Cripple Wolf Read online

  Off screen an audience yells in unison: “Cook . . . For . . . Your . . . Life!”

  Loud applause and cheering. Screen displays the show’s logo—a red background with the silhouettes of two crossed butcher knives. COOK FOR is above the blades, with YOUR LIFE below.

  The studio lights kicked on and Amy thought she’d died and gone to the great bistro in the sky—the brightness momentarily blinding, before her eyes adjusted. She’d waited and wished for so long to be standing there that she had started to doubt the moment would ever come—but there she was. On Cook for Your Life!

  She stood in a kitchenette with a sink, stove top, blender, plenty of counter space, and a menagerie of pots, pans and cooking utensils. A black board that read “Amy” in red LCD floated ten feet above the cooking space. Off to the side, almost completely hidden in the shadows, a guard gripped a machine gun.

  Just like on TV. The viewers are probably seeing our intro videos right now!

  She spun around to take in the room and examine the four other kitchenettes. Above each, a giant spotlight brightly illuminated the space. The five kitchenettes were spread apart like the points of a star. In the center stood a huge empty table. Somewhere in the darkness of the cavernous room hummed the television cameras, broadcasting this contest to billions around the world.

  The other four contestants were taking in the situation as well. Directly across from Amy was a man that could pass for a professional body-builder. Dressed in a shining silver suit that covered his entire body, hands and feet included, only leaving his neck and head exposed. His head spins, not turns but spins like Regan in the Exorcist, and Amy realized that he’s not wearing a suit—his body was metal. A cyborg. She had heard of people that underwent the procedure but she had never seen one in person—just on screen. His display read “Sliceatron.”

  Damn—he’s even a cooking model.

  In the space to her right was a man in black dress pants, a white button-up shirt, and a black tie to match. He looked scared shitless. Amy knew his story right away—it happens. The selecting machines aren’t too picky, the basic assumption is everybody wants to be a chef and sometimes the machine zaps some poor sap who is one of the few that doesn’t want to cook for a living. His display said “Josh.”

  He’ll be out first round.

  The next chef was a monkey—or a gorilla to be correct. The ape stood calmly, looking around taking in the situation. On its head was a helmet with a mess of blinking lights and wires. The beast saw Amy looking and waved. Amy waved back.

  I hate the monkey-people.

  Above the gorilla’s kitchenette, the screen said “Mindy.”

  Amy looked to the last kitchenette and didn’t see anyone there. The name screen read “Buffo,” but the space appeared empty.

  Odd name.

  She moved a few steps to the left and craned her head. A knee poked out from behind the table. The contestant was sitting on the ground and the big table was blocking her view. She moved over more to get a good look and her heart skipped a beat.

  —oh shit.

  A clown sat cross-legged on the ground. His eyes were closed in deep mediation with his white gloved hands held in front, palm up. In one hand sat a seltzer bottle, in the other a hand-buzzer. The red and yellow polka-dotted pants, Hawaiian shirt, sky-blue jacket, white face-paint, and red foam nose clashed with the serene state he projected.

  Amy recognized his clothing right away—he was a follower of the Clown School of Cooking. The most feared of all the secret cooking sects, no follower had ever lost an episode of “Cook for Your Life.”

  A massive television screen flashed on in the darkness high above the cooking area. A small Japanese woman wearing a gaudy blue plastic suit and plastic police cap waved and stared straight at the camera.

  “Konichiwa chefs! Please assume your positions, the show is about to begin. Tee-hee.” She curtsied and the screen turned off.

  Amy rushed over to her cooking space, leaned back against the counter, and looked up. Lowering down from the darkness was the Supreme Chef.

  Like a God or Q on Star Trek: The Next Generation, the Supreme Chef floated down from the rafters riding a great levitating throne of black steel. He wore a red cloak of the finest cheese-cloth, intricately detailed with pin-point stitching of great cooking battles throughout history—the Acacius/Bion wine grape stomp-out, the Tyson/Simpson grilled cheese cook-off, and more.

  At his side was a sheathed sword—the legendary Blade-O-Matic 5600. The sword was the greatest cutlery known to man and only the most worthy could wield it. Whoever controlled the sword was the greatest chef in the world, the master of flavor itself.

  The Supreme Chef spoke and his voice boomed over speakers hidden somewhere in the shadows, “Chefs, you have been selected today to have your chance at what you’ve always dreamed of—your own restaurant! The winner of today’s contest will have the opportunity to select any kitchen, anywhere in the world, as their prize. It will be theirs until the end of their days—or until somebody else selects that prize.”

  He floated around the room inspecting each of the contestants. As he approached Amy, she met his eyes and smirked. He grinned back.

  “You will compete today in a series of trials,” he continued, “designed to prove which of you is worthiest of serving the world. There will be four rounds. At the end of each round, one chef will be eliminated. The last cook left standing will be the winner.’

  ROUND 1

  The screen flashed on and the girl was back, “alright, let’s get this show started! For round one you will each prove your basic knowledge of food and—as we all know—the basic building block of any person’s diet is . . . people!”

  Above each of the kitchenettes, a slab lowered down from the ceiling. On each slab was a full-grown, recently dead human corpse.

