Primal Estate: The Candidate Species

by Samuel Franklin

  Rick then asked himself, which of those are made possible through intensive agricultural practices? Certainly milk, but definitely eggs, peanuts, soy and wheat were the most affected by modern agricultural practices. Then he asked himself, which ones are the biggest part of our diet? And his answer, at least personally, was simple: wheat and soy. His doctors had already tested him for these things with negative results. He would conduct his own tests, the only real test, not contrived in a laboratory, but a test involving his own body

  Rick was very motivated because he knew that at the rate his mind and body were deteriorating he would eventually lose his job, and become an invalid. His limbs were wracked with pain. His muscles were weakening, squirming under his skin and twitching all over his body. His headaches were getting worse, and he was often dizzy to the point of falling down. His hands and feet were always numb and vibrating. He would wake in the middle of the night covered in sweat, the sheets soaked through with what seemed like a puddle of slime. He could take his own pulse by simply sitting still, and feel it throbbing in his body. Shooting pains randomly cut across his flesh and aches seemed to erupt from the marrow of his bones. He was often angered quickly and easily over very little, and didn’t know if it was from his pain induced sleep deprivation, or a fundamental change in his hormones or brain. He couldn’t concentrate, learn, or remember anything. He was making increasingly bad decisions at work that could potentially have life or death results. Even typing a few words or sitting still in a chair for ten minutes was torture. He would never be able to endure writing the novel he’d always wanted to. He’d begun to lose control of his bowels, at times, waking in the morning lying in his own feces.

  Rick devised a plan. First he ate nothing for a few days. This was easy for him to do because at that stage, not eating simply meant he wouldn’t wake up in his own shit. Always a good thing, he thought.

  After three days, Rick felt better. This convinced him that food might be the problem. Then he decided to cut wheat and soy out of his diet. Almost immediately he had no bowel issues, after a week his headaches were gone. After two weeks the tingling in his arms and legs had lessened, and the numbness was gone. After a month, his energy was back. After six months his muscles twitched less and on and on with most of his symptoms. In the meantime, he’d educated himself about all the ailments that people suffer, searching information that included the term wheat, soy, and their constituent parts that people suspected gave them problems. And a coherent model began to develop. The mass of modern humanity generally made predominant in their diet foods that were not intended for the species. They were not designed to eat these foods. They were as horses eating meat, or lions eating grass.

  Rick began to see these diseases for what they were. Obesity wasn’t a condition caused by gluttony, or the old and discredited “calories in, calories out” theory. It was a poisoning of continual starch induced insulin spikes and the resulting inflammation. All the autoimmune diseases weren’t caused by genetics and ethereal environmental toxins, they were the result of unsuitable food substances creating an environment in the gut that results in a dysfunctional digestive system, allowing into the bloodstream foreign material, and activating the immune system. The intestines were at once too permeable, letting in undigested proteins, and yet unable to absorb vital, necessary nutrients. It was all so simple; the correct foods for a species. Consume the foods the species was designed for, and health is the result. Consume what was not originally meant for a species and the animal will become unfit, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and painfully, until the body’s systems are overwhelmed.

  When he searched with the correct terms, all the information was there, the existing scientific literature explained it all, and yet it seemed few paid attention to it, even most doctors. All they’d wanted to do was give him drugs. Rick was both incredulous and angry.

  He then changed his diet even further from what everyone else usually ate to what he thought would be a natural diet, what man could collect or kill, mostly animal proteins, meat and organs, with a variety of edible plants. But they had to be plant genera to which no one, or at least very few, had allergic reactions. Rick lost some of the allergies he had, and realized through experiment and research that proteins in wheat were allowing the permeability that led to his allergies of other foods.

  This diet served him well, resulting in an almost complete elimination of his symptoms over a period of a few years. The way of eating was simple, it had only a handful of rules that were easy to remember because they were rules that had previously been imposed by the natural environment due to availability. Eat when hungry, if you can’t, hunger is not bad. Eat only nutrient dense foods, avoiding starchy plants with negligible nutrition like potatoes and grains. Eat whole vegetable and animal based foods as naturally created as possible. Put nothing in the mouth that requires an ingredients list. Seek out variety. Consume, in quantity, natural fats, even saturated. Rick realized that this manner of eating had been his heritage for the last half million years, at least.

  Then, as if it couldn’t get any better, it did. Rick realized that occasionally, probably more than occasionally, over the course of his evolution, man would have tolerated periods without food. This would happen on a regular basis, he reasoned, probably between hunting forays. Those humans’ bodies that found a use for this period of not eating would have an advantage over those that merely lost energy and grew weak. So nature found a use for the period of not eating. Nature hates a void. It always seems to find a use for everything. It could even find a use for scarcity.

  When Rick fasted for a day his body’s attention withdrew from digestion and his immune system calmed, focusing instead on fine tuning other structures. His body moved into repair mode. Efficiency and quality became his body’s way. Profound changes took place.

