In a previous farmpunk story, you got to read about a farmer and his neighbor waging war on each other with beafed up machinery. Today's farmpunk tale isn't quite as punk, but it mixes high tech with farm living in a unique way. I hope you like Racioppa's Revenge.

Warning: Some profanity coming your way.

Image from Pixabay.

Racioppa's Revenge

Sam Racioppa lifted his PVC shooter barrel at a 45-degree angle and pulled the trigger. He watched the shaved corncob fly through the air toward the platform he'd set up in the field. It landed with a solid thud and slid toward the hole at the top of the platform, stopping inches from it and spinning to a stop.

"How's the job treaten ya?" He asked his son Trent, who stepped up to the shooting line and aimed skyward toward the cornhole.

"Not bad," he said as he squeezed the trigger. He watched the corncob slide midway up the platform and stop dead center, blocking the hole. "It's running around money."

"I know we've had our differences, son, but I'd really like it if you came and helped me out some. I could use another set a hands."

They stopped and glared at each other. They had both been in a lot of pain since Sam's wife died in a tractor accident two years before. Trent didn't blame his father, but he found himself distanced from the older Racioppa. Likewise, Sam didn't blame Trent. It had been a freak accident. Both men simply receded into their own psyches and shut each other out.

"I have a date tonight."

"I'm not asking fer help tonight. I mean, generally. You help Nickenbach." After a short pause, he added. "Trent, he's kicken my ass. I've got to do somethen or I'll lose the farm."

"He pays me, Dad. It's not great money, but I can spring for my own gas."

"How bout fifty percent? Equal partners."

Trent scratched his head. It was the first time his father had ever mentioned joining the business. When his mother was alive, he'd helped a lot, but it was never for pay. The older man looked sincere. Trent thought in a sad way, actually, and was tempted to say he'd do it, if for any reason out of pity.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow," he said. He started to walk away then turned and glanced back at Sam. He could see the question burning in the old man's eyes. He bit his lip and spit out the answer. "Modified fruit. Peaches, apples, pears, tomatoes. Huge ones. Nothing you got here. After harvest, he cans them, sells them by the case." At that he turned and hopped into his pickup and left the farm.

Sam dropped his shooter beside where Trent had left his on the ground and raced inside. He ran to the fridge and grabbed a beer, popped the top, and chugged it halfway down. Then he tossed the rest into the kitchen sink and ran to the barn.

_{Image from Pixabay.}

Stopping short of the barn door, he whipped out his cell phone and slid his thumb across the screen. He could hear the tractor in the field start. Its engine roared, cranking out an old-age sputter. The tractor jerked and rolled across the field. Sam watched it as it spit hay bales from its rear end every thirty feet. After crossing the field, it turned around and went across in the opposite direction. Sam stepped into the barn and pulled a drone off the wall. He placed it on the table in the center of the barn.

"Okay, Pigeon," he spoke into his phone. "I want ya to visit Nickenbach. Circle the barn until I say otherwise."

"Sure thing, Sam." The pre-recorded voice spoke in a female British accent. It annoyed Sam, but he'd grown used to it. He watched as the drone exited the barn and flew toward the neighbor's farm. He stepped outside and watched it hover over Nickenbach's barn at the top of the hill.

"Set video," he said into his phone. "Record." He swiped his thumb across the screen again and watched the moving images of the ground around Nickenbach's barn. All he could see was chickens pecking the ground on one side and some cows on another side. Otherwise, it all appeared quiet. "Fifty feet out, face the loft."

Pigeon maneuvered itself into position. Inside the barn loft Sam could see movement but couldn't make out what it was. "Closer," he ordered. "Slow." Pigeon inched closer until Sam ordered it to stop.

In the dark shadows of the loft Sam could see a figure he swore looked like Trent. The figure was hunchbacked. It appeared to be bouncing. He kept watching, hoping to get a better look. Finally, he convinced himself it was Trent. But Sam couldn't tell what the figure was doing. Was he with someone? "Closer, Pigeon."

The drone moved in. Sam's eyes fixed on the phone screen, honing in on the movement of the silhouette on the screen. After a long minute he could make out what was going on. Trent had Nickenbach's daughter on her back, pushing himself into her.

"Fuck."

"Which one?" Pigeon asked.

Sam caught what he had just said. "Nevermind. Return home." On his phone he caught a clear picture of the girl, Marisa, turning her face toward Pigeon just before the drone rose above the barn and disappeared. He watched her push Trent off and was almost to her feet before the viewing ended. "Camera off."

Sam slumped to the ground, almost in tears. He was afraid he might have to tell Trent the secret he had been keeping for nearly eighteen years.

Pigeon glided to a stop on the barn table. Sam took her and placed her on her nail on the barn wall and scurried to the house. He grabbed another beer and waited. It was well past midnight before Trent walked in.

"I thought I toll you ta stay away from that slut?"

The house was dark. Trent's silhouette blazoned against the moonlight. The younger man balled his fists.

"Spying on me again, Dad?"

"I wasn't spying. I was—" he caught himself. He didn't want Trent to know he was really looking for the modified fruit the farmer was harvesting. He decided to let it ride.

