And that’s why they’d always have enough food to eat. Nutritious and safe food.
The Fox smiled. He looked forward to the next town meeting. His followers were already fiercely loyal to him, but with this new development, they would see just how wise they’d been to renounce their previous lives and follow him.
CHAPTER 34
Daphne lay on the couch, hugging Agnes close and trying to let the cat’s rumbling purr soothe her and distract her from her pain. She’d closed all the shades and curtains in her apartment, plunging it into an artificial twilight that matched her dismal mood. Her cell rang, jolting her out of a half-sleep and causing Agnes to hiss and leap from the couch.
“Hello, Ms. Mercer? This is Dr. Adams from Mayo.”
She already wished she hadn’t answered her phone. “Yes?”
“I got the test results back on the Second Nature samples you brought me. They’re consistent with yesterday’s CDC announcement. The valine molecules are reversed, mirror images of what they should look like.”
Daphne still wasn’t sure she’d fully grasped the CDC’s announcement. She closed her eyes and rubbed them. A headache couldn’t be too far in her future. “So, what does that mean?”
“Apparently, the defective soy-based valine disturbs protein synthesis. It’s causing livestock to age prematurely, and it’s causing the drop in shelf life for animal-protein-based products. That problem soy is in livestock feeds—and it’s used in the Second Nature products. Probably in other brands as well. If you eat enough of it, the defective valine in the soy gets incorporated into the structure of the proteins in your body, like skin and muscle, and weakens them.”
“Great, so what can I do about it now?” The headache was gathering behind her eyes and preparing to strike with vicious force. No doubt about it.
Dr. Adams hesitated. “We’re in uncharted territory, but here’s what I’m thinking. I don’t see a quick fix, unfortunately. You need to consume proteins that contain normal valine. No animal- or soy-based proteins are safe—or even available—so that leaves mainly legumes.”
“I’d be happy to do that, but I hear the prices are already shooting up. I hope I can afford to eat enough of them.”
“There is another problem.”
Daphne’s stomach churned. “What?”
“Time. Not only do you need to get adequate levels of good valine into your system, but you also need to process it into properly formed proteins throughout your body, eventually replacing all the improperly formed proteins based on the bad valine. That takes time, and for you it will likely take longer than it would otherwise. The bad valine has compromised most of your bodily functions because of the accelerated aging process that it’s already set up.”
The dull throbbing spread from behind her eyes to her forehead and temples. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it will take time to halt the accelerated aging process, let alone reverse it.” Dr. Adams let out a breath before continuing. “You’re far enough along that I’m worried there may not be enough time left.”
Daphne bowed her head and clamped her eyelids shut to hold back the tears.
After a lengthy, uncomfortable silence, Dr. Adams cleared his throat. “Ms. Mercer, I am truly sorry. I have to be honest with you about your condition. That said, none of my colleagues, nor I, have ever encountered anything like this. My concerns could be overblown. But in the meantime, begin supplementing your diet with legumes right away, and throw out any Second Nature products you may still have.”
“Sure, thanks.”
Daphne hung up and glanced at her watch. The grocery store would still be open. She pushed herself up from the couch and went into the bathroom to swallow some ibuprofen.
She forced herself to scrutinize her reflection in the mirror. Anyone could easily mistake her for a seventy-year-old now. A network of deep lines crisscrossed her face as if she’d spent years lying in the sun without sunscreen. The whites of her eyes were anything but, with their fine red lines and a slight yellowish cast. Streaks of gray shot through her long, dry, brittle hair. She turned her head slightly and wondered if she detected the slight whitish reflection of cataracts.
Daphne pulled into the grocery store’s parking lot and nearly retreated in panic. Every single spot was taken and cars circled around like sharks hunting prey. She’d never seen the place so busy, even on the biggest sale days. She hated crowds and traffic, but figured she had no choice but to tough it out and buy all the legumes she could get her hands on.