  Rick found himself eating half the food he had normally consumed, and he enjoyed it more. He never seemed to get thirsty and figured his body used water more efficiently. He figured he had fewer wastes to process. Rick only did his quick morning sprint along with his few other exercises and yet managed to stay fit and lean. He didn’t need to spend hours at the gym.

  When a meal was especially good, he gorged and amazed people by the large quantities he’d eat. Then other days he would eat nothing at all. He never suffered from hunger, even on fast days. He grew healthy, and never got sick, not even the flu or the common cold. This was mankind’s right, his intended inheritance, to have his sustenance be his ally, not his foe. Agriculture, making both appropriate and inappropriate foods interminably available, had robbed humanity of this birthright.

  Why hadn’t the doctors told him of this, he wondered? He searched, and discovered the answer to that too. Doctors don’t study nutrition. Even gastroenterologists, students of the digestive system, seemed to believe that food had little to do with the health of that system. The patient’s problem was instead, some kind of disease. Rick was incredulous.

  From that point on, Rick lost faith in doctors. They had offered him only drugs that would have confused his body’s systems, allowed his underlying problems to continue, and destined him to a life of misery. Instead, Rick had used his own mind, his own logic to save himself, when the accumulated medical knowledge of the last couple hundred years had utterly failed him. How many millions had they also failed, and how long would this continue? How could this be?

  Chapter 11

  FrIday afternoon, fIrst contact

  Rick pulled into his parking spot on the mesa above Ruin Canyon. He’d decided to take leave from work so he could get there by the afternoon. The weather was still mild and he wanted to hunt during sunset in that canyon. He knew he probably wouldn’t see the lion again, but he still wanted to get it out of his system. It was something he had to do.

  As usual there was no one around, as the area was only infrequently used by hunters and cowboys. Rick went through his routine, and before long he was at the bottom of the canyon cliff. As was his custom, he
took a different route to the same general location where he encountered the lion before, but not the exact same spot. He set up his position and began to call. Far in the distance, he saw movement. Curious as he was, he broke with protocol and lifted his binoculars to get a better look. Sometimes a simple action changes more than it should. His life would never be the same.

  Near the edge of the canyon wall, to the east, from the side he had come, Rick saw a man. He appeared to be wearing a kind of collar that covered his shoulders and a skirt or kilt, which appeared to be gold, and sandals on his feet. As soon as Rick got a good fix on him with his binos, the man looked directly at him and pointed. Rick couldn’t imagine that he was pointing at him and wondered what was behind him. There was no one in between them. The whole situation was so bizarre that Rick thought maybe there were some people from California out there filming something weird.

  Suddenly the man started running at a speed that Rick thought strange. His first impression was that people don’t run like that. Rick followed him with his binos and led him forward in the direction of his sprint. In a moment that horrified him, Rick saw the target of a pursuit; it was a cougar running away!

  Rick had the feeling someone was playing a joke on him. He blinked hard with his eyes still at the binoculars. Yes, the man was running after the lion. Leaping across boulders, around bushes, and through trees; the man closed with the lion.

  The first contact was a smack to the rear of the cat with a powerful sweep of his hand. The cougar sensed this coming and turned its head as it ran, to snarl at the assailant. The hit to its hind quarters set it slightly off balance and gave the man an advantage in speed for closing the contact. The cougar sensed this and lifted its paw in mid leap to swipe back.

  Rick could sense the cat’s terror. Rick felt terror. Western mountain lions ran from men, yes, but were never chased by them, let alone seen by them. It was as if some ancient nightmare that the lion’s genetic memory harbored, reacting on impulse, had come true and the man was again the superior predator. The lion was frantic. Rick could feel it as he watched in horror. This thing did not happen.

  The man caught the lion’s front paw swat with a sweeping slap to that forearm. This sent her spinning in a midair turn to engage a killer that could not be outrun. The man followed this hit with a grab to the lion’s chest with one hand, and while reaching across with his other hand, he swiped across the throat of the cat in one swift motion. The two tumbled together in a pile of limbs, fur, and dust. Out of the red cloud he rolled to his feet, a man of considerable stature. He looked down on a crumpled mass of fur, reached up over his shoulder, and pulled a prickly pear out of his back. The lion was pawing at the ground in fits. She twisted onto her back and lashed with claws at the air, kicked her rear legs as if to keep running, and was then still.

  Rick was having problems with what he was seeing. It should have been the opposite. He felt confused. He wanted to look away and look back to see something different, but he couldn’t make himself. This was a man. He killed a cougar. He ran her down. This does not happen.

  The man looked up, directly at Rick. He looked at me again! I’m hundreds of yards away. How could he look at me? Rick felt as if this situation had been staged. I should run now! This was impossible. He’d catch me. How could this be happening?

  As the man stood over the cougar, Rick wondered what to do. He felt panic rising in him and the fear of succumbing to it. He considered going back to his Jeep. He just might run the whole way. He was instinctively scared of this person who had the capability of running down a wild cougar and killing it. The only person who would do such a thing so efficiently must have done it, or something like it, before and have the confidence and ability that he could do it again. Such a man was extremely dangerous. On top of all this, he seemed to be staging it for Rick to see, unless there was a film crew somewhere and this was some kind of elaborate reality show stunt. Rick’s mind was racing for options. He was trying to fit an unnatural occurrence into the realm of reality. He couldn’t do it.

