Season 10, Week 26
Aug. 1st, 2017 06:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rayasoTopic: The Goal Is Zero
“I’ve gotta keep an eye on that,” thought Dave as he drove down the highway. His truck’s odometer was getting close to 400,000 miles, and he wanted to see it hit all those zeros. He was proud of his Chevy, although it looked like hell. “These old ones were built to last, kinda like me.”
He’d bought the pickup from a rancher up north when it had had about 250,000 miles on it. The price was right, and the old guy selling it had even thrown in a few cans of oil because of a leak.
Now, it was time for a break. “I need some breakfast,” thought Dave, as he pulled into a nearby diner.
Dave took a seat and looked up at the T.V. over the counter. The news was covering that accident from a few days ago. A freighter had run into a bridge in broad daylight. The bridge had to be closed and they still couldn’t move the ship because of the hole in its bow, right next to a sign painted on its side: The Goal Is Zero. “They were just asking for trouble, a sign like that,” said a waitress as she brought his coffee. He couldn’t disagree.
He was a couple of hours from his destination near Sharps, a little farming town upstate. “I hope it goes well,” he thought, drinking his coffee. “They sounded pretty desperate.”
Dave the Destroyer was one of the area’s few zombie goat exterminators. The menace was growing and he’d go anywhere, even Sharps. “No job too small,” he sighed.
Zombie goat extermination was a growing field, but it wasn’t exactly licensed and some of his competitors were pretty shady. “I’m the only one with a flame thrower,” he would tell people, “and I’ll let you fire it for free.” That would usually seal the deal.
The zombie goats had started about two years ago. It was still mostly in the Midwest, but a single infected animal could ruin a whole herd. At first, people had laughed. “Sounds like a bad movie,” they’d said. But it was spreading and Dave was pretty busy these days.
Some had blamed Allied Hazardous Waste Disposal, for improper storage of its materials. Some had blamed a guy named Steve Johnston, but that didn’t seem right, because he was just the goatherd. Allied had used his goats to eat the weeds on its property as part of a PR campaign. Unfortunately, one goat had gotten into some old medical waste storage containers, and instead of killing him, it had turned him into a zombie, the infamous Goat Zero.
To be sure, the goatherd should have noticed the glowing red eyes, lurching walk, and mindless aggressive behavior, but when you have a whole herd to watch, one strange goat just doesn’t stand out. Before anyone knew about it, that one goat was threatening a whole industry.
Right now, blame didn’t matter as much as solutions, and Dave had always been handy at solving problems. One of his neighbors had had some zombie goats and didn’t know what to do. “Nothing kills ‘em,” Rick had said, “and if it gets out some of my goats are infected, I’m ruined!”
That’s when Dave had remembered the flamethrower out in the shed. He’d kept it from his days in the Army and used it mostly for blasting weeds on his property, but sometimes just for fun. “Always been a bit of a pyro,” Dave would admit if asked.
“Let’s just turn ‘em into barbecue,” Dave had told Rick, and he had thrown the flamethrower onto the bed of his truck and followed Rick back to his place. The zombie goats had been pretty easy to spot, slowly lurching around and trying to attack the goats too stupid or busy eating to run. Once a zombie bit another goat, that goat would turn, and a rancher'd have real trouble. A few squirts of flame had taken care of Rick’s problem, and he’d been so grateful he’d tried to give Dave $100.
Goat ranching’s a pretty tight community, and word got around. That’s when people had started calling him the Destroyer. There had been a real demand for Dave and his flamethrower as the infection spread, and other ranchers had called him. He charged a whole lot more than $100 these days. “You’ve got to be pretty desperate to hire an old retired guy with a flamethrower,” he’d thought, and now he was on the road more often than he was home.
Sharps was a tiny town, but it was in decent goat ranching country. No one ever got rich off goats, so the outbreak at the Double D Ranch was bad news for everybody. Double D was the biggest outfit around, and if Dennis Demarco went under, well, people didn’t know what would happen, but it wouldn’t be good.
