James Hunt

GMO 24: THE COALITION

A TALE OF PREPPER SURVIVAL

Chapter 1

The tracks in the grey ash were freshly indented. Alex ran his finger into the imprinted hooves of the game he was tracking. He adjusted the strap on his rifle, which smacked his hip when he squatted. He pinched some of the ash between his fingers and held it up above his head. He let it sift down, watching the wind carry it behind him. Alex brushed the rest off of his pant leg and stepped swiftly, continuing the hunt.

The barren, rolling hills ahead of Alex stretched for miles, and he’d lost count of the miles he’d already trekked. For the past year it had been difficult to find game, but the three-week dry spell was the longest since the soil crisis. The burn of fatigue in Alex’s legs and arms started to wear him down, but the growling empty pit in his stomach pushed him forward like a primal instinct. It was simple. If he didn’t eat, he would die.

The keen, incessant pain in Alex’s lower abdomen had dulled since the morning, but so had the sharpness of his mind. His body had grown accustomed to running on empty, but even this was pushing it too far. His concentration was waning. He reached around to his pack and grabbed a small wrap of dried meat. The flavorless protein stick snapped in half as Alex tore a piece off with his teeth. He wasn’t sure if the crunch in his jaw was from the stick or the breaking of his back molar. After a few more hard bites, he determined it was the former.

A slight breeze kicked up the ash, and it brushed against his already dirty pants and boots. For a moment his mind returned to the lush meadows where he used to hunt with his father during his childhood. But much like the once-fertile soil beneath him, the memories of his youth were now covered in a layer of dust, making it harder to see what life still lay underneath.

Alex pumped his legs up the crest of a hill, following the tracks. At the top the breeze shifted directions, sending a cool rush of air across his left cheek. If it continued that trend, his prey would smell him coming. He pulled the rifle’s scope to his left eye, a habit that his father had never been able to break him of. Traditionally, a person always used the eye of their dominant side to shoot, and since he was right-handed, he should have used his right eye. But it never felt comfortable for him. In his left eye, the target always seemed clearer.

The crosshairs of the scope fell between the hills on the horizon. The tracks were fresh. The deer couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred yards ahead of him. Alex was closing the gap. Then, in the dip between two hills, Alex could see the slow stumble of a buck trudging forward. He balanced the rifle in his hand as he slid down the mound of ash before him, triggering miniature landslides on his descent.

Much like Alex, the buck was in search of the same thing: food. Hardly any vegetation remained in the area. Everything was either dying or already dead. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything green, which he’d grown used to, but the one thing that he still hadn’t gotten over was the quiet.

The chirp of birds was mute. The buzz of insects had disappeared. The sway of grass and leaves blowing in the wind had decomposed. GMO-24 had done its work well, dismantling ecosystems and discoloring their world into a lifeless bowl of ash and dust. Now, the only sound was the hollow howl of the wind past his ears.

Heavy snorts and the stumbling of hooves grew louder as Alex stepped quietly around the base of the hill. The rifle was wedged snugly against his shoulder with his finger hovering over the trigger. He hugged the base of the hill, using as much of it as cover as he could. The flicker of a tail came into view, accompanied by more labored breathing. Adrenaline surged through him and replaced his road-weary fatigue.

The animal looked like it could be taken down by a stiff breeze. Its bones were pronounced along the legs and shoulders, looking as though they were trying to break out of the animal’s skin with each step. The rich brown color of its hide had faded to something akin to a ghostly pale. Its head was lowered as it continued its serpentine shuffle in search of greener pastures that Alex knew it would never find.

Alex brought the buck into his crosshairs, lining up the shot right at the base of the skull. He didn’t want to waste any meat by shooting the animal anywhere else. One shot. One kill. He exhaled slowly, quietly. The buck stumbled again. Alex realigned his shot. Another exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

The gunshot thundered through the silence of the field. The shell ejected and buried itself next to Alex’s boot. The buck collapsed to its side, ending its journey and its pain. Alex knelt down by the buck and ran his fingers over the bumps and tags along the animal’s hide. Some parasitic disease had grabbed hold of it and was draining away what life it had left. Blood soaked the ground around the animal’s head, and Alex pulled the knife from his belt. Despite the animal’s thin frame, it was still too big to carry all the way back to the community in one piece.

The tip of the blade pierced the buck’s stomach, and Alex slid it all the way down its belly. Intestines and organs poured out, sending a rush of hot stink into the air around him. He worked swiftly, extracting what meat he could and packing it into his sack. Anything that could be eaten was taken, and he left what couldn’t to rot with the dead earth underneath.

Alex zipped up his pack and lugged it over his shoulder. It was at least thirty pounds heavier than when he left the community. His boots sank a little deeper into the ground from the extra weight, and he cursed the once-loved hilly terrain that now burdened him.

When he made it back to the top of the hill, he could see a single tree just to the north of him. Its branches twisted and jutted into the air, bare of any vegetation. The bark looked black and grey, almost completely blending into the earth surrounding it. Alex knew the tree had long since died, but there it remained. No doubt hollow and weak, it endured even through death.

Alex stood there transfixed, unaware of the amount of time that passed. The wind had now completely reversed its direction and brought with it the familiar stench of dirty flesh. Alex immediately jumped down the hill, the sound of gunfire blasting behind him.

Layers of ash and dirt caked his face and body. Alex kept his limbs tucked in tight as he tumbled down the hill. The moment his body came to a halt, he quickly aimed his rifle and fired toward the top of the hill, causing his two attackers to seek cover on the opposite side.

Bits of earth sprinkled from his eyelashes as he blinked, attempting to clear his vision. Alex peered into the scope, swinging his aim from the crest of the hill, then side to side, checking the perimeter. From what he could tell, there were only two of them.

“Put the rifle on the ground and come out with your hands in the air,” a man’s voice echoed from the other side of the hill.

“You have papers for that weapon?” Alex asked. “’Cause I have them for mine.”

“We don’t need papers to kill you, hunter! We have you outnumbered, so leave the meat and be on your way,” the second voice said.

Alex jumped to his feet, keeping the rifle tight against his shoulder and continuing his fluid scan of the area. He backpedaled and started to make his way around the left side of the hill, keeping quiet and being mindful of the wind.

“Last chance!” the first man’s voice yelled.

The moment Alex turned the corner and saw the first man on his back, he squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet through his temple. The shot sent a spray of blood across his partner’s face, which provoked a scream and immediate surrender.

“Please!” the second man said, thrusting his hands into the air as he lay on his back, digging his heels into the ground to push himself backwards. “Please! It was his idea. I d-didn’t even want to. C’mon, mister, don’t kill me, please!”

Alex kept his rifle up and then kicked the other guns out of reach once he was close enough. Both men were skeletons. Their flesh resembled the same hide as the deer and their hungry minds were propelled by the same infinite quest for food.

“Where’s your community?” Alex asked.

The skeleton twitched, its nerves overloaded with the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the barrel of a rifle being shoved in its face.

“Where is it?” Alex repeated, barking the words more harshly.

“W-we don’t have one. We’ve just been running across the states, trying to find any place that still had food left,” the skeleton answered.

Nomads. If neither of the men had a community, then who knows how many others they had killed to feed themselves? With the confiscation of weapons by the Soil Coalition, the only members of communities that were allowed to have rifles were the designated hunters and the sentries stationed in each to maintain control over its members.

If the skeleton had any water left in him to form tears he would have, but the malnourished figure before Alex didn’t have any liquid to spare. “P-please, you don’t have t-to do thi-”

The bullet that cut him short sliced right between his eyes. What little brain matter the skeleton possessed oozed out of the back of its skull. Alex took stock of their weapons and patted them down for any other supplies or ammo. All they had between the two of them were the two rifles and the ragged, soiled clothes on their backs.

Alex grabbed both rifles and restarted his journey back to his community. The lone tree atop the hill in the north flashed in his peripheral view. He stopped again to look but quickly dismissed his glance and marched forward, gripping one rifle in each hand. The skeletons would be left to rot along with the deer carcass, and like the skeleton behind him, Alex had no tears to waste.

* * *

With the sun almost completely setting behind Alex, the tiny cluster of buildings in the distance signaled the final few hundred yards back into the community. But before he passed through the community’s checkpoint he made a detour to the dead forest.

Alex stepped over logs and crunched the smaller twigs under his feet. The dead cousins of the lone tree that he’d seen on his hunt were clustered together here in a single mass grave. Whatever life was abundant here had disappeared long ago, and with it the sustenance that Alex used to survive on. Now, he had to trek farther and farther away from the community in order to hunt what fresh game was still alive. And he wasn’t sure how much longer that was going to be.

He walked all the way through the forest to the other end and started digging at the base of the biggest tree trunk he could find. The goliath he had settled on was at least six feet wide, and despite having no nutrients left in the soil beneath its roots, it still gave a solid thud when Alex thumped the trunk with his knuckles. He tossed the two rifles in the hole and covered it up. He pulled his knife from his belt and carved two scratches into the bark.

Alex checked the perimeter of the forest before exiting, then headed down toward the cul-de-sac where the community’s citizens’ housing was located. He stopped at the back of one of the houses and knocked on the door. The door cracked open, and Alex was greeted with a sliver of Daniel Harper’s eye staring back at him.

“You alone?” Harper asked.

Alex pushed the door open and stepped inside. “No, I brought a few sentries with me.” Harper quickly shut and locked the door as Alex made his way to the kitchen. The counter rattled from the weight of the pack when Alex slung it off his shoulder. He unpacked a quarter of the meat and handed it to Harper.

“How far did you have to go this time?” Harper asked, grabbing a knife out of the sink.

“Why don’t you keep your utensils in drawers like normal people?” Alex asked, peering into the sink filled with knives, forks, and spoons.

“What? They’re clean. So how far?”

“Forty miles.”

Harper almost dropped the deer meat onto the floor. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve got to get the rest of this to town before the sun goes down. The sentries are getting stricter with curfew.”

“All right. I’ll get this canned and handed out to everyone by tomorrow.”

“Tell everyone to be careful. We’re overdue for a blood sampling.”

“Will do. Thanks, Alex.”

Alex slipped out the back and headed toward the community’s official entrance, where he was greeted by the same thick-skulled, wide-jawed, mindless sentries every time he came back from a hunt. Each of them was weighed down with Kevlar and helmets and armed with fully automatic weapons, which thankfully hadn’t been fired in quite some time. And Alex wanted it to stay that way.

Alex extended his hunting papers, and the sentry ripped the pack off of Alex’s back and dumped the contents onto a makeshift table. The sentry’s partner then manhandled Alex in a pat-down.

The mechanical motions of the security check was a ritual he’d grown accustomed to. The time of his absence was recorded into the Soil Coalition database, the meat was weighed, the rifle was locked up, the hunting knife was seized, and the sentries checked every item he had to ensure nothing more nor less had been brought back with him.

The sentry shoved Alex’s pack and hunting papers into his chest with a force that made him stumble backwards. “Drop the meat off at the meal station and return to your home immediately.”

Alex’s boot sank deep into the community’s main street, which was nothing more than a long stretch of muddy filth. A few of the community members hurried over to Alex, their eyes glued to the pack of food on his back.

“Get anything, Alex?”

“Yeah, did you have any luck out there?”

“You were gone a long time.”

If Alex would let them, they would eat the deer meat in the back of his pack raw. The responsibility of providing fresh meat for the forty-plus community members rested on his shoulders, and even though the bodies of the people around him were thin, he still couldn’t help but feel their weight starting to wear him down.

“Tracked a buck north of here, just south of the Nebraska line,” Alex answered then leaned in close.

“Harper will be making some deliveries tomorrow.”

Their bony hands gripped Alex’s lean arms and shoulders. The thankfulness in their eyes and touch that helped fill him with purpose lingered on him until it was replaced by the forceful hands of the sentries at the meal station that seized every last ounce of meat, which would be distributed evenly to all communities across the state of Kansas. His community members would be lucky if they saw three pounds of that deer.

It was the Soil Coalition’s belief that each citizen had to contribute to the greater good of feeding the nation. The famine brought on by GMO-24 had taken the lives of over a third of the country’s population and decimated whatever soil its seeds found their roots in, leaving nothing but the dry ash that Alex had spent the past two days trekking through.

Aside from the meal station, the only other community buildings were the water unit, medical center, communication building, trade post, work station, the community hall, and the sentry housing. Each was constructed and maintained with the same care and efficiency of a tyrant keeping his people alive only to feed on them once he was hungry.

The only source of power a community had rested in its generators, which kept the lights on in the sentries’ quarters, refrigerated what food needed to remain cold, and provided any electricity needed to keep the community work stations operational. Aside from those three buildings, the rest of the community was living in the 1800s.

The leaning walls and sagging roofs of shacks mirrored the faces and bodies of everyone in town, most of whom were just getting out of the wax factory, scuttling back to their homes before curfew. Everyone wore the same mass-produced rags from some community in the west. Each community had a separate discipline, providing a desired product that was distributed to the rest of the Coalition. Their discipline was candles.

The skeletons that Alex passed walked with a limp and a hunch from the perpetual curl of their bodies clawing at the hunger in their stomachs. Movements were slow, groggy, disoriented. The hollowed eyes shielded minds too tired to think beyond the prospect of their next meal.

Between the narrow alleyways of the buildings that Alex passed on his way home, he could see the quick movements of a shadow. The shadow stayed in step with him, and when Alex stopped to tie the loose laces flopping around on the top of his boot, he heard the rapid succession of feet sprinting toward him.

“Got you!” Meeko yelled.

But before Meeko could pounce, Alex rolled forward, sending Meeko face-first into a pile of mud. The young boy lifted his face and wiped away the thick clumps of earth covering his eyes. Alex extended his hand to help him up. “If you’re going to surprise someone, kid, you need to make sure you make yourself known after you’ve gotten hold of them. Giving them time to move out of the way isn’t a smart call.”

“But I almost got you,” Meeko replied.

“Almost doesn’t pay the bills, kid.”

Alex used what he determined was the cleanest part of his shirt to help wipe the mud from Meeko’s face to where the boy could at least see, and the two of them walked home. The little street rat was distributed to Alex’s community by the Soil Coalition when the communities were first established three years ago. Alex caught him trying to sneak an extra ration card out of a sentry’s pocket. He immediately liked the kid.

“So did you get anything?” Meeko asked.

“It’ll be venison for dinner tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Deer, kid. It’s deer.”

The cul-de-sac where the community members lived were comprised of fifteen small two-bedroom homes. Each home housed no more than four individuals and no fewer than two. Some of them were families by blood, most by association.

Once Alex and Meeko made it to the top of the hill, Alex gave Meeko a playful shove, and the two stopped, both bending their knees slightly, each eyeing the center house with its two front windows shuttered closed.

“Same bet as last time?” Alex asked, his muscles twitching in anticipation for the race.

“Double or nothing,” Meeko answered.

“That’s bold. You think you have enough gas in the tank?”