"I'll see who I want to see. I thought I made that clear." Trent stormed up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door. Sam tossed an empty beer can to the floor. He knew Trent was right. At twenty-two, he didn't need someone controlling his life. But the neighbor's girl was barely seventeen. He had been careful not to tell Trent that Marisa was in fact his half-sister, a secret that only two people knew. He always thought that was all should know.

He raced back to the barn and pulled Pigeon from her perch. His hands jittered as he tooled with her metal claws, rearranging them into a tiny configuration. Satisfied he had them just right, he slipped a match into one of the claws and tied a small stone to the other. "Come on, Pigeon. Light the match." A little off. He readjusted and tried again. "Good girl." He blew out the match and positioned another one in the drone's claw, meticulous in his measurements. "Now, head over to Nickenbach's barn. Fly straight away inside and light the match, then drop it where it will burn the whole damn barn down."

"As you wish, Sam."

Pigeon flew the perfect flight. Sam moved his thumb across his phone screen and ordered the night camera on. He was pleased that Pigeon knew exactly what needed to be done. She flew into the loft, lit the match, and dropped it right where Trent and Marisa had had their dalliance earlier in the evening. He watched Pigeon turn and head back toward the barn loft door. Suddenly, with no notice, everything went black.

"Omigawd."

_{Image from
Pixabay.}

That could only mean one thing. Pigeon must have hit the barn loft wall on the exit. Sam raced toward Nickenbach's property. He knew it wouldn't be long before they'd discover the barn on fire. He ran, huffing and puffing his way up the hill. As he reached the barn, he heard voices coming from inside the house.

"Did you leave another candle out there?" Nickenbach's voice.

"No, Daddy. I haven't used any more candles out there since the last accident."

"Something happened!"

The back door of the house slammed. Sam slid into the smoking barn and retrieved Pigeon. The fire was bright enough to help him see. He scurried out of the barn, and when he reached the slope of the hill that descended to his own property he dropped and rolled like a log. He heard a snap and caught himself with his boot in the mud. When he did, he jammed his leg and grunted, tumbled onto his back.

"Something's out there. Call 911!"

Nickenbach again. This time the voice came from beside the barn. Sam bear crawled up the hill and felt around on the ground for Pigeon's claw foot. He could hear Nickenbach's feet pounding the ground as he raced down the hill. Sam slid into a cubby hole in the side of the hill, hoping Nickenbach didn't think to look for him there. They had played in that cubby hole many times while growing up, but Sam wondered if Nickenbach would search it in the dark. He watched his neighbor looking around, searching for signs of movement in the dark. After coming up empty, he turned back toward the top of the hill and stopped at the same place Sam had earlier heard the snap. Sam watched as Nickenbach bent over and picked up Pigeon's claw then raced back to the top of the hill.

"I know what the hell happened!'

Sam pulled himself out of the cubby hole and was about to run down the hill when something hard clanked against his forehead. He went down like a boxer for the final count. In one split second he felt his attacker on top of him, its metallic fingers grabbing his throat. He struggled to overpower the farmbot, but to no avail. He was no match for its artificial strength.

"Humans always win," he snorted and rolled. He was able to take the dominant position for a second until the bot rolled, using Sam's momentum to get back on top.

"Fuck you, Mr. Racioppa."

The bot's back slammed against a tree, but it continued to manhandle Sam with little competition. Sam spit in the bot's eye, distracting it.

_{Image from
Pixabay.}

"Nice move, Slackjack." The bot kneed his groin. Sam buckled, which caused the bot to lose its grip. Sam managed to seize the moment and dove for cover on the other side of the tree. The bot followed. Sam stuck his leg out and tripped it. The bot fell face down into the mud. Sam pushed his finger into its butt and flipped off the battery cover. The bot tried to roll. Sam placed his foot on the bot's shoulder, reached down, and yanked out the battery.

"Over here!" yelled Nickenbach from the top of the hill.

The bigger man lumbered down the hill. Sam tossed the battery to the ground and ran. He ran hard. Behind him he heard the bot's voice again. "He's in my sights, Nick. Dare I shoot?" The operations override allowed the bot to continue operating as normal for half an hour after its battery dies or is removed. Sam cursed it.

"Hold your fire."

Sam rushed home as fast as he could. As he jumped onto the porch and reached for the door, Trent walked out. The younger man stood in front of Sam, crossing his arms, blocking the doorway.

"What are you doing, Dad?"

Sam pointed to Nickenbach's barn. "Nick's barn caught fire. I'm just trying to help."

Trent glared at his father, his overalls scruffy and caked with mud. The older man was puffing so hard Trent thought his lungs might collapse. He caught sight of Pigeon in Sam's right hand, his grip tighter than a bot's. In Sam's other hand was his cell phone, the video on playback. They looked at the screen at the same time. Sam watched as Pigeon dropped the match and swirled around in a three-sixty degree spin inside Nickenbach's barn. Without a word, Trent pushed past the older man and headed for his pickup. He left the farm and never went back.

Stay tuned, the first ever farmpunk fiction writing #contest is coming your way.