Everyone's Vegetarian

By Antonio Tripodi

Imagine a world where animals never existed. Would Europeans have taken over America without plague-carrying rats? Without disease-spreading mosquitoes, would America have ever stopped using indentured servants instead of malaria-resistant slaves from Africa? If the conquistadors didn't have horses, isn't it possible we might be able to pop into an Aztec pub for a shot of fermented cactus pulp after work?

And what about all the great minds of history who were inspired by animals? Without birds, the Wright brothers wound up working in I.T. Without a meat industry to expose, Upton Sinclair wound up writing feel-good pabulum for a P.R. department. And without mice to inspire his signature creation, Walt Disney wound up as a bored call-center employee passing the time making notebook doodles.

Now imagine if – on July 4, 2020 – all the animals finally arrived.

Still dizzy from the Internet revolution, globalization, and a decade of mysterious plant mutations that triggered a worldwide recession, now the people of Earth have to deal with an even bigger disruption. Some people respond with fear and suspicion, running away from moths and crickets like they’re alien invaders. Others think their new neighbors are a gift from God and get eaten by crocodiles. And – as always – the masters of the universe ask how all this will affect the bottom line. At the insistence of a chronologically displaced Sacagawea, the cutthroat CEO of a processed food empire teams up with a crafty blue blood whose family has manufactured luxury foods from human remains for generations. Together, the three venture off into this strange new frontier and launch a campaign to accomplish the unthinkable: to make people see these odd new creatures as food.

Meanwhile, regular folk are just trying to hold on. Farm workers who used to manually pollinate the plants or aerate the soil find themselves replaced by bees and earthworms. Shipping companies find their inventory gobbled up by rats. At first, it seems people are going to be sympathetic to the idea of killing and eating the animal invaders. Of course, when man's best friend shows up, looking up at them with big gentle eyes... Well, that complicates the plan a little.

In Everyone's Vegetarian, a family of four in Penobscot, Massachusetts has to come to terms with each others' passionate, divergent opinions about the creatures. Squanto DiCapisci – once a doctoral student of agricultural science who had to scrap his research because his control groups kept mutating – sees the animals as mindless pests. He didn't do so well the last time the rules of nature started changing, and isn't that optimistic things will be different this time around. His nephew, Dylan – a shy, bookish child – is fascinated by the creatures and takes an instant liking to them. Dylan's mother, Alawa DiCapisci, wants to know where these things are supposed to go to the bathroom. And Dylan's father, Collin O'Shaughnessy, just can't get enough of stupid cat videos on the Internet.

Together, this family – along with a few displaced historical figures – try to find their way in a world full of new perils, new opportunities, and an exponentially more complicated food chain. So, hop on the Wright brothers' plane and take off for adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Antonio Tripodi
• Release date: Jan 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311958815

Antonio Tripodi

Born in Adelaide, Australia, to Italian immigrants, Antonio Tripodi grew up believing the lies that his words weren’t worth two cents, a belief that turned writing into a tiresome nightmare. His speaking little English as a child led to difficulties in primary school and fuelled those false beliefs regarding his writing, beliefs which he overcame with the help of his love for God and creating original stories. He chose to work with a professional creative writer to rewrite the manuscript, and a mystery specialist to review, edit and proofread the manuscript for JD Series Book 1.After finishing Year Eleven, he went on to complete a Fitter and Turner Apprenticeship, Graphic Design Degree, Advanced Diploma in Christian Ministry and now is an author. Somewhere in between, he was a sales assistant, furniture removalist, bookkeeper and maintenance.Tripodi has loved inventing things for as long as he can remember. At forty-six, he now realises the ultimate inventions are original stories that everyone loves to read. With God’s help, he hopes to create great original stories and transport readers through factual and fictional worlds. Always working to improve his English and writing skills, Tripodi finds inspiration in the works of Anton Chekhov and F. Scott Fitzgerald.His work on the JD Series began in the wake of his father’s untimely death from a rare cancer in August 2012. Tripodi lives in Adelaide though he enjoys traveling frequently and has visited Japan, the UK, France, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, Italy, the US, and the Netherlands.

Book preview

EVERYONE’S VEGETARIAN

Second Genesis Series Book 1

Antonio Tripodi

Copyright 2016 Antonio Tripodi

Published by Antonio Tripodi at Smashwords

All Rights Reserved. Please do not reproduce or distribute any part of this novel in any way, shape or form. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, 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 it to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For proper treatment of animals.