“Eat my dust, old man!”

Dirt kicked up through the air as Meeko got the head start. The fatigue from earlier lifted as Alex chased him and caught up with Meeko halfway to the front door. He could feel Meeko’s small hands smack the side of his leg, attempting to push him off kilter, but Alex was too big for the boy.

The two were neck and neck down the final stretch, both reaching their hands out to touch the door handle first. Just before they reached the front steps, Alex took two leaping strides and beat Meeko by only a few feet.

The two bent over, panting, trying to catch their breath. Meeko threw a punch into Alex’s arm. “C’mon. Can’t you just let me win once?”

“What? You think I should be taking it easy on you? I’m doing you a favor.”

“How is beating me every time a favor?”

“Because when you do beat me, you’ll know that I didn’t let up. It’ll be more gratifying for you.”

Meeko rolled his eyes and twisted the doorknob. “It would be gratifying not to have to give you what chocolate I have left.”

“Hey. A bet’s a bet.”

Alex rested his pack against the wall next to the front door, and Meeko disappeared into his room. The light from the oil lamps in the house cast the front living room with an orange glow, which included Warren, who seemed to have become a growth on the chair he was always sitting in.

“How’d it go?” Warren asked, not looking up from the book he was reading.

Alex looked down the hallway to Meeko’s room, making sure he was still back there. He took a step onto the living room floor, and Warren dropped the book onto his lap with a smack. Alex froze.

“Really?” Warren asked.

“What?”

“Shoes, Alex! How many times have I asked the two of you to take your boots off? It’s like living with farm animals.”

Pig noises squealed from Meeko’s room on cue.

“I will eat that boy,” Warren replied with raised eyebrows.

“I heard that!” Meeko said, his voice slightly muffled behind his closed bedroom door.

“I know!” Warren shouted back, returning to his book. “I don’t even know why you keep that punk around. He doesn’t do anything but make my life a living hell. The latrine sits right behind the house, so it’s bad enough I have to smell shit when I’m here, let alone hear the nonsense that comes out of that boy’s mouth.”

Alex tossed his boots next to his pack and headed into the kitchen. The cabinet Alex opened, just like the rest of the cabinets in the kitchen, was completely empty. But he reached over the second shelf along the side wall. His fingers wiggled a loosely fitted piece of wood on the back corner. Alex pulled the wood out with his fingertips and grabbed the key hiding behind it.

“C’mon,” Alex said. “It’s inventory time.”

Warren snapped the book shut and scooted off his chair. He pushed his glasses up to the top of his head then slammed the book into Alex’s chest, passing him on the way to the garage.

“Your willingness to help is always appreciated,” Alex said.

Meeko came out of his room reluctantly, holding two chocolate squares in his palm. “Here.”Alex pocketed one, then tossed the other back to Meeko. He winked and Meeko smiled. “You are getting faster.”

Warren was already in the garage lighting the oil lamps when Alex joined him. The floor seemed slightly rippled in the lamplight, like a part of it had been scrunched up. Warren moved to the corner of the garage then stopped to look back at Alex. “I can’t do it when you’re standing on it.”

Alex jumped back into the hallway, and Warren bent over and worked the corner until he had a good grip on the flooring. He walked backwards, bringing up a thin layer of plastic that crinkled and curled from Warren rolling it up.

Once the top layer was removed, it revealed the garage’s true floor and a small latch door. Alex tossed Warren the key, and he opened the lock. The hinges on the latch door creaked as Warren opened it. His foot found the first rung of the ladder, and he began his descent. A slight metal thumping echoed until Warren made it all the way down. Once the thumping stopped, Alex made his way down.

The lamp Warren was finally able to light cast its glow onto a narrow hallway that extended back under the house. Both of them shuffled sideways to squeeze through.

“Christ, you’d think you could have made it a little bigger,” Warren said.

“It wasn’t built for comfort, Warren.”

The tiny hallway finally ended and opened up into a much larger twelve by twelve foot room. Just before Warren reached it, Alex grabbed his collar and pulled him backwards.

“Be… careful,” Alex said.

Alex released him, and Warren elbowed Alex’s ribs. “I didn’t forget.” Warren bent down and slowly removed a pin from the side of the wall at ankle height. A thin, translucent wire ran the width of the hallway, then ran into the room, where a pack of C-4 explosive was wired to bring the whole place down on any intruder’s head.

With the pin disabled and the wire removed, both men stepped inside the makeshift basement. The walls were lined with shelves packed with mason jars filled with different varieties of fruits, vegetables, and meats.

“All right. Let’s get it over with before this whole goddamn deathtrap caves in on us,” Warren said.

Warren reached for the clipboard, and through the hundreds of pounds of dirt that lay above them, the distinct din of the community sirens penetrated their ears.

“Inspection,” Alex said.

Warren dropped the clipboard, grabbed the lantern, and hurried through the hallway, scraping against the dirt on either side of him. Alex made sure to grab the key Warren had left hastily on the table and followed the trail of dust that Warren had kicked up behind him. On his way out he bent down, carefully putting the pin back into place. Alex poked his head out of the hole in the garage floor, and Warren almost rolled the plastic film over his face. “Take it easy, Warren, you’ll tear it.”

“Hurry up and move out of the way!”

Alex leapt off the garage floor and into the hallway. Warren finished replacing the fake cover over the top of their hidden pantry and they extinguished the lanterns. Once outside, the sirens grew louder. The entire community was already lined up by the time Warren and Alex joined them. The government vehicles had blockaded the cul-de-sac’s entrance, and the inspector was making his rounds with the aid of the community’s sentries.

“All right, citizens. Blood tests today,” the inspector said.

Alex immediately looked down to Meeko on his right side. He whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Have you been watching your rations?” Meeko nodded.

Food distributed by the Soil Coalition was only obtained through ration cards. The ration cards allowed the Coalition to measure each citizen’s nutrition level based off of the cards turned in at the meal station. The blood tests were administered randomly to ensure the communities were not exceeding their allotted ration cards.

However, there was fluctuation with the nutrition levels, which allowed Alex and the rest of the community some wiggle room. Alex made sure he gave enough extra food to the community for them to stay alive but still allowed them to stay within the allotted nutritional range.

In addition to the blood samples drawn, each house was inspected by the sentries. Any items in the house that weren’t on the citizens’ personal registry were deemed contraband, and the owners were sent off to the nearest farm camp to work off their crime. Alex had enough food down in the basement to put him to work at a farm camp for the rest of his life.

It took the inspector thirty minutes before he made it to Meeko, Warren, and Alex. “Arm,” the inspector ordered. Meeko extended his right arm with his sleeve already rolled up and his palm facing up. The inspector guided the needle into the small cluster of needle-sized scabs and drained a syringe full of blood from Meeko’s vein. The inspector scanned the small barcode on the side of the syringe and placed it in a briefcase with the other samples. The same procedure was followed for both Alex and Warren.

Once the inspector was done, everyone stayed in place until the test results were completed. The inspector disappeared into the large truck that housed his lab equipment while the watchdogs continued their duty.

The community was dead quiet during the testing. It wasn’t always like that. When the inspections first started, people tried to remain in good spirits, but the Coalition believed that individuals in good spirits were harder to control.

This younger guy in the community, who must have been twenty-five or so, kept cracking jokes during the inspection. Alex figured he was just nervous and was trying to lighten the situation, but their old inspector was a hard-ass. The kind of meathead that got kicked off the high school football team for poor grades and took out his frustrations on the underclassmen. Before Alex could blink, the inspector caved the man’s head in with one blow of his baton. The Soil Coalition set the tone of its reign early, and no one had tested it since.

When the inspector stepped out of the van, he handed one of the sentries a list. The sentry nodded and began his walk down the line, which meant someone was over the limit. The first member that the sentry snatched was Harper. His wife clawed at his arm, trying to pull him back, but the other sentries restrained her.

Then the sentry continued down the line of community members, searching for his next victim. The rhythmic stomping of his boots couldn’t drown out the thumping beat pounding in time with Alex’s pulse. Alex balled his fists tight. If he was on that list, he wasn’t going without a fight. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Just before the lead sentry made it to Alex, he snatched Meeko’s wrist and pulled him from the line.

“Let me go!” Meeko said, attempting to squirm free from the sentry’s grip.

Alex stepped forward but felt his arm yanked back. He looked down to see Warren’s hand over his wrist. Alex ripped Warren’s hand off him, then lunged for one of the sentries. Alex wrapped his arm around the sentry’s neck and wedged it into the crook of his elbow. He applied pressure, slowly choking off the sentry’s airway. The sentry clawed at Alex’s arm and tried reaching for his weapon, but he was slowly losing consciousness. The other sentries drew their guns. Alex propped the sentry in front of him to protect his own body. “Let the boy go.”

The sentry detaining Meeko pulled a knife from his pocket. He yanked the boy’s head back, exposing his throat, and brought the edge of the blade to Meeko’s soft flesh. “Release the sentry in three seconds or I kill the boy. One.”

Meeko’s whole body shook, and tears streamed down his face.

“Two.”

Alex released the sentry, whose knees hit the ground with a thud. The sentry hacked and spit, breathing in massive gulps of air. Even with the sentry freed, the edge of the blade was still glued to Meeko’s throat.

The sentry’s cold eyes held no emotion about his work. He could slit Meeko’s throat, toss the corpse to the side of the road, and go home and sleep like a baby. That was what they were trained to do. That was what they enjoyed doing.

“Stop!” the inspector called out. “The boy will work off his debt at the farm camp. Now wrap it up! We still have to hit three more communities before we head back.”

“What about him?” the sentry asked, gesturing toward Alex.

“He’s the community’s hunter. He’s not to be harmed.”

The sentry fisted a cluster of Meeko’s black curls then lowered the blade from his throat and tossed him aside. The sentry that Alex had subdued finally regained his composure. His face was reddened as he grabbed his rifle and smacked the butt of the gun into Alex’s forehead.

* * *

Indistinguishable sounds echoed through Alex’s ears. He groaned. His fingers reached for the point on his forehead where he expected to find his skull split in half, but all he felt was a tender spot just below his hairline. The voices grew louder, until one familiar one came in loud and clear.

“You’re an idiot,” Warren said.

“Then I guess it’s lucky I live with the community’s doctor,” Alex said, cradling his head. Alex’s limbs fumbled, seemingly disconnected from his brain’s ability to control them. He managed to push himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, where his feet found the floor. The room seemed to be lopsided, constantly leaning left, then right at a moment’s notice. “Meeko. Where is he?” Aside from Warren, there were a few other members of the community in his room. Harper’s wife, Alice, was one of the first to approach him.

“I don’t know how it happened, Alex. Since we can’t live together, I can’t watch his rations. You know how he gets!” Alice said.

The others started crowding around Alex, spilling their concerns and worries, only adding to the thumping in his head. Their voices blended together in one piercing cry. He felt himself grow hot. His right shoulder burned with heat. The voices reached a crescendo until he finally stood up and screamed.

“ENOUGH!”

The room silenced. Alex gripped his should er, trying to extinguish the imaginary flames licking his skin. He was sweating uncontrollably, and his breathing became sporadic. The faces looking at him had changed from fear of the sentries to a fear of him.

“All right, everybody,” Warren said. “Alex needs to rest.”

Warren ushered everyone out of the room. The only noticeable difference in their absence that Alex could tell was the quiet void that replaced them. Once everyone was out, Warren returned to the edge of Alex’s bed.

“Why don’t you ever let me take a look at your shoulder?” Warren asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“You say that, but I see you picking at it non-stop when you don’t think anyone’s looking.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“Oh, so it seems like your memory isn’t damaged, which is good to know, because that way you’ll remember that it’s illegal to attack a sentry!” Warren punched Alex’s leg to accentuate the point. “You’re lucky a blow to the head was all they gave you.”

Alex reached for his boots and began to clumsily put them on. “I need to get Meeko. Which farm camp did they take him to?” Alex asked.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Warren answered.

The blinding, sharp pain in Alex’s head was replaced by his rage. He wrenched Warren’s collar in his fist and gritted his teeth. “Which farm camp?”

“I don’t know specifically which one, but they headed toward Topeka.”

Chapter 2

The smell of the musty carpet of the Topeka, Kansas city hall was overwhelming. The A/C vents had leaked all summer, and they couldn’t get the parts to fix them. It wasn’t classified as a priority item in the budget, which was already strapped.

It was here in this small town hall where the founding members of the Soil Coalition gathered to discuss the pressing matters involving the nation and its citizens. The location was chosen as headquarters as a publicity stunt. They wanted the initiative to be in the heart of the country, just as it would be embedded in the hearts of its people.

The council went round and round, and Gordon Reath sat hunched in his seat at the center of the table. He twirled the gavel used to start and end their weekly meetings between his fingers. He was one of the only youthful faces in the group. His jet-black hair stood out among the tufts of white and grey, but unlike the citizens of the communities they represented, there was no lack of round cheeks and overindulgent waistlines. As each councilman spoke, Gordon imagined going down the row, gavel in hand, smacking the heads of each member and sending them back into their holes, like a game of whack-a-mole.

Jared Farnes cleared his throat. “Are we boring you, Mr. Reath?”

The gavel twirled out of Gordon’s hands and thudded against the desk. His head tilted to the side, as his neck seemed to have given up on supporting it. Gordon exuded the morality of a playboy and the patience of a two-year-old.

“We talk about the same problems every week, Mr. Farnes. I doubt this session will offer any new insights.”

Jared Farnes was a rigid piece of steel, and it wasn’t just in his posture. His past work in the industry of weapons development had turned him into one of the wealthiest men in the country, and that wealth wasn’t obtained by being a pushover. His mind created the weapons that had put the United States into a new era of warfare. That same tenacity led him into the President’s circle as his personal liaison to the Soil Coalition. In short, Jared Farnes was the continual pain in Gordon Reath’s ass.

“Mr. Gordon, we’re receiving increased pressure from Canada and Mexico about their grievances of GMO-24 being carried by winds into their farmlands. Not to mention the Chinese demanding that we start a payment plan for the debt we’ve accumulated over the past year from the increased food imports. If we don’t take action, the Canadians and Mexicans could increase their sanctions against us in the UN, and the Chinese could stop their shipments altogether.”

“The Chinese, Canadians, and Mexicans can make all the idle threats they want, but as long as our missiles are aimed in their direction, that’s all they’ll remain: idle.”

“And what about the critical need for seeds? Most of the silos were burned down during the first few months of the crisis. The same silos, mind you, which this Coalition was in charge of protecting. It is my opinion, as well as the opinion of the President, that this Coalition has failed to deliver its intended solution,” Jared said.

“Our intended solution is to keep this country fed. And that’s exactly what we’re doing. Where are we with the production at the camps?”

Dean Grout, a gorilla of a man who was in charge of the sentry program, thumped his heavy forearms on the desk. “Production is down three percent from last quarter, but I’ve ordered all inspectors to shorten the blood test margin from twelve percent to eight, which should increase our recruitment.”

