“Ugh!” Doug spat out the broccoli and vegan hamburger and looked at his meal in disgust. “I can’t eat this,” he said. “A real man eats meat. A real man needs meat.” “Not if he wants to live,” said his wife, who, like most people, seemed to be adapting to the new diet a lot better than he was.
As much as he hated to admit it, his wife was right; eating meat now was fatal. At first, it had just made people sick, Doug included, but then it had started killing them and governments had prohibited its sale. They then discovered that all animals had developed a new form of bacteria that was toxic to humans. Doug and his friends could still go hunting, but they could no longer eat their prey.
Doug took his gun and went to meet his friend Buddy, who ran the local hunting club. The two of them met every evening to drink beer and go shooting in the desert, sometimes they shot at wild animals, other times at photographs of their liberal governor, Clark Green. Doug knew that Green hated people like him – gun enthusiasts and hunters – as much as they hated him. A former environmentalist and anthropologist, Green was planning to campaign for the presidency next year, much to Doug’s disgust.
When Doug saw Buddy, he seemed cheerful.
“What are you smiling about?” asked Doug, who couldn’t think of anything to smile about in this strange, new, meatless world.
“I know where we can get some meat,” said Buddy. “Real meat that won’t kill us.” He then told Doug about a secret hunting trip to the Amazonian rainforest, where non-toxic prey existed. “I heard about it through the national gun organisation,” said Buddy. “It’s not exactly legal.”
“Who cares?” said Doug, and fired a shot into the air in celebration. “Let’s go get some meat!”
Doug used the $25,000 he had been saving for a new truck to pay for the trip, and a week later, he and Buddy were on a plane to Brazil. When they arrived, they and eight other hunters met a man who introduced himself as Rick the Human Tracker. Doug thought he recognised him; probably, said Rick, from one of the gun or hunting magazines.
Rick and the hunters got into a truck and they drove deep into the Amazonian rainforest. On their third night, they sat around a campfire, and the hunters asked Rick about the prey they were going to hunt.
Doug had assumed that the animals here had not developed the bacteria that was toxic to humans but Rick said this wasn’t the case.
“There’s only one animal whose flesh is not toxic to humans. It’s not like any prey that you’ve hunted before,” he said mysteriously.
“I hope it tastes good,” said Buddy.
“Who cares?” said Doug. “Gut it and roast it and I’ll eat it. Meat is meat.”
The other hunters grunted in agreement, all looking forward to the carnivorous meal that was promised to them.
The next day, the hunters finally got their first look at their prey. Rick stopped suddenly and pointed. Something ran out of the trees and then disappeared again. Rick turned to see the reaction of the hunters.
“Was that…?” began one of them.
“Damn!” said another.
“Hey, meat is meat,” said Doug, and after a brief silence, the other hunters again agreed.
As Rick had promised, the prey on this secret and illegal hunting trip wasn’t like any prey they’d hunted before. It wasn’t the animals that lived in the forest that they were here to hunt but the indigenous people, the remote tribes who didn’t have any contact with any humans and so, Rick told them now, weren’t protected by any police force.
“They’re half wild anyway,” said Doug, “untamed beasts. Let’s get them!”
He raised his gun, prepared to shoot at the next movement, but Rick told him to wait. “We will follow the prey back to its home, where there will be others like it. Enough meat for everyone!”
The hunters, barely able to contain their excitement at the prospect of meat, followed Rick, the Human Tracker – a title that had taken on a new significance – deeper into the forest.
“Wait,” he said, and disappeared behind some trees for a moment before reappearing. “They’re getting away. Run!”
The men ran through the trees and then the ground fell away beneath them. Doug fell onto his gun and shot himself in the leg. He sat screaming in pain and cursing. What was going on?
He and the other hunters were at the bottom of a pit. It had an open fire and cooking utensils on one end and a TV on the other. On the TV was Governor Clark Green and Rick, the Human Tracker, who Doug now recognised as his assistant.
“…want to thank you for your generous campaign donations,” Green was saying. “$25,000 per person adds up, and we have many more hunting trips planned for gentlemen of your particular passions… We did promise you meat and we never break a promise. We’ve provided you with fire and cooking utensils and suggest you begin by eating the weakest first.”
As the weight of the governor’s words sank in, Doug, injured and bleeding, noticed the other hunters looking at him hungrily.