Meatopocalypse

The first splat went unnoticed. At least, that’s what Lisa told herself when she heard the sound against her umbrella. Probably a fat raindrop, she thought, or maybe a bird had gotten unlucky.

She froze mid-step at the dull, wet thud at her feet when the second impact occurred.

“What the hell?” she whispered, leaning down. A raw chicken breast lay in the puddle, its pale pink flesh slick with rainwater.

“Lisa, are you coming?” called Jeff from up the street. He waved from under the awning of the coffee shop where they’d agreed to meet.

“Uh, yeah,” Lisa replied, though her voice wavered.

She straightened up, clutching her umbrella tightly, and hurried toward him, trying not to look back at the piece of meat. Her shoes splashed through shallow puddles, but the squishy texture of something underfoot made her stomach churn. She didn’t stop to see what it was.

“You okay?” Jeff asked as she ducked under the awning. He handed her a steaming cup.

Lisa nodded, her lips tight. “Something weird just happened. There was a…” She hesitated, searching for a way to make it sound less kooky. “A piece of chicken. On the sidewalk.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Like someone dropped it? Happens all the time. People are gross.”

“No,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “It fell. From the sky.”

He laughed. “What, like a chicken thunderstorm? Maybe you need more sleep. Or less caffeine. You’re starting to sound like that conspiracy guy on YouTube.”

As if on cue, another splat interrupted their conversation. This time, Jeff saw it too. A bloodied steak landed just inches from his shoe, smearing crimson across the wet pavement.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Is this… like, extreme meal prep gone wrong?”

Lisa’s heart raced. “I told you! It’s…” She trailed off as more objects began to fall. Drumsticks, pork chops, ribs, and ground beef patties rained down, plopping onto cars and bouncing off umbrellas.

A woman screamed as a bone-in ham smashed into her stroller. The infant inside wailed, its cries blending with the cacophony of squelching meat hitting concrete.

Jeff grabbed Lisa’s arm. “We need to get inside. Now.”

Meanwhile, over in suburbia, a group of snowmen stood rigidly under the bizarre downpour. They had gathered for what should have been a festive snowball-making session, but things had taken a dark turn.

“Hey, Frosty,” said one snowman, his coal eyes narrowing as a suspiciously fleshy snowball rolled past. “Does this snow feel… chewy to you?”

Frosty bent down, inspecting the snowball. His carrot nose twitched. “This ain’t snow, Jerry. This here’s meat. Ground chuck, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What in the name of Jack Frost?” Jerry exclaimed, brushing bits of steak off his snowy torso. “Who ordered the carnivore special?”

A third snowman, taller and slightly lopsided, chimed in. “This is why I never trusted global warming. First, the glaciers melt. Now we’ve got a beef blizzard.”

The sky darkened further, and slabs of pork belly began to pelt the ground, sticking to the snowmen like unwanted accessories. One snowman yelped as a particularly fatty piece slapped against its middle section. “Great, now I’m marbled! Do I look like a ribeye to you?”

Frosty waved his stick arms. “Alright, everyone, stay frosty! We need a plan. Jerry, barricade the igloo. Lumpy, start packing meatballs for ammo. We’re snowmen, dammit—we don’t get grilled!”

Lisa and Jeff shoved their way inside the coffee shop, the doorbell jingling frantically as panicked patrons crowded. Meat slapped against the windows, leaving greasy smears. A sirloin slid down the glass, its marbled fat gleaming under the streetlights.

“What’s happening?” someone shouted.

“It’s gotta be a prank,” another person offered, though their voice trembled.

“A prank? Are you kidding me?” Lisa snapped. “You think someone’s flying a drone full of meat around? This is… this is unnatural.”

The barista, a wiry man with a nervous tic, turned up the volume on the small TV mounted in the corner. The emergency broadcast signal blared, followed by the shaky voice of a news anchor.

“…reports coming in from across the city of an unprecedented weather phenomenon. Authorities are urging everyone to stay indoors and avoid contact with the… material. Early analysis suggests…” The anchor paused, visibly struggling to maintain composure. “…biological origins, though the source remains unknown.”

A loud thump made everyone jump. A side of beef had landed on the roof, its weight bowing the ceiling tiles. Lisa gripped Jeff’s arm, her nails digging into his jacket.

“We can’t stay here,” she whispered. “What if it gets worse?”

“Worse?” Jeff hissed back. “What’s worse than a goddamn meat storm? A barbecue apocalypse?”

Back in the ‘burbs, the snowmen’s situation had escalated. Frosty and his gang had retreated to the safety of a shed, but the meatstorm wasn’t letting up.

“This is a nightmare,” Jerry muttered, poking a sausage link hanging off his arm. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Keep it together,” Frosty barked, shoving a rack of ribs out of the doorway. “We’ll fight our way out if we have to. Remember, snowmen don’t melt—we endure.”

Just then, a steak slammed into the window, shattering it. Lumpy peeked through the hole. “Uh, Frosty? I think the meat’s… moving.”

Outside, the snow-covered yard writhed with life as fleshy tendrils emerged from the piles of fallen meat. One lashed out, coiling around a tree. The snowmen watched in horror as the tree toppled, leaving a smear of grease behind.

“Welp,” Jerry said, backing up. “Guess we’re the side dish now.”

Frosty grabbed a pair of tongs from the corner. “Not on my watch. If they want us, they’ll have to eat cold cuts!”

As the rooftop trembled beneath Lisa and Jeff, they exchanged a final glance. “Do you think this is happening everywhere?” Lisa asked.

Jeff looked to the horizon, where the strange light flickered. “I don’t know. But if the snowmen can hold out, so can we.”

Lisa blinked. “What?”

“If they can survive snow falling on them as snowmen, then we can survive meat falling on us,” Jeff said, trying to cut the tension.

“I don’t get it,” Lisa said.

“Never mind,” Jeff said quickly. “Let’s just go.”