“Recruitment?” Jared asked. “You mean the slave labor you use to keep your plantations running?”

Dean leaned back into his chair and didn’t say another word. He wasn’t in his position for his people skills; he was in it for the lack thereof.

“Any other pressing news before we adjourn?” Gordon asked. “Good. I’ll see everyone in a week.” Gordon was out the door before the rest of the room was out of their seats.

* * *

Sydney peered through the microscope and magnified the sample by twenty. The small specks of dirt underneath the glass grew to massive proportions under the view of the lens. Then he rolled over to his computer where he entered an algorithm, which was cut short as he jolted from the lab door swinging open and slamming against the wall.

“Sydney!” Gordon said, arms extended as if he were seeing an old friend. “I hear you have some good news for me?”

“Um, y-yes,” Sydney said, scurrying to fetch a pile of papers on his desk that were jumbled together in a heaping, disorganized mess. “I-I received a new soil sample today, and you can see here that the nitrate levels are actually normal, leading to a healthy pH—”

Gordon slapped Sydney on the back, silencing him. “Sydney. I don’t need the science mumbo jumbo. I just need to know if you can grow anything in the soil.”

“Well, um, yes, but—”

“Where was the sample pulled from?”

“Wyoming, but—”

“Perfect. Send a team out there with a prepared list of what’s growable in the climate. I want this done immediately, understood? Good.”

Sydney stood there, still clutching the mess of papers against his chest. His lips quivered, searching for both the words and courage to speak up. He found both right before Gordon reached the door. “The soil area is only a one-square-foot patch.”

Gordon froze with his hand on the doorframe. Sydney noticed the whiteness of Gordon’s knuckles. Gordon took a few steps backwards, not turning around, then closed the door.

“One square foot?” Gordon asked.

“Yes.” Sydney backed up until he bumped into a desk. “The scout team actually stumbled across it by accident. There was a single plant growing in the area, and the soil didn’t permeate deeper than six inches. Everything else below it, or around it, was still infertile. It was like someone put it there.”

“Who?” Gordon asked, closing in on Sydney, who continued to lean back, even though the desk didn’t budge.

“Who?” Sydney echoed.

“Who put the soil there?”

“I-I, um, I don’t know.”

Gordon jammed his finger into Sydney’s chest, puncturing a few layers of the paper with the edge of his nail. “So you’re telling me somebody just dropped off a small, one-square-foot, six-inch-deep patch of fertile soil, and nobody knows who, or how it got there?”

The muscles in Sydney’s back tightened from the harsh angle at which he was bent over. “Yes.”

Gordon seized Sydney by the collar, and the crumpled papers cascaded to the ground. Sydney wrapped his hands around Gordon’s forearms but was rendered helpless by his own fear and Gordon’s strength. Sydney shut his eyes and turned away. He could feel Gordon’s breath on his cheek. He wanted to join the papers on the floor and just hide. Finally, Gordon relinquished his grip, and Sydney slowly opened his eyes.

“I want to show you something,” Gordon said.

* * *

The closest farm camp was only a few miles away, and Gordon was scheduled to check the facilities later in the afternoon, but he always enjoyed the element of surprise. Sydney remained quiet in the seat next to him.

Gordon looked out the window. What used to be fertile farmland was now hundreds of square miles of dead soil. The official report from the government declared the event a “singular anomaly,” but Gordon knew that was a load of shit. He, and every other former GMO lobbyist, knew exactly what caused the soil to dry up but had kept silent in exchange for big bank accounts and full stomachs, which was how Gordon landed a position as the head of the Soil Coalition. His talented tongue, which he used as a lobbyist to sway congressmen, was used to paint the Soil Coalition to the American people as its saving grace. He was shoveling the same shit, but now he was just using a different shovel. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Although not every American was naïve enough to believe the report. The small rebellions that popped up ended quickly once the government started funneling what food rations they had to the authorities. A few weeks of starving to death made empty stomachs override ideals.

When it was determined that the farmland tainted by GMO-24 would never grow any crops again, the government ordered the construction of massive hydroponic structures to provide food for the Americans still alive three months into the crisis.

Hydroponics started in the cities, where there was still infrastructure to build them, but as the cost of operations increased, the government had to find cheaper ways to run them. The farm camps solved that.

“Have you ever been to one, Sydney?” Gordon asked.

“No.”

“It’s quite a sight. Although some first-timers find it a bit intense.”

Sydney seemed to curl into a smaller ball as the first greenhouse came into view on their left. The structure comprised large sheets of steel bolted together. Patches of rust formed on the side, giving the walls a reddish tinge in the sunlight.

“The first few greenhouses were built properly, out of glass and plastic, but the materials were too fragile to hold up in the storms. The steel boxes you see there acted as replacements,” Gordon said. The SUV came to a stop. “Shall we?”

Gordon’s slick black loafers cut through the dust that flew up with each step to the farm camp’s entrance. A blast of wet heat greeted them inside, along with the hum of the fluorescent lighting hanging from the ceiling. Sydney wiped the fog from his glasses and was met with the sight of naked, frail bodies walking between rows of massive water tanks growing an assortment of crops. Each of their eyes seemed glazed over. Their skin was pulled too tight across their skulls, revealing the exact structure of their bones. The view was also accompanied by a stench akin to rotten meat. It was like the bodies in front of him were still alive, but decomposing slowly. Sydney covered his nose with his shirt to try and mask the scent.

“Don’t worry, Sydney. They’re not sick with anything you can catch,” Gordon said. “We’ll cut through here and head out to meet the new recruits.”

The rear steel door scraped against its own hinges from Gordon’s shove, sending a blast of fresh air inside. A cluster of skeletal farm workers near the exit rushed to feel the cool air but immediately drew back after the first loud crack from a sentry’s whip.

Outside, a bus pulled up where men, women, and children exited and formed a line. A group of sentries examined them then stripped them of their clothes and any personal items in their possession. Any resistance was met with a harsh lashing of the tongue and whip.

“I like to come here and meet with new workers from time to time. It helps remind me of why my job is so important, you know?” Gordon said, leaning into Sydney.

Sydney turned his head away at the sight of a young woman being stripped down, but Gordon grabbed his head and turned it to make him watch. “No. I want you to enjoy the show,” he said.

Gordon kept a strong grip on Sydney’s jaw. He could feel the strain of Sydney’s muscles struggling to avert his gaze. The two sentries manhandled her, running their hands up along the bones at her hips, groping her breasts, and laughing at the condition of her body before moving on to the next helpless victim.

“You’re disgusting,” Sydney said.

Gordon shoved Sydney into the dirt. He took a few steps forward, casting a shadow over Sydney’s recoiling body.

“This is what the world is like, Sydney! It’s not as neat or clean as your lab. This is what it takes to live! This is what you have to do to survive, and sniveling little maggots like you who don’t have the stomach to go through with it would die without people like me! Or would you like to stand with your ideals and join your fellow man?” Gordon asked, gesturing to the naked line of workers trying to cover themselves.

Sydney’s answer was the simple lowering of his gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” Gordon said, sending a spray of dirt from the toe of his shoe over Sydney then turning his attention to the workers. All of them afraid, hungry, and slowly dying.

“Each of you was brought here because you’re thieves!” Gordon said, his voice booming. “You stole from the very people that feed you, protect you, and keep you alive!”

Gordon paced up and down the line of naked bodies with their heads cast down. Few things were more embarrassing or degrading than being stripped down to nothing and paraded around like a farm animal.

“Do not bite the hand that feeds you,” Gordon said. “Now, you will work off your debt to the millions of families you stole from, and make no mistake that if you exhibit the same disregard for our rules here as you did in your community, then you will die here.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

The voice came from down the line. Gordon traced the origin to a small boy, skinny and thin, but the only one not looking at the ground. He brushed the thick black curls from his eyes as he looked up at Gordon.

“You didn’t?” Gordon asked.

“No. The food was given to me.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Meeko.”

“Well, Meeko, whoever gave you that food did so without paying for it. So you just give me the name of your friend, and I’ll make sure they’re here instead of you.”

Meeko fidgeted with his hands but remained silent.

“Speak up! This is your get-out-of-jail-free card. Tell me who gave you the food.”

“Tell him!” Sydney said, lifting himself up from the dirt.

“You should listen to him,” Gordon said, whispering into the boy’s ear.

“Fuck you.”

A ripple of cracked smiles radiated from the boy’s epicenter of rebellion. Even Gordon gave a half smile. “Cute,” he said, then brought the back of his hand across the boy’s face, sending him to the dirt. The smiles disappeared, and Gordon picked the boy back up and smacked him harder, leaving a gash across his cheek. When Gordon pulled his hand back again, the boy started crying. He lowered his hand slowly then turned to the rest of the group.

“Welcome to Farm Camp 0249,” Gordon said.

Chapter 3

Alex was shoving the last of his supplies into his pack when he heard the moans and shuffling of Warren, squeezing his way through the tight hallway.

“I swear I’m going to get stuck down here one of these days. Can you imagine? Dying right next to a big pile of food. I’d be the laughingstock of the community, not that anyone would know about it, of course,” Warren finished under his breath.

“You’re not talking me out of it.” Alex pulled a large box from the top shelf and rested it next to his pack. He opened the top and pulled out sealed bags of seeds. Warren snatched the bag off the table and clutched it to his chest.

“No, I’m not letting you take these,” Warren said.

“They’re not yours to keep,” Alex replied, yanking the bag out of his grip.

“Alex, you’re not thinking straight. These are non-GMO seeds. Once they figure out how to fix the soil, these are going to be a gold mine. Or if one of us gets in trouble, these are our get-out-of-jail-free cards!”

“I’m not taking all of the seeds. Just some of them.”

“Oh, well, in that case, please! Go right ahead! You don’t think they’re going to question you about where you got them? Hmm? Or why you didn’t turn them in once the regulations started? ‘Oh, gee whiz, Mr. Gordon, I totally forgot I had these and wanted to turn them over to you out of the kindness of my heart. I had them stored in my secret basement with the rest of my illegal food.’”

“Warren, enough,” Alex said, cutting into his rant.

Alex stuffed a bag of seeds into his pack then returned the rest to the top shelf. His pack smacked against Warren as he passed him. Warren climbed up out of the hole after Alex, who didn’t bother putting the seal back down to cover his tracks.

“So you’re going to demand to get both of them back?” Warren asked.

“That’s the plan.”

Clouds shielded the moonlight, so he would have good cover through the night. He’d be able to make it to Topeka by morning, and after just going through an inspection, the sentries wouldn’t be on high alert for a few days. Once he was in Topeka, his seeds would be all he needed to get Gordon Reath’s attention.

* * *

The front legs of the chair lifted off the ground as Jake leaned back. He rubbed his hands over the top of his hair, which was shaved down to nubs. His arms were tucked behind the chair’s back, exposing a thin but sturdy frame that was concealed underneath a black leather jacket along with the holster and pistol he kept with him at all times.

Gordon read over the notes from the soil sample that Sydney had typed up for him. The science was condensed to a language that a village idiot could understand. Gordon tossed the paper back onto the desk and rubbed his eyes.

“Fucking scientists. They’re all speculation,” Gordon said.

“Do you think it’s true?” Jake asked.

“All we know for sure is they found a patch of soil that will grow plants and that the soil came from Maine, specifically in the coastal region. But we have no idea who put it there or how the hell it made the trip from Maine all the way to bum-fucking-Egypt, Wyoming.”

“You want me to check it out?”

“I want you to find whoever did this,” Gordon said, picking up Sydney’s report. “I’ve had every single scientist we have working for us look at this sample and none of them, zero, nada, zilch, have any idea of how this soil suddenly rejuvenated to the point of supporting life.”

“Could get messy.”

Jake picked underneath his fingernails, flicking a speck of dirt onto the carpet. He inspected the rest of his short nails, running his thumb over the tops of them.

“That’s why I’m sending you,” Gordon said.

“When do you want me to leave?”

“Your plane takes off in thirty minutes.”

“Not much time to pack.”

Gordon extended Jake an envelope. “That’s the condensed version of Sydney’s report along with a profile of the closest community in proximity to where the sample was found. Sydney will be joining you on your trip in case you have any questions.”

Jake stuffed the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll be in touch.” He made his way out of the office and glided down the hallway. He maneuvered through the groups of scientists and office personnel like a ghost. He seemed to be able to move through matter then disappear in the blink of an eye.

The shoulder holster concealed beneath his jacket contoured to the flow of his movements. It acted more like an extension of his body than an accessory. Every eye was on him as he exited the building. They knew who he was by reputation more than by name. The man with the black jacket was infamous.

Jake looked over the notes on the way to the airport. The car rumbled over the rough asphalt and swerved hastily, avoiding the potholes that plagued almost every road in the country. The last swerve caused Jake’s shoulder to slam against the door panel. His glare caught the eyes of the driver in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry,” the driver said.

The driver’s eyes fluttered back to the road, purposely avoiding Jake’s prolonged stare. Finally, Jake diverted his attention back to the papers.

Most of the science Jake read was beyond his high-school dropout academia, but whoever was behind this had been planning it for a very long time. The scout team that found the soil must have just stumbled upon a test sample. He didn’t doubt there was more out there.

The driver hit another pothole, sending Jake’s head into the ceiling from the bounce. Before Jake’s ass hit the seat, he had the barrel of his pistol against the back of the driver’s skull.

“Hit one more bump, and I’ll drive myself to the airport. Do you understand?” Jake asked.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just… the roads. They’re not very good anymore.”

Jake pushed the barrel of the gun harder into the driver’s skull. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

Jake holstered his pistol and looked out the window. There must have been hundreds of potholes, divots, and cracks along the highway that the driver was anxiously and carefully trying to avoid. The chances of him making it the final three miles to the airport without hitting them were roughly one in one hundred thousand. Jake didn’t like the driver’s odds.

* * *

The sun was just breaking on the easterly horizon and casting a pale yellow across Alex’s face. The big orange ball pushed its way upward and was a welcome sight. Dawn was always his favorite part of the morning, even before the famine broke out.

The early-morning glow cast the rolling hills around him in a blanket of gold. For a moment he could see the dead earth around him be replaced by the fields of wheat and grass that used to grow there. The morning made the earth around him still feel youthful. But the feeling would only last for another few minutes. Then the sun would grow bolder, revealing the premature aged spots that now dotted the land around him. In another hour, he would be surrounded once again by death.

Alex rubbed his eyes. The morning sun also brought along with it the tiredness of his body. His legs and arms felt heavy, and the squinting against the sun’s rays only increased the desire to close his eyes. He reached around to his pack and pulled out a small plastic bag. White pills lined the clear bag, and he popped one in his mouth. He washed it down with a swig from his water bottle and splashed a little bit of water on his face.

It’d take a minute for the caffeine pill to take effect, but once it started working its magic, Alex would feel like he could walk all the way to the East Coast. He’d bought the pills right before news of the soil crisis. He bought it in bulk, and he still had half the container full back home. With coffee now considered a luxury item, his body was thankful for the purchase of the pills to help ease the addiction from the daily five cups of coffee he used to choke down.

