Seed Police

by Gayla Prewitt

  “Well, Dr. Rogers claimed he cured them with an extract he developed from unaltered seeds.”

  “How do we get a hold of this, Dr. Rogers?” Charity Simpson grew more optimistic as the information unfolded.

  “That’s where it gets weird.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Charity.

  “Well, according to the rest of the information in the article, Dr. Rogers was basically dismissed as a quack. The government's disease center's official stance was, his patients suffered no more than allergies. Dr. Rogers' license to practice medicine was revoked, and he basically dropped out of sight.”

  “You're telling me we can't find him.”

  “I’ve done all kinds of searches. It's just as if he vanished. I don't think he’s meant to be found.”

  Dr. Simpson sighed, trying to take in the roller coaster of information she had just received and grieving the loss of renewed hope she had for saving her dying patients. However, there was no time for self-pity as a charge emergency room nurse interrupted the pair.

  “Dr. Simpson, you are needed in the E-R, stat!”

  A small child lay motionless on the E-R table as an emergency nurse worked at a quick pace to restore healthy vitals. A corner of the hospital blanket peeled back, showing flannel pajamas with pink dancing elephants. Caroline Mason stood in the corner, sobbing. Tilley was the little girl fighting for her life. Doctor Simpson began her examination as she questioned the child’s mother. “Has she been sick?”

  “No.” Caroline became thoughtful, wondering if the injury on Tilley’s knee was worth mentioning. “She had a boo-boo on her knee — a rash,” she added, not thinking much about the account.

  “You say she has a rash?”

  “Yes, on her knee,” said Caroline, still not seeing the relevance to Tilley’s current condition.

  The doctored zeroed in on the wound. Caroline Mason continued to share any details that she thought might be helpful. “In the middle of the night, she began screaming and had a fever, so I brought her here. I couldn't get her to wake up.”

  “You did the right thing,” said Doctor Simpson. She directed her next comment to the nurse supervising Tilley’s care. “I want a complete blood workup — everything.”

  “What's wrong with her?” asked Caroline.

  “I don't know, but we have had a lot of patients with similar symptoms — the rash, the fever —unresponsiveness.”

  “She’s going to be okay, isn't she?” Caroline needed to hear reassuring words. The doctor touched the mother’s hand, hoping to soothe the best she could.

  “We'll do all that we can, I promise,” said Dr. Simpson. Caroline acknowledged the doctor’s efforts as she continued to cry.

  Not far from the room, Reverend Cameron inquired at the nurses’ station about the condition of the tiny patient. “No — no, I'm sorry, it would be her daughter, Tilley Mason,” corrected the minister. The pastor had rushed to the hospital upon receiving a call from one of the church leaders. Always the professional, death and illness were often part of the job, but when it came to a child, the minister struggled to keep his composure. Somewhat frantic, he had given Caroline’s name as the patient, which created even more concern when hospital records turned up no such patient. While waiting for the information, the minister spotted Caroline coming from the emergency exam room. With her arms crossed, she collapsed into the wall, her head down, crying.

  “Never mind,” said the reverend, apologizing to the desk nurse. “Thank you.” He hurried over to Caroline and rested his hand on her shoulder. Caroline looked up; realizing the minister was the comforter, she caved into his arms, again sobbing for her little girl. Gathering what strength she had left, she steadied herself, wiping her eyes with her hand.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  “Where's Tilley?” he asked.

  “I am so scared,” she answered, as if on autopilot. “I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her. I pray every day for God to give me the strength to raise her and to keep her safe.”

  “You just keep praying,” encouraged the minister. He grasped Caroline by the shoulders, talking in a soft, soothing tone. “The whole congregation is praying. As soon as I got the message that you were heading to the hospital, I got on the line with Ma Bell, and you know how long her prayer chain is.” He smiled hoping to reassure her. “She has people all over this city praying for your Tilley. You're not alone.”

  Overnight, Caroline continued her vigil next to Tilley’s hospital bed. Monitors tracking vitals and oxygen levels took their place on the right side of the room, while a nurse checked her condition in the intensive care unit. Not allowed to stay in the room, the reverend returned early in the morning.

  “How is she?” he asked Caroline.

  “She won't wake up. I just keep holding her hand, hoping she will open her eyes,” responded Caroline.

  The reverend grasped the mother’s hand. “I’ll be right back,” he told Caroline. He left the room, eager to get some answers.

  The minister approached the nurses’ station, where Dr. Simpson and Phil Wannamaker were talking. The pastor greeted the two with a handshake. “Hello, I'm Ben Cameron,” he introduced himself. “I am checking on the progress of a patient, Tilley Mason.”

  “Are you a relative?” asked the doctor.

  “No, I'm her minister,” he responded.

  “I really can't discuss her condition with you,” said Dr. Simpson.

  “Ben Cameron, aren't you that minister that has been on TV talking about the government food program?” interjected Phil.

  “That would be me,” said the pastor.

  “How ironic that you would be here,” observed Phil.

  “Excuse me?” asked the reverend.