After about twenty minutes of frantic circling and near misses, she got lucky and snagged a spot. She got out of the car, took a deep, calming whiff of the slightly cool mid-September breeze, and made her way into the store.
The inside was no better than the parking lot. Slow-moving shoppers clogged the aisles, uncertain as to what to buy now that their normal dietary world had been turned on its ear. She only had to make one change: to get her protein from sources other than soy products. Everyone else had to learn how to live without myriad animal-based products that made up the typical diet. Or used to.
Daphne grabbed a little basket and struggled past the tangle of people to get to the pasta and rice aisle, which would also have lentils and other dried beans. The effort, combined with being constantly jostled by other shoppers, sparked pain in all her joints, and her headache had not abated. She took deep breaths to fend off the dizziness that threatened to overcome her.
She finally arrived at the shelf she needed, only to find that precious few packages of beans remained. And those that remained had been marked up. Ten dollars each.
Daphne didn’t want to think about how much higher prices would likely go, at least for the foreseeable future. She clenched her jaw, snatched the remaining four packages, and headed for the checkout as quickly as the crowd allowed.
CHAPTER 35
Stu Walters, CEO of Cornucopia Technologies, had faced numerous corporate crises over his long career with the BigAg giant, but never anything quite like this. He didn’t believe the joint CDC/USDA announcement blaming faulty valine molecules for the unprecedented break in the food chain. At least, he didn’t believe it until he received the results from Cornucopia’s internal investigation. Somehow, at some point, their line of GMO soybeans had developed the mirror-image valine molecule. No one had ever considered the possibility that something like that would happen, so there’d been no checks in place to catch it.
And now, the entire inventory of the soy in question—seeds as well as processed meal and all related by-products—had to be destroyed. Cornucopia would have to start all over developing a line of soy that contained properly formed valine—no small task. He expected it would be quite some time before Cornucopia’s soy division recovered.
Let alone the food chain itself. Livestock of every kind—beef, dairy, pork, poultry—were dying prematurely. All animal products, even eggs, milk, and cheese, had been declared dangerous to consume and had been pulled from store shelves, as had all soy-based meat substitutes. The commodity markets had collapsed overnight. He needed some big ideas and he needed them now, or he could count on Cornucopia going under. He’d be damned if he’d let that happen under his watch, no matter what it took.
Stu grabbed a pen and pad from his desk drawer, then headed down the hall to the conference room where his senior management team awaited. A palpable wave of tension hit him as he stepped into the room. Their grim faces left no doubt that his team fully grasped the gravity of the situation. He took his seat at the head of the long mahogany table.
“Let’s get right to it, shall we? What about the immediate effects?”
Jamie London, the CFO, cleared her throat. She looked pale and uncharacteristically shaken. “My team’s drilling down into the projections right now. I can already tell you it’s going to be bad, and it’s going to hurt for multiple years. We’re likely to lose two or more crop years while we’re reengineering our soy lines. As you know, the soybean division is—was
—our largest and most profitable division. We’ll lose half our revenue overnight.”
She shook her head and gazed down at her papers before continuing. “I’ll check with the tax attorneys about cushioning the blow with write-offs, but we need to somehow replace that revenue in the interim or Cornucopia may never recover.”
Stu’s shoulders slumped. “Wish I could say that surprises me.” He turned to his chief counsel, Anne Freeman. “What about liability?”
She rested one hand on her legal pad and gazed at him with the poker face she wore in difficult conversations and in court. “We’re still investigating to be sure we’re not missing anything, but we do have some preliminary answers. So far, it appears we’re not in too bad a shape from a liability standpoint. Of course, we won’t be able to perform on our supply contracts, but our standard contract limits our liability to simply refunding any advance payments if we’re unable to perform due to some event beyond our control.”
Stu frowned. “But could someone say our production methods created the problem, and therefore it was within our control?”