Dave drove down the main street on his way to the Double D. It looked deserted, even for a Sunday, and he had the street to himself. “Fear does that,” he thought.
The scientists had been unanimous. Zombie goats could not infect people. “Cross-species infection just won’t happen,” the Centers for Disease Control had said. But nothing the medical experts could say would help. Everyone thought it was only a matter of time, and they all knew what would happen after that. “Remember the Ebola virus?” Doc Everton, the local vet, had said. “It jumped from bats to people.”
“Better safe than sorry” was the rule in Sharps, so the town had pitched in to help Dennis hire Dave, except Petey Arbuckle, the local Lutheran, who had said that God would provide, but really, Petey was just cheap. The rest had thought it would be prudent to help God along and get Dave down there fast.
Dennis Demarco was waiting for Dave out at the gate to his spread. “Here’s your money,” he said, handing Dave an envelope. “You better be good.”
“I’m the Destroyer,” said Dave. “You can rest easy. Where’s the problem?”
Dave could see Dennis eyeing the flame thrower in the truck bed. “That it?” he asked. Dave showed him how to use it, and Dennis happily burned down his mailbox.
The zombie goats were isolated in a pen by the barn. Dennis didn’t believe in spending money when he didn’t have to, and it was clear he’d tried a little goat extermination himself, but nothing had worked. Some of them were hobbling along on three legs or with broken necks and gunshot wounds.
“You’ve gotta cut off their heads,” said Dave. “That’s what kills ‘em. I use the flamethrower so I don’t have to get close and it makes the bodies safe for disposal. Can’t be too careful.”
“Amen to that,” added Dennis.
There were about 10 goats, just wandering around with their red eyes, bumping into each other until they saw the two men. The goats rushed to the fence, pushing and shoving, trying to get to them, but Dennis believed in strong fences, especially where zombies were concerned.
Dave had to get inside the pen to be close enough to flame them but not damage the fence. This always made him a little nervous. The zombie herd started moving his way, but the flamethrower did its job.
Except for one goat. It was behind Dave and he didn’t see it. When he turned off the flamethrower, the goat rushed up and butted him to the ground. It was too close for the flamethrower, so Dave pulled out the machete he carried for backup. Just before he cut off its head, the goat managed to bite Dave in the ankle.
It didn’t hurt much and only drew a little blood. He had a first aid kit in the truck, so he put a bandage on it.
“You’ll need to bury the remains,” Dave told Dennis before leaving, “but wait a day or two just to make sure.”
And with that, Dave drove off to his next job.
Half an hour down the road, he pulled over at a rest stop. He wasn’t feeling too well, and thought he’d take a quick nap. Dave the Destroyer never woke up. His ankle had become infected and the infection quickly spread, killing him in his sleep.
When his eyes opened, they were burning red. He could only grunt and moan, and he was hungry, hungry like he’d never been before. He fumbled getting out of the truck, and started to shuffle and stagger. People screamed and ran for their cars, all except for a teenage couple stretched out on the grass, eyes closed with music in their ears.
Eat was all that registered with Zombie Dave. Patient Zero had found Patients 1 and 2, but he wanted more -- he would always want more, and so would they.
The CDC could never explain how the zombie virus spread from goats to humans, and soon they were overwhelmed trying to develop a cure.
For now, a military quarantine around the Sharps area was holding, but panic was spreading.
Everyone knew how it would end – they’d all seen the T.V. show – and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
* * * * * * * * * *
GOAT ZERO
“I’ve gotta keep an eye on that,” thought Dave as he drove down the highway. His truck’s odometer was getting close to 400,000 miles, and he wanted to see it hit all those zeros. He was proud of his Chevy, although it looked like hell. “These old ones were built to last, kinda like me.”