Once the sun morphed from its infant morning orange to an adolescent white, Alex could see the shambled outline of Junction City in the distance. From there, he could find something to take him the rest of the way to Topeka.

Junction City had become a bit of a wheel hub for the rest of the state. The town was small enough for easy government control when the soil crisis started to gain momentum, but large enough to act as a refueling station for transportation vehicles heading out into the less populated areas of the state.

The soil crisis had brought an unintentional boom to the area, which now drew a large economic presence from the government because of their stake in the Soil Coalition. It also provided another service for anyone interested in dealing with the black market. There were certain government officials who didn’t shy away from gestures of bribes to peddle something, or someone, under the radar.

The smog from the traffic pollution grew thick as Alex made his way onto Highway 18, which held a deadheading straight into the city. He was stopped by a few sentries at the city’s entrance, but a flash of his hunting registration, along with a few ration cards attached, slid under their palms didn’t lead to any questions or further pat-downs.

Junction City may have been larger and slightly more chaotic than Alex’s community, but the look of the population was eerily similar. The thin frames had slightly more meat on them, but that same look of dazed hunger filled their eyes.

Of all the things that Alex had noticed since the soil crisis started, people’s eyes were the detail he fixated on the most. There was a journey, along with a tipping point, for someone starving to death, and you could always see where a person was by the state of their eyes.

In the beginning there was the panic, fear, frustration, and agitation that accompanied the desire to eat but not having the ability to find food. However, the will to survive was still clearly visible, along with the strength to obtain it, usually by force.

Once the hunger continued its vindictive pursuit in your consciousness, it would begin to cloud the mind. It was like a slow fog you could see coming, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop walking toward it. The misty, low-lying clouds covered you in a blanket of confusion. You wandered aimlessly through it, unable to make out any clear objects, and grasping violently at anything you could draw close.

The fog would thicken until the fear and apprehension of not being able to recognize anything gave way to numbness. The hunger would remain, but the desire to conquer it would be replaced by apathy. Apathy about continuing forward, apathy toward the people around you, apathy for the situation you found yourself in.

Finally, the struggle to continue the mindless wandering would end. The eyes would close, ending their torturous journey, and never open again.

Walking through Junction City, Alex saw more of the same. There wasn’t a single person alive in this country that wasn’t in one of the stages he’d categorized. Most of the people here still held onto their frustration and anger. Alex understood that anger. It kept you alive.

* * *

Sydney started feeling anxious the moment Gordon told him that he was going out into the field. At first he thought it was some sick joke, a continuation of the torture of being sent to the farm camp. But the moment he received the plane ticket, he knew it wasn’t some sort of psychological warfare. It was real. His leg bounced as uncontrollably as his ability to stop himself from hyperventilating. One of the pilots was making his way from the cockpit to the bathroom in the back, and Sydney flagged him down.

“Captain, can you tell me how long the flight is?”

“Shouldn’t be more than forty minutes. We’ll be taking off as soon as the other passenger arrives.”

Sydney wasn’t a field agent. That wasn’t his area of expertise. He belonged in the lab, analyzing the samples sent to him by more-qualified individuals. The field had too much uncertainty. Too many variables that he couldn’t control. And when there were too many uncertainties or too many variables, the higher the probability of chaos. Chaos was dangerous.

Sydney closed the small covering over the window and leaned his head back onto the headrest. He buckled his seatbelt and tightened the strap as hard as it would go around his waist. All he wanted to do was go there, take whatever notes he could, then get back to his lab. His safe, controlled, clean lab. The sooner all of this was over, the sooner he could get back to his bubble.

The airplane’s door was still open, and Sydney could hear the whine of the plane’s engine outside. The sunlight that flooded the cabin slowly became blocked by an encroaching shadow. With each step up the plane’s ladder, the figure’s shadow grew.

Sydney slid down in his seat, trying to hide from whatever was coming. Gordon had mentioned that someone would be coming with him. He figured it was another scientist, but it wouldn’t make sense to send two lab techs into the field.

The cabin was completely dark now as a man carrying no luggage stepped onto the plane. The only things he had were the clothes on his back. A pair of jeans and a black leather jacket.

Chapter 4

Alex stepped out of the truck rig and tossed up three MRE packages to the driver. The trucker nodded, and the rig jolted forward as the trucker shifted gears. A cloud of black smoke flew up into the air and disappeared down the road.

Topeka was just ahead of him, and surrounding the edges of the city were the steel death traps of farm camps. The sentries in charge of running them worked the people inside eighteen hours a day, and sometimes they went days without offering the workers food or water. The only amenity of civilization they offered was a latrine used by the workers for their unfortunate bodily functions.

Meeko was in one of those boxes, slowly wasting away, being whipped if he was working too slowly. The farm camps were full of kids like him. Orphans with no parents. They were easy pickings, and when they dropped dead from exhaustion, starvation, or dehydration, they were easily disposed of.

Alex followed the road until it ran right past the city hall where the Soil Coalition headquarters resided. Alex remembered first hearing about the Coalition almost a year ago. It had an allure and a name the citizens of the country could rally behind. It was the perfect propaganda to give the government enough time to organize the remainder of their resources and recruit what bright minds and strong muscles remained of everyone else.

The Soil Coalition emitted a false sense of hope, one that people still clung to till this day. The early messages of returning to prosperity and bringing peace and rest to a torn country were words everyone wanted to hear. But as Alex looked at the sentries with assault rifles lining the steps of their headquarters, peace seemed to be the lowest objective on their totem pole.

Unlike the corrupt sentries at Junction City, the sentries that Alex would be searched by here shared the same mechanical efficiency of the sentries in his own community. Once his pack was handed over to them, he braced himself for when they found the seeds. The sentry who pulled them out flipped them over in his hand a few times.

“What are these?” the sentry asked.

The sentry had a wide face, almost as if someone pushed the front and back of his skull together, and that turned his head into more of an oval.

“Seeds,” Alex answered.

“What?”

“They’re seeds, dumbass.”

Alex wasn’t sure if it was his salty language or the fact that he was in possession of unregistered seeds that caused the bum rush of sentries slamming his face onto the hard city hall tile, but regardless of the reason it still hurt.

The bash to the side of his face didn’t help the still-present head pain from last night. He could feel the side of his face swelling, and the addition of his wrists being handcuffed only furthered his discomfort.

Once Gordon heard that someone had seeds and discovered exactly who it was, Alex knew he’d get the audience he desired. He just hoped his bargaining chips were worth the freedom of two farm workers.

* * *

Jake watched Sydney peel his fingers off the armrests after they landed. He’d thought the brainiac would go into shock and die before they even took off. Jake stepped out and took in the open land that stretched for miles. It was a far cry from the skyline of Philadelphia. He hadn’t seen a major city for almost nine months, but he didn’t miss it.

When everything first went to shit, the cities took the brunt of the blow. The supplies of food trucks shrank every day. First the daily deliveries stopped, then the trucks only showed up once a week, then every other week, and it wasn’t long after that the trucks were hijacked before they even made it into the city, and then the food trucks of relief supplies were replaced by men with guns.

Screams and gunshots seemed to be the only sounds the city offered after that. He remembered walking to a friend’s house three months after the first failed harvest when he heard a gunshot the next street over.

Once Jake made it to the connecting street, he saw a group of people crouched over something on the asphalt. They yanked and pulled at the object, taking greedy bloody handfuls of whatever they surrounded. A few of them turned to look at him when he passed by, but he kept his eyes forward. In his peripheral vision, he could see the limp hand of the person who had been shot.

When Jake showed up at his friend’s house, no one answered. He walked around back and let himself in. The power had been out for almost a week, so the heat blast that greeted him upon entering wasn’t surprising, but the smell of rotten meat that stung his nostrils was.

The living room wall was decorated with his friend’s brain matter. Flies swarmed around the bullet hole in his head. The used pistol rested in his lap. Jake didn’t even bother burying him. He grabbed the pistol, the holster he knew was kept in the closet, ammo, whatever food and water was left in the house, and then sprinted out of the city that festered with death.

The tech that Jake had flown with finally stepped out of the cabin, leaning to one side with his luggage weighing him down. Sydney waved his hand sheepishly.

“Um, Jake? Right?” Sydney asked.

“You plan on staying here?” Jake asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“The bags, Einstein. Why’d you bring so much baggage?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure how long we’d be staying.”

“Not long.”

“Oh, well, I was hoping you could help me with some of my equipment?”

Sydney gestured behind him to the other cases of luggage heaped in a pile by the plane’s belly. Jake turned his back to him and pinched his index and thumb together in his mouth and belted out a loud, sharp whistle. Two sentries immediately started their way.

“They’ll grab your shit. You really need all of that?” Jake asked.

“Well, to test any other soil samples we may find or specimens found, I want to make sure we have the necessary equi—”

Jake waved his hand, stopping Sydney from continuing. “Yeah, all that science shit. Right.”

If Sydney needed all of that equipment for just testing samples, then Jake couldn’t imagine the amount of equipment needed to turn the dead earth underneath the sole of his boots to a fertile substance. Whoever did it would need a large lab, one that couldn’t be mobile, so he made the assumption that whoever put that dirt on the ground in the middle of nowhere was still here. Now, all Jake had to do was find the prick.

* * *

The living room was clean, tidy, and simple. Even the way the furniture was placed in the room signified a natural balance. It was like the owner had placed each piece specifically in its area to ensure the house would not lean to one side or the other.

In the adjacent study, the same care and balance was erected in the form of bookshelves. The walls were lined with them from the floor to the ceiling. Hundreds of books, tens of thousands of pages, millions of words all neatly tucked away behind their covers.

Todd dipped his hands into the water bucket and splashed his face. The droplets of water collected in the thick bracken of his beard and through his slicked-back hair. He ran a comb through both his hair and beard, taming the knots and tangles formed from the previous seven days, which had been the last time he’d taken the time to wash himself. He scrubbed himself down as best he could then rinsed with the five gallons of water he had pumped from the community’s water pump. He snatched a towel and tried to catch as much of the water dripping onto the floor on his way to the bedroom as he could.

The bed was made, and on top of the comforter sat a pair of pants, a T-shirt, boxer briefs, and socks. The towel hit the floor, and he started to dress.

The town’s sirens wailed just as Todd pulled the laces tight on his left shoe. He abandoned the shoe’s partner and immediately went to his study. In the chair was a worn leather briefcase. He snatched the manila folder inside and rushed back to the bedroom. He pulled up a piece of the floorboard by the tips of his fingernails and stuffed the folder over a dust covered pistol inside. He made sure it was secure then grabbed his right shoe on the way out.

The farms surrounding the makeshift town were fairly spread out. Until the government created their “community,” the families and individuals in the area got along fine. To his left and right he could see his neighbors making the walk down. All of them kept their eyes on him.

Once Todd made it onto the main track, he could see the sentries, rifles in hand, herding everyone in line. Todd filed in, and one of the other community members caught his eye. He gave him a simple nod, and the man looked away.

A new inspector had arrived. He reminded Todd of the street thugs he used to see in California, complete with short hair, simple clothes, and an air of anger and entitlement; the kind of guy who’d knock you out because he was having a bad day. The man didn’t fit the mold for most of the inspectors he’d seen. Especially after seeing the gun holster on the inside of his black leather jacket.

There was another man standing behind the street thug. He looked like some lab rat Todd would have found during his teaching days. The rat held his case of syringes close to his chest, wide-eyed and visibly shaking.

The street thug said something to his pet rat, who then moved to the first person in line and began drawing a blood sample. Whoever the man in the black jacket was, he definitely wasn’t an inspector. While the ‘assistant’ made his way down the line, the street thug simply watched the rest of the community, giving everyone a good look up and down. When he made it to Todd, he stopped.

“What was your job?” Street Thug asked.

“Was?”

“Before the soil crisis.”

“Janitor.”

Street Thug took a step back, rubbing his chin. Then, as quick as a snake bite, he grabbed Todd’s wrist and examined his palm. Todd felt the man’s finger trace along the creases and grooves of his skin. Then, just as quickly as he’d grabbed Todd’s wrist, he tossed it away.

Street Thug shoved his own palm in front of Todd’s face. “You see this? This is the hand of a man who worked outside. Someone who gripped tools and machinery. You have the hands of a twelve-year-old girl. You weren’t a fucking janitor. So what do you do now, janitor?“

“Body depo,” Todd answered.

“Like that, do you? Copping a feel of the stiffs before they’re gone. I can’t imagine the play around here is any good, so you have to take it where you can get it.”

The thug puffed hot, stinking breath against Todd’s throat. Todd balled his fist so tight the bones in his hands popped.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” Street Thug asked. “Have a soft spot for the stiffs? Formed a connection with them, have you?”

The lab rat stood sheepishly behind the thug. “Um, sir?”

The thug took a step back and allowed the rat to collect his cheese. Todd stuck out his arm and felt the cool puncture of metal pierce his skin, followed by the slow drain of life from his vein. Once the syringe was full, the warm, tingling sensation in the crook of Todd’s elbow disappeared, and he covered it with the pressure from his opposite hand. He stood there, feeling the pulse from his heartbeat quicken.

Finally, the thug stepped away. Todd felt his heart rate slow. The beat in his chest and pulse in his arm declined in proportion to the distance between the two of them. Once all of the samples were collected, the lab rat disappeared inside the truck that he arrived in.

Todd closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, quietly. He let the cool rush of air blow past his lips and into the open space in front of him. He had to stay calm. He couldn’t panic. His eyes slowly moved to the sentries surrounding the group. He counted twelve. All armed with assault rifles, and secondary pistols at their waists. They had enough bullets to kill every member of the community twenty times over.

It would only be another few minutes before the lab rat finished the tests on his blood. And when the rat analyzed the calories along with the vitamin and mineral count that was flowing through his blood at this very moment, Todd would have to make a decision that carried repercussions that would extend far beyond his small community.

* * *

Sydney carefully placed each vial of blood into the cylinder holes of the machine. Once each vial was secure, he flicked on the machine, and it roared to life. The blood samples would be spun, dissected, isolated, and analyzed individually.

After the machine provided Sydney with the nutrition levels, he would then compare those results to each community member’s ration consumption that was kept on file in the Soil Coalition’s database.

That database contained files on every single citizen in the United States, including himself. It was one of the most secure servers in the country, with most of the files being classified beyond his clearance. It contained health records, eating habits, family medical history, known ailments and diseases, genetic stability. It had everything.

Sydney cross-referenced the results and found that most members of the community were over their limit, but within the percentage range of leeway given. But one member’s nutritional data was through the roof.

“That can’t be right,” Sydney said to himself, clicking on the file to examine the specifics. But the computer’s results were accurate. The man had no vitamin or mineral deficiency, and he had a healthy blood chemistry. Sydney was quite possibly looking at the healthiest man in the United States. This type of nutritional level was even beyond even his compensation, reserved for the highest officials in the government.