Acknowledgments

A massive thanks to Chris DeFillippi for promptly answering all my questions, brainstorming ideas and writing the outline and manuscript in his own creative words.

Thanks heaps Therese B. for brilliantly editing the manuscript.

A huge thanks to everyone who buys the book.

Biggest thanks to God for giving me this amazing story when I watched a bird flying and wondered, What if the Wright brothers didn’t see a bird flying? Would they have invented the airplane?

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

GEE (JD1)

Sought (JD2)

Shadows Lurk (JD3)

About the Author

Chapter One

Tisquantum Squanto DiCapisci staggered to the front of the convenience store/coal-syngas station and slapped a crumpled twenty on the counter. He was a 6-foot-tall paunchy man in his late 20s who seemed to have put on his best, albeit not entirely convincing, fully-functioning adult costume. His freshly ironed dress shirt was undercut by the Puke Salad concert T-shirt still visible underneath it.

Fifteen dollars on pump number eight and a pack of Kudzu Lights, please, he said to the clerk behind the counter. The clerk's nametag said Ahmed. He was probably an indentured from the Middle East or some other sad, coal-less region. He looked back at Squanto with obvious disdain.

Squanto suspected that maybe the clerk had a problem with him because he had obviously been drinking alcohol. Maybe there was a cultural component to this. The guy was probably a Tea-H-C drinker, like most Easterners.

Whatever was fueling Ahmed's distaste, he dropped the pack of cigarettes on the counter as if he didn't want to risk accidentally grazing Squanto's hand when he reached for it. Squanto snatched it up without saying a word and peeled off the pack's plastic wrapper as he walked back to pump eight where his sister's Toyota Lichen was parked.

It was a quiet night, save for the whining sound of the wind and a few distant vehicles. He detected a faint hint of some syrupy, sickly sweet smell on the air – not unlike overripe mangoes – as he unscrewed the car's gas cap and began fueling. He couldn't quite put his finger on the scent, but he knew he didn't like it. He popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He inhaled deeply and blew the acrid smoke out of his nostrils, obliterating the offensive odor. Before he could take a second drag, the driver's side window rolled down.

You're not really that stupid, are you? a woman's voice said wearily. Alawa DiCapisci – Squanto's sister – was in the driver's seat, wearing a gray pantsuit and furrowing her brow at her screw-up younger brother. She was a tall, slender, dark-skinned native – taking more after their mom than their dad physically. Nonetheless, she had always taken after her father, Professor Alfonse DiCapisci, in terms of how she carried herself (with authority), dressed (dully, professionally) and generally interacted with people (a little condescendingly).

You heard about what happened to that guy who was smoking at the coal gasification plant, right? she continued.

He at least got to have a few minutes of cheap thrills during his dead-end grind? Squanto ventured, as he climbed into the passenger's seat.

Dead being the operative word there, Alawa shot back. He blew up, Squanto. And even if you weren't pumping syngas, you're still sucking poison into your lungs! Why would you even want to do something like that?

Squanto suppressed the urge to respond by saying something nasty. She could be insufferable when she got like this. But, then again, she was a collections officer for the Massachusetts Department of Revenue, the state tax-collecting authority. She was professionally obligated to notice when people were coloring outside the lines.

We're not having this conversation again, he groaned. Look, deadly nightshade is poison, hemlock is poison and poison ivy is a poison. He paused to take a drag of his cigarette. Shoot, that last one even has poison in the name.

Alawa rolled her eyes and started the ignition.

But see, I've been smoking tobacco for like the last two years, Squanto continued. Which is about, like what, twenty percent of the time tobacco's even existed? All those other things will make you almost-dead sick damn-near immediately. And here I am doing fine!

Alawa pulled out of the syngas station's parking lot and accessed the highway on-ramp.

I've been reading a lot of articles on this, she replied curtly. Tobacco's full of alkaloids, alkaloids are poison, and plants only seem to make alkaloids to stop people from consuming them. You should know since you went to agricultural college—

Really? He said, cutting her off. You're going to bring that up today?