He’d bought the pickup from a rancher up north when it had had about 250,000 miles on it. The price was right, and the old guy selling it had even thrown in a few cans of oil because of a leak.
Now, it was time for a break. “I need some breakfast,” thought Dave, as he pulled into a nearby diner.
Dave took a seat and looked up at the T.V. over the counter. The news was covering that accident from a few days ago. A freighter had run into a bridge in broad daylight. The bridge had to be closed and they still couldn’t move the ship because of the hole in its bow, right next to a sign painted on its side: The Goal Is Zero. “They were just asking for trouble, a sign like that,” said a waitress as she brought his coffee. He couldn’t disagree.
He was a couple of hours from his destination near Sharps, a little farming town upstate. “I hope it goes well,” he thought, drinking his coffee. “They sounded pretty desperate.”
Dave the Destroyer was one of the area’s few zombie goat exterminators. The menace was growing and he’d go anywhere, even Sharps. “No job too small,” he sighed.
Zombie goat extermination was a growing field, but it wasn’t exactly licensed and some of his competitors were pretty shady. “I’m the only one with a flame thrower,” he would tell people, “and I’ll let you fire it for free.” That would usually seal the deal.
The zombie goats had started about two years ago. It was still mostly in the Midwest, but a single infected animal could ruin a whole herd. At first, people had laughed. “Sounds like a bad movie,” they’d said. But it was spreading and Dave was pretty busy these days.
Some had blamed Allied Hazardous Waste Disposal, for improper storage of its materials. Some had blamed a guy named Steve Johnston, but that didn’t seem right, because he was just the goatherd. Allied had used his goats to eat the weeds on its property as part of a PR campaign. Unfortunately, one goat had gotten into some old medical waste storage containers, and instead of killing him, it had turned him into a zombie, the infamous Goat Zero.
To be sure, the goatherd should have noticed the glowing red eyes, lurching walk, and mindless aggressive behavior, but when you have a whole herd to watch, one strange goat just doesn’t stand out. Before anyone knew about it, that one goat was threatening a whole industry.
Right now, blame didn’t matter as much as solutions, and Dave had always been handy at solving problems. One of his neighbors had had some zombie goats and didn’t know what to do. “Nothing kills ‘em,” Rick had said, “and if it gets out some of my goats are infected, I’m ruined!”
That’s when Dave had remembered the flamethrower out in the shed. He’d kept it from his days in the Army and used it mostly for blasting weeds on his property, but sometimes just for fun. “Always been a bit of a pyro,” Dave would admit if asked.
“Let’s just turn ‘em into barbecue,” Dave had told Rick, and he had thrown the flamethrower onto the bed of his truck and followed Rick back to his place. The zombie goats had been pretty easy to spot, slowly lurching around and trying to attack the goats too stupid or busy eating to run. Once a zombie bit another goat, that goat would turn, and a rancher'd have real trouble. A few squirts of flame had taken care of Rick’s problem, and he’d been so grateful he’d tried to give Dave $100.
Goat ranching’s a pretty tight community, and word got around. That’s when people had started calling him the Destroyer. There had been a real demand for Dave and his flamethrower as the infection spread, and other ranchers had called him. He charged a whole lot more than $100 these days. “You’ve got to be pretty desperate to hire an old retired guy with a flamethrower,” he’d thought, and now he was on the road more often than he was home.
Sharps was a tiny town, but it was in decent goat ranching country. No one ever got rich off goats, so the outbreak at the Double D Ranch was bad news for everybody. Double D was the biggest outfit around, and if Dennis Demarco went under, well, people didn’t know what would happen, but it wouldn’t be good.
Dave drove down the main street on his way to the Double D. It looked deserted, even for a Sunday, and he had the street to himself. “Fear does that,” he thought.
The scientists had been unanimous. Zombie goats could not infect people. “Cross-species infection just won’t happen,” the Centers for Disease Control had said. But nothing the medical experts could say would help. Everyone thought it was only a matter of time, and they all knew what would happen after that. “Remember the Ebola virus?” Doc Everton, the local vet, had said. “It jumped from bats to people.”
