The Rise of Walsanto (Genetic Apocalypse Book 3)

by Boyd Craven Jr

  9

  Walsanto Headquarters

  Summer 2020

  Camp Dodge, Iowa

  Outside Camp Dodge, the Iowa National Guard base, at the new Walsanto Seed research center and Walsanto Food Systems headquarters, Rusty Whitman met with Michael Lawson, the CEO of Walsanto Food Systems to review progress on seed distribution one year after the public roll-out. Since the purpose of Rusty’s visit was to carry a report back to President James, Lawson put on a proper “dog and pony show” for him.

  ~

  “Good morning, Mr. Whitman,” said Lawson, opening the front door of the building himself to greet Rusty. “Have you been here since construction was finished?”

  “Good morning back to you,” Rusty said with a smile, looking around at a rather small and unremarkable building to be headquarters of the world’s largest employer. “No, in fact I have not been here before at all,” he answered, looking for people, wondering where the heck everyone was.

  “Is it a little different than you’d envisioned?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Rusty chuckled, trying to remain polite. “Where the hell is everything and everyone?”

  “Right below us of course,” Lawson said, rather amused, tapping his foot on the plain sealed cement floor. “I assumed that you were familiar with the layout here. Forgive me.”

  “Enlighten me, please.”

  “Follow me, and I’ll explain while we walk.”

  Rusty followed Lawson to the rear of what looked like an empty showroom with windows on the front and cement walls and floors everywhere else. “They need pictures or something out here,” he thought to himself. They turned right, behind a foot-thick wall, which Rusty put his hand on, obviously noting the thickness.

  “Concrete reinforced steel,” Lawson said. “Blast proof. After what happened to the other location, our ‘major stock-holder’ insisted on a more secure design.”

  They found themselves faced with a steel elevator door. Lawson swiped his I.D. card in a reader on the wall and the door opened.

  After twenty seconds of going downwards, the elevator stopped and the door opened into what looked like another world. This looked like a fitting headquarters and research center for the world’s largest employer. It went on for just about as far as Rusty could see. They did a right turn again however, and entered into a very modern conference room where today’s presentation was to take place.

  “What I want to show you today Rusty,” Mike said “can be divided into three sections. First, I’ll cover what we did for packaging and distribution. Second, we’ll look at sales demographically. Third, we’ll jump to putting the product to use, discuss where we are with it today and where we plan to go next.

  “We followed your recommendations exactly, and packaged retail seeds in packets of a thousand. That used to be the average number of kernels on an entire corn plant, but from this variety it is the average number from one ear.

  “Pricing per packet was set equal to 10 times the pricing of bulk seed, just as you suggested.”

  As Mike finished his sentence, the whole front wall of the conference room lit up as one giant screen. Graphics supporting the presentation flashed across the screen.

  “Both types of domestic customer, retail and wholesale, seem very well pleased with the price point. Outside the U.S. this year, only packets were sold. It’s still undecided how that will be done next year, but it will be directly determined by availability of product.

  “The Treasury had directed that 75% of total product be in packet form for export via the website and USPS. There was a little bit of grumbling over that, but we sold every packet that we had, so that’s just too bad. Let’s hope we can continue to do that every year.

  “All sales were made exclusively in U.S. dollars, as directed, and the result was, as I’m sure you’ve already seen, that our currency returned home in much greater quantities than it was leaving…”

  ~

  The presentation moved along to cover details of the first major mid-summer harvest, then immediate replanting of corn all over the United States.

  Lawson showed Whitman a well-made video tour of Walsanto partnered feed lots or CAFOs in every State receiving their first deliveries of local corn right from nearby fields that had grown enough for them to last until the second crop came in, and enough for the local mills and feed companies.

  He explained the savings of not aggregating huge quantities and shipping it by truck, railcar and cargo ship all over the world.

  Everywhere poultry, beef and pork were being finished on the new corn; it was a hit with both animals and growers. The animals couldn’t seem to get enough of it, their growth rates increased tremendously from the extra nutritional values, yet overall cost was ridiculously low compared to historical figures.

  With profits so high from the newly arranged partnerships, farmers of all sizes everywhere made the no-brainer decision to increase flock and herd sizes to fill their own pantries or freezers and sell as much as they could.

  Because of the influence of the algae, this corn had higher oil content of a kind that allowed for a much less complex process of producing the high fructose corn syrup that is used in nearly everything these days, and the by-products went right back into the feed stream locally too. Transportation savings were incredible, making profits soar.

  Rusty knew that President James would be well-pleased with his findings. He felt good about this project and his involvement in it all over again.

  10

  Saluda County, SC

  Early Fall 2020

  County Extension Agent’s Office

  “Gerald, you need to have a look at my chicken!” Harvey Winters had stormed into Gerald Davies’ extension agent office without saying hello or acknowledging the fact that Gerald might be busy. The comment made Gerald smile as he thought back to a joke that he’d heard a few days before.