  A body came to a stop next to Amy’s counters. There was no obvious cause of death and it did not look like any decay had set in—a beautiful hunk of meat that would run Amy at least one year’s wage if she were to buy it on the open market.

  The video girl continued, “any decent chef should know basic butchery and that’s what your first challenge will be testing.

  “The liver is a relatively easy to identify and access organ of the human body. It is also a favorite of many upscale restaurants in the finer parts of the City. If you win today’s competition, you will surely be asked to remove a liver at some point.

  “When the Supreme Chef gives the signal, cut into your body and remove the liver. The first four contestants that complete the challenge will advance to the next round. The fifth will be eliminated.

  “Good luck!”

  The screen went black.

  The Supreme Chef floated to the center of the room and hovered there for a moment. He surveyed all of the contenders and then yelled, “Allez cuisine!”

  A loud mechanical whirling and buzzing issued from the Sliceatron kitchenette. Sliceatron was already holding up a liver and his body was nothing more than a pile of red slush. Amy hadn’t even made the first cut yet.

  Of course a cyborg named “Sliceatron” does well in the butchery round.

  She turned her attention to the task at hand. On the slab next to the corpse, she neatly laid out a selection of utensils: a cleaver, scalpel, boning knife, filet knife, and a rib spreader.

  Time was of the essence, so she grabbed the cleaver, raised it above her head, and sunk the blade into the breast between the pectorals. With some effort she pulled the blade out and hacked down again and again. Soon there was a wide gash in the body from the upper chest down to the belly button. Fortunately the body wasn’t too fresh and the blood had congealed. Nothing is messier that working on a fresh kill.

  She grabbed the rib spreader, insert its prongs into the gash, grabbed hold of the crank, and—

  CRACK!

  The chest bloomed open. It was just a matter of finding the liver and cutting it out.

  Piece of cake.

  Amy kn
ew she needed to focus but she couldn’t help checking out the competition. She looked over at Buffo—she had always wanted to see a clown in action. Surprisingly, he was not holding any kind of cutting implement. Instead, he placed his hands on the center of his corpse’s abdomen. His head upturned and his eyes tightly shut.

  Suddenly, his arms disappeared up to his elbows into the body. Amy froze in her work, fascinated by what she was seeing. Buffo moved about as he dug deeper into the body. Then he smoothly removed both arms. With one hand he hit his button, with the other he held up a perfectly removed liver. Most interesting, the body showed no sign of damage—no cuts, gashes, or tears, despite the fact that Buffo had its liver.

  The clowns live up to their hype thought Amy. That just leaves me, the monkey, and Josh.

  She snuck a look at Josh who just stood and stared at the corpse in front of him.

  Gotta concentrate.

  Amy went back to work. She already had the chest cavity spread wide and had easy access to the main internal organ structure. It was just a matter of sifting around and—

  —there you are.

  She found the liver. She reached over and grabbed a scalpel from the knife spread. With a few quick cuts, the meat was free. She hit the button and held the organ over her head.

  “Wooooo!” she yelled and jumped up and down.

  Now that she was finished, Amy could watch the others. The gorilla had a cleaver in each hand and indiscriminately hacked away at the torso in front of it (for some reason the beast already cut off and discarded the body’s arms, legs, and head).

  Then Mindy tossed both blades aside and dug into the chest cavity with her bare paws. Her arm jerked as she pulled and twisted to loosen the organ. When she got it free, Mindy held the liver over her head and hit the button. She jumped up and down and hooted in gorilla joy.

  That only left—

  The Supreme Chef hovered over to Josh. He sat on the floor of his kitchenette with tears streaming down his face. He held one of the knives the show had supplied—incidentally, one way too small for the task he was given. His meat was unharmed except for one small three-inch cut across the lower abdomen; he wasn’t even going to cut into the right part of the body.

  “I . . . can’t. I don’t even want to be a chef,” pleaded Josh.

  The Supreme Chef looked down at him but gave no hint of emotion.

  “Please . . . I just want to go home.”

  The Supreme Chef spoke, “Josh you are the one white bean in a can of baked beans—disappointing and meant to be discarded. You didn’t entertain our audience but you’ll still get your chance to be a star. Torisaru!”

  At once, all the spotlights in the room turned dark except for the light above Josh—his turned deep red. A loud buzzer pierced their ears and a blinding flash of white light washed over them.

  Amy shielded her eyes with her hands and, when she lowered them, Josh was gone.

  The video screen flickered on.

  “Oh, poor Josh,” said the Japanese girl with mock sympathy, “he blew his chance here but he’ll still be super tasty! He’s going to be the special guest on another wonderful show on this network—Sweet Sixteen BBQ!”

  The image on the screen changed to a human corpse slow roasting over a pit of fire. The flesh so well cooked that it was impossible to tell what the person originally looked like or even if they were a man or woman. A pole skewers it from asshole to mouth holding the body in place as it slowly rotated over the open flames. Around the cooking pit a bunch of teenage girls wore party hats and held plates of birthday cake. They couldn’t seem to care less about the still-cooking meal.