“Better safe than sorry” was the rule in Sharps, so the town had pitched in to help Dennis hire Dave, except Petey Arbuckle, the local Lutheran, who had said that God would provide, but really, Petey was just cheap. The rest had thought it would be prudent to help God along and get Dave down there fast.
Dennis Demarco was waiting for Dave out at the gate to his spread. “Here’s your money,” he said, handing Dave an envelope. “You better be good.”
“I’m the Destroyer,” said Dave. “You can rest easy. Where’s the problem?”
Dave could see Dennis eyeing the flame thrower in the truck bed. “That it?” he asked. Dave showed him how to use it, and Dennis happily burned down his mailbox.
The zombie goats were isolated in a pen by the barn. Dennis didn’t believe in spending money when he didn’t have to, and it was clear he’d tried a little goat extermination himself, but nothing had worked. Some of them were hobbling along on three legs or with broken necks and gunshot wounds.
“You’ve gotta cut off their heads,” said Dave. “That’s what kills ‘em. I use the flamethrower so I don’t have to get close and it makes the bodies safe for disposal. Can’t be too careful.”
“Amen to that,” added Dennis.
There were about 10 goats, just wandering around with their red eyes, bumping into each other until they saw the two men. The goats rushed to the fence, pushing and shoving, trying to get to them, but Dennis believed in strong fences, especially where zombies were concerned.
Dave had to get inside the pen to be close enough to flame them but not damage the fence. This always made him a little nervous. The zombie herd started moving his way, but the flamethrower did its job.
Except for one goat. It was behind Dave and he didn’t see it. When he turned off the flamethrower, the goat rushed up and butted him to the ground. It was too close for the flamethrower, so Dave pulled out the machete he carried for backup. Just before he cut off its head, the goat managed to bite Dave in the ankle.
It didn’t hurt much and only drew a little blood. He had a first aid kit in the truck, so he put a bandage on it.
“You’ll need to bury the remains,” Dave told Dennis before leaving, “but wait a day or two just to make sure.”
And with that, Dave drove off to his next job.
Half an hour down the road, he pulled over at a rest stop. He wasn’t feeling too well, and thought he’d take a quick nap. Dave the Destroyer never woke up. His ankle had become infected and the infection quickly spread, killing him in his sleep.
When his eyes opened, they were burning red. He could only grunt and moan, and he was hungry, hungry like he’d never been before. He fumbled getting out of the truck, and started to shuffle and stagger. People screamed and ran for their cars, all except for a teenage couple stretched out on the grass, eyes closed with music in their ears.
Eat was all that registered with Zombie Dave. Patient Zero had found Patients 1 and 2, but he wanted more -- he would always want more, and so would they.
The CDC could never explain how the zombie virus spread from goats to humans, and soon they were overwhelmed trying to develop a cure.
For now, a military quarantine around the Sharps area was holding, but panic was spreading.
Everyone knew how it would end – they’d all seen the T.V. show – and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
* * * * * * * * * *
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2017-08-01 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 07:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 12:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-02 11:02 pm (UTC)Goat Zero.
Just what the prompt deserved, really.
I liked the Double D ranch, and the image of its owner burning down his own mailbox. And enjoying it, because **flamethrower**!
And it honestly sounds like a job a retiree might kind of enjoy. Hey, why not? Up until the unfortunate ending, though he was blissfully unaware of what he'd become... :O
no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 12:01 am (UTC)Have you seen Black Sheep? (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0779982/) It's about zombie sheep terrorizing a New Zealand farming town and it is fantastically cheesy. It's a great movie if you like that kind of thing.
no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 01:17 am (UTC)This took the most unimaginable turns, bravo!
no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-03 12:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 03:50 am (UTC)Great story,
no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 01:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-08-05 12:14 am (UTC)