Infinite Meat

By Jeremy Neeley

When a mysterious plague renders the isolated village of Nugins Knob meatless, the town’s lone butcher, Brady Blockcut, and his daughter, Betty, struggle to cope with dwindling finances. Brady, an abusive father, takes his increasing frustrations out on his daughter, threatening her into finding a wealthy bachelor to wed. But, Betty, not known for her beauty, fails time and time again.

After a final attempt at an arranged courtship falls short, Brady is left only one option. He strikes a deal with the Devil. In exchange for his soul, Brady will be granted an enchanted cow capable of producing infinite meat.

A master manipulator in his own right, Brady tricks Betty into signing the contract, banishing her to hell. He, in turn, reaps the rewards of an everlasting source of income. But things don’t go quite as planned in Hades, or on Earth, and a once loveless heart is sparked anew in the most unlikely way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Neeley
• Release date: May 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311951526

Jeremy Neeley

Mr. Neeley has always loved the art of storytelling and believes writing has the wonderful ability to not only entertain, but to inspire. He has worked for several years as a graphic designer at a Pittsburgh-based university and currently lives with his wife and three children in Pleasant Hills, Pennsylvania. The Royal Perfects was the first novel-length story written by Jeremy Neeley. Due to its overwhelmingly positive reviews from family, friends, and the Internet community, Mr. Neeley was spurred on to continue writing original, fiction stories and distributing them via Smashwords.

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Infinite Meat

Written by Jeremy Neeley

Published by Jeremy Neeley at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Jeremy Neeley

License Notice

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment and is not to be resold or given to another party in any form. If another party wishes to use this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Daughter

Lost

Companion

Offer

Exchange

Gallery

Butcher’s Shop

Devil

Heifer’s Tongue

Torments

Last Cut

Arrival

Reconciliation

Shadow

Continuing Curse

Unexpected Proposal

Underlying

Another Proposition

Home

New Breed

Final Assault

What Remains

About the Author

===============

Chapter 1: Daughter

Blood...everywhere. The cold stone floor was awash in it, cracked plaster walls marked by streaks and splatter. What was once a brilliant, glossy vermillion had begun to dry. It was turning brown and dull, caking the room in a film of muck.

One small, quivering puddle of freshness remained, fed by the dying drops of a newly cut slab of flesh. The architect of the massacre clutched the chunk tightly in his hand. The pressure of his grip drew forth a final crimson tear. The task was done. It was the end, at least for the foreseeable future. Butcher Brady Blockcut had slain the last of his stock.

It was the last of any stock for that matter. Disease had made sure of it. Brady was the lone butcher in the remote town of Nugins Knob. He had held that position for many prosperous years, slicing meat and preparing cuts for the town's grateful population. But, approximately one year ago, a savage epidemic fell upon the area livestock. It ravaged the inventory and spared no particular species, save man. Heifers, which had been healthy the day prior, were suddenly found motionless in the fields. They had turned lifeless and stiff. Chickens and hogs soon met the same fate. Not knowing what else to do, the owners sold their animals to the only person who could make use of them, the butcher.

Ol' Blockcut did his best to keep up with the work. He chopped and sliced day and night in an attempt to save the meat. Brady kept a good pace and was able to preserve much of it before it spoiled, but the take could not keep up with demand. As fast as his cleaver dropped, the cuts were sold to the hungry citizenry. The pattern continued for quite some time. An animal would die from phantom illness; Brady would happily butcher the beast and then sell the meat for some nice coin. The only problem was that as the poor creatures died, so did the source of continued offspring.

Nugins Knob was an isolated village, nestled in a harsh, mountainous location. Almost every single Knobber had been born there, grew up there, and would eventually die there. Normally it was of no issue. The town was fairly large and self-sufficient, but when the meat shortage turned into an epidemic, the pristine seclusion of the Knobber life became a curse.

Surrounded by jagged peaks and treacherous terrain, both hunting and importation proved problematic. Many a young man lost his life while attempting to track a scarce cliff billy, and more than one trade party had gone missing and presumed dead.

So, with the last leg of lamb in all of the land dangling from his clenched fist, Brady Blockcut buried his bloody hatchet deep in a wooden slab, unsure of when, if ever, he would pry it free once more.

A knock on the cellar door brought Brady to attention.

