Cow tipping. Was that even really a thing? Maddie and Mark weren't sure, partly convinced it was an urban legend they had picked up over the years through the process of cultural osmosis, half-remembered from off-hand references made in old, two-color cartoons from their childhoods, the ones that were not even aired anymore for fear of offending current cultural sensibilities.
So they looked it up on their phones. Turned out, one could push over a sleeping cow, if one were so inclined. And were Maddie and Mark so inclined? A brief, spontaneous conference between the two of them concluded that they were. Mark got his keys, and away they went. What better way to spend a Saturday night in the middle of nowhere, really? The only other options were to drink or screw, and Mark and Maddie had done enough of both for the day.
If they had stopped to think for even a moment, they might have realized that neither of them could exactly pinpoint how they had even gotten on to the obscure topic of "cow tipping" to begin with. To be fair, though, they probably would have chalked it up to the cheap beers they had been drinking all evening, and dropped the matter entirely. That is to say, they were fucked either way.
They had spent the better part of the last hour aimlessly diving through the darkened countryside, in search of easily accessible cows. They had spotted goats, sheep, pigs, and horses, but no cows. Strange, they could have sworn they had seen many a bovine in these hills before, even at night. Were the proverbial little green men on the prowl this evening, beaming them up into their silver flying saucers for God knows what kind of ghastly experimentation? It was as likely an explanation as any for the absence of the beasts of burden they sought. Mark stifled the impulse to check the sky for suspicious lights.
The high beams of Mark's beat-up rusted shit heap of a car had fallen upon the large tin sign for "Io's Farm," the words printed in bold, black letters, when Maddie spotted it in the raised field beyond: a lone, cow-shaped shadow. Giddy as children on Christmas morning, they pulled over, cut the lights, and got out of the car. They cringed as their feet met the gravel surrounding them, although the chances of anyone being within earshot were slim. It was a chilly night, typical of late September, even down in this part of the country. The fact that they were out was odd enough.
They crept around the sign and the quaint wooden fence, using their smartphone's flashlights to guide their way. Fortunately for them, the amount of cracks in their screens, nor the relative ancientness of the devices, had a noticeable effect on the strength of the illumination they produced.
Somewhere off to their right, they could hear the sound of running water. Mark tried to think of what river they could have been near, but none came to mind. Out of curiosity, he tried to open his Maps app, but found only a message proclaiming that he lacked connection to the Internet. He checked the upper right-hand corner of his home screen, and, sure enough, saw those three letters that indicated a total absence of service: SOS.
Oh well, Mark thought. Maybe it was for the better that they were in a communication dead zone. If anyone spotted them, it might be the difference between being arrested and continued freedom.
They could hardly contain their excitement when they arrived at their target: a black and white cow, fast asleep and ripe for tipping. They climbed easily over the low, rotting fence, and placed their hands on the animal's flank after putting their phones in the front pockets of their respective black hoodies. They could feel the great creature's raw physical power as it gently breathed in and out, beneath its blanket of surprisingly coarse fur. They looked at each other, as if to ask: is this "actually going to work?" But had Google ever let them down before? If it had, the memory had been utterly erased by time or the invisible hand of the universe. And if Google couldn't be trusted, what was left, when you thought about it? If that faithful search engine fell, it seemed the whole world might just go right down with it.
They quietly whispered a countdown: "One, two, three", and pushed. The cow, shockingly light despite its size, fell over onto its side, legs stiff as the legs of a chair. It didn't even let out a comical "Moo" as it tipped, as the pair had, for some reason, both expected. Blame it on the faded memories of those retro cartoons, perhaps.
They stared down at the body of the animal, too bemused to react. Eventually, Mark gently kicked its great stomach with his foot, the easiest way he could think of to check the vitality of the animal.
"Uh, I think it's dead," he exclaimed, tapping it again with his mud-stained sneaker, just to be absolutely sure.
"Just from falling over like that?" Maddie asked, confused. "It wasn't even that far! It's not like we pushed it off a fucking building!"
"Maybe it had a heart attack from the shock? It was asleep, right? Remember how they used to say that it was dangerous to wake up a person that's sleepwalking? Maybe it's like that? It was "sleepstanding", right?"
They continued to stand over the prone, still, body of the dead cow. Neither of them were vegetarians, and had had their fair share of cheeseburgers in their time, but they still felt strangely bad for the poor creature. When you were the one personally doing the killing it all registered a bit differently, they had learned.
"Whatever, let's get out of here before someone sees us," Maddie suggested, eager to put this whole, bizarre episode behind them. She was already fantasizing about the unopened cans of beer they still had back at the apartment they shared.
They were about to turn and leave when the field was flooded by a bright, blinding brilliance. The couple instinctively held their hands up to their faces to shield their eyes from the harsh glare, coming from the stadium-style lights they now saw were spaced evenly around the perimeter of the field.
"Hello there!" called out a female voice, in a strangely cheerful tone.
Mark and Maddie lowered their hands to discover the source of the greeting. A few feet away from their "victim", stood a beautiful older woman in brown cowboy boots, tight blue jeans, and a red plaid shirt. Her hair was black and curly, and her skin a few shades darker than Mark's or Maddie's. She looked Italian, or Jewish, or Greek. But she definitely was not a local. Her lack of accent further spoke to that.
Behind her, assembled in a line, were ten men, most dressed in overalls and trucker hats. Some of them had shotguns resting lazily against their shoulders.
"Name's Io, if you couldn't guess," she continued. "This is my farm."
Maddie and Mark were at a complete loss for words. What could they say that would even begin to explain why they were standing over her dead livestock? That was assuming they weren't on camera, which was unlikely, considering the modern-looking main buildings they could now see just past the row of intimidating men, all of whom appeared to be in their mid-30s to late 50s.
"Uh, we didn't mean to kill it," Mark explained, dumbly, as if intent was the only thing that mattered.
"Yeah, we didn't even think it would work," Maddie added. "Tipping it, I mean."
The Woman cocked one of her prodigious hips to the side, and raised a dark, finely-groomed eyebrow.
"Kill what?"
Maddie and Mark looked back down at the cow, as if in silent explanation. Maddie gasped. No, wait, Mark was the one who gasped; it was just high-pitched and girlish enough that it could have been mistaken for Maddie's. Real fear is often like that - it produces reactions that you wouldn't necessarily expect. Maddie, for her part, made no sound at all.
Real fear had reared its ugly head, because what Maddie and Mark found on the ground wasn't the dead cow at all, but a cardboard cut-out of one, the kind you might find at a country fair, erected so that the patrons might take pictures next to it. It was even scuffed, missing paint in places, well-worn from use. But far, far from the living animal it meant to represent. That they had absolutely touched no more than five minutes ago, no matter what "evidence" now lay before them. They could still recall how the rough hair had felt on their bare hands. How could this be? This was impossible, like something out of a movie or TV show!
"I know what you're thinking, sweethearts, but look behind you. That's not the only thing that's changed around here these last few seconds..."
They did, and what they found was, somehow, even worse than the transfiguration of the cow - where before a shoddy, neglected low wooden fence stood, there was now a tall, metal barrier, complete with barbed wire at its apex. Some of the men let out low, dark chuckles, amused by the trespassers' dire misfortune.
"Looks like y'all are screwed, huh?"
Maddie and Mark turned back to the Woman, who had now placed her hands on her wide hips.
"Name's Io, by the way. Kind of an unusual name, I know, but I'm not really from around these parts."
She was using the appropriate terminology, but the lack of twang to go with it was disorientating.
"So let's talk ab-"