  “We need to talk, but not here!” Once again, in clandestine mode, Phil led the doctor and minister to his lab. Phil began to share some of the information he and Dr. Simpson had discovered concerning the pandemic.

  “You think the food might be making people sick?” Phil questioned the minister.

  “Yes, I do.” said the reverend.

  “Well, we've uncovered some information that seems to point in the same direction.”

  “Phil, we can't discuss patient information,” interrupted Dr. Simpson.

  “I'm not talking about an individual patient, and I think he might be able to help us,” contended Phil.

  “So you know what’s wrong with Tilley and how to treat it?” asked Reverend Cameron.

  “No, not exactly,” conceded Phil.

  “I don't understand,” responded the minister.

  “It seems there was a doctor some years ago that cured his patients of a disease that appears very similar to what we are seeing, explained Phil. “The problem is — we can't find the doctor. We think he’s been hidden away somewhere. And there is another problem,” he added. “He used non-genetically modified seeds to make an extract to treat his patients. We don't even know if any such seeds still exist, and if they do, where to find them.”

  In almost disbelief, the minister looked down, without a word, he gave thanks. His eyes returned to the pair, “God willing, I just may be able to help,” he replied. “What's the doctor's name?”

  Chapter 25

  Knights and Armor

  Meanwhile, the Clarkson and Sanders families remained secluded in the underground bunker. The fugitives had settled for the night when they heard the door latch turning. They feared discovery by government agents until Reverend Cameron appeared in the entrance.

  “I'm sorry, I wouldn't have come, but I need your help,” explained the minister, looking at Congressman Landon.

  A short distance from the bunker, a web café buzzed with business as people came and went. The front windows steamed over from the warmth inside. The glass door, a bell attached at the top, announced the entry of two men from a side street. The men, coat collars up, faces somewhat obscured, slid into a corner booth. One of the men, Congressman Landon, ca
rried a laptop. Still working to conceal his identity, the congressman began typing on his computer, careful not to call attention to himself.

  “This is no good,” said the congressman.

  “What?” asked the reverend.

  “The WiFi's toast.”

  The congressman spotted the router underneath a table two rows over. A young couple sipping lattes occupied the spot.

  “I need to be there. I could plug into the port.”

  Reverend Cameron looked over his shoulder to observe the couple that appeared to be in no hurry to leave.

  “We'll have to wait it out,” said the congressman.

  Just then, a waitress approached the table to take orders.

  “What can I get you, gentlemen?”

  “Coffee, black will be fine. Thank you,” replied the reverend.

  “How bout you?” The waitress quizzed the congressman.

  “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  The reverend flashed the congressman a side-eye glance hoping to encourage him to reconsider, making himself less conspicuous.

  “You know what, I'll have what he's having,” replied Landon.

  “Okay, I'll get those right out.”

  The waitress’s departure left nothing but a long awkward silence between the two.

  “I bet you never thought you would be on this side of the aisle,” said the reverend.

  The congressman shrugged. “How bout you? Did you always want to be a minister?”

  “Oh, I didn't at first. I had a whole different plan for my life.”

  “What was that?”

  “I was going to get my M-B-A and make it big in the business world. I'd seen enough of poverty and violence to last me a lifetime. I wanted nothing more to do with any of this.”

  “What changed your mind?” asked the congressman

  “A basketball game.”

  The congressman looked puzzled.

  “I came home one Christmas break to see my mama,” the minister explained. Talking about it formed the images fresh in his mind. “On the way to my house, I stopped by where a bunch of neighborhood kids was playing basketball. I recognized one of the kids. It was Joey Doza.”

  Mentioning Joey’s name brought warmness to his face. “I had known him ever since he was a little baby. His aunt used to come see my mama a lot, and she would bring him over to play,” he recounted. “We talked for a minute. Then, I headed over to my mama's house, but just before I reached the door — a bunch of gunshots rang out.”

  The pastor paused, reliving the nightmare; he took a few moments to gather his composure. “Then, all you could hear was screamin’ — screaming. I ran over. It was an awful sight. Joey and some other kids were dead. Just two minutes before I was talking to him, and now he was gone — for what?”

  He hesitated once more, the weight of that terrible day written in his eyes. “Then, God spoke to my heart. Yes, I could leave this place and go after my fortune, but that wouldn't really change anything. All the killing would still go on. But, if I came back to share his message of love and hope, maybe that would make a difference. I went back that semester and changed my major, and here I am.”

  The couple in the corner continued to sip their hot drinks, talking and laughing. The congressman moved closer to the minister, almost whispering. “I don't really believe in anything anymore. I tried the tech world. Then, thought public service. I've seen so much corruption and greed. Thought maybe a baby would change things...that's not working out so great either.”

  “I'm sorry. That's tough.”

  “Now, look where I am.”

  “Maybe you just put your faith in the wrong things. People, we're not perfect. We always disappoint somebody. I know someone that sacrificed everything for everybody. That's what I believe in.”

  Just then, the waitress placed two cups of the steaming brew on the table. “Thank you,” said the reverend.

  Now was their chance as the man sitting at the table near the router grabbed the check, just before he and the woman left the café. The congressman and the reverend moved swiftly, sliding into the booth. The congressman plugged a cord into the port, began typing on his computer.