  The image cuts back to the video girl, “Let’s hope he’s more satisfying on that show than he was here.”

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  (Interior: inside of tree house with three boys sitting around reading comic books. A forth boy climbs in waving a book. He starts speaking excitedly)

  Boy 1: Hey guys, have you read Shatnerquake by Jeff Burk yet?

  Boy 2: I have! It’s super!

  Boy 3: It’s Shatnertastic!

  Boy 4: I never knew William Shatner was so tough.

  Boy 1, now fully inside the tree house and sitting in the circle with the other boys: I know, I don’t think anyone could beat him up.

  Voice off screen: Now boys, don’t believe everything you read.

  (The boys spin around and the camera shows William Shatner climbing into the tree house.)

  All four boys in unison: William Shatner!

  William Shatner: I know Shatnerquake is amazing but it’s just a story. I am not a master of Shaolin-Style Street Fighting, I don’t speak like a stroke victim, and I’ve never fought a light-saber wielding Captain Kirk with a Bat’leth.

  All four boys hang their heads in union: Ooohhhhh . . .

  William Shatner: But the book did get one thing right.

  All four boys look up excited and say in unison: What?

  William Shatner: I drink the blood of young runaways.

  (William Shatner hisses and opens his mouth wider than humanly possible revealing long dagger-like teeth. The camera zooms in on the gaping maw as the boys scream.)

  ROUND 2

  The video girl blinked on. “For your second challenge, you will be working with one of the all time classic deserts—ice cream!”

  A large tray lowered down from the darkness of the ceiling onto the center table. In the center of the tray mounds of chocolate ice cream filled a huge bowl. Around the edges of the tray were smaller bowls over-flowing with every ice cream topping imaginable.

  “You will have two minutes,” continued the girl, “using only the items on the table, to make the best sundae possible. Whoever does not measure up will be eliminated!”

  The Supreme Chef floated into the middle of the room, hovering above the table, and his voice boomed, “Round two, Allez cuisine!”

  The contestants raced to the center of the room to start the challenge. Amy grabbed a scoop and an empty bowl and served two generous dollops. She surveyed the toppings—whipped cream, bananas, sprinkles (chocolate and rainbow), gummy bears, mini M&M’s, salted peanuts, and chocolate drops. Amy had only a moment to consider and decided on all of them.

  Judging from how the others were grabbing—they all had the same plan.

  In no time, the buzzers went off, signifying that their time was up. Amy had a mess in the bowl but it looked like a pretty tasty mess.

  The video said, “alight contestants, ready? We have a very special guest for this round—the ten year old child-star sensation, Shirley Sunshine! Star of such blockbusters as “Honey I Blew the Kids,” “Big Trouble in Little Vagina,” and many others.”

  On the far side of the room, a giant door opened in the shadows letting in blinding amounts of white light and a healthly dose of dry ice fog. A silhouette of a small girl skipped into the arena and the door closed behind her.

  The girl bobbed her way into the main light. Her curly red hair bouncing as she walked. Dressed in a poufy and frilly dress, she looked like any other little girl, but for the heavy and dark bags under her eyes and the track marks on her arms. She arrived at the center display of ice cream and the dull, glazed look in her eyes lifted.

  “Good evening Shirley, are you ready for some ice cream?”

  The girl nodded and visually salivated.

  “Sliceatron, present your creation.”

  The Cyborg handed his sundae over and Amy’s mouth dropped open. The ice cream was smoothed out on the bottom of the dish providing a base for a diorama he’d created of two dozen gummy bears reenacting the Battle of Gettysburg.

  The girl paid little attention to the elaborate display and dug in viciously, her spoon doing more damage than any gummy cannon could even hope. After a few greedy spoonfuls, she put the bowl back on the table and announced, “Next!”

  “Amy, you’re up,” said the video girl.

  Amy handed her mess of a dessert to the little girl. She took two tiny mouthfu
ls and her eyes wandered over to leftovers of Sliceatron’s display.

  “I like the sprinkles in the gun wounds,” she said.

  Oh, shit. This isn’t going well.

  She took a few more weak bites and then put the bowl back on the table. “Next!”

  “OK, Buffo, you’re up,” said the video girl.

  The clown bounded over to the girl with an exaggerated wobble to his step and a comically huge smile on his face. He got down on one knee and presented the bowl to the girl. The sundae looked average—nothing special about it at all.

  As Shirley ate, Buffo produced a handful of balloons from some hidden pocket. He stretched one out and began to blow it up. He twisted and knotted the long narrow balloon into the shape of a sword.

  The girl shoveled in the ice cream while she watched mesmerized. As she took her next bite, Buffo poked her in the belly with the sword and she giggled. She put the ice cream on the table and clapped, “Next!”

  This was not looking good for Amy. I just hope that monkey fucks up.

  “OK Mindy, you’re the final competitor this round,” said the video girl.

  Shirley walked over to the gorilla and the beast bent down over the bowl. She took it, patted Mindy on the nose, and giggled.

  She took a spoonful of ice cream, stuck it in her mouth, and froze. The expression on her face went from happy, to confused, to enraged. She threw down the spoon and spit the ice cream out of her mouth.