“I know, I know. But we have to find out. We have to know the answer—for all of us.”
Gretchen’s face twisted as she fought back tears. “But we’re not eating animal products anymore, not even any soy. We stopped right away when you figured out what was going on, even before the public announcements and recalls. Isn’t that enough? Didn’t you say once the harm was done, it was done? So why bother testing? What’s the point?”
“We’ve got to know if any of us harbors metasonis, even though we’ve stopped exposing ourselves to the problem foods. There might be a latent period—a little slice of time—before the permanent harm is done. If any of us has the bacteria, I want to eliminate it with antibiotics. If it’s possible to head off the damage, I want to do it.”
“Are you insane? I’m five months pregnant! You of all people should know I can’t just take things, not without possibly harming the baby.” Lara began to cry, so she held her closer and tried to shush her. She glared at him and spoke in a tense whisper. “We nearly lost her. I can’t bear to risk losing another baby.”
Kyle sighed and sat on the couch. He had to get past her objections, so he put his arm around her shoulders and held her and Lara close. “Don’t you think I know that? It’s a risk we’d have to take if you tested positive. God knows we’ve all been exposed to animal products that will cause the problem in anyone harboring that strain. Not if, but when. The only possible way to avoid the permanent brain change is to eliminate the bacteria before it emits the chemical, if that’s even possible at this point. It’s our only shot.”
Gretchen wiped away tears with the back of her hand and sniffled. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I wish it weren’t, too. Believe me. Maybe we’ll all test negative. That’s entirely possible.”
“I hope so.”
“Daddy, why are you scaring Mommy?” Lara rubbed her eyes and sobbed.
Kyle leaned over and planted a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Oh honey, I’m not trying to scare Mommy. We’re talking about something important, is all. We need to check something out, and we may have to take some medicine. Or maybe not.”
Lara made a face. “I don’t like medicine. It always tastes baaad.”
Kyle gently ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry. If you have to take any, I’ll make sure it’s your favorite flavor.”
Lara smiled. “Okay, Daddy.” She giggled and buried her face in Gretchen’s neck.
Kyle stared off into space as he held Gretchen and Lara and tried to comfort them. He’d give anything for them all to test negative. But he knew each of them had a nearly one in two chance of testing positive.
He didn’t like those odds, and he didn’t like that he was likely chasing a sliver of opportunity that didn’t even exist.
CHAPTER 38
Daphne swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, leaned back on the couch, and closed her eyes. She didn’t like taking the stuff at all, but now her joints and muscles hurt so much all the time that she nearly lived on it. It probably didn’t much matter. She’d been eating all the legumes she could manage in the past several weeks in a desperate effort to replenish her body with properly formed valine. But she didn’t feel at all better, at least not yet.
Pain and exhaustion had forced her to cut back and serve only breakfast at the café. Business had been so paltry at lunchtime, it didn’t hurt her revenue much, and it was a relief to decrease her work hours and be able to nap when she needed to.
Agnes slinked in from the kitchen, hopped up onto her lap, and gazed up at her, blinking her luminous green eyes. Daphne ran her hands through the cat’s thick fur and tried to take some comfort from the soft vibration of her purr. Agnes was the only bright spot in her life right now. Her health was ruined, her business was in the toilet, and she got the cold shoulder from all the meat-eaters in town.
Daphne glanced at her watch. Somehow dinnertime had rolled around without her noticing. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t feel like getting up off the couch to try to make dinner. Maybe later. For lack of anything better to do, she clicked on the television to check the evening news.
Splashed across the bottom of the screen was the moniker of the day: CRISIS AT THE DINNER TABLE. Leave it to the media to brand a catastrophe. Daphne frowned, wishing someone could turn back the clock and unwind all the damage. If they hadn’t tinkered with the soy in the first place, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have been dying of old age before her time. Livestock and farm animals wouldn’t be dropping dead and taking farmers’ livelihoods along with them. And the wave of violence—both taking and ruining lives—would never have happened.
And now, in an effort to stave off more harm, a major portion of the food supply was off-limits. The few safe substitutes like fish and legumes were getting harder to find and what little that was available went for prices that many people couldn’t afford anyway. Someone, at least, was making a handsome profit.
She watched, sickened, as the reporter narrated video of the latest repercussions of the crisis.
“Gun shops report a brisk business these days. As you can see, demand is so great that lines often extend around the block. Sales volume is so high that the gun registry database has crashed multiple times. Of course, that causes more delay and longer lines.”
Unable to take any more, Daphne angrily clicked the remote and tossed it aside. She clung to Agnes as she hung her head and wept in the early evening gloom of her apartment. Not only for herself, but for the massive destruction the GMOs had brought on so many levels. Would a solution be found, or would this be the beginning of the end of the world?
CHAPTER 39
Ranger Mark Dixon pulled his rig into the parking area at Caprock Coulee in Theodore Roosevelt National Park. He lowered his window and breathed in the fresh morning air as he watched the sky take on the pinkish glow of a new day. Mark loved this park, had been a ranger here for fifteen years. If you’d asked him a month or so ago, he’d have said he wouldn’t trade his job or his life up here for anything.