“The soil,” Sydney said, falling back into his chair. The soil that he analyzed earlier that was supposedly from Maine that was found in a field somewhere in this area.

Did these people find a solution? Have they been able to grow crops? Did they have a surplus of food?

Sydney jolted forward in his chair, immediately opening up the background files of the members of the community. He was looking for scientists, chemists, biologists, teachers, professors, any mind that could have had the potential to make such a discovery. Each name he came across had occupations such as mechanic, banker, programmer, janitor, pilot, writer, detective, but nothing close to the level of education needed to create such a miracle.

A violent pounding sounded on the door behind him. “Hey! What’s the holdup?” Jake asked.

“N-nothing. Just finishing up!”

Sydney went back to the file of the man with the immaculate nutrition levels. His background suggested nothing extraordinary. According to the file, he was a high school dropout who couldn’t hold a job longer than a few months.

But still.

If Sydney were to turn this man over, he would waste away in a farm camp. However, the manipulation of blood sampling could land him in a farm camp for life. The scales tipped back and forth in his mind. On one end, his life. On the other, the life of a man he didn’t even know.

Another round of vicious knocks shook the door. “Let’s go!”

Gordon was right. Sydney couldn’t survive in the world the way it was now. He needed the protective shielding of his lab. But if he turned this man in, this… janitor, then he could be condemning one of the greatest minds of this century.

* * *

The rat had been in his cage long enough to process the results. Todd couldn’t figure out what was taking so long. Were they figuring out what to do with him? Did his nutrition levels warrant some executive call to officials on the other side of the country?

The door to the mobile lab opened, and the rat emerged. He handed the results to the street thug, who looked them over. Todd could feel a lump in his throat clog any path that would have allowed him to swallow.

After a few minutes of flipping through the pages, the thug slammed the clipboard back into the rat’s chest and stomped off.

“Inspection’s over!” Street Thug said.

Chapter 5

After three hours of being handcuffed to the chair in the darkness, Alex’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. Not that there was anything to look at in the first place. When the door opened and the fluorescent lights flickered on, the skin crinkled around his eyes and forehead as he shut his eyelids to protect his pupils from the intrusive light.

“Alex Grives, so nice of you to come and see us this afternoon.”

Alex blinked furiously. Flashes of white continued to blind him every few milliseconds. He twisted in his chair a bit and winced from the pressure of the cuffs around his wrists.

“I hope you’ve been comfortable, Alex.”

“And when did you start caring about that, Gordon?”

When Gordon’s face finally came into view, he looked slightly thinner than the last time Alex had seen him, but other than that he still looked like the same bullshit-shoveling piece of scum.

“When they told me they had a hunter in custody with a bag of non-GMO seeds, I had a feeling it would be you, but never in my wildest fantasies did I think you’d ever have the balls to come and see me again.

How’s the shoulder?” Gordon asked.

“I want to make a trade.”

“Ha HA!” Gordon clapped his hands together and looked back at the sentries. “See? Balls. God, I miss dealing with men like that.” He leaned on the table, keeping his hands clasped together. “I already have what you wanted to trade, Alex. Sooo… what other business do I have with you?”

“You only have a portion of what I can trade.”

“Bullshit.”

“Are you willing to have me rot in a farm camp to find out?”

“How about I just beat it out of you.”

“We both know that isn’t going to work.”

Gordon laughed. “I guess you’re right about that.” He got up from his chair, and two muscle-necked sentries squeezed their frames through the door one at a time. “But it never hurts to try.”

Alex clenched his jaw. It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Blood splattered across the one-way glass, and Gordon had to move to the side to make sure he could still see. It’d been a while since he’d seen a good fight, not that this was exactly pay-per-view, but at this point he’d take what he could get. The two sentries had pummeled Alex for the past twenty minutes. Gordon wasn’t even sure if the man was still conscious.

“He’s not talking,” Gordon said and turned to Dean, who was by his side. “Search the house. See if we can find it on our own. If not, then we’ll cut him the deal.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied.

A faint buzz sounded, and Gordon reached into his pocket. He frowned at the screen, then double-timed it to his office. Once inside, he locked the door and immediately dialed Jake.

“Nothing,” Jake said.

“You mean to tell me that there isn’t a single person there over the limit?”

“Not according to these results that lab tech you sent with me got.”

“And he showed you the results?”

“Yeah. I had him email them to you so you could see for yourself.”

Gordon tapped the spacebar on his computer, disrupting its slumber. His eyes scanned the document from left to right rapidly. He repeated the process twice before his elbows thumped on his desk, and he rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

“Then where the hell did the soil come from?” Gordon asked.

“I know the lab results say different, but I’ve got a profile on this guy here that doesn’t add up.”

“What do you mean?”

“This tall, smirky-looking fucker. According to his file, his name is Todd Penn. Before the famine, he was some nobody. A janitor that couldn’t stay in one place long enough to lay down any roots, but he stood out like a sore thumb when your tech was taking those blood samples.”

“You think he put the soil there?”

“I don’t know what it means, but I want to stay here until I figure it out.”

“Fine. But I need you back here soon. We’ve run into a situation with some non-registered seeds.”

“GMOs?”

“No. Organic. And the seeds are only half the problem.”

“I’ll call when I have an update.”

Gordon ended the call and tossed his phone onto the desk. All of it was piling up. The food camps, the debt to China, and the sanctions from Mexico and Canada along with the combination of no headway in sustainable food production after three years’ worth of efforts were beginning to sway the White House’s confidence in him. He needed leverage, and a solution to the soil crisis along with non-GMO seeds would be a good start.

Gordon had sullied his hands in the sewer of lobbying long enough to know when the tide was turning. However, he knew what would happen if Washington turned on him, and what was better, Washington knew it as well. They kept him fed and in a position of power, and he did his best to solve the mess they made while keeping his mouth shut about it. But it wouldn’t be long before he controlled who was in power and who wasn’t.

* * *

Sydney’s knee bounced nervously inside the mobile lab. The only light in the truck was the glow from the computer screen next to him. He swallowed hard. His throat felt dry. He reached for a bottle of water under the desk. The plastic bottle crinkled from the tremors in his hand. He took a sip then set the bottle down and wrapped his arms tight around the briefcase he carried with him, the case with the real lab results. If they were going to take him, it would happen soon. All that was left to do was wait.

The thought of wasting away in a farm camp for the rest of his life over the past few hours had dulled his senses to the point of apathy. The fear and apprehension that overwhelmed him during the forgery had run its course. But when Jake opened the door forcefully, a resurgence of angst gripped him.

“You’re heading back to Topeka,” Jake said then slammed the door shut before he had a chance to ask any questions.

Am I going back to be sent to a farm camp? Are they going to just kill me? Did Gordon want to speak with me personally before I was condemned? Did he want the pleasure of doing it himself?

The frigid, icy grip of panic took hold of the pit of his stomach and spread to his chest. The truck rumbled along the road, hitting potholes and divots along the way. Each jolt sent a shot of adrenaline through his body.

But the closer they drove to the airport, the less Sydney believed he’d been discovered. Gordon and the bloodhound he’d sent with him didn’t have the slightest inkling of the science behind what went into analyzing the results. All they cared about was the end product, and that’s what he gave them. He was worrying about nothing.

* * *

Sentries were stationed in every room in the house. Warren watched them set up the cameras in the kitchen, the living room, all of the bedrooms, and the garage, and he tried not to be obvious while watching them.

When they showed up, Warren thought they were there to collect him or search the house. Whatever Alex had gotten himself into was now affecting him. He shook his head and walked back into the living room, where one of the sentries leaned back in his chair.

“Hey, get off of that!” Warren yelled.

“Or what, old man?” the sentry replied, aiming his rifle between Warren’s shoulders.

Warren waved him off and walked out the front door, where more sentries were stationed outside. He didn’t know where the hell all of them were coming from.

The muscles in Warren’s back popped as he bent over to stretch. He plopped down on the edge of the curb and rubbed his hands together. He had never wanted a smoke so badly in his life. He would have mowed down anyone in the community for the chance at another drag, but the fatigue in his muscles beckoned him to stay put.

A few of the neighbors poked their heads out of their homes to get a look at the spectacle that was his house.

“Why don’t you come over?” Warren yelled across the street. “We’re having some MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS FOR DINNER!”

The doors quickly shut, causing a few of the sentries to turn their heads, but Warren knew most of them didn’t care about the crotchety ramblings of an angry old man. He traced the liver spots that covered the tops of his hands. Every movement of his fingers highlighted the bones underneath his skin. He felt a quick tap on his shoulder and jumped. “Jesus Christ!”

“I’m sorry.”

“God dammit, Alice! Are you trying to give me a stroke?”

Alice Harper was a mouse of a woman, and not just because of her size, which was tiny. Her ears were far too large and round for her head, and she had buckteeth and an overbite. This, accompanied by a way of always keeping her hands at her chest, curled like the top of a candy cane, only exemplified the comparison. Warren couldn’t imagine the woman ate much even before the crisis. He didn’t think her world changed at all compared to the rest of them.

“What do you want?” Warren asked.

Alice took a seat right next to him and scooted close. She cupped her hand to her mouth and pressed it to his ear. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

Warren pushed her off him. “Well, don’t bring attention to yourself by acting all clandestine now!”

“Clandenwhat?”

“Never mind.”

“They questioned me for over an hour, but I just told them that I didn’t know anything.”

“I know you didn’t say anything, Alice. If you did, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Oh.”

The words came out in a defeated whisper. Alice kept her head down and fiddled with the rags she wore as a shirt. Warren gently nudged her am.

“Hey. You know Alex went to go and get Daniel, right?” Warren asked.

“He did?”

“Yeah. I told him he was an idiot, but he did it anyway. And judging by the amount of company we’ve received today, I’d say he made it.”

“Do you think he can do it? Can he bring Daniel back?”

Warren remained silent. He was focused on the ruckus coming from inside the house. The sentries were shouting at one another. The next moment, a few of them started running outside with their guns pointed at Warren.

“You! Get up! Now!” the sentry ordered.

Warren pushed himself up, using Alice’s small shoulders to help steady him. “What is it?”

The sentry’s answer was a pair of cuffs around Warren’s wrists and a shove face-first into the ground. “We got you, asshole. We found your stash.”

Warren immediately started squirming, trying to thrust the sentry off of him. “No! You idiots!” He quickly turned to Alice. “Alice! Get dow—”

The explosion that followed rocked the foundation of the house and shook the whole community from the ground up. Concrete and broken glass rained down and littered the yard. A solid ringing sounded in Warren’s ear, and when he looked over at the house, the front half had been completely blown away.

Chapter 6

The desk in Gordon’s office crashed to its side, toppling piles of papers and office supplies, and his computer smashed to the floor. Gordon rammed the tip of his foot into the underbelly of the desk repeatedly, splintering the wood underneath, spouting as many curses as he could come up with.

Once the rage had exhausted him, Gordon stopped. The tip of his foot throbbed as he sat back down In his chair. What was left of Alex’s seed bank and food storage was blown to smithereens, along with a portion of his men. The brutes that made up the muscle of the Soil Coalition were only good at one thing: breaking things.

It was an attribute that Gordon had exploited many times to his benefit. The goons could break bones, doors, walls, windows, and from time to time, the defiance that some of the community members exhibited, but that same brute force and less-than-delicate touch also caused quite a bit of collateral damage. However, this was the first time they’d ruined something this important.

The door slammed against the wall when Gordon made his way out of the office. The two sentries guarding Alex’s cell stepped aside and let him enter.

“Bad news. My guys found your stash, and a majority of them are dead and crispy. Smart rig with the explosion. But then again, it doesn’t take much to fool these guys,” Gordon said.

Alex didn’t say anything. He continued to cradle the side of his swollen face and pushed himself from lying on his side to a sitting position.

“So the deal’s off the table,” Gordon said. “You’ll be taken to a farm camp immediately. And I’ll make sure it’s one where your friends won’t be.”

Gordon turned to leave, but before he made it out of the cell, Alex pulled his hand away and mumbled through his swollen cheek and lower lip, “What makes you think that was all of it?”

“Bullshit.”

Alex flashed something that Gordon thought resembled a grin. Gordon tapped his foot. The throbbing had lessened and was replaced by a slight tingling. “Where?”

Alex shook his head. “No. This time I go. I don’t need your guys blowing up any more of my stuff.”

“Fine. But we leave now. Guards!”

It was a four-hour drive to Alex’s community from Topeka, and that was if the weather conditions remained favorable.

Gordon chose to ride with Alex and sat right next to him. It was a three-row seat SUV, with two sentries up front and two in the back. “They’re from the seed silo, aren’t they? Is that why you joined that detail when all of this shit went down?”

The vibration of tires on potholed asphalt was the only response, along with the slight clink of metal when the sentries adjusted their rifles. Another dip in the road jerked their bodies from side to side. The car’s shocks squeaked under the strain of its full load. Gordon leaned a little closer, looking at Alex’s reflection in the window as he looked away.

“You ever miss it? The power?”

The lumps on Alex’s face made it hard to read, but Gordon could swear he saw Alex’s jaw tighten in the window’s reflection.

“No?” Gordon asked. “Well, more for me then.”

* * *

They were only ten minutes away from Alex’s community now. He’d run through all of the different scenarios of how it would play out. The seeds he had stored under Harper’s house were his only real bargaining chip now. Once those were gone, he’d lose all leverage. And he wasn’t even sure if the pardon deal was on the table anymore. This would end in one of two ways: either he would be sent to a farm camp, or they would kill him. Alex didn’t like either of them.

The Main Street community structures came into view. Less than five minutes away now. Alex tried concentrating on the last time he had been in Harper’s house. Did he have anything there that he could use? The cloud of hunger loomed over his mind, fogging his train of thought. Focus. Alex shook his head sharply, fighting off the pain throbbing in his head when he had his answer. The kitchen.

The tires of the SUV splashed through the mud road, past the community stores and buildings, and made its way up to the cul-de-sac. The brakes squealed to a stop. The driver got out and popped the door open. Warren was in similar cuffs outside the house.

“Well?” Gordon asked.

Alex nodded to the Harpers’ house. Two of the sentries walked on either side of him, with Gordon right in front. They stepped inside Harper’s house. Like most of the homes, it was fairly empty. Most people had burned their furniture for warmth during the first winter.

“Show me,” Gordon said.

“Through the kitchen. In the back,” Alex answered.

“You first.”

The restraints around Alex’s wrists hid the trembling of his arms. He controlled his breathing to steady himself. He stepped through the doorway into the kitchen, the two sentries following him. His eyes immediately went to the sink. Each step closer brought the bottom of the sink into view, and every inch that appeared without the outline of a knife caused panic to overtake him. Alex moved closer to the edge of the counter, trying to get a better look inside the sink. And then, just before the bottom of the sink appeared empty, he saw the faded black handle of a knife.

