everything down, it could take a couple of hours. And that was before the drive to the plant. Luckily, Central had diverted us over from Des Moines. Otherwise, I couldn’t have done it. Up there and back in one twelve-hour run. Too much for a man this close to retirement.

I glanced over as Julio stumbled up toward his seat in the cabin. “You had a rough night, huh?” I smirked.

“Look, old timer.” He shook his head, grabbing the thermos from the floor. “You have no idea how hard it is on those damn ATVs, driving the stock this way and that. Some of those vags can really scoot when they get spooked, I tell you that much, hombre.”

Julio paused to see if I was listening. I nodded.

“It’s everything I can do trying to line them up just right, you know? Hell, all you do is stand there at the chute and prod ‘em a time or two. You no work at all. I have to keep ‘em moving. And I the strays? I’m the one darting them and then hauling them back. You know how hard it is to put a 200 pounder onto the back of the four-runner and strap ‘em down in case they wake up? Ain’t easy the job I do. I tell you this.”

I pulled the semi up to the guard shack. The security guard came out as I rolled down the window. There it was. The smell I loved. I looked down at the uniform, noticed the name tag read “Robert.”

I smiled.

“Morning, Robert.” I gave him a wave.

‘Hey, Jess.” He looked at his clipboard and then planted himself on the step of the truck to get a glance into the cab. He saw Julio and gave a nod. “Dispatch called. I’ve been told that you need to see them right after you drop. They’ve got another run for you.”

Julio cursed under his breath. I could tell he was not happy.

I ground the gears a bit, and the truck lurched forward. The bed would have to wait.

Luckily, the run was not far. The Department of Public Safety had spotted a camp of vags south of Abilene near the Mud Creek region. They instructed us to set up the chutes just off the gravel road about a quarter mile west of old highway 15. Julio and I picked a spot just over the edge of a rise in the road east of where they were squatting. We got to work; setting up spotlights, the fencing and then Julio hooked up the current. Once the perimeter walls were set, all I could do was wait for the drivers to send the herd our way. Julio fired up the company ATV and drove off into the darkness, so that he could round up any strays that might need a shot in the butt and a free ride back.

After a few minutes, the piercing sound of sirens and the reflections of blue lights flashed against the night sky. It wouldn’t be long now. Before I knew it, a huge crowd of vags came shuffling toward the waiting truck like cattle. The drivers on their Four Runners shadowing them, pushing them tighter and tighter. One big funnel. One by one, the herd worked their way through, the officers prodding and poking them just to keep them moving. Nothing like a few volts of current to make them move in the direction you wanted them to go.

I was standing near the opening of the fencing, just to give them only last push into the pens.

It should have been an easy night.

Except, it wasn’t.

Out of the blue, as I was standing there, I sensed some movement behind me. I spun around to see who it was, and caught the glimpse of a shadow, charging me from the darkness. Just some black form with muscles and tatoos up and down his forearm. I caught sight of the wood branch just seconds before it wacked me upside the head. I didn’t even have time to raise my hand and stab him with the cattle prod. I just crumpled down onto my knees, head spinning and blistering with pain. I went down hard.

I struggled partway up, and I turned my head to see the form reach out to grab the hand of a girl. Muscles called her by name. One of the officers near me saw the attack and tried to intervene, but again the shadow swung, this time landing a direct blow right in the center of the officer’s throat. The DPS agent went limp, clutching his throat. Blood squirting through his fingers and down his arm.

The herd spooked, some of them feeling the spray of blood cover their clothes. They began flailing this way and that. Grabbing the fence. Forgetting that we had electrified it. That only made the chaos worse. In the confusion, muscle boy yanked his lover out of the crowd. Again, I tried to get up, but a swift kick in the ribs with his boot put me down again.

And then, there she was. Pretty little filly. Her head silhouetted by the spotlight like the halo of an angel. Couldn’t have been more than 16. The girl bent down to check on me, screaming at muscle boy to stop kicking. I could smell the sweat, mixed with dirt and swamp pour off of her, like freshly turned Kansas soil. The kind I remembered as a boy. As she bent down, her soft face reflected in the light, and I caught a glimpse of a heart-shaped locket dangling from her neck. She apologized, took some kind of rag out of her pocket. Softly, she put it in my hand. Lovingly, carefully, she guided my hand toward the wound on the back of my skull. I knew enough to obey. I could feel the gash on the back corner of my head. The wound was deep, oozing blood. Big gash, I thought. It would need stitches. Lots of them.

Shadowy Muscle boy was screaming again. But she ignored him. She reached out, readjusted my hand with the rag. As she inspected her work, she whispered another apology, maybe more sort of a prayer. I mumbled a thank you. And then, she got up, grabbed the hand of her rescuer, and they vanished into the darkness like ghosts.

After a about a minute, as I was struggling to my feet. Julio buzzed up on the ATV

“You okay, old man?”

I nodded.

He revved the throttle. “I’m going to fetch them. You wait here. I’ll get them.”

I grabbed his forearm. “Don’t bother.” I was spitting blood and saliva, trying to form the words. Every syllable echoed in my brain. “They are long gone.”

“They couldn’t have gone far!” he insisted. “I can round them up.”

Again, I shook my head. “No, just take over for me here. I’ve got to get the first aid kit for the officer they hit.” As I stumbled toward the cab to retrieve the med-kit, I could see Julio look back over his shoulder at the body of the DPS officer.

“Holy shit.” He exclaimed.

I got back to the body, tried to apply some bandages, but the officer had already bled out. Even after the paramedics arrived and took over. They could only clean him up and zip him into a bag. One of the medics stitched up my wound, complaining about how dangerous their line of work had become. Particularly lately. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Most of the herd had made it onto the back of the trucks, and Julio went about securing the load, while I was in the back of the ambulance. “I’ll drive back.” I told him.

“No way. We’ve had enough excitement for one night. You can have shotgun, old man.”

Most of the drive back was noneventful. The herd was quiet, and I listened to Julio tell me his opinions on more things than I would ever wanted to know. I knew he was babbling, just trying to keep me awake because of the concussion. We pulled into the plant about two hours later.

“I don’t get it, amigo.” Julio helped me down, steadying me as we exited the cab. Every step made my head throb. “What was that girl doing? I saw the two of you talking – what did you say to her?”

I shook my head.

“No, really. What? I want to know.”

“I told her to run, as fast as she could. As far as she could.”

“Why? We are only going to get her eventually. What did she say to you?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think she was praying for forgiveness.” I replied. ‘I just caught a couple of words. Think it was a prayer of some sort.”

Julio shook his head. “Damn, if that don’t beat all.”

And as we unhooked the trailer from the cab, I saw the lift raise it up at an angle. Forcing the herd down onto loading dock and into the bowels of the plant. This time, I distinctly heard the high-pitched wails and gasps, as the bodies tumbled together. Each one pushing the one in front deeper into the bowels of the plant.

As I climbed back up into the cab, I think for the first time, the smell of success started burning in my nostrils.

Short Story
3

About the Creator

James McMechan

As a published author, James McMechan draws on his life experiences and years of business management experience to write. He is the writer of a blog on social media and lives in Mississippi.

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