But that was before the food bans. Since then, there’d been pressure to allow hunting in the national parks, something he found to be nothing short of blasphemous. So far, the powers that be hadn’t given in, but he worried it was only a matter of time. People were getting desperate for sources of unadulterated animal protein, and people voted. Pols cared about their votes far more than they did national treasures like native wildlife.
In the meantime, there’d already been incidents in Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. Evidence that people had been sneaking into the parks, either under cover of darkness or simply when the gates weren’t actively staffed due to budget constraints.
Bad enough they were hunting on national parklands, but they weren’t even competent hunters. Carcasses of buffalo, deer, and elk had been found in varying conditions. Some had only been injured, and so escaped the hunters only to die slow, agonizing deaths later. Some had been killed more efficiently, their hacked-up carcasses left behind to rot when the hunter only took what little could easily be carried.
In response to the problem, park rangers nationwide had all been equipped with guns and bulletproof vests and provided hastily prepared training on how to handle themselves in potential confrontations with armed intruders. Mark scratched at the edge of his vest where it chafed his shoulder. He hated being made to feel like some street cop, but it made sense to be prepared for anything these days.
A loud report sounded through the coulee, setting off a blast of adrenaline through Mark’s bloodstream. He strained to hear the echoes to try to pinpoint where it might have come from, then stepped out of his rig and scanned the horizon in the direction of the sound. Nothing visible.
He pocketed his keys, drew his gun and tried to breathe slowly to settle his hammering heart. There were no park visitors around at this early hour. Until he’d heard the sound of gunfire, he’d thought he was alone in the peaceful dawn.
Glancing from side to side, he proceede
d along the trail in the direction of the gunshot. He wished he could call for backup, but the other rangers weren’t scheduled to come on duty for another hour or so. He’d have to handle this himself and hope his training would carry him through. He never dreamed he’d ever have to deal with something like this.
Mark followed the trail along the edge of a formation of bentonitic clay, gray and textured like elephant hide. He knew the park well, had been on most of the official trails as well as most of the backcountry. He’d have that much of an advantage, but through this particular area, there weren’t many places to hide.
The ground began to rumble with the sound of hooves. Heavy. Had to be buffalo. He stood still until he could figure out which way they were coming from. He knew better than to get in the way of a herd of panicked buffalo. Moments later, he saw them come blazing out from behind a set of formations to run right across the road and into the canyon on the other side, leaving an enormous dust cloud in their wake. He waited for the last of them to pass, then began walking in the direction from which they’d come, all his senses on alert.
He peered around the edge of a smaller clay formation, gun at the ready. About ten yards away, a man of medium build dressed in blood-spattered khakis knelt next to a downed buffalo. He wielded a large butcher knife and was hurriedly field-dressing the animal, his back toward Mark.
Mark hesitated, stunned and disgusted by the scene before him, a scene he never thought he would see in his park. The buffalo—all the wildlife—were protected. He’d only ever come across wildlife dead from natural causes or from being hunted by other animals. The man who’d shot this animal had demonstrated he knew how to use his gun.
Mark’s mouth had gone bone-dry with fear. He licked his lips, raised his gun, and carefully drew closer. The hunter didn’t yet know he was there. He wanted a better look, to see where the hunter’s gun was, and he wanted to give the hunter the least amount of time possible to react when he did reveal his presence.
He crept forward a few more steps, carefully placing his hiking boots to avoid making any sound. The hand holding the gun began to tremble, both from the effort of holding the weapon up and from the jangling of his nerves as he watched the hunter gutting the buffalo, casting aside the organs as if they hadn’t just been part of a living, breathing majestic animal. He gripped the gun with both hands now.
Mark tried to weigh his options. The longer he took to confront the man, the more things could happen during the delay. But once he challenged him, he’d better be ready for anything. He didn’t know what to expect the man to do, and that ate at him as much as the sight of the desecrated buffalo. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment.
“Park ranger! Put your hands up over your head!”
The man glanced in his direction, but remained in a crouch. He smiled, his teeth appearing blindingly white in contrast to his thick, scruffy black beard. He said nothing.
“Stand up! Hands up! Step away from the buffalo!”
Still smiling, the man stood, raised his hands, and backed away from his kill, his left side toward Mark.
Mark breathed slightly easier when he saw that the rifle remained on the ground next to the buffalo. “Keep stepping back. What’s your name?” He started to approach the man as he moved farther from the buffalo, one step at a time.
Mark was about ten feet away when, without a word, the man swept his right arm down, drew a handgun and fired. The movement was both blindingly fast and deathly slow.
The bullet slammed into Mark’s neck, just above the edge of the bulletproof vest. He couldn’t even scream as he lay on the ground of his beloved park, writhing in pain as his blood pooled on the earth beneath him.
CHAPTER 40
Gretchen slumped on the couch, feeling as tired and achy as if she’d spent the entire morning chopping wood. She and Lara had both been in slow motion since Kyle left for some all-day meeting in St. Paul. Their low-protein diet in the weeks since the ban on animal products had sapped their energy. Precious amounts of fresh fish could be found in the small Midwestern town, and the price of dried legumes had spiked. Lara turned her nose up at them anyway, no matter what Gretchen did to make them palatable for a three-year-old.