Come in, he bellowed through a thick stack of whiskers matted beneath his plump nose.

The door creaked open, and a young woman appeared.

Father, the oven's burning strong, the woman stated in a soft, submissive tone.

Brady looked toward his daughter and his depression doubled. Betty Blockcut was a kind and gentle young woman, having just entered an age of maturity a few summers prior. With straight brown hair, a pale complexion, and hazel eyes that drew down in the corners, she was plain in almost every way. By no means would she be considered a troll, but no one would willingly offer her a compliment of physical praise. The fact that her daily wardrobe of choice consisted of uninspired, simple gray gowns thrown frumpily over her thin, stick-like frame, didn't help matters either.

Gazing upon his dull daughter, Brady bemoaned his dead wife. When he had first met his spouse, Blockcut was immediately taken. Their love was fast and strong, and it was not long until they married and she gave birth to Betty. But with the passing of time, the butcher watched as his beautiful bride turned old and homely. What he once looked upon as a visage of inspiration had grown worn and common in his eyes. A nasty spell of piper's cough took her when Betty was five-years-old, but by then, Brady was husband in title alone. It was with contempt that he now looked upon his daughter. He could see in her face and frame the lingering traits of his humdrum wife.

Normally, Brady's issue with his daughter's appearance would be a passing point of annoyance, but now, it was at the forefront every time he cast his eyes upon her. The meat man knew their wealth was all but gone, and the source of future prosperity, the blood of livestock, was now dry and cracking like a mud in the hot summer sun.

He had hoped his daughter might be able to rectify their situation. Months earlier, he had charged her with finding a male suitor. She was just old enough to do so, and still be considered proper. If Betty could woo a wealthy man, they would be able to hitch their coach to an endless source of coin. But, despite her best efforts, she repeatedly came up wanting. There wasn't a man in town that would grant her more than a courteous half smile followed by a dismissing wave of his hand.

Brady handed his daughter the leg of lamb and then took a seat at the kitchen table. He had made a promise that their last slice of edible stock would be shared between them for a final meat meal, and tonight was the night. Betty skewered the chop and began roasting it over the hot coals.

Betty, the elder Blockcut began as he took a swig of ale from a cup set before him, how did it go today?

Betty did not answer right away. She was honest through and through, but knew what an honest answer would earn her. Her father had set up a date for her that afternoon with the son of a rich textile merchant. The merchant owed him a favor after Brady gave the fellow a side of beef, on credit, a few years back. At least that's what Brady thought. The reality was Brady had cashed in on that favor ten times over since then, but was so fickle and bull-headed, the genial textile merchant would give in to his request for payback every time he brought it up, just to avoid a quarrel.

Daughter Blockcut poked at the embers, stocking the fire. She was wary of telling her father the truth, the truth that she never arrived for the scheduled appointment. The past few months had been a series of failed attempts at courtship. She had been repeatedly turned down, scoffed at, and made fun of by numerous men of the village, only to return home in sadness and be further lumped upon by the nasty and disappointed words of her own father. The cycle of mental abuse had become more than she could handle, so, in respect to this most recent rendezvous, she simply could not bring herself to follow through.

Well? Brady prodded, growing a bit perturbed at his daughter's silence.

Betty turned the roasting lamb's leg, took a deep gulp and a tense breath, and then came clean.

Father, I did not go, she stated with embarrassment.

What came next was a reply unlike any she had received before. Usually, her father would assault her with a barrage of angry words delivered in a rain of rage and spit. This time he offered up a more reserved, yet piercingly more painful, reply.

Eh, wouldn't have mattered anyway, I suppose. Betty, it is no secret you are as plain as they come, a veritable weed of a woman, as common as a grain of sand in the Sahara.

Her parent's words tore deep, for they were delivered with such ease and belief that they must have been heartfelt. His subdued lines made her long for the vitriol.

I'm sorry, father, was her only reply.

I tell you what though, Betty, I've cared for you for many years now. I've fed you, given you clothes to wear, a house to live in. Brady continued, his words growing hotter. I've made countless sacrifices in your name, and now, in our hour of need, after all I've done, you can't get your pathetic hide out on the lane and land a single man with so much as a penny to his name! The butcher's ire had risen to the point of shouting, a level Betty had, unfortunately, grown more accustomed to.