  “Well, come on in Harvey,” Gerald replied calmly, looking up from the mail that he was sorting through. It wasn’t all that strange of behavior considering this was Harvey. He looked down at the thick, black mud that was caked on Harvey’s boots and consequently all over his office, but all thoughts of having to clean up the mess were lost when the bundle in Harvey’s arms made a loud thud as it landed on his desk.

  “Look at this.” Without asking permission, Harvey began to unwrap the bloody package. At least the farmer had placed it on an empty spot on his desk rather than on top of some of his mail or papers. “What the hell is wrong with it?”

  Gerald began to examine the carcass of a recently butchered chicken on his desk. He hid his irritation at Harvey’s manner and started to examine the bird. It was similar to the one which he had seen brought in by Charlie McAndrews at Dublin Downs Farms the week before. The skin on the bird had a sort of gray/green color to it, and it was losing feathers. No one was sure quite what to think of it. Gerald had sent that bird over to the state extension office at Clemson in order to get some kind of answers.

  Dublin Downs had recently made a change in what they were feeding to their poultry and Charlie McAndrews had wondered if there was some sort of chemical being passed through the feed and into the bird. The question on everybody’s mind, “was it safe to eat?”

  “Charlie at Dublin Downs brought a bird just like that in to me last week,” Gerald replied, poking at the bird with his pen and opening it up so that he could see inside the empty carcass. He wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to find there, but it seemed like the right thing to do. “Did you change feed recently?”

  “Yes, I started feeding that new corn that just came out.” Harvey’s brow was wrinkled and his lower lip was pooched out a little as he watched the county extension agent examining his bird. “What are we supposed to do? Ain’t nobody gonna eat that.”

  “I sent the Dublin Downs Farms bird to Clemson to have them take a look at it. We’re thinking that something in the feed is causing the coloring. We should know something any day now.” Ger
ald hoped that he wasn’t just patronizing the farmer, but in all honesty, he was expecting an answer at any time.

  “Damnit Gerald,” Harvey began. “I gotta feed my family and keep them in clothes and shoes with a roof over their heads. I can’t do any of those things if I can’t sell my chickens. Hell, I can’t even feed this crap to my family. You gotta do something, Gerald!”

  “I understand, Harvey.” And he did understand. He’d been the county extension agent in this small, South Carolina county for nearly thirty years. He’d seen the kids of the older families grow up, go to college and come back home to take up the family business. He’d helped many of them with their 4H projects and consulted with the state extension office every time he’d run across a new problem of some sort. He’d always gotten the answers that he needed pretty quickly. “Like I said, they’ll run some tests on it at the university and let us know if there’s anything wrong with it. How many did you kill?”

  “I just killed two this morning.” Harvey’s mind had already begun to wander off toward some other way of trying to come up with the money that he needed to pay the bills that were coming due. I’d planned on killing at least a couple dozen, but if they all got this…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. If all of his chickens were ruined the way this one was, then he’d be in quite a bind. Gerald knew that as well as Harvey did.

  “It’s probably going to be alright,” Gerald said. “It’s gotta be related to that new corn, but all of the test results that we’ve seen on the corn say that it’s top-notch. There is nothing to indicate any chemicals or anything that would get passed along to the birds.” He thought for a minute. “Both birds look like this?”

  “Yes,” Harvey replied. “I threw the first bird out, thinking it was some kind of a fluke, but the second bird was just the same. They didn’t look ‘off’ or act any different than normal. In fact, the best I could tell, they looked to be plumb healthy.” Harvey pulled off his ragged, soiled, John Deere ball cap and scratched the thinning hair on his head.

  “I’ll call you the minute I have an answer.” Gerald watched Harvey’s face. For a small operation like Harvey’s, something like this could have a devastating effect on his family. He hoped that he’d have good news to pass along, but he simply wasn’t sure. “For the time being, I’d hold off on killing any more until we get some answers.”

  “Yeah,” Harvey sighed. “I was kind of needing to get some cash to pay for some things, but I guess we’ll just have to tighten our belts a notch and get through it for a few more days. The thing is, if they’re sick or something, we have to wait even longer for the antibiotics to clear their system, too. Shit!” Harvey was already beginning to feel the pinch at not being able to harvest the chickens that were ready. “I got these and about three or four dozen more that will be coming ready later this month. If they’re all spoiled…”

  Gerald didn’t want to contemplate how much it would hurt Harvey any more than he did. “I’m sorry, Harvey. That’s the best I can do at the moment. Just hang in there. I’m sure we’ll have some answers in the next few days.”

  “I hope so,” Harvey replied. He wrapped the carcass back up and started to leave. “Do you need this one? Do you need to send it, too?”

  “No. You hang on to it and put it in your freezer. If it’s okay, then you’ll still have it.”

  As Harvey tracked the mud on his boots back out into the reception area, Gerald began to wonder how many others similar to Harvey might be having the same problem. The corn was brand new and most of the poultry farmers that he knew didn’t change too easily; however, the advertising campaign for it had been heavily promoted, and likely very effective. The President’s new Food Czar, Rusty Whitman, was really behind it.