  Rick’s rational mind took over. He decided that this must be what it was. A man unknown to him had actually run down a wild mountain lion. What would he do with such a man? Rick knew. In a moment of resignation that enabled Rick to bury his fear, he stepped out of the bush where he’d been hiding. He would have to speak to him. This man was not pointing to someone behind him. Rick knew there was no one there. He was pointing to Rick. This man was there for him. He was demonstrating for an audience. And Rick was the only one around.

  A sudden sensation overwhelmed him in flashes of comprehension. Rick realized that from this point on, his life would never be the same. The quiet retirement that he had looked forward to was gone. He had resigned himself to a boring existence into oblivion, but he could now see that this was threatened.

  He would confront this man because it was his duty. It was the responsibility he had been subject to his whole life but had rarely called on him. He now had to answer that call, and he felt old, simple, and dumb. Why had something like this come so late in his life? Those first steps in the direction of the dead cougar were the most tormented he’d ever taken.

  As he walked, Rick tried to get control of himself. He realized he had an M4 with at least twenty-four rounds in it. He had his revolver. He was well armed, and the lion killer didn’t appear to have any weapons. No matter how fast he could run, he couldn’t outrun a bullet. That thought just made Rick feel worse. This stranger had just killed a lion with nothing. The man was alternately examining his kill and looking at Rick as the distance closed.

  At fifty meters, Rick realized he didn’t know what he was going to say. Was this man poaching? That was stupid. Give him an award, not a citation. Rick held his M4 close to his chest, relieving his shoulder of the weight of the sling. At forty meters, Rick clicked the selector to fire. The small sound seemed to echo through the canyon and the stranger looked up. Rick would keep his distance, not pose a threat, and get as much information as possible. He’d wish him good day. Then he’d get the hell out if the man would let him. Rick had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t go down that way.

  At twenty-five meters, sound came from Rick’s mouth and he regretted it before he could stop. “You from around here, stranger?” What a fucking idiot I am. Who am I, John Wayne? Is this Silverado? Of course he’s not from around here, you idiot! Men from Cortez don’t hunt in gold skirts and sandals. People from around here don’t run down lions on foot! His question hung in the air until the stench of its absurdity made Rick feel like a schoolboy. The man did not answer, which made it even worse, but only stood, as though he was savoring his kill.

  Until now, Rick realized his main concern had been about his own safety. Would he be attacked? Would he get away? Why was he approaching this obviously dangerous person? Rick hadn’t been assessing this threat. He focused. The best he could tell was this man stood about six foot three, two hundred thirty pounds, evidently thickly muscled under just a gold and blue fabric collar around his neck and shoulders. It seemed almost glued on. The skin around his right shoulder revealed heavy scarring from what must have been a devastating wound. Parallel line scars elsewhere on his body hinted it was from a previous hunt and seemed to indicate that not every lion he’d killed had been as easy as this one. He was bald and clean shaven, his features were strong and thick. Rick seemed to be looking at a cross between Mr. Clean and a giant, hairless Neanderthal. A kilt-like skirt covered him from the waist to just above the knee and he wore what looked like sandals designed for combat, with covered toes and sides. He had a kind of gauntlet on each of his forearms.

  Rick stopped at twenty meters. He figured that even if this man rushed him, he could level his rifle and…Rick realized he was too close to this unknown threat. He’d been using standards for a normal human adversary. But this man had inhuman speed. Shit.

  Rick stood still and waited. Alright, Mr. Clean, he thought. You want to be the silent type? I’ve got all afternoon. Rick thought
about home and Carson, and getting back safely. Rick waited.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Clean took a deep breath. Rick tensed and noticed, as Clean moved slightly, there were, projecting from the gauntlet down the back of each hand, two long, gently-curved blades with large wavy serrations down one edge, extending about eight inches beyond his hands, bloodied and starting to dry. So he did have a weapon. He was like a tall, hairless Wolverine in a dress!

  As he moved, Rick raised his rifle to cover him. The giant looked at him and smiled as he reached down and began to un-crumple the cougar. “Would you like to help me skin her?” He asked in perfect American English.

  Rick was surprised and wasn’t sure why. “No thanks,” he responded immediately, revealing his controlled fear. Rick wished he’d waited longer to reply, as if he’d had the courage to consider the invitation.

  The stranger stooped over the cat, his back to Rick, and with his long curved knives extending from his gauntlet, began expertly dressing the animal. He tied it by its front paws from the large scrub cedar next to him. First he skinned it, placing the hide below it, flesh side up. There was very little blood as he’d killed it with a slash to the throat. He gutted it and put all the organs on the hide, carefully protecting them from the dirt. He picked up the liver from this pile and took a large bite from it. Rick had leaned against a boulder to rest while he waited patiently, forgetting momentarily the unnatural speed he’d witnessed.