I'm so sorry, father, the young woman professed, tears welling in her eyes as she handed him a plate of hot meat.

Brady stabbed at the flesh and tore a band of tendon loose. He then shoved the morsel in his mouth and gnashed at it with crooked teeth. Every action was swathed in frustration.

Betty had taken a seat next to him, but was desperately trying to avoid stirring the pot. She shrunk back and cut a small bit of lamb from her own plate, quietly and with reserve. It mattered not, for Brady was now worked up.

Damn it, Betty! You are simply a waste. Back when we had business, you could at least be counted on to mind the storefront. But now, with nothing to sell and no customers to speak of, you are a useless as a parasol underwater!

Brady, quite often, forgot about the fact that Betty pretty much took care of him. She cooked, cleaned, did all the housework and upkeep, shopped, tended to an endless list of errands, and basically kept Brady's life unencumbered. This mattered little to Brady at that moment, or ever.

"I just wish there was something, anything, you could do that would help us out. Even your mother had the forethought to learn a trade. I mean she was one of the worst seamstresses to ever wield a needle, but at least she brought in a coin on occasion. Luckily, we never had to rely on her."

A tear slid down Betty's cheek. She had built up a fairly strong defense against her disparaging dad, seldom breaking down in front of him. But, when he spoke ill of her mother—and he often did—it was exceedingly more difficult to digest.

What made his comment even more cutting was the fact that Betty had wanted to learn a trade. She was a gifted child, a worthwhile seamstress in her own right with an inherent skill few possessed. At one point, she was even offered a chance to apprentice with the most renowned tailor in Nugins Knob. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, but her father made short work of that. When the proposition was made, Brady quashed it without hesitation. He reasoned it would take away from her ability to work at the store, and that just couldn't take place. As a result, Betty kept to her duties and let go of her dream to become a master needler. Now these many years later, Brady was criticizing her for a reality that he, himself, had crafted.

Betty took another bite of lamb, hoping the act of eating would distract her from the tongue-lashing. It did not. Brady's rage continued.

"Tomorrow, you will meet with the merchant's son, you will be there on the mark, and you will look as lovely as your mediocre countenance can afford!" the angry fellow bellowed. He then stood, his dinner in his hand, walked over to Betty, and snatched the remaining portion of meat from her plate.

I'm heading over to the merchant's house right now, Brady stated with agitation. Maybe a bit of veal will bribe him into giving you a second chance. For your sake, I hope it works. While I'm gone, make busy scrubbing down the slaughter room and then wash and press that low-cut, red blouse I bought you. Maybe your chest can convince the lad, even if your mush can't!

The butcher stormed out of the house in a fury, slamming the thick wooden door behind him. Betty's head dropped into her hands and she began to cry uncontrollably. It was a fine line she walked. Her upbringing was proper and well taught, for she was constantly compelled to respect her father, even in the face of such vile insults. She believed, despite all that he had said and done, that deep down in his soul, he loved her. He had to. She was his daughter. His anger was simply born out of frustration and worry. Their lives had deteriorated to such an extent, it would be hard for anyone to deal with, and lashing out at her was his only option, for no one else was around.

Betty's mind had begun to reason this way often, as the personal attacks perpetrated upon her by her father became increasingly more frequent and pointed. She would convince herself that it was all simply misguided. But with each passing day, her conviction, as such, became more and more fragile.

Swallowing a final bit of bread, the only morsel of food left for her, Betty rose from the table and headed to the cupboard. There she obtained the red-stained cloth and filthy bucket used for washing down the slaughter room grime. Scouring the cellar was necessary to ward off disease, but it definitely was not a chore to look forward to.

With scraped knees and sore back, Brady's lone daughter set to task, and it was there, crouched upon the muck and blood, that she, too, wished she could land a husband, if only to deliver her from the pain and monotony of her oppressed existence. She cursed her own inadequacies, and, as she worked, self-pity became her lone companion.

After hours of toil, Betty rose to her feet. She arched her back and rolled her shoulders trying to wring out the wear and tear of arduous work. The sound of a latch turn and the whine of rusting hinges being drawn open alerted her to her father's return.

Betty, his voice echoed from the kitchen above.

Betty! he shouted again, this time coated in