A round rump in black tights drew Tyrone's close inspection as the fine specimen bobbled past him in the grocery aisle. A swift slap to the back of his head nearly popped his eyes from their sockets.
"Damn, Baby," he said, turning his peepers to their proper home.
His fiancé of three years glared back. "What's wrong with you?"
"Naw, baby. I wuz just lookin' to see if the girl found any bargains?"
Her brown eyes narrowed. "Mm-hum. I saw somethin' cheap wheel by. You know what I'm sayin?"
He rubbed the sting from the back of his bristly head, hoping sympathy would deflect his guilt.
Sasha jutted her glossy lower lip. "Aw, did I hurt you?" She slid her painted fingernails into the stubbly folds just above the nape of his neck. With an unexpected reversal, she whacked him again. "Go, pick out the steaks. They're your high school buddies, not mine."
Tyrone tucked tail and scooted away like a thrashed pup. The six-four football coach could snap a spine with only the bark of his thunderous voice, but he'd learned from an early age not to backtalk his momma, and Sasha had joined those ranks not long after they met.
A pair of tight fitting jeans bent over at the meat case stopped him cold. Who knew the supermarket held so many temptations? He looked over his shoulder to see Sasha studying a package label. With trepidation, he sauntered to the case using his hand as a blinder to protect his innocence. The woman rose and jerked with a violent start at seeing Tyrone towering next to her. In similar fashion, he forced down a gasp at seeing a seventy-year-old grandmother with teased blonde hair and enough blue eye shadow to paint a Volkswagen.
He snapped toward the merchandise and made over a package of chicken liver like they were stuffed with gold. Granny dove back into the case and attempted to manhandle a Butterball turkey that seemed twice her weight and half her hair-size. Muffled profanities spewed from her painted on lips, paused only by huffs and coughs.
"Need some help there, ma'am?"
She sprang up and answered in the gravelly voice of a Marlboro woman. "You ain't shittin', honey."
"This one?" he said, leaning to palm a cold squishy turkey.
"Yeah, that's the one. She'll be a beauty on the Thanksgiving table, don't you think?"
"Thanksgiving?" he said, rising with the bird. "Sure thing, ma'am, but you do know it's only July?"
"Hell, I thought it was the middle of fucking November." She broke into hysterical laughter that quickly degraded to a fit of rattly coughs.
He lowered the turkey into her shopping cart next to a dozen or so cans of pumpkin pie filling. In the distance, Sasha watched observantly, so he threw her an innocent grin. She smiled back, seeming please by his good deed.
"Thanks, big guy," the woman said. "Don't rush off. At this price I might get a second one. I'll need to think about whether I can fit two in the deep freeze. " She gave him a wink. "My third husband takes up a lot of space in there."
Tyrone smiled, assuming she was yanking his chain. "No problem, ma'am. I'll be right here."
He turned back to the meat case and sidled slowly away until he found the beef section. He whistled lightly from the initial sticker shock, inadvertently capturing Granny's attention.
"Not a good time to buy beef," she said.
He tried to ignore her, but his whit got the better of him. "Let me guess, I should buy it around Thanksgiving?"
She moved closer. "What the hell good would that do? Don't you read the papers? Beefs up right now. The price of feed is strangling the ranchers."
"Oh," he said. "I had no idea."
His eyes drifted to the much cheaper ground chuck. The thought of burgers and hot dogs just didn't seem fitting for the occasion.
The old woman moved closer and lowered her voice as if to tip him off on some conspiracy. "Have you tried those factory steaks?"
He shook his head. "Factory steaks?"
She pointed to the case center aisle behind him. "Those KareMore steaks! They're artificially grown. They're half the price."
"Damn! You're shittin' me, right?" The whole encounter was beginning to take on the flare of Jack and his magic beans. Or perhaps Snow White and that haggard old witch?
"They don't use real cows. I think they're marketing to the animal rights activists. Vegans, you know? But if you ask me, they're missing their target. Keep that price at half the real thing and pretty soon people will be shoving each other over to buy them up."
"Nah, I don't think I could stomach somethin' grown in a lab."
"A dollar says you already have. Don't you ever eat at that Silver Saddle Steakhouse? Folks say you can't tell the difference."
"Eh? Seriously?" He turned back to the traditionally butchered meats. Decidedly, the old woman was jerking him around. "No, I think I'll stick with hamburgers."
She slapped him on the rear and turned away. "Suit yourself, Coach."
The woman pushed off with her cart and didn't look back, leaving him to wonder if he should know her. Perhaps she was the grandmother of a boy on his team. Maybe she was a member of the school board. Or maybe, it seemed likely, she just recognized him from the sports section of the local newspaper.
He wasn't sure how long he'd stared at the ten pound family pack of ground beef before Sasha's cart squeaked up next to him. "What'd you decide, hun?"
He shook his head. "Have you seen that old lady before?" He looked over his shoulder to find her nowhere in sight.
"What lady?"
"That tricked out lady with the turkey."
"Oh, with the big hair. No, I've never seen her before."
He shrugged it off. "Hey, Babe, you ever hear of these fake steaks?"
She read the label. "KareMore . . . sounds familiar, but I can't say I have."
He picked up the top package and poked the meat through the plastic. It gave subtly, just as it should. He dropped it into the cart and dug out a couple more. "Holy shit," he said, setting them aside. The unearthed package of steaks was bulging from its tray, the plastic wrap stretched tight as a drum.
He lifted the oversized steak by the meat handles. It was twice as heavy as the others. "Damn, this one's on some serious steroids. Hey look, so's that one, too."
"I don't know, Tyrone, I think I'd leave those."
"Hot damn," he said, peering at the label. "Same price! Check it out, babe, they've screwed up the weights." He dumped the heavy meat into the cart and went back for the other. "Their bad, our good! They gotta honor the tag, you know." He sifted through the steaks in search of others bulging from their packaging.
"Come on, Tyrone. Stop diggin' through the case. Just grab what you need and let's go before you cause a scene."
When he was convinced he'd found all the hidden bargains, he grabbed a few normal sized packs to round out his meal plan and rose with them bundled in his arms like a baby. "If I see Gramma again I'm gonna give her a big ole kiss."
YOU ARE READING
Rawpocalypse
Science FictionEngineered beef seems a perfect solution to the world's growing hunger for protein. But a single mishap triggers a calamity of apocalyptic scale. A growing monster threatens to consume our planet.