The government was supposed to make sure that food was safe, so how this mess happened in the first place was beyond her. It was all she could do to take care of Joey by herself and try to hang on to her job. Day-to-day existence was a struggle as it was.
The knock sounded again, this time accompanied by an impatient, “Ms. Weldon, open up. We’re here for Joey Weldon, to give him his medication.”
Celia remained silent, trembling and holding her son close. Maybe if they thought she wasn’t home, they’d go away.
“Mommy, what do the men want?”
“Shush. Keep quiet.”
“We know you’re home, and we have authority to come in by force if you make that necessary.” The voice sounded tired but serious.
Her mouth dry, she shifted Joey off her lap and onto the couch, then rose slowly. “Stay there a minute, baby.”
He looked up at her with tired, sunken eyes. “Okay, Mom.”
If they came in by force, they’d wreck the door. And then she’d owe the landlord for the repair. There was no money for that—not for that and food. She was barely able to feed them both on her income as it was, especially with the prices of the more nutritious foods going through the roof.
She went to the front door and peered out the peephole. Two uniformed policemen stood on her front steps, accompanied by a man wearing a white coat. They’d scare Joey for sure.
One of the cops rapped at the door, hard this time. “Now, Ms. Weldon, or we come in.”
Sighing, she unlocked the door and opened it slowly. They wasted no time coming in. The man in the white coat consulted a paper list in his hand.
“Joey Weldon, age six.” He glanced toward the couch. “There he is.” Then he walked right over to Joey before Celia could say or do anything.
She started toward her son, but one of the cops gripped her upper arm.
“Wait here, Ms. Weldon. You can be arrested for interfering. Matter of national security. We have orders.”
She tried to pull away. “I don’t care about your orders! He’s not well today. Can’t you come back when he’s stronger?”
“No, ma’am. Too many homes to visit. We can’t take the time to come back. This’ll only take a minute.”
Joey shrank back into the couch and screeched as the man in white approached him. “Mommy, I’m scared!”
The man turned and gave a slight nod of his head. The second cop swiftly went over and pinned Joey down.
“Don’t hurt him!” Celia leapt forward to protect her little boy, but the first cop held her back. She struggled in his grip.
The man in white spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “This will only take a moment, I promise. One quick injection, and he’ll get the antibiotic to eliminate the problem bacteria, and a tiny chip coded to prove he’s received the injection. Very quick, very efficient.”
“But he’s allergic to a lot of stuff. How do we know he’s not allergic to this?”
“There are no exemptions. National security.” The man reached into a small zipped bag he’d been carrying and brought out an individually wrapped syringe. Joey struggled, screamed, and hyperventilated as the second cop held him firmly to the couch. The man pushed up Joey’s T-shirt sleeve and quickly administered the shot. Then he nodded to the cop, who released the crying boy. He took a separate container from his bag, placed the used syringe in it, then stood to leave.
“That’s it.” He smiled and winked. “Told you it was quick.”
The cop released Celia’s arm. “Thank you, Ms. Weldon. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
The two cops and the man in the white coat had just stepped out the front door when Joey began wheezing. Celia ran to him and held him in her arms. She didn’t like how he was breathing.
“Wait! I think he’s having a reaction!”
The first cop turned to her. “We’re not trained to deal with that. I’ll call 911 for you when I get out to the car. They should be here soon. Good-bye.”
And with that, they left, shutting the door behind them. Celia rocked Joey gently as she waited for help to arrive—and as his breathing worsened.
She did not like the bluish tinge in his lips.
CHAPTER 73
Vic Rayburn slammed his office door shut, flung himself into his chair, and put his head in his hands. He wanted to vomit. On the one hand, he was relieved to see the crisis appeared to be over, or nearly so. And he remained proud of Kyle Sommers’s work in uncovering the complex problem. But when he saw Ted Warner’s face plastered up on the news as if he were some sort of hero, his stomach turned.
The violence was definitely waning to pre-crisis levels. But despite Warner’s bragging, it would never be known how effective the forced antibiotic administration had been. Vic doubted it had done much, given what Kyle had told him about his own failed attempt to treat Gretchen.
On the other hand, the number of people who’d had serious reactions to the antibiotic or died, well, that could be measured. And it was too high a price. As he’d told Warner, if those with the bacteria were already doomed or likely so, the risk of mandatory antibiotic administration without any regard for allergies or preexisting physical conditions was absolutely unwarranted.
But it was too late now. The injections had been administered a couple of months ago. Whatever good they were going to do was done, and whatever harm was already done as well.
Meanwhile, Warner had instituted additional intrusive procedures to help safeguard the Homeland. Anyone arrested for a violent act was immediately cross-checked against the master list of those who’d tested positive for metasonis. Those on the list were immediately institutionalized for the rest of their roughly six-month lives without any judicial oversight whatsoever. Otherwise, it was presumed to be a case of good old-fashioned criminal behavior, and they were prosecuted accordingly.