Anne’s expression betrayed nothing. “That’s certainly possible, so we’ve already drafted language to refute such assertions if they materialize in the form of contract claims. I’m more concerned about negligence claims for damages resulting from the use of the products, like livestock deaths, damage to farming operations, and the like. The potential monetary liability for tort claims is far greater than under-contract claims, in my opinion. Now, we believe we can assert that such injuries were not foreseeable, and so can craft an effective defense on that basis. Of course, even with a strong position at the ready, there’s still the expense and hassle of responding to the lawsuits, likely in multiple states.”
Stu was glad he had a top-notch, aggressive legal team. He’d hired the best and paid them well. If anyone could handle a slew of suits over this mess, they could. “Thanks, Anne. So what do we do going forward? We have a problem here not just for our bottom line, but for the food supply as a whole. Ideas? Is there any way we can turn this into an opportunity?”
Ken Barnes, head of product development, finished making a note on his pad, then leaned forward and spoke. “You bet. We already have a small aquaculture division. You know, fish farms. They’ve not been on soy-based feed, so they’re in the clear. We can ramp up that division quickly. That’s a nearly immediate win-win. Gives the population a source of safe animal protein, and it capitalizes on an underutilized division.”
Stu weighed the idea for a moment. “But some people don’t like fish, and there’s been some negative press about Frankenfish.”
Eric Regan, head of marketing, set down the pen he’d been fiddling with and grinned. “Oh, I think we can change their minds readily, given every other source of animal protein just disappeared overnight. When there’s no beef or poultry available, fish is going to look mighty good. It’d be a slam-dunk campaign.”
Ken cut in. “And there’s more. We can engage the Biotech division to work on new food products. They’ve been tinkering with some ideas the last few years, but not aggressively pursuing them. When the usual animal-protein products were available, the potential products didn’t look all that appetizing. But now … things have changed overnight.”
“What sort of products, specifically, are you thinking about?” Stu loved a good, rare steak more than about anything, and wondered what could possibly substitute.
Ken stood and began to pace around the table. “Lab-grown muscle tissue. Beef. It still has a ways to go, but this could be the time to put serious resources into it.” He stopped and smacked his fist into his palm. “Also, the Biotech division makes a liquid-diet substitute. You know, for when someone can’t eat solid food for a while after, say, a serious facial injury or stomach surgery. The product provides complete nutrition without a feeding tube or IV arrangement. Obviously, if it’s to be marketable for broader use, it’ll have to be made more appealing.”
Eric made a face. “That could be a bit more challenging to promote.”
Ken turned to him. “Oh, I don’t know about that. We could come up with some better flavors, an appealing product name and packaging. We could sex it up. Think about it. It provides all the nutrients you need; it has a long shelf life. Think of all the time spent preparing meals that could be saved using something like that. What could a person do with all that extra time?”
Eric smiled and nodded. “I see what you mean. That does have some possibilities.” He laughed. “Sure you don’t want to transfer over to Marketing?”
Everyone in the room broke into guarded laughter at Eric’s remark, including Stu. He felt somewhat encouraged by Ken’s proposals and Eric’s enthusiasm for them. He just hoped there wouldn’t be a backlash of consumer distrust, given that it was their soy product that started the whole problem.
But then again, Cornucopia Technologies was the dominant player in both BigAg and BigBiotech. The food problem was real and it was happening now. Only Cornucopia was positioned to develop and produce new products in the needed timeframe and volume. While it was a matter of do-or-die for them, it was probably only a matter of die for their smaller competitors.
Stu smiled. He never would have thought to create this crisis intentionally, but, handled correctly, it did present a fine opportunity to thin the herd and put Cornucopia on top for years to come. Out of an apparent calamity would come success beyond anything he’d ever imagined.
