I have always felt a tinge of remorse whenever I saw splattered wildlife on the side of the road. To me, road kill is a symbol of the insanity of our age. Our cruelty seems to be our desire for convenience at whatever cost, especially if that cost has no dollar signs attached. This story is a critique of modernity, and I also take it as an opportunity to take a poke at the carpetbaggers flooding into Texas. I hope you enjoy this story.
Victims of Progress
“Is this what we’re moving for?” Margo looked out the bug-splattered windshield of the luxury sedan. They had crossed the Texas border an hour earlier, and flat grasslands with an occasional burned-out rural town were all there had been for their eyes to consume. “It’s much prettier down south. You will love it there. It’s like LA. This is the ugly part of Texas. Austin isn’t like this.” Todd lifted up his sunglasses and peered out toward the horizon. “It’s all going to turn around for us out here. Elon said Austin was the next boom town on Joe’s show. This is the land of opportunity. Texas may be kind of backwards in its thinking, but they will come around once they meet people like us. We have a lot to offer a place like this.” Todd dropped his glasses back in place on the bridge of his nose and moved his hand toward his phone. “Look at this Instagram page I found the other day.” His thumb moved swiftly as his eyes floated from phone to road. “There are a lot of beautiful people…people with a real taste for fashion.” As Todd passed the phone to Margo, she screamed. “Look out!” A mule deer buck thumped off the hood and cracked the windshield. Todd didn’t even have time to brake. The sedan clipped the back legs causing the car to swerve as the deer tumbled into the bar ditch. The car screeched to a stop. The deer regained its composure long enough to clear a fence and run away. Todd slammed the car into park and didn’t even check to see if any cars were coming as he slung open his door and scurried to inspect the damage. “That deer came out of nowhere!” Todd cussed as he looked at the blood-smeared car. “My car! Did you see where that thing went? I wish I had killed it. I bet my insurance will need to see the body.” Margo stood, hot and wind-blown, staring off after the deer. “I am going to hate it here.”
The deer knew better than to run across the road without stopping to look. It’s easy to miss a sedan with a low profile. The danger of the highway was well known. The shredded carcass of a coyote, armadillo, or deer was no strange sight. The bar ditch of the highway stinks of mortality. Still, you never imagine the smell is going to be you. The deer had always been very careful, but it was the rut and he had been distracted by the scent of a far-off female. Don’t let your instincts blind you. God gave them to you to test your patience. He could almost hear his mother’s voice saying the warning as blood dripped down his ears. He limped along towards water until the swelling of his hindquarters prevented forward movement. A mesquite tree with a cactus patch on the far side was at foot, and he decided that would be a safe place to rest. The tree offered shade, and the breeze cooled him. This was the first time he noticed that one of his antlers had broken off and that he was missing a chunk of his left foot.
From high above, a turkey vulture had watched the young buck stumble toward the tree. Now that the deer was down, the bird swooped in for a closer look. “That was quite a shot you took, young friend. Do you think you’ll be able to pull through?” The bird’s black head bobbed as he spoke.
“I messed up, got caught up chasing love. I am hurt, but I’m sure I’ll be able to pull through. I just need to lay here for a bit, catch my breath. Here in a bit, I will get up and head for water. Water will make all the difference.” The deer looked up at the curved beak of the vulture. He didn’t feel ill will towards the questioning. The vulture seemed honest, and everyone has to eat.
“I was afraid you didn’t see the car as you were approaching. I saw the whole thing. I thought you were going to clear it for a moment. That leap was majestic, true athleticism, then bam! Terrible luck really. You probably would have seen a truck, but that little car, that slight hill, the imperceivable curve of the road…probably the worst place to cross. Bad luck really.” The bird hopped a bit closer. “I can smell your hind quarter. It has the slightest amount of decay. I don’t doubt your opinion, and I really do hope you make it, but I think I will hang out until you make it to water just to be sure. I would hate to miss out if you don’t make it.”
The deer watched the bird as it flapped its large wings and floated up to a branch of an ancient cedar. The tree had been dead for years but had yet to relent to the steady wind of the plains. The bird cautiously weighted a thick branch and, when it seemed sturdy, settled in to observe the scene from above. The deer felt the stiffening of injury expand from one leg to the other and progress towards the mid back. The smell that the vulture had keenly perceived was growing and now competed with the wildflower patch nearby. The deer was a realist. In his world, one had to be. He knew his injuries were severe. He knew that with nightfall the coyotes would find him, and no matter how well he had positioned himself, they would tear him to shreds. He saw a few ants converge on a puddle of his blood and knew the horde will be close behind.