The actions that DHS had been able to undertake worried him, both in terms of the scope of its resources and the lack of public resistance in the face of the threat. What would happen the next time some sort of epidemic hit the country? Would Warner be that much bolder and more aggressive in tackling it? Did that man have any limits at all—and would the public again simply acquiesce to whatever he did?
Vic went over to his office window and gazed down at the cherry blossoms that brightened D.C. this time of year. Would this world ever be the same?
CHAPTER 74
Marty made the mistake of gazing out at his pastures from his living room window. He usually welcomed the early spring, when the bright, fragile green of emerging grass took over, pushing aside the last bits of stubborn snow. But usually, the sight included cattle nursing early calves. Not so this year. He had no livestock, and likely wouldn’t again for several years. He turned away from the window, unable to bear the emptiness.
He trudged through the living room, unable to decide what to do with himself. The fish operation took a lot less daily chore time than his cattle operation did. A shame he couldn’t take advantage of it and relax and enjoy the view outside. He glanced at his watch. Lunchtime, and he was kind of hungry. He decided to give himself a change of scenery and take a little drive to that café in St. Joe.
A short while later, he pulled up in front of the café, leaned his head out the window, and drew a deep breath of the crisp spring air. So much had changed in the last few months as winter released its bitter hold. He felt sadness and hope at the same time.
Marty bought a newspaper from the dispenser in front of the café, stepped inside and took a seat by himself at the end of the counter, away from the rest of the diners. He wasn’t in much of a mood to socialize today. He glanced around at the place as he snapped open his paper.
One of the remaining local farmers had bankrolled his daughter Julie in renting the café and reopening it after that vegetarian from the Cities passed away. He shook his head. He’d heard about what happened to her, to all the vegetarians who’d thought they could safely eat soy products. Same damned thing that’d happened to his ca
ttle. Something went screwy with the way their bodies manufactured their tissue, leading to premature aging, then premature death.
He’d avoided the place when the vegetarian ran it, trying to convince longtime beef farmers and their ilk that a vegetarian diet was the way to go, and serving it up amid her frilly pastel decor. Crazy thing to try in these parts. As it turned out, she’d been partly right, though not for the right reasons, and not right enough. Poor kid. Now he felt bad for being one of the folks who’d pointedly avoided her café. No one deserved what she’d gone through.
“What’ll you have today, Marty?” Julie smiled and held her notepad at the ready.
“Oh, burger and coffee would be fine, thanks. How’s it going?”
She tipped her head toward the customers laughing and talking at their tables. “Not bad for just starting out.”
“Well, that’s great to hear.”
Her expression turned serious. “Yeah, the better I do, the sooner I can pay Dad back.” She averted her eyes for a moment. “He needs the money.” She smiled again, a wide, bright smile on her pretty face. “Hey, I’ll get that burger out to you right quickly.” She turned and headed back into the kitchen.
Marty watched her go, dressed in her crisp, light blue, almost retro-looking diner uniform. She seemed to be a good kid. He hoped the café did well. Folks deserved some good news and progress toward recovery, after all that had happened. As he glanced down at his paper, he couldn’t help but think about how much everything had changed since that young doctor had come to town and figured out what the problem was.
No one he knew had any livestock left now. All the animals had died off or been destroyed—beef, dairy, poultry, hogs, everything. Couldn’t sell ’em, why pour good money after bad feeding ’em? The BigAg suppliers hadn’t yet come up with safe soybean stock, so there would be no planting any soy this season. Corn was still a good choice. At least there was a market for it for ethanol production. Hopefully there wouldn’t be drought conditions again this year to kill off even that hope.
As for his aquaculture venture with Paul, winter heating bills had pushed them way into the red, but fish prices were still quite good and they stood to make some of that up in the next few months. At least it was still in the realm of possibility.
Julie reappeared with his food. “Here you go, Marty. Enjoy. Let me know if you want anything else.”
“Thanks, Julie.”
She smiled and nodded, then hustled over to a table full of customers by the front window.
He gazed down at his lunch. Some burger. It came in a bun, came with fries and all the trimmings—except cheese, of course—but it looked like one of them sliders they used to serve in the big-city brewpubs. Just a couple of discs of flat meat grown in the lab. He picked it up and regarded it for a moment before taking a bite. It was the best you could get if you were in the mood for some beef. Might as well make the best of it.
It was sure better than that liquid crap they were trying to sell these days. Unimaginable, drinking your day’s meals. But at least the stuff supposedly contained complete protein, and was affordable. Malnutrition-related deaths—especially of kids—had certainly dropped since it came out. So he guessed that was a good thing, anyway.
Marty wished like hell he could return to the old days, when food was fresh and natural and you could trust it. He shrugged and took another bite of his burger. No way to turn back the clock, only look forward and try to survive as best you could.
CHAPTER 75
Kyle pulled up beneath a large, shady maple tree in Lakeside’s parking lot. The July heat and humidity already bore down, though it was only mid-morning. He left the engine running with the air conditioner blasting as he prepared himself yet again.
It had been nearly a year since he’d accepted the assignment, a year that had brought so much change, so much devastation. Little Lara had turned four now, and in the past few months had begun to accept the status quo. She only asked about her mommy a couple of times a week now, rather than multiple times a day. While it pained him to see her make that adjustment, he knew it was for the best under the circumstances.
He’d extended his leave of absence several times since Gretchen was admitted to Lakeside. Vic had begun to ask him about his intentions, whether he planned to return to the EIS program. But he hadn’t pressed hard. He knew what Kyle was facing, knew an end would come in due course.
Kyle drew a final deep breath of the chill air jetting from the vents. The coolness helped to steady him, a little. Then he got out of the car and went inside.
He’d been a daily visitor for so long, the hospital staff merely gave him friendly, yet solemn, nods when he came in. That was fine with him. It was hard enough to return, day after day, knowing what he knew—and seeing Gretchen as she’d become. Fortunately, Nutrio, that liquid food substitute that came out a few months ago, was cheap enough to use even in institutional settings. So at least Gretchen no longer had that drawn, fragile look of malnutrition about her.
Just that look of constant sedation.
Kyle knew the heavy sedation was in reality a mercy, both for her and for him. She wouldn’t feel the pain of the relentless brain hypertrophy that was undoubtedly underway within her skull. And he didn’t have to witness that pain, as well as the inevitable degradation of her cognitive abilities as the process unfolded. He’d accepted months ago that he’d lost his real Gretchen just before she snapped and tried to kill Lara—and that he’d never, ever have her back again.
He made his way down the line of beds. The place was somewhat less crowded than it had been at the height of the crisis. He supposed that was a good thing, a sign that this whole horrible chapter would eventually come to an end and those left in its wake could begin to heal and move on in a new world of lab-produced foods.
Kyle drew close to Gretchen’s bed and gazed down at her as he’d done so many times before. Something seemed different today. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A sort of tension hung in the air. He frowned and peered at her more closely. Same motionless body, same vacant stare up toward the ceiling. At least her eyes were less sunken now that she was being fed Nutrio.
He touched her hand, and her response startled him. Her hand closed around his and remained like that, warm and intimate. No thrashing, no violence. Just holding hands, like the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, he was transported back to happier days, before any of the horrors and tragedies of the past year. On an impulse, he leaned over and gently kissed her on the lips. He thought he felt the slightest response in return.
Still leaning close to her face, he looked into her eyes, wishing for some sign of recognition, of consciousness, no matter how brief. A cold bolt shot through his stomach.
Her eyes were dilating, the pupils overtaking the deep blue of her irises like a fast-spreading malignancy. Before the dilation’s significance hit him, full-body, uncontrollable spasms racked her. Sweat broke out on her forehead and white foam dribbled from the corners of her mouth. Her head whipped back and forth as she struggled against her restraints. She clenched her teeth so tightly, he heard several of them crack as inhuman, guttural sounds burst from her.
Kyle slammed the call button by her bed and stumbled backward. There was no safe way to try to hold her down or stop her. She needed an anticonvulsant. Then as suddenly as it began, her seizure ended. He bent close, ready to spring back out of the way if she started again.
Gretchen lay absolutely motionless, her pupils fixed and dilated. He placed a finger along her carotid. No pulse. He gently laid his hand on her sternum. No breath.
A nurse and an orderly rushed up to the bed. He shook his head. They nodded and, without a word, left him alone.
Kyle went around the bed, unfastening each of the leather restraints. At least Gretchen could have that much dignity now. Then he took her hand, still warm, in his, leaned over and kissed her good-bye.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Lara sat in Kyle’s lap on the couch,
swinging her legs and staring up at him with her deep blue eyes. In her arms was a stuffed teddy bear one of the nurses at Lakeside had given her. She’d shown no interest whatsoever in her beloved Baa-Baa since the night of the attack.
He pushed a blonde curl out of her eye and hesitated. She looked so much like her mother, it was all he could do to keep from breaking down in front of her. How could he possibly tell her what she needed to know in a way she could understand?
“Daddy?” Lara tilted her head, waiting for him to answer.
He cleared his throat. “Lara, you know how Mommy’s been away, that she’s been sick, right?”
“I know. Mommy’s been working on getting well so she can come home to us.” She smiled.
Kyle shook his head, fighting back tears. “Well, honey, sometimes the doctors do all they can, and … sometimes people can’t ever get well again.”
Lara frowned. “Oh. Well are they going to let her come home?”
Kyle took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “No. She’s not coming home.”
Lara stared wide-eyed at him for a moment before bursting into tears. “Mommy’s still mad at me! That’s why she won’t come home!” she screamed.
He held her close and stroked her hair. “No, no. That’s not it.”
“It is! She got mad at me and hurt me. She wants to be away from me!” Lara squirmed and tried to break away.
“No, that’s not true. She loved you very much.”
“Why was she so mad at me? What did I do?”
Tears streamed down Lara’s beet-red face.
Kyle held her tight like a lifeline. “No, Lara. Mommy got sick.” He choked back a sob. “She got sick, and that’s why she hurt you, and that’s why she won’t be coming home.”
Broken Chain Page 19