Alawa was just about to scold him for interrupting before she suddenly remembered. It was a year ago to the day that Squanto moved back to Massachusetts and into her basement. So that's why he's been drinking, she thought.

Over the last decade, entirely new species of plants just started appearing all over the world. The new plants altered the composition of the soil, which destroyed crops and caused a lot of people in agriculture to lose their jobs. The effect on Squanto was that he had to drop out of his doctoral program in horticulture. When the rules of nature were changing as quickly as they were, effective research was impossible. You can't experiment without a control group. And the world had become undeniably out of control as of late.

Look, all I'm saying is that you know how alkaloids like this work, Alawa said, staring straight ahead. Squanto turned away from her, taking a few moments to watch the side of the road zip by.

Nobody knows how anything works anymore, he muttered, before flicking the butt out his open window and staring off into the distance.

Alawa turned off Exit 35 and onto the Patuxet Turnpike without saying a word. None of these new plants make any sense, she finally offered. It's been a weird decade. Look, I know you're depressed, but just be careful. Dylan's just a kid and he really looks up to you. Try to keep it together for him, okay?

The words hit Squanto like a punch to the stomach. Nobody can lay you low like family, he thought. But she was right. He slumped down further in the passenger's seat.

Since America had been such a rich and successful country for so long, plenty of citizens didn't know how to handle it when they lost their jobs or fortunes in the wake of the recession. There wasn't much in the culture that prepared Americans for failure, and tens of thousands opted to take the easy way out. Squanto, unfortunately, had a nephew anchoring him to the land of the living.

I hate Independence Day, he finally muttered.

***

During the drive, the rap single Broth Fo' My Noodle by A-Maize-Ing played on the radio. With that exception, Squanto and his sister drove in silence until they pulled into the parking lot of Penobscot Elementary School. Alawa put the car into park and turned towards her brother.

So, do you think you're sober enough not to humiliate your nephew? Alawa said, finally breaking the silence.

Look, I'm drunk and feeling sorry for myself, Squanto replied, but I'm not an asshole, all right?

The two exited the car and entered the school. The walls were covered by various collages and drawings the students had put together to commemorate Independence Day, and the various accomplishments that led to America being the superpower it is today. Most of the students' posters and collages focused on the Bill of Rights and fairly vague ideas about freedom. Squanto located Dylan's collage, which was mostly a collection of dry statistics about how America had vast supplies of coal – the planet's undisputed reigning champion among energy sources – and cotton – the go-to material for every kind of fabric imaginable. There were also some statistics about America's regressive (but profitable!) indentured-servitude program. Squanto couldn't help but smile. Even if he didn't make it in this world, his nephew at least seemed to have the type of critical mindset that'd at least give him a chance in the merciless thresher that is life. Since Dylan helped write the Independence Day Pageant they were coming to see, Squanto actually began to look forward to the evening's performance.

The two walked up to a dark-skinned, middle-aged woman – of Abenaki descent, probably – and Alawa bought two tickets to the play. They filed into the dark auditorium and looked around until they spotted a pasty redheaded man waving his hands over his head to get their attention.

Hey guys! he shouted. Over here! The surprisingly youthful-looking 40-year-old was Collin O'Shaughnessy, Alawa's husband of 12 years. He was dressed in a baseball T-shirt and faded, loose-fitting jeans, but somehow looked more formal and put-together than Squanto in his buttoned shirt. His hair was mischievously tussled in that attractive, just-got-out-of-bed way that your average hair-and-make-up artist would probably dedicate hours of gelling, tweezing and arranging to accomplish. And yet in Collin's case, he almost certainly just woke up this way.

Collin, you don't need to yell! Alawa hissed. Somewhere along the lines – and without Alawa getting a chance to vote on the matter – society had decided that it was her job to make sure Collin's genial obliviousness never crossed over into boorish indifference. A few heads of judgmental parents in the audience swiveled in Collin and Alawa's direction. Squanto chuckled at his sister's obvious discomfort.

Oh, we're fine! Collin said, dismissing his wife's concern with a wave of his hand. The play hasn't even started yet; I'm not interrupting anything. Collin was the only person other than Squanto who could embarrass Alawa to a similar extent. Squanto couldn't help but grin as he and his mortified sister took a seat next to the man.

Hey, all right! Collin said to Squanto, noticing the T-shirt still visible under his buttoned dress shirt. Puke Salad! Thanks for the support!