  I’ve been locked out of my account,” explained Jack “But I think I have figured out a back way to get in,” he continued in a hushed tone.

  “You can do that?”

  “Once I'm in, I’ll have about five minutes to find the information we need before they trace our location.”

  “Okay, let's do it,” said the reverend. The congressman began to work his keyboard magic. The minister checked his watch, keeping an eye on the minutes.

  “How we doing?” asked the congressman, still typing.

  “You've got two minutes,” advised the pastor.

  “They’ve really hidden this guy,” said Jack. He shook his head with uncertainty. The congressman continued his cyber quest, knowing moments were ticking away. Dismayed, Jack was ready to give up when his search revealed a promising link. “I may have something. Yeah! Bingo!”

  “What is it?” asked the reverend.

  “An address,” said the congressman.

  “Okay, let's go.” The reverend was anxious to leave.

  “I've got to put a block on this so they can't find what we were looking for,” said Jack. “It’ll give us some time.” His fingers punched the keys. “This should give us about 10 hours before they can crack the code.”

  The two of them were unaware that not far from the café, the sound of military boots pulsed in the dark street. Jack finished his work as the assailants continued to make their way closer to the building. A feeling of uneasiness came upon the congressman as he turned his head to listen.

  A moment later, one of the men kicked open the door to the coffee shop. Agents in dark uniforms swarmed the café. They were too late, the congressman and Reverend Cameron were nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 26

  The Fugitives

  Looking for a place of refuge for the night, Chance and Emily entered an abandoned warehouse. Empty boxes and mounds of trash littered the cold cement floor. Chance gathered some of the paper scraps into a pile to create a soft makeshift bed with pieces of cardboard for covers.

  “I'm going to go see if I can get us some food,” Chance told Emily. “I think I saw a convenience store a couple of blocks from here.”

  “We can't eat that food,” cautioned Emily.

  “We have to eat something.”

  “Okay, but be careful.”

  Moments later, Chance entered the all-night establishment. Bars covered the windows. A flashing neon sign announced open for business. Attempting to look inconspicuous, Chance kept his eyes focused on the shelves of prepackaged food. He made a selection and headed for the counter to pay for the goods. The clerk couldn’t help but notice that Chance seemed nervous, and these days, everyone was a suspect. The store clerk continued to stare at Chance as he handed the employee his money. Chance made a quick exit from the store. The clerk maintained his sights on the teenager until Chance faded into the darkness.

  “What did you get?” Emily asked Chance upon his return.

  “Nothing fancy — but the best that five dollars would buy.” Chance held out his hands for Emily to choose her selection from a few granola bars, a small bag of peanuts, and two bottles of water. He and Emily sat on the floor, devouring their feast. Chance noticed a small half-burned candle in the rubble. He propped the taper between some rocks and lit it.

  “What's the special occasion?” asked Emily, referencing the candlelight dinner.

  “You,” said Chance. With all that they were facing, at the very least, the strong possibility of losing their freedom, Chance was emboldened to tell Emily about his growing feelings for her. He leaned in to give Emily a kiss. Caught up in the moment, Emily at first welcomed his advance, but then thought better of it and pulled away.

  “We should eat before our gourmet meal gets cold,” she smiled, changing the momentum of the moment. After
“dinner,” the couple gazed at the flickering candle. Chance had his arm around Emily, the two nestled against some boxes, reflecting on the day’s events.

  “What do you want to do when this is all over?” asked Emily.

  “I haven't really thought that far,” said Chance. “Maybe get a piece of land of my own. Raise crops — above ground.”

  “I want to travel,” confided Emily. “See the world. Be in a different city every day.”

  “Do these travel plans have room for a friend?”

  “Maybe, but who’s going to take care of all those crops?” smiled Emily. She paused. “We better get some rest.” The pair snuggled closer for warmth and continued to admire the candlelight as the tiny flame lulled the weary travelers to sleep.

  Chapter 27

  A Race with Time

  In Tilley’s hospital room, Caroline Mason kept a diligent watch on her daughter’s grave condition. Dr. Simpson was nearby, monitoring the tiny patient’s vital signs.

  “How’s she doing?” Caroline asked the doctor.

  “I’m concerned that she remains unresponsive, and the latest results from her blood work would seem to indicate the disease is progressing,” replied Dr. Simpson.

  Caroline could bear no more. The tears started flowing again. The doctor grasped the mother’s hand. “I am sorry. We’ll continue to do all that we can,” assured Dr. Simpson.

  Meanwhile, the duo of Cameron and Landon arrived at the address listed as the home of Dr. Benjamin Rogers. The reverend rapped on the front door. The porch light flipped on, and the sound of several deadbolts unlocking greeted the two men. An older man peeked out from a small opening of the door, still chained. His appearance was not what the two had expected. An empty pipe dangled from the side of his mouth, only two buttons remained on his jacket, and his hair could have rivaled Einstein’s.

  “If you're selling something, I'm not interested,” said the man.

  “We need to talk to you about the food disease,” informed the reverend.