Using both cuffed hands, he swiftly snatched the handle of the knife. The doorframe to the kitchen was small, causing the two sentries to cluster, making it awkward for them to reach their rifles. Alex brought the tip of the blade into the side of the first sentry’s neck. An eruption of blood spouted from the contact. Blood squirted between the sentry’s fingers as he tried to stanch the bleeding. Before his partner could reach for his sidearm, Alex brought the blade of the knife across his throat as well.

With both sentries clutching their wounds, attempting to hang on to the last few seconds of life they had left, he shoved both into the kitchen’s hallway, bottlenecking the only entrance, keeping the knife in hand, and sprinted out the back. Dirt flew up from his heels. One hundred yards away was the forest of dead trees, clustered together in a decaying shamble.

The sentries finally made it through the kitchen, and shouts quickly transformed into gunfire. The bullets ripped through the air close enough to Alex’s head for him to feel the vibrations of the shots. Alex pumped his legs, pushing toward the tree line. His legs burned, and the metal from the cuffs cut against the skin on his wrists. Finally, he made it into the cover of the trees, which would grow thicker the deeper he went.

The cloud cover blocked out what moonlight was shining. The gunshots fired behind him lessened. They couldn’t see him now.

Alex pushed his body beyond the limits of what it wanted to do. It begged and cried out for him to stop, to rest, to eat, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to keep going. The constant placement of his feet one after the other on the uneven ground was the only thing keeping him alive. And if he was dead, then so were Meeko, Harper, and the rest of his community. So he pushed on, running to the thick tree at the other end of the forest to collect the rifles he’d stored there the day before.

* * *

Limp arms and a trail of blood were all that was left of Alice when the sentries dragged her out of the house and tossed her into the dirt. Warren, like the rest of the community that was forced to kneel on the hard asphalt in the street, looked at her body, praying they’d see some movement from her. But it never came. Her body was tossed next to the two dead sentries that Alex had killed.

When the leader of the Coalition himself, Gordon Reath, stepped outside of Harper’s house, he was wiping his hands with a rag. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing dark stains that decorated his arms. He tossed the bloody rag onto the mound of dead flesh then pointed at Warren. “Him.”

Warren’s knees were relieved from the pressure grinding them against the lumpy asphalt as two sentries picked him up by his armpits. The sentries dragged him inside after he wasn’t able to get his legs underneath him after having knelt for so long. On his way inside, he caught a glimpse of Alice’s body. Blood and large lumps disfigured her face, making it unrecognizable.

The sentries dragged Warren over the bloody boot prints that smeared the tiled floor. They dropped him into a chair in the kitchen next to a lantern that illuminated the concentrated splatters of blood around the chair’s legs.

“Your friend is a pain in my ass,” Gordon said.

“Welcome to my world,” Warren replied.

Warren’s knee popped as his foot slipped on the slick blood-soaked tile beneath him. The metallic heat and taste overwhelmed his senses. He felt like he was swimming in it.

“Where are the seeds?” Gordon asked.

“Go to hell.”

The remark earned Warren a blow to his cheek, which tumbled him out of the chair, and his shoulder smacked against the tile. He pressed his palm against the floor to push himself up and his hand glided through an already-smeared streak of Alice’s blood. Once Warren was stabilized and on his hands and knees, Gordon kicked his side, cracking his ribs. Warren collapsed back to the floor. Short, sporadic breaths that caused the slightest upheaval of his chest felt like broken glass grinding inside of him.

Gordon stepped over him and leaned down. “Six of my sentries are dead because of your friend. And on our way here, he said that there was another stash of seeds in this house. Now I ask again: where are the seeds?”

Warren lay there motionless, paralyzed by pain. Alex will come back. He’ll get us out of this. He won’t let us die.

Gordon delivered another crushing blow to Warren’s face, breaking his nose. A gush of blood spurted, momentarily distracting him from the pain of his broken ribs. His vision blurred. The people around him turned into nothing but distorted figures. He felt Gordon pick him up by the collar of his shirt, but the fabric was so weak it ripped, and Warren crashed back to the floor. The symphony of agony reached its crescendo as Warren trembled on the floor, disfigured and maimed like the bodies out front. He would be joining them soon. There wasn’t any other way.

“Where. Are. The. Seeds?” Gordon demanded.

* * *

When the gunshots and shouts of the sentries faded behind him, Alex’s legs finally gave out, and he collapsed to the dirt and roots of the dead forest. His thighs twitched from exhaustion, and fire burned in his lungs. Whatever water was left in his system had been sweated out and had crystallized into salt on the edges of his face. His body wouldn’t let him up. He lay there, spent and completely empty of any fuel to burn in order to continue his journey. But his community still wasn’t safe. Get up. His muscles shook in defiance as he pushed himself off the ground and grasped a tree trunk to steady himself.

The blade he’d used at Harper’s house was still in his hand. He positioned the tip of the blade into the handcuffs’ locking mechanism. After a few tries, he managed to loosen the teeth on the locking bar enough to pull his hands free. The cool night air landed on the cuts left from the cuffs along the skin of his wrists, which cracked as he rotated them in their newly appreciated freedom. He tucked the cuffs into his pocket and continued his journey north toward a creek he knew that ran through the area.

The slight babble of water against rocks grew louder. When he made it to the riverbank, he cupped his hands in the flowing water and slaked his thirst. He cleaned the wounds on his wrist as best he could and splashed his face with the frigid water in an attempt to wake himself up.

The tree where he stored the weapons from the day before was a few hundred yards north. He took a few more sips from the creek then continued his journey. The water had given him a brief burst of life that he didn’t want to waste. Every second he was idle was one more Meeko and Harper were in the farm camp. But with this recent stunt, he wouldn’t just be able to walk up to the front doors and expect to get them out.

A small farm camp was north of the forest. He’d passed it a few times while hunting. The security was lighter compared to the larger camps closer to Topeka. There he’d be able to look up which farm camp Meeko and Harper were being held at and steal a uniform and one of their trucks. After that, he’d be able to sneak into Topeka with no questions asked.

Chapter 7

Todd was still in shock. He and a few other community members lingered behind, wondering how they were still alive. Todd peeled his shirtsleeve off the puncture left from the needle’s prodding. Claret-colored specks of dried blood rested in its place.

Eventually, the other community members that had stayed behind left and headed toward the main community building, used for assemblies or the quarterly “social” gatherings that the Soil Coalition put on, which were nothing more than an ancient speaker system blaring old music. The only reason people showed up to them was because they were mandatory, as if forcing the community to be “social” would somehow cause them to forget their troubles.

When the community building wasn’t helping “strengthen” their societal bonds, it was used as a place to vent frustration against the very organization that built it. The poorly crafted walls, leaking roof, and musty air fit well with the complaints that filled it.

Most of the sentries stationed outside rarely entered the building. They remained at their posts, offering their obligatory glares and pat-downs upon entry. Todd extended his arms to the sides as the sentry patted him down roughly and robotically. Once cleared, he grabbed one of the wax candles from the barrel and lit its wick from the massive candle which acted as a lighter for anyone entering.

A small engraved plaque with the same inscription as every other community building rested under the candle. It was meant to inspire hope and a heightened sense of neighborly affection.

“Let this continuous flame represent the burning desire for hope and faith in every citizen of the United States of America.”

Todd made it a point to spit on it every time he passed it. The plaque was nothing more than a continued propaganda campaign against every free-thinking man and woman in the country. Citizens had exchanged lightbulbs for candles. Cars for carriages. Knowledge for security.

Because glass was deemed too delicate and expensive, each community building was erected without windows. The small glow of the individual handheld candles provided the only light in the seemingly infinite darkness that consumed the room.

The light of Todd’s candle finally stumbled across one of the splintered wooden benches used as seating. He was careful in sitting down, trying to avoid an unnecessary poke from the aged wood.

“Talk about a literal pain in my ass,” Ray said, taking a seat next to Todd on the same bench.

Ray Nickle was by far the only other community member that had as big a grievance as Todd. Ray kept his candle tilted at an angle, letting the hot wax drip and join the growing pile on the floor. He sat hunched over with his elbow on his knee, making his already small frame smaller. The biggest thing on Ray Nickle was his mouth.

“Who the fuck is that new guy?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know,” Todd answered.

“Do you think they know anything? Did somebody talk?”

“No, I don’t think so. If somebody talked, half the town would be on their way to a farm camp right now. Something else must have happened.”

Three others joined Ray and Todd on the bench across from them. Emma Claire, Nelson Willow, and Billy Cooth. A few other community members walked in but sat by themselves or with their own groups of people. Having a new inspector in the community was a big change, and change was usually for the worse.

“Do we know what that was all about?” Emma asked, dripping some of the hot wax onto her fingertip and rolling it around, coating her skin with a slick whitish gloss.

“No,” Todd answered. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“How are you not in a farm camp right now?” Nelson asked. “I mean for God’s sake, you’ve been on the new produce for weeks now.”

“Maybe the Soil Coalition doesn’t have the resources for blood sampling anymore? It could all just be for show,” Billy said, through coughs and hacks.

“No, did you see the way the new inspector reacted to the results? It wasn’t what he believed would happen. I think the lab tech skewed the data,” Todd said.

“But why?” Ray asked. “If the Coalition found out, they’d toss his ass in a food camp faster than a whore skipping church on Sunday.”

That was the one variable that escaped Todd. Why? He’d never met the lab tech who ran their blood test before. Could the lab rat have known who he was? Perhaps, but without more information, it was useless speculating on how they came through unscathed and who their mystery helper was.

“Let’s focus on what we know. We just had a blood sampling a week ago. They’ve never been this close together in the past, so that leads me to believe something or someone tipped them off,” Todd said.

Todd didn’t want to allude to any allegations that would lead to dissent within the group. Their bonds of trust were a major factor in what they were able to do and would hopefully continue to do. But Todd knew this day would come. The risks of secrecy came with a very high price, and if one of them decided to cash in, then it would put all of their work in jeopardy.

“We are so close,” Emma said, squishing the growing collection of wax in her hand.

“Well, I’m just gonna come right out and say it,” Ray said. “It wasn’t me. I know that’s what everybody is thinking. Don’t deny it. Ol’ Ray Nickle, just trying to save his own ass, but I’m not. So nobody even try.”

“No one’s accusing anyone of anything,” Billy said.

On cue, doubting their own words, they all looked over their shoulders. Some of the other people were caught staring at them and quickly turned back to their smaller groups.

And despite Todd’s hope that the group still maintained their fortitude for the mission, he knew that every one of them would hit the proverbial wall eventually. It wasn’t something he could help them with. Each person had to overcome it on their own. It was a test he himself faced. He just hoped that his peers were strong enough to push through it.

“The soil,” Todd said suddenly.

“What?” Ray asked.

“The soil sample we set east of here. Somebody could have found it,” Todd said.

“It was less than a square foot,” Nelson replied.

Billy turned to cough, sending a spray of phlegm and spit into his shoulder as he tried to cover his mouth. Todd noticed the unusual paleness of his skin and the glossy coat of sweat covering his face.

“Billy, make sure you go see Ben today. You don’t look good,” Todd said.

“Yeah,” Ray echoed, “And I don’t need you getting me sick.”

“Yeah, I’ll see him after this,” Billy replied.

“The probability that someone stumbled upon the soil accidentally is low, yes, but it is still a possibility,” Todd said, turning back to the discussion at hand.

“It could have been picked up by a scout team,” Emma echoed.

“I told you we should have brought it back,” Ray said, shaking his head.

“I’ll go and take a look at it tomorrow. I’ll let you know what I find,” Todd said.

Todd left them without another word. He blew the flame out on his candle and tossed the waxy nub into the barrel by the entrance.

“Todd!” Emma waved her arms and ran to catch up with him. He slowed his pace, and when she grabbed his arm, he could feel the flakes of wax still lingering on her palm. “I want to come with you tomorrow.”

Todd quickly fell back into his long stride. Emma stumbled forward after him, trying to keep up.

“Just hear me out,” she said, sliding over the mud, trying to gain traction.

“It’ll draw too much attention to ourselves.”

“We don’t have to leave together; we’ll just meet up.”

Todd stopped abruptly, and Emma slid forward. He grabbed her arm quickly to stop her from falling.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Emma, it’s foolish. Go home.”

And just as quickly as he stopped, Todd started off again, leaving Emma alone in the street. He knew it was harsh, but now wasn’t the time to be careless. And with the new inspector eyeballing him from across the street, he didn’t want to put her in any more danger than she already was.

* * *

The sun greeted Todd’s sullen, pale face with the vigor in which he received it: lethargically. He scratched the side of his beard, pushing through the thick bracken on his face. His barren left ring finger twitched uncontrollably. He sat there on the edge of the bed, watching it spasm randomly. A reaction to another sleepless night.

The pop of his knees brought a twinge of pain but mostly relief, as his body was thankful to be mobile and active once again. Todd quickly dressed and washed two caffeine pills down with a glass of water. He slipped on his shoes and picked at the flap forming from his loosened sole.

Todd shut the door and stepped onto the grey ash of dirt that was his front yard. All around the country, there was nothing but dust. The winds had carried GMO-24 to every corner of the country. Whatever patches of fertile soil were left were guarded by tanks and soldiers.

Todd checked over his shoulder a few times, keeping an eye out for the inspector from the day before. Once the coast was clear, he started his trek east. Todd adjusted the shoulder straps of the small sack he brought with him, which carried government synthetic food sticks that were provided to community members, and a bottle of water. The food sticks were the government’s response to the soil crisis. Designed and created in a lab, then shipped in bulk to every corner of the country. It was what most people lived on now.

The only issue with the synthetic foods was the human body’s ability to process it. Humans had evolved to their current state on fresh fruits and vegetables, red meat, and seafood. The human body could only absorb a fraction of what the sticks offered. Its original intent was to act as a supplement, but as the soil crisis grew more severe, it became a meal replacement.

Starving was the slowest death Todd had ever seen. One by one, your muscles, bones, organs, and other tissues weakened. The nerve, immune, and other bodily systems became less efficient, struggling to perform their basic functions. A person’s motor skills would start to fail them, along with the ability to think clearly.

For Todd, that was the hardest part to watch. The mind deteriorated. He could see the light behind each pair of eyes dim. Once the mind devolved to the basic necessities of survival in locating food and water, people became animalistic.

Three years ago, when the relocation efforts were put into place, there were only two types of faces on the people that arrived in the community. The first had a blank glare, a mind fogged and sluggish, a breath away from death.

The other face concealed a mind lowered to an animalistic ruthlessness. The territorial gorillas and bears that guarded their ground fiercely had found their way into the communities, towns, and cities limping along. The capacity for reason and logic had long escaped them. All that was left was instinct.

Instinct. Such a vile word. Todd detested that word. For decades, he was forced to listen to scholars, educated men and women, use that term to describe the actions of people.

“It’s our natural instinct to be violent. It’s our human instinct to destroy. It was his instinct to react that way. It was her instinct that caused her to go down that road. You have to listen to your instincts.”