CHAPTER 36
Officer Jim Styles shifted uneasily on his horse. He reached up and adjusted his helmet’s chin strap, even though he had done so seconds ago. He reached down and, in compulsive sequence, touched the gun, the pepper spray, and the handcuffs on his belt. A rookie cop, this was his first protest and he was nervous, even if he would never dare admit it to any of the other officers.
Protests—many of them violent—had spread across the country, most of them taking place in major cities. Word had come down that there would be a street protest in Seattle today, most likely in Pioneer Square, and so a contingent of officers on horseback was stationed at the International District bus stop, waiting.
“Let’s go. It’s starting.” The lead officer waved his arm and led the way down South Jackson Street on his tall bay gelding.
Officer Styles nudged his horse and followed, his heart hammering and his mouth dry. He’d done well in his training, graduating near the top of the class, yet he still felt unsure of himself. The protest might stay peaceful, but what if it got out of hand and turned violent? What if he couldn’t control his horse? He wondered if he’d chosen the right profession as his horse calmly carried him toward Second Avenue.
As the mounted officers rounded the corner and proceeded down the street toward Occidental Park, the crowd increased in size, seemingly from nowhere. The chanting grew so loud, Officer Styles couldn’t hear himself think. He recoiled, wanted to run, to escape the wall of agitated, angry sound that pushed against him like a physical thing.
Protestors shouted in unison, “GMOs have got to go! GMOs have got to go!” The crowd continued to grow and mill around, swelling to fill the street and sidewalks. Traffic ground to a halt as protestors waved hand-painted signs and blocked the road.
“Shut down Cornucopia!”
“Prison for those who destroyed our food supply!”
“Let ’em eat their own poison soy!”
“No more GMOs!”
“GMOs destroy your brain!”
“Back to real food—if you can find any!”
Officer Styles closed his eyes for a moment and tried in vain to calm himself. An adrenaline rush like nothing he’d ever experienced before began to course through his body. His heart pounded; his breaths came in a staccato rhythm. Every muscle tensed, poised for action. He snapped his eyes open again. The crowd seethed along Second Avenue, but was—at least so far—doing nothing threatening, just chanting and holding signs.
A new sensation washed over him as he took in the sight. Somet
hing more than an adrenaline rush. A feeling of incredible strength, and a taut feeling of wanting to do something about it. Normally mild-mannered, he wondered what might be happening to him. Maybe it was nerves, but it felt like something much more serious, something alien.
A protester came toward him, waving a sign that said GMOs WILL KILL US ALL! and chanting “GMOs have got to go!” The sight of the man—his hair shaggy, his mouth open wide, his sign raised high—triggered something in Officer Styles, something he didn’t know existed within him.
A sudden rage out of all proportion swept through Officer Styles like a wildfire devouring tinder-dry brush. A reddish glow tinged his vision as something vicious pumped through him and took over. Almost of its own volition, his right hand drew his gun, then aimed. The protester dropped his sign, held up his hands and stumbled backward onto the pavement. He tried to scuttle away, out of the line of fire.
Officer Styles pulled the trigger, and the protester’s head blasted apart in a satisfying spray of red. He smiled, then aimed at the other protestors and fired until he emptied his gun.
The crowd exploded into action. Some ran screaming, bashing into others in their desperate attempt to flee. Others reacted differently. They attacked those around them with whatever they had available: fists, knives, and guns. Officer Styles climbed down from his horse and joined them.
Until a bullet slammed into the back of his head.
CHAPTER 37
Gretchen cringed on the couch, clutching a wriggling Lara in her arms and sinking back into the cushions as if trying to physically avoid his words.
“I’m afraid.”
Kyle stood before her, his professional training at war with his personal feelings. They all needed to be tested. Immediately. And action taken, depending on the results. Lara didn’t understand, but Gretchen did, and she was justifiably terrified. Hell, he was terrified. What if one or more of them tested positive? What then? He pushed aside those thoughts. He couldn’t let feelings keep him from doing what he knew had to be done. The question had to be answered, whatever the cost.
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