For the first time since being hit, anger set into the young deer as his impending doom loomed above and crawled near. His vison blurred, and he thought about his mother. The wind swirled and carried the sent of his rotting leg away from his nose and the fragrance of the flower patch calmed him. He couldn’t be mad. The world was how it should be. His mother seemed to whisper through the trees. It is our job to fit into it. The traffic has been picking up, and he knew it was his own fault for losing composure and dropping his guard. It is your instincts that betray your rational mind. He could almost see his mother’s shadow approaching in the light. Never let your animalness cause you to forget your place. The deer had proceeded with a lack of respect and had been slapped down for it. But, the past was gone, his body had been smashed. The privilege of youth was shattered. Life had been a gift. Now, it must be earned. He turned his eyes toward the sun. “It’s still morning. There is still plenty of day for the fight. I can still find a way.”
The vulture sat perched above the anguishing deer. From his position, the view of the highway was unobstructed. His whole life he had scrounged in the wake of obliterated wildlife strewn along that unholy alter of asphalt. Death was sacred before the highway. Scavengers were thankful. Now, there is so much death that they have become picky and bloated. Two other vultures, one with larges wing and one with a red head, swooped in and joined the stationary vulture.
“What you got here?” The vulture with large wings landed heavy on the branch just above the first vulture.
“Young buck was struck jumping the lanes. Ol’ boy is busted up pretty bad.”
The red headed vulture landed gracefully on the same branch as Wings “Oh, his last season? What a shame.”
“I hate it when they barely get clipped.” Wings spoke as he looked around for water. “I’m thankful for the meal, but I could pass on the anguish.”
“Because of the road, I have never heard of a vulture going hungry.” Red carefully watched the deer, assessing his most subtle movement. “Although tragic, this is the way of the world.”
“Were vultures going hungry before the road? There has always been enough death to go around, the dyin’ now just seems… apocalyptic.” Wings looked back to the deer. “There’s no chance of him makin’ it to water. Nothing but dried creek bed for a mile or so in any direction.”
“He wouldn’t be able to walk to it even if the water were at that fence there. Boy is busted up too bad” Red looked to the highway as the climbing heat wiggled the light of the West Texas sun. “We have no doubt become reliant on the road and it’s bounty. Maybe the abundance of this age has caused me to become blind to the misery of it.”
The three vultures sat in silence until the first recited a short poem which his grandfather had taught him.
“We don’t get to choose
Some win, others lose
We don’t assign guilt
We eat what the world kill’t”
Red and Wings didn’t look at the first vulture as he recited the words. They all had ways of excusing their actions. Eating the dead is in their nature. They each knew that the world wouldn’t yield to their wishes. They will, as they always have, yield to it. The three vultures all watched the young deer’s head bob with sleep.
The shadow of the mesquite tree shrank then began to extend again. The young deer had caught his breath and calmed his mind despite the ants which now covered his leg. One push was all it would take to get him to water. If he got to water, he knew his chances of pulling through would increase substantially. He ignored the pain as he pulled his broken frame upright. The vultures were inspired by his strength, and all gave subtle “atta boys” as the deer heroically hobbled on. The bones in his hip crutched, and with each step, the reality that this was his last day settled in. The quest for water was now one for comfort, not survival. With head held high, the deer limped forward. His head tilted to one side from his unbalanced antlers. He chuckled to himself about a transient thought he had earlier that morning. He figured he wouldn’t matter after today, after he had bred a doe. He had imagined that once he had fulfilled his duty, then he would be free to die.
After only 50 yards or so, the deer came to a fence. He was too broken to jump and knew if he were to try to crawl under it, he wouldn’t be able to get back up, so he turned to the north and gimped on. The vultures circled above and sang a song of encouragement to him. It was a small comfort to know such honorable creatures would soon gain substance from his corpse. The vultures’ consumption of his dead body would at least give purpose to his death. As he walked, he began to hear a rushing sound. “A river? A mighty river!” Water was closer than he had thought. He perked up a bit. A new hope creeped into his now half-delusional mind. “If I can get into that water, that cool fresh water, then maybe my leg will cool. Maybe the infection will get washed out and these ants washed away. I will drink and eat the thick grass on the bank. Soon, my leg will heal. I’ll never be young again, but I only need one more season. Next season, I will grow some new antlers, and I will breed. Then, I can die.”
“There’s that son of a bitch!” The young deer collapsed with exhaustion as he approached the roaring flow of the highway. “I saw him go down just over here.” Todd bounded through the tall prairie grass in the direction where the young deer fell, still faintly breathing. “Man, it’s my lucky day!” Todd yelled as he grabbed the deer by the antler and began to drag the limp body towards the road. Todd hooked the antler on the fence and hopped over. He then dragged the deer over the wire. A barb dug into the deer’s hide and ripped a hole which the intestines spilled out of. The entrails hung from the fence and formed a line as Todd drug it the rest of the way to the road. “That is disgusting. I doubt the insurance will even need to see that. Oh God, it stinks!” Margo walked toward the back of the car trying not to gag. Todd set the still-twitching body of the young deer on the hot road in front of the car. “He might not need to see it, but I’ll leave it here just in case.” The meat began to spoil as it waited on the hot road for the insurance adjuster to give that young couple from California what they deserved. The vultures, still singing, caught the heat from the road and sailed off to look for something else to eat.