Well, those firm believers in instincts had finally been given what they had clamored for. The pillars of choice and reason had crumbled. People now lived in slums, forced to work at gunpoint, separated from their family and friends.

Everything Todd had done over the past year was in laborious effort to rebuild those long-forgotten structures. He wanted to return to a time of acumen and intellect. To be able to walk down a street, a paved street, with new shoes. He wanted to look at the faces of the people around him and see their exuberant souls greet him through their eyes. He wanted to go through his day without the mention of the word hunger. He wanted to sleep like he did when he was a child, unafraid and peaceful. He wanted people to act of their own free will and not based off the repercussions from some thug with a rifle. He wanted a world better than what he inherited.

What made it all worse was the fact that they had squandered it. The human race had so many chances to get it right, and time and time again they continued to kill each other. They beat their neighbors. They drained the sources of life around them for the pointless pursuit of empty pleasures.

But he was so close. His research was on the brink of a breakthrough. All of the tests he’d run to ensure it was safe were coming to an end. His body’s nutrition levels were the highest they’d been since before the soil crisis. But if anyone from the Soil Coalition found out about his work, all would be lost. They would return to a world of squandered resources helmed by the same type of men and women who had brought the country to its current state. He couldn’t let that happen again.

Todd was building more than just a cure. He was building a movement, but patience and time were running out. And the new inspector was only going to exacerbate the situation. Something needed to be done. Quickly.

* * *

Sydney had never been so happy to be back in Topeka. Every piece of equipment in his lab seemed to glow upon his return. The sturdy walls, the locked door, and the cold air blowing through the vents all made him feel safe. He treasured the security of familiarity.

He opened his briefcase and pulled out his notes from the project he was working on before he was allocated to the field. Upon his search for his work, he stumbled across the data from the blood sampling in the town he visited.

The small personal thumb drive where he kept old pictures and projects contained the raw, untampered data. Sydney drew the blinds to the windows in the lab and locked the door. He stuck the drive into the side of his laptop and downloaded the information. He reached for his notebook while the loading bar inched from sixty to seventy percent.

Sydney flipped through the pages of the notebook, searching for the man’s name who had the high nutrition levels. It was on the tip of his tongue, but it eluded him. The computer beeped, signaling a finish to the download, when he finally found it. Todd Penn.

He traced his finger over the name, feeling the indentation from the ink on the paper. That name, and the man it represented, was a mystery to him. He needed to solve it.

The resources of the lab here in Topeka far exceeded any of the field labs that the Coalition used during blood tests. He had the finest equipment the country had to offer, which was a fabricated truth, because many of the scientific tools that could have helped him solve the puzzle had been destroyed in the violence that thundered after the first failed harvest.

Most of the equipment was actually quite old. And anything that broke down took a very long time to fix. The soil crisis didn’t just kill plant life, it also killed most of the brain power that was trained in repairing these delicate instruments.

However, Sydney’s resources were far greater than anything that Todd Penn could have had access to, and if he was in fact the missing link to the country’s problem, then he was confident he could decipher the hidden codes inside Mr. Penn’s blood.

A knock at the door made Sydney jump, and he spilled the water from the mug in his hand over the keyboard. He desperately patted the keys with his shirt, trying to wipe up the water before it seeped into the circuits. More pounding shook the lab’s door.

“Just a minute!” Sydney cried out.

He closed the programs on his computer and removed the thumb drive. He stuffed it into his pocket as he unlocked the door.

Jared wore a stony expression that contrasted with his three-piece suit and poked his thick forefinger at the wet splashes on Sydney’s lab coat. “What is that?”

“Water,” Sydney answered.

Jared stepped inside, his large frame almost taking up the entire doorframe. “Why was the door locked?”

Sydney twirled his fingers around one another, keeping his head down. He fidgeted from side to side, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. “All of my work here is considered confidential. You know that.”

“I was told you were sent out into the field? Is that true?”

Sydney nodded, but Jared still had his back to him, so he didn’t see.

“Sydney!” Jared bellowed.

Sydney gave the same startled jump as before. The stern, commanding voice had always caused him stress. There was always a disappointed tone underlying Jared’s every word.

“Y-yes. I was,” Sydney answered.

“I put you here as a favor to your mother, not because of your expertise in the field. Now, the next time Gordon tells you to head out, I want you to tell him no, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“For God’s sake, grow a backbone. Stand up straight!”

Jared grabbed his son by the shoulders and practically lifted him off the floor and dropped him from midair. Sydney’s heels smacked the floor hard, and a jolt of pain rushed up his spine. He rubbed his lower back as he attempted to reach the height he never seemed to be able to as a boy.

“Have you spoken to your mother recently?” Jared asked.

“No, sir.”

“I want you to call her this afternoon. I’m tired of her asking me about you.”

Jared looked around at all of the closed blinds and the water dripping from Sydney’s desk from the earlier spill. He shook his head.

“Do you have any idea how many other qualified candidates I had for this job? Hmm? And here you are, spilling your drink all over the equipment. Do you have any idea how hard it was to obtain all of this? And do you know how difficult it is to have it fixed? Sloppy,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve always been sloppy!”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Hmph. Well, make sure it doesn’t. I have a meeting to attend. I’ve already vented my frustrations on Gordon, so he will most likely swing by later. Be sure this place is cleaned up. I don’t need any more embarrassment from you.”

Once his father was gone, Sydney grabbed a rag and began mopping up the water on the counter. His father’s words were a specific poison that he’d yet to find an antidote for. It had been that way ever since he was a child. Always too small and too weak for success at anything his father deemed as manly, such as sports, fighting, and hunting. The resentful eyes of his father always seemed to find him, no matter how successful he was in the lab.

Of course, his father was right: there were other qualified candidates to run the lab, and all of them would jump at the chance. But despite his father’s nepotistic appointment, Sydney had developed himself into a competent scientist. Before the crisis, he had just received a grant to work at Johns Hopkins Hospital as a researcher in their leukemia department.

When Sydney brought that news to his father, he was too distracted by a new prototype of weapon that his company was marketing to the Marines. He remembered how excited he was to finally have something to tell him that his father would be proud of, but it didn’t matter.

Upon hearing his son’s news, he looked over to Sydney, and this was the moment he thought he would finally receive approval, finally see a look of pride on his father’s face that was the direct result of his achievements. But his father only asked him one question.

“What did you do?”

“I don’t… W-what do you mean?”

“I mean what have you made and created for them to grant you such an opportunity?”

“Oh! My research. I recently wrote a paper on the theory of blood vessels and their capac—”

“Theory?” his father interjected. “What proof do you have that it’s true?”

“Well, I haven’t had the oppor—”

“So, let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly. You wrote a paper, that no one is even sure is correct, with no tangible product to show for your efforts?”

“Dad, my paper could be the first step to—”

“Ah!” his father said, holding his finger up, silencing Sydney. “‘Could,’ Sydney. Not ‘will,’ or ‘yes,’ but ‘could.’ You can’t eat ‘could.’ ‘Could’ can’t put a roof over your head. You can’t drink ‘could.’ So why would you waste my time with ‘could?’”

It was in that moment Sydney realized that no matter what he did, no matter what he accomplished, it would never be good enough for his father to recognize him as a man, as an individual. His world consisted too much of theories and what-ifs, whereas his father’s world was of metal and steel.

Sydney reached back into his pocket and pulled out his thumb drive. He closed his fist around it and gripped it tightly. If his father wanted something tangible, then that’s exactly what he was going to give him.

Chapter 8

The farm camp was surrounded by rolling hills, with nothing but open land for miles around. They were all designed that way. In the earlier days, the Soil Coalition was afraid of the workers escaping, and if someone were to escape, they wanted to make sure there wasn’t any place for them to hide. All the sentries would have to do was bring the sprinting skeletons into their crosshairs and pull the trigger.

Escapes weren’t as common anymore, at least from what Alex heard through the grapevine. Everyone was too tired and weak to fight back now. Because of that, security had grown light, with nothing but Class 1 sentries here. The Coalition didn’t expect a fight from a moaning sack of bones.

Alex had been hiding, concealed under a layer of dirt, for most of the night. Only the whites of his eyes contrasted against the black and grey dust. But since the sentries weren’t paying attention to anything beyond the ten-foot radius around their own bodies, he wasn’t concerned.

One of the sentries came full circle on his patrol, and Alex counted him at seventy-three seconds to walk all the way around. In the last few hours of night, three different sentries had come outside to relieve him, which gave him a total of four sentries that he knew about. Judging by the size of the camp, he figured that’s all there was.

Each sentry was armed with an AR-15 with three full clips of ammo and protected with Kevlar from neck to waist. Even though the riots had stopped, they were still armed to the teeth. The rifles he carried with him had a total of twelve bullets between them. Seven in the .22 and five in the .308, but he wanted to keep the element of surprise for as long as he could, so he’d be relying on the knife to take out the first sentry.

The only problem was once he stole the rifle off the sentry’s back, his buddies would eventually come and check on him, and when they found him dead, it would trigger an alarm that would sound all over the state. And if the alarm was sounded, there would be no doubt that the sentries around Meeko’s farm camp, which was quite larger and undoubtedly had triple the number of sentries this one did, would be on high alert, making it even harder to free him and Harper. Alex would have to kill the sentries quickly.

Once the sentry turned the corner to the back of the farm, Alex would have roughly thirty seconds to catch up to him, kill him, and get inside before he passed the entrance again. When the sentry finally disappeared around the back, Alex pushed himself off the ground. His elbows and shoulders popped from the sudden movements, and the grey dirt he was covered in cascaded to the ground.

Alex sprinted to the structure. Each step that dug into the ground kicked the dirt back violently into the air as he pushed his way forward, leaving a trail of grey mist in his wake. Despite the amount of effort, his body felt slow after being immobile for the past six hours. Once he made it halfway, the muscles in his legs loosened, and he picked up speed. He skidded to a stop just before he reached the back corner where the sentry had turned.

Large, quiet breaths escaped him as he tried to control his breathing. The lack of food and water was already taking effect. His body was running on empty. He peeked around the corner and saw that the sentry had just made it to the other side. Alex had to make his move now. He pushed through the exhaustion and sprinted down the back side of the farm.

Alex took quick, light steps over the dirt, keeping his eyes on the sentry’s back and methodical stomp through the dirt. Alex was twenty yards away, then fifteen, then ten, then five. He extended both arms in preparation to wrap them around the man’s throat. He was only fingertips away when the toe of his shoe smacked against a rock that banged into the steel siding of the farm camp, echoing a very loud whack, which alerted the sentry to his presence. But before the sentry could turn all the way around, Alex lunged toward him.

The sentry had fifty pounds on Alex. Being well fed and well rested gave the physical advantage to the sentry, but years of training evened the playing field for Alex. Even though the sentry nearly knocked him to the ground, flinging Alex off his back, he managed to hang on and keep his hand covering the sentry’s mouth, muting his cries for help. The sentry swung wildly and tried bucking Alex off his back. The rifle swung erratically from the strap on the sentry’s shoulder. Alex extended his free arm, trying to grab it, but the sentry slammed him against the farm camp’s wall.

The blow sent a hollowing crack through Alex’s back. His grip on the sentry loosened a bit, but he countered the blow by gouging his finger into the sentry’s eye. Alex could feel the soft membrane of the pupil and the warm gush of organs and blood.

The two collapsed. Blood poured from the sentry’s eyes and splashed in spurts on the ground, blanketing the dirt in a crimson slush. Alex yanked the rifle from the sentry and fired a shot that split through the back of the sentry’s skull, ending the arduous cries.

The gunshot attracted the other sentries, and two of them sprinted around the corner. Alex dropped to his right knee and rapidly squeezed the trigger. Multiple .223 rounds ejected from the AR-15’s muzzle and struck the sentries’ Kevlar, knocking them on their backs.

More shouts sounded behind Alex. He jumped for the sentry’s dead body and propped it up in front of him for cover. The thump of bullets vibrated through the Kevlar and flesh of his human shield. Alex peeked over the top of the sentry’s bullet-ridden arm and saw three sentries converging on his position. He aimed and fired the rest of the clip into the approaching death squad. They scattered left and right, but one of them kept up the charge. Alex paused, took careful aim, then fired a bullet right through the attacker’s left eye.

Alex quickly turned back around and fired more rounds at the gasping sentries behind him. Even though the Kevlar stopped the bullets, the rifle still had enough kick to knock the wind out of them and possibly break a few ribs. He watched the two of them crawl around the corner for cover. The other two that attacked him from the rear retreated back to where they came from. Now was his chance.

Alex dashed for the front. He turned the corner, and the two sentries he’d shot had their backs to him. He stopped. Planted his feet. Aimed. Fired. Three down. He turned his attention to the next sentry. Aimed. Fired. Four down. As long as the two hiding at the rear of the building were the only ones left, he was in good shape. He didn’t remember seeing any radio or communication gear on them, so that meant they’d need to get inside to call for help.

Alex’s exhaustion had dissipated and was replaced by adrenaline. The rush brought his mind and body into focus. It would wear off soon though. And when it did, his body was going to collapse like a wet noodle. Two left.

Alex kept the butt of the rifle snug against his shoulder, with his finger itching over the trigger. The entrance to the camp was only ten feet away when he saw a bony shoulder reveal itself in the early light of sunrise. Alex quickly sidestepped to his left to get a better angle. “Don’t move!”

The body froze, and Alex saw the frail, naked body of an elderly man. His knees wobbled, and he squinted, his pupils unsure of the foreign sunlight peeking over the eastern horizon. When the old man saw Alex with the rifle, he stepped back into the darkness of the building.

Before Alex could lower his weapon, the two sentries that had hid at the rear of the building stormed the front. One of the bullets grazed Alex’s left arm, putting him off kilter. With his arm bleeding, Alex lined up the first sentry in his sight and fired into the sentry’s chest. Alex winced from the pain in his arm as he quickly swiveled right and fired at the second sentry. The first sentry fell; the other only stumbled. Alex brought the adamant sentry’s face into the crosshairs. He squeezed the trigger. The sentry collapsed into a pile of lifeless meat. He rushed over to the first sentry, who was gasping for breath from the stun of the bullets and seeking cover behind the corner of the building, but Alex fired a bullet into the back of the sentry’s skull, which sent a spray of brain matter onto the dirt in front of the sentry’s face.

With his arm still bleeding, Alex quickly turned around and took aim at the door. He stood there, waiting for any other sentries to rush outside. No one came. The old man took a few small steps until he completely emerged from the building’s entrance. Then, two others revealed themselves from the shadows with the same hesitation as the old man.

Alex lowered the tip of his rifle. If there were other sentries, they would have shown themselves by now. Alex rested the rifle on his shoulder and rolled up his shirtsleeve to examine his arm. He touched it gingerly, and blood wet his fingertips. The gash had cut his flesh open at least two inches across his arm. He’d need stitches.

