Objects of Worship Read Online Free PDF Page A

for the soul. They make me feel . . .
I dunno . . . complete or wholesome or something. And even
the neighbours, who were antagonistic when we first got
Scott, have been adopting fleshie children, too.” George
was getting wrapped up in what he was saying, talking
more rapidly. “For example, just next door, the Fespers
have adopted three children. Three!” He shook his hand to
emphasize his point, and a morsel of flesh snapped off his
index finger and fell to the floor.
    “Now, there’s a real sense of community in the
neighbourhood. There never was before. People throw
parties and invite the neighbours to meet their new
children. That kind of thing. There’s never a moment
without at least some screaming on our street. And it feels
so right, so natural.”
    “I’m very glad to hear that, George. But I don’t understand
what your problem is.”
    “Well . . . I’ve been thinking about the appalling conditions in the factory farms, and all that. And . . . And I
think I want to do more. I want to help change things. Make
this a better world for others like Scott, for the fleshies.”
    The preacher stayed silent, scrutinizing George.
    He fidgeted in his chair. “Did I say something wrong?”
    “No. Absolutely not. Have you gone crazy?”
    George couldn’t understand why Raymond was so
upset.
    “You’re going to get arrested. And where would that
leave poor little Scott, with you in jail and only me to look
after him?”
    “But, Raymond, I’m doing this for Scott, so that he can
grow up in a better world. I thought you’d be proud of me.
That you’d want to do this, too. You’re always talking about
this fleshie rights stuff. Arguing with me to see things your
way. And now I do. I really do. And I want to do something
about it. Talk isn’t enough. It won’t change the world
without action to back it up.”
    “That doesn’t mean that I condone this kind of . . .
of
terrorism.
It’s
criminal,
George.
Plus,
your
first
responsibility should be to your family. To me and little
Scott.”
    George
was
getting
angry
and
impatient.
First,
Raymond fought with him because George didn’t believe in
animal rights, and now they were arguing because, more
than simply spouting slogans, George actually wanted to
do something to help the fleshies. Before he could stop
himself, he yelled at Raymond, “You’re such a hypocrite.
Such a coward. You don’t really want what’s best for Scott,
just what’s best for yourself!” And, with that, he stomped
outside and drove away, to the rendezvous point the
preacher had given him.
    The preacher said that they were going to hit a fleshie
factory farm. Blow up walls and liberate the fleshies. Make
the authorities notice that people really cared about this,
that it wasn’t just empty rhetoric.
    There were nine of them altogether. George recognized
some of them from church. They split up in three vans. One
of the vans, not the one George was in, was loaded with
explosives. They were going to aim that van at the wall of
the farm. The explosion should blow a hole big enough to
let the fleshies escape. In the confusion, they’d slip in and
make sure all the fleshies were freed. There shouldn’t be
too many people at the plant. They’d chosen a religious
holiday for their operation: the first day of the Week of the
Sacred Meteors.
    Well, that was the plan.
    The first part went off well. They drove far out of town,
to where the factory was. The driverless van hit the wall.
It exploded. It brought the wall down. They waited a few
minutes, but no fleshies ran out. In fact, no-one ran out.
    Confused, the group advanced toward the factory. They
walked through the damaged wall and into the building.
Inside, they saw that the van had hit the security guard’s
office. His head had been torn off his body. It lay on the
floor in the doorway to the corridor.
    As the animal liberators walked by, the head said, “Hey!
Who are you guys? What the flesh is going on here?”
    The group ignored