Back in the late 2000s – well after the rest of the planet had moved beyond the Grunge scene – Collin was the lead singer of a marginally successful local band before he knocked up Alawa. To help support their kid, he quit the band to take a nine-to-five security guard job at the local office of Cornutopia Foods, a processed foods manufacturer and the town's largest employer.

Anytime, man, Squanto said, still amused by his sister's embarrassment. Seriously, I can't help but smile every time I hear Cross-Pollinate Her to Dominate Her come on the radio.

Squanto and his brother-in-law then fist-bumped as Alawa sunk deeper into her chair.

Thanks dude! Collin said. And if I hadn't said it before, I think it's really cool that you don't mind that that one's about your sister.

Squanto then laughed as Alawa turned crimson and balled her fists.

If anything, it's a selling point! Squanto said, before his sister punched him in the arm and shushed him.

Collin then reached into his back pocket and retrieved a silver flask.

You want in on this? Collin said to his brother-in-law. It's the good single-malt stuff.

You're both drinking now? Alawa spat out as Collin and Squanto fist bumped a second time.

So, you need to get buzzed before sitting through a middle-school pageant too? Collin said to Squanto, ignoring his wife.

Nope, Squanto replied. It's for some unrelated, depressing personal stuff. This is just a side benefit.

The theater lights then started flickering, indicating the play was about to start.

Did you read Dylan's script? Alawa whispered to her husband.

Collin raised an eyebrow.

I thought you did, he replied. His wife shook her head. Well, whatever, he continued. It's an Independence Day pageant, babe. We'll get to see the pilgrims, the Iroquois-and-Separatist Alliance against the loyalist, Algonquian, and French forces and a lot of stuff about freedom. What's more to expect?

Shortly afterwards, the lights dimmed and the audience's chatter died down to quiet murmurs and then to silence. After about a minute, two 12-year-olds walked onto the stage. There was a tall boy wearing a construction-paper Pilgrim hat and a girl dressed in cut-up paper bags made to look like traditional Wampanoag garb.

My name is John Winthrop! the fifth grader in the Pilgrim hat shouted after stepping into the spotlight. Puritans like me fled from England so we could start a society where everyone had to follow our religion. But, when we finished sailing, we found the new world was already heavily populated, and they wouldn't let us do that.

The boy in the Pilgrim hat then stepped back so the girl could stand center stage.

And my name is the Great Sachem Aquina, the girl said. The British said we worshiped false gods and our women dressed like harlots. Some of them brought over new diseases, which was annoying, but we recovered quickly. Eventually, we forged a truce in exchange for firearms. The settlers would later betray us and ally with the Iroquois, because knowing how to make a deal is what makes America great!

Collin fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat as Alawa covered her mouth.

Oh no! Alawa hissed to Collin. Why didn't one of us read his script?

Collin patted his wife on the shoulder.

It's okay, Collin said, worriedly. The play's just started. Maybe he's saving the 'feel good' stuff for later.

A chubby boy with a bald cap on his head and cotton-ball sideburns glued to the sides of his face then walked onto the stage.

Hello! he yelled. My name is Horatio Cromwell Tecumseh! And I'm here to tell you how I helped make America great by figuring out how a federal indentured servitude program would be more cost effective than using slaves!

Like much of the audience, Collin and Alawa's mouths popped open in mute horror. Involuntarily, a smile started creeping across Squanto's face.

I might have some fun tonight after all, he thought.

Chapter Two

After the play, the students took their bows to awkward, hesitant applause. Squanto scanned the audience, and he seemed to be the only one who was genuinely pleased by the performance. Maybe this was because – as an uncle instead of a parent – he wouldn't have to be going to any parent-teacher conferences afterwards.

Principal Renee DeSaulnier, an obese middle-aged white guy with a goatee, walked to the microphone stand on stage.

Okay, thank you for coming to see our pageant, he muttered uncomfortably. It certainly was… He trailed off as he tried to think of the right words. Exhaustively researched, he concluded. Seriously, I can't say I've ever heard a bibliography in a soliloquy. Real cutting edge stuff.

Squanto, Alawa and Collin waited in the audience as the various elementary-school actors filed out to meet their parents. Finally, Dylan, a chubby, dark-haired 12-year-old with crooked teeth, walked out.