Kyle had warned her of what to expect from such a low-protein diet. She was pregnant and Lara was a growing little girl, so they both had higher protein requirements than Kyle and would be affected first. She glanced around the unkempt room. He was right. Normally, she wouldn’t let things pile up like that, but she was just too damned tired all the time to do much of anything.
She watched Lara playing on the floor—if you could call it that. She seemed content to hold Baa-Baa and stare off into space much of the time. Her lustrous blonde hair had dulled and become brittle, like a cheap wig. Her bright blue eyes had an almost vacant look, as if the spark had gone from her. She didn’t even look like the same child. Gretchen turned away from the sight. They’d nearly lost Lara once, and now she was slowly slipping away again. And there was not a damned thing they could do about it.
She blinked away tears and looked down at her hands. She’d always had such nice strong nails. Now they were ragged, chipping and tearing at the slightest provocation. Her hair had begun breaking and thinning. If her crappy diet was already affecting her this much, she didn’t want to think what it was doing to her unborn baby.
She glanced at Lara again, angry and frustrated to be powerless to properly care for her. If only she could get some fresh milk. Lara loved milk and it would give her the protein she needed to grow and thrive properly. But even the nasty powdered stuff had been taken off the market because it, too, contained the faulty valine.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Another one of those vicious headaches was starting up again, stabbing at her temples—yet another side effect of her shitty diet. She’d been getting them frequently these days, but she tried to avoid taking aspirin or ibuprofen because of her pregnancy. If only she could sleep for a while. But even sleep had been elusive lately.
Gretchen rubbed her dry, gritty eyes and opened them, then glanced at her watch. Lunchtime. She sighed. There was nothing all that enticing in the house to eat, and even if there were, she didn’t feel like preparing it. Maybe if they went out for a while in the nice weather, it would help perk up their spirits, if nothing else. It was that sweet time between late summer and early fall that could be so beautiful in Minnesota, when the harshest of the heat and humidity is gone, yet the temperature is still pleasant and the trees are starting to get a tinge of fall color.
That was it. They’d go out for a little lunch. Maybe that vegetarian café over in St. Joe. It was a short drive, and if anyone could prepare nutritious vegetarian food that tasted good, it was that woman.
“Come on, Lara. Let’s go get some lunch.”
The little girl stared at her.
Gretchen took a deep breath and prepared herself to break the inertia for both of them. She pushed herself to her feet with a grunt and reached for Lara. “Come on. It’ll be good for us both.”
Gretchen pulled up to the curb. The lights didn’t appear to be on inside the café. She frowned. A handwritten sign hung in the window, but she couldn’t quite read it from the car.
“Let’s go check it out.” She got out and retrieved Lara from her car seat in the back. They walked up to the window together.
CLOSED FOR LUNCH UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. WE ARE OPEN FOR BREAKFAST FROM 8–10 A.M.
Gretchen sighed. The owner had complained that she lunchtime business was slow. But that was then. Now that animal products had been summarily removed from everyone’s diet overnight, she should be flooded with business. Seemed foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity.
“Aren’t we going to eat, Momma?” Lara rubbed her face as if she were ready for a nap.
“Not yet. Let’s stop at the store and see what we can find.” Gretchen pursed her lips. A simple trip to the grocery store had become a stressful undertaking these days, with shoppers competi
ng for the dwindling supplies of fresh foods and legumes. Unfortunately, the grocery stores were the only game in town.
Only a few weeks ago, they could’ve stopped at any of a number of fast-food places and found something they’d like. But all the fast-food joints, like all the other restaurants that had focused their menus on animal products, had shut down seemingly overnight.
A new kind of ghost town had emerged.
CHAPTER 41
Marty Janssen glanced around his cramped kitchen table at the grim faces of the half-dozen farmers assembled for the meeting. And grim they should be. They had to do something or they would all lose their farms. There could be no doubt of that. If he were more of a conspiracy theorist, he’d have thought BigAg cooked up this whole mess on purpose, but they seemed to be scrambling, too, so maybe that wasn’t the case.
Paul Gorsham, his closest friend, sat to his immediate right. He flexed his knotted, arthritic hands and grimaced. “I think we’re all here. Might as well get started.”
Marty noticed that Paul’s hands seemed to have worsened quite a lot lately. He felt a pang of sadness to see his old friend in pain. “Right, Paul. Well, I’ve been reading up on this thing extensively, and I don’t see an end in sight. Even if we had viable, uncontaminated stock that would be allowed to go to market, we’d have nothing safe to feed them, at least for the foreseeable future. So what do we do?”
“Fish. Farmed fish,” Paul offered.
“Switch over to aquaculture, you mean?” Marty tried to gauge the group’s response. They were all leaning forward, attentive but silent. Whatever they came up with, they’d have to be in it together to make a go of it, so he hoped that was a good sign.
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