  Gerald had been around the block a time or two and had little confidence that the new corn was much different than the old corn. He’d seen plenty of products come and go over the years, and he doubted all of the things that were claimed. In his opinion, a farmer was far better off to raise and crack his own corn, from his own seed, but the times had changed and he’d had to change right along with them.

  There were several dozen other small producers in the county that, like Harvey, might have also switched over to the new corn. He’d put something out in the monthly newsletter. He scribbled a note to leave on Charlotte’s desk. The extension office budget only allowed for a part time Administrative Assistant, so she wouldn’t be in until the afternoon. As he thought about it, he added another note that said, “Wait for comments or research report from state extension office before putting this into the newsletter.”

  One thing peculiar to Gerald Davies, was his approach to his job. He was old school. He didn’t particularly care for computers, though he’d had one forced upon him. Most of the time it sat on the corner of his desk gathering dust and he wondered if it would be of some help to him as he faced this problem of the gray skinned chickens. He stared at it a moment and started to feel that his office was getting smaller. He needed to get out of the office.

  He’d always been one who enjoyed being out and about rather than making phone calls, writing, or trying to figure out that damned machine. Charlotte had a pretty good handle on it, so he left most of that sort of work to her.

  He needed to talk with those other small producers and let them know what was going on before something bad hit, but he’d need to figure out which of them had switched to the new corn. The county only had two feed stores and both were located in town. Plucking his hat from the hat rack and fitting it on his head, he walked out of his office, leaving the note he’d written on Charlotte’s desk.

  Gerald pulled the door closed behind him and locked it and then went next door to the county assessor's office to let them know he was leaving. It was a regular occurrence, so the receptionist merely looked up at him and smiled when he came in.

  “When will you be back, Mr. Davies?”

  “Probably not until after Charlotte comes in.”

  “Alright, got it.” She scribbled a note.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Gerald drove the ten-year-old Chevy half-ton pickup truck that the county provided for him three blocks down Main Street and took a right turn. Two blocks later, he was at the feed store.

  “Hey Gerald!” Elmer, of Elmer’s Feed and Supply called out as he came in. “What kind of trouble are you tryin’ to find this morning?”

  “Elmer, if I was huntin’ trouble, this would be the first place I’d come,” he chuckled as he approached the heavy-set man and shook his hand.

  “That’s fer damned sure.” He gestured toward the half-dozen men who were sitting along the counter drinking coffee and shooting the bull. “This bunch is always huntin’ fer it.”

  Gerald made his way down the line of men, shaking hands and greeting each one. They all had some quick quip as he spoke to them and the laughter had come to a pretty healthy head after Ernest Bowers told another off-color joke.

  “Have a cup of coffee, Gerald.” Elmer was already reaching for a cup.

  “Can’t right now, Elmer. I have something pressing to tend to.”

  “Official business, then.”

  “You could say that.” Gerald nodded toward the office door. He didn’t need any rumors started. He wouldn’t tell Elmer anything anyway, but he didn’t want the other men to hear his request and start speculating.

  Elmer’s face suddenly became serious. “You bet, Gerald. Come back here. We’ll get away from this bunch of hooligans so we can talk better.” Elmer did a great job of covering things up and keeping the others from inquiring.

  “What can I do for you?” Elmer asked, once they were inside the office behind closed doors.

  “Do you know who all has switched over their chickens to that new corn that just came out?”

  “Is there a problem with it?” Elmer wrinkled his brow.

  “No. No problem,” Gerald lied. “Just doing some follow-up
research.”

  “Let me see.” Elmer sat down in front of his computer and started tapping keys. Within a few minutes, he looked up and said, “I’ll get you a print-out of this. You need phone numbers and addresses, too?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Now this won’t be all of the chicken growers in the county, some of them will be buying feed outside the county or over at Dot’s. I can call her and see if she has a list. She doesn’t do nearly the volume that I do. She can probably give me the names right off the top of her head.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” The thought of having to face Dot and deal with her advances hadn’t been one of the things that he was looking forward to about his task for the day.

  “One stop shopping.” Elmer took the receiver in his hand and punched the buttons.

  Gerald’s eyes wandered around the cluttered office at the dusty pictures and knick-knacks scattered around while Elmer exchanged pleasantries with Dot, asked his question, paused, and then started scratching names and addresses with a pen on the bottom of the printed sheet. Alright, Dot, thanks. And I will. Have a good day.” He turned toward Gerald extending the paper toward him.

  “Dot told me that you ought to get your lazy ass over there and get the names for yourself.” Elmer grinned knowingly. Everybody knew that since Dot had lost her husband, she’d had her cap set on Gerald.

  Gerald glanced at the names on the printed list and the ones scrawled in below. He knew most of them. It wasn’t a long list, but he would have to spend most of the morning to track them all down and tell them to hold off killing any chickens until they got an answer back.

  “Thanks, Elmer. That’s all I need for now. I’ll let the other agents worry about who is buying in it their counties.” He hoped that the fake survey would keep a lid on things. He noted that one of the names belonged to one of the men sitting at the counter. He’d have to wait until he got home. There was no sense in causing a scare. Rumors would run fast enough.