The old man that had first stepped outside nudged the shoulders of the dead sentries with his foot. He looked back up to Alex and pointed at him. The old man’s finger shook; he no longer had the strength to keep it steady.

Slowly, the other workers emerged from the belly of the farm camp. One by one, they took their first steps outside in God only knew how long. Just like the old man, all of them were nude. Each of them was silent at first, but soon whispers rocketed through the group. It was as if they were all finding their voices for the first time. There was no talking in the farm camps. Only work. A young woman came to the front. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “You did this?”

“Yes,” Alex answered.

The woman dropped to her knees. The first few tears shed from her eyes and streamed down the smudges of dirt on her cheeks. She clasped her hands together and squeezed them so tight that her whole body shook. Her bones were so thin Alex thought her arms might break in half from the pressure. The woman keeled over on her side, still sobbing, still shaking. An elderly woman finally came up behind her and joined her. Alex wasn’t sure if the two women knew each other or not, but they just sat there in the dirt. Crying together. Holding each other. Trying to regain and remember any semblance of humanity they had left. Most of it had been stripped from them, but maybe there was enough to rebuild. All they needed was the slightest spark that could bring them out of the haze they’d been lost in.

As more and more workers poured outside into the morning sun, the old man came up to Alex and examined his arm. The old man’s face was covered in white whiskers and wrinkles. What was remarkable were the old man’s green eyes. Alex didn’t think eyes stayed that vibrant as you got older, but this man’s eyes did.

“There’s a first-aid station inside,” the old man said.

Alex let the old man guide him. The adrenaline had run its course. He was too tired to resist. As the old man took him inside, the workers divided and opened a small path that allowed him to pass. Then, one by one, each worker reached out their hand to touch him. Fingertips brushed his arms, neck, back, hand, leg, whatever they could reach. It wasn’t forceful, but simply a light tenderness of acknowledgement of what he’d just given them: freedom.

* * *

The hot wax dripped from the tilted candle onto Alex’s forearm. He had to keep the light close to the wound so the old man could see. After the old man threaded the needle, he heated it to the point of almost dropping it. Alex winced at the first prick, but once the old man got into a rhythm, it didn’t hurt as much. He just lay back in the chair, his arm jerking slightly from the old man’s motions, and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep so badly. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he sat down. It was like every bone in his body collapsed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d have the power to reassemble them.

Most of the farm camp’s workers had taken off, but a few lingered behind to watch the old man sew Alex up. The workers that left had grabbed whatever rags they could cover themselves with and whatever food they could stuff into a bag and carry on their backs. Alex figured most of them would try and make it to one of the big cities, which afforded many places to hide. There wasn’t a major city in the United States left that wasn’t harboring some type of refugee who escaped the relocation efforts of the Soil Coalition. But most didn’t have the knowledge or resources to attempt the journey. And those who did usually died of exhaustion before they made it.

“There we go. All patched up,” the old man said.

Alex examined the old man’s stitching. It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the wound was tightly sealed up. “Thanks.”

The old man waved him off. When he tried to stand up, he immediately fell back down into his seat, holding his head. Alex grabbed his arm.

“You need to eat,” Alex said, then rushed over to one of the hydro-tanks and started picking off some strawberries and piling them in his hand. He set the fruit on the table next to where the old man was sitting and extended one of the strawberries to him. “Take it.”

The old man pinched the fruit between his bony fingers and lifted it from Alex’s palm. He rotated it, examining all of the grooves, bumps, and the tiny sprig of leaves that nestled at the top. He brought it to his nose and inhaled its scent. Then, slowly, he formed a fist around the berry and closed his eyes. The sobs that escaped the old man were soundless. The only visible sign of his weeping were the convulsions of his shoulders and the tears running down his face.

Alex placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, and all he could feel was bone. Maybe the old man didn’t want to go on. Perhaps he’d reached the point where all appetite had disappeared. It wouldn’t have been the first time Alex had seen it happen. The only thing worse than starving to death was forgetting how to eat.

The old man wiped his eyes then unclenched his fist and brought the piece of fruit to his lips. He bit into it softly. The juices exploded and dribbled down the old man’s chin. He chewed slowly. Then, after the first bite was swallowed, he bit furiously into the rest. He greedily reached for the pile of fruit Alex had brought him, shoving bite after bite into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks until they looked like they were going to burst.

Alex intercepted the old man’s hands from grabbing any more. The old man tried to fight him but was too weak to do anything. “Hey, you need to slow down. You don’t want to shock your system.”

The old man finished what food he had in his mouth, and Alex took a portion of the strawberries away and stowed them in his pocket. He rotated his stitched arm a little bit, testing its mobility. It was stiff, and there were a few instances where he thought the stitches would tear, but they held true to the old man’s skill with the needle.

“It’ll stick,” the old man said, pointing to Alex’s arm. “It has been a while since I’ve patched anyone up.”

“What’d you do? Before this?”

“I was a doctor. General practitioner.”

“Why aren’t you stationed in one of the communities? Doctors are hard to find these days, and the Coalition would probably let you pick wherever you wanted to go.”

The old man shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to perpetuate their false hope. And this was the price I paid for my subversive behavior.” He gestured to his surroundings.

“Did you see it coming? The soil crisis?”

“Not soon enough. I remember receiving my first case of GMO poisoning. Of course, back then we didn’t know what it was. It resembled all of the symptoms of a flu bug. Then once the cases started piling up, that’s when questions started being asked, fingers pointing blame. The GMO companies screaming that it was the pesticide companies, the pesticide companies screaming that it was the GMO companies’ fault, the politicians yelling that it was both of their faults, and no one willing to share any of the information they had on their products and how they’d been using them. Everyone was afraid to let the science reveal the truth. They were scared of what it meant.”

The pain in Alex’s arm seemed to catch fire the longer the old man spoke. His head started to ache. Flashes of those first few months of famine pierced his memory. He started to feel cold, dizzy.

“He was nine,” the old man said. “That first patient with GMO poisoning that I had. I sent him home with some antibiotics and told his mother to keep fluids in him. He died a month later. When we discovered exactly what the GMO-24 strain did to the body, I realized just how painfully that boy died.”

Alex could hear the shouts and the sharp fire of gunshots. He could smell the smoke choking him and the fire melting his skin. His muscles tensed up.

“The acids in your stomach weakening to the point that they couldn’t digest water. Then the subsequent shutdown of your kidneys, liver, intestines. All of them just dissolving into nothing. Rotting from the inside out,” the old man continued.

“The screams,” Alex said softly to himself. “You never forget the screams.” He turned to the old man. “Do you remember that? People just… bargaining with some unnamed deity for more time. Saying they’ll give you anything for just a few more days, hours, seconds.”

The old man’s green eyes softened in the candlelight. The look on his face wasn’t one of revulsion or pity but of understanding. It was a face that had heard those cries before. But unlike the old man, who didn’t have the ability to save his patients, Alex was left with the ghosts of the dead that he could have saved.

“It was a hard time,” the old man said.

“Things haven’t gotten much better.” Alex closed his eyes, shaking the memories from his mind. “Look, the headquarters in Topeka will be checking in soon, and when they don’t get a response, they’ll be sending the cavalry. You won’t want to be here when that happens. Do you have any place you can go?”

“I’ll just do what the rest of them did. Grab as much food as I can carry then get as far away from this place as I can. Then die. I don’t think it will be as bad for me as it will for some of the others. I’m ready for it to be done.”

The old man didn’t have anything left in the tank. He’d reached that place of accepted apathy. It was an incredibly dangerous state of mind. Alex extended his hand, and the old man gripped it weakly.

“There’s a river just south of here. It could be patrolled by sentries looking for me, but at least you’ll be close to a water source. You might last a little longer with it,” Alex said.

“Thank you.” The old man got up from his seat and grabbed a rag that he converted to a pouch to carry whatever supplies he’d take with him.

Alex headed to the sentry station in the back. He gained access to the Coalition’s database with one of the sentries’ key cards and searched for Meeko and Harper’s location. They were stored at two separate camps, both just outside of Topeka. Headquarters would be checking in at this location in about six hours, and it would take him around five hours to get to Topeka. Time was his enemy now, and he was already running dangerously low on it.

In addition to the .22 rifle, Alex grabbed another AR-15 and ammo for the .308. He grabbed some food for the drive and found a Kevlar chest piece that fit him. The last piece of his deception was the uniform. He traced his finger over the stitching on the front, which read “Class 2.” The fabric was just as bulky as he remembered it.

Chapter 9

The water from the hose spurted onto Gordon’s hands. A blended mixture of water and blood splashed to the ground and swirled in the dirt, turning it to mud. Gordon rubbed his hands furiously, trying to remove the dried red stains, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t rid himself of the pinkish tinge that lingered on his hands. Gordon summoned one of the sentries over.

“Change of plans. I’m heading back to Topeka. I want all of our men to stay here. You do not let any of these people move, understand? If that son of a bitch comes back, I want him alive. I don’t care what condition you bring him to me in, just as long as he’s still breathing. You got that?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Gordon climbed into the truck, and the cul-de-sac grew smaller in the rearview mirror. He rested his head back on the seat. He could feel his body melting into the leather underneath him. “Wake me before we arrive in Topeka.” The driver nodded. It was exhausting work, torturing people.

* * *

The sun had reached its highest point in the sky when Todd arrived at the site. The straps from his pack sloped his tired shoulders. The thickness of tracks from large machinery intensified as Todd moved closer to where he’d placed the test soil. The closer Todd moved, the larger the hole from where they excavated grew. The crater was at least ten square feet in diameter and six feet deep. Todd chose this place due to its remote location. The Soil Coalition still sent out search parties for any usable land, but most of Wyoming had already been searched.

“They took it.”

Todd jumped, spinning around and almost falling into the pit behind him. Emma had dust caked on her face, and her lips were chapped from the sun.

“Emma, what are you doing here?” Todd asked.

“That’s how they knew. They know we did it. That’s why they’re here,” Emma said, her eyes slightly glazed over and still staring at the pit.

Todd glanced around frantically. “Did you see anyone else following me? Emma? Did you come alone?” He gave her a gentle shake of her shoulders.

“No,” Emma answered, shaking her head.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s Billy. Something’s wrong. Ben came to find me.”

“What?”

“He’s not sure what it is, but he knows it’s bad.”

Billy was their key to the outside. If something happened to him, then everything they were working on would be put into jeopardy. “Let’s head back.” But what Todd couldn’t see was the man in the black jacket with a pair of binoculars, watching him.

* * *

The driver woke Gordon just as they entered Topeka. He rubbed his blurry eyes, and he could still see the red tinge of blood on his hands. He dropped them in his lap, annoyed by the fact that he was still dirty. “Take me to my place. I want to shower before I go back to the office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The images of the large steel structures of the farm camps they passed reflected in the SUV’s passenger window. He smiled. The lack of control he’d felt over the past few hours from the community’s insubordination had drained him. All he wanted was to know where the seeds were, and it didn’t matter how many times he hit them, or cut them, or spilled their blood, they just wouldn’t talk.

But those steel cages reaffirmed his control. It was a reminder that he held the whip, and with it the power to do whatever he wanted. He had the resources. He had the muscle. He had the food. He had everything he needed to maintain control and order. The vibration from his cell phone disrupted his train of thought. He checked the call. It was Jake. “Tell me you found something good.”

“The soil the techs found definitely originated from this community. I watched two of its members take a walk to the original site.”

“Good. Keep an eye on them.”

“You want me to bring them in?”

“No, just pay them a visit, see what you can get out of them.”

Gordon snapped his phone shut and spun it between his fingers. A breakthrough discovery of fixing the soil contamination had the potential to unravel everything he’d built. If citizens knew they had it, they would rally toward them. His mind kept going back to what Jake had said about the community members hiding their nutrition levels. But how the fuck could they hide it?

Maybe they didn’t.

“Sydney.”

* * *

After Todd dropped Emma off at her home, he walked back to his own place with the dying light fading behind him. Once inside, he headed to his room and kicked off his shoes. He turned his back to the door, and a few seconds later a blinding pain cracked the back of his skull, sending waves of throbbing pressure across his entire head. He collapsed forward on the bed, arms and legs attempting to push himself up, but he was still too disoriented from the blow. He felt hands grab his neck and fling him off the bed. The blurred face of the thug from the blood testing stared back at him.

“Enjoy your walk?” the thug asked then sent his fist across Todd’s cheek.

A spray of spit and blood flew from Todd’s mouth from the force of the punch. He fell to his side, and the throbbing in his head intensified from the thug’s blow.

“How’d you do it? Huh? Where’s the rest of the soil?” the thug asked.

“I… don’t… know,” Todd stammered.

“You don’t know?” The thug removed a blade from his waist and held it up to Todd’s throat. “How about now?”

A dribble of blood rolled from Todd’s lip down his chin, where it hung until it dripped onto the thug’s knife. He opened and closed his eyes, trying to get a handle on the pounding in his skull. “I’m not telling you anything. So you better just kill me now.”

The thug applied more pressure, and the edge of the blade penetrated Todd’s skin, sending a small trickle of blood down his neck. Todd didn’t take his eyes off the thug. If he was going to die, then he was going to look at the man who did it.

“Idealistic prick,” the thug said then sent another blow to the side of Todd’s face, knocking him out cold.

* * *

Papers were scattered sporadically over Sydney’s desk. His hair stuck up wildly from running his hands through it. His body hunched over data that his eyes strained to interpret. The tiny red veins cut across the whites of his eyes like roads on a map, winding and twisting their way through the earth. He picked up the paper and viciously ripped it in half then tossed the small pieces into the air, and they rained down like confetti. He slammed his arms on the desk and buried his face into the small hole they made.

Sniffles echoed from underneath his shaggy mop of hair. He finally picked his head up and wiped the snot and tears from his face. He childishly kicked the ground, frustrated at his own inability to recreate what another scientist had already discovered.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe he was nothing. His accomplishments would remain stuck in the realm of the theoretical. And if that was the case, then what was his purpose? What was his contribution? If he could produce no value, then what value did he possess?

A violent pounding at the door snapped him out of his self-loathing, and the fear of the moment gripped him. The door handle wobbled, and Sydney heard the scrape of a key entering the lock. He quickly snatched up the papers around him that contained his manipulation of the community’s blood tests. He barely had half of them gathered when Gordon burst through the door and grabbed Sydney by the collar, pinning him down against his own desk.

“What did you do, Sydney? Did you do something for your daddy? Is that it? Did he tell you to falsify the data?” Gordon asked, his voice low.

“W-what are you talking about? M-my d-dad didn’t tell me to d-do anything.”

Gordon lifted Sydney’s small frame off the desk and onto the wall by the front door. The contact between Sydney’s skull and the concrete resounded with a loud crack. Sydney’s vision went black. He found himself falling in and out of consciousness.

“What did you do, you little shit?” Gordon asked.

Just before Sydney blacked out, a group of sentries rushed into the lab.

“Mr. Reath, someone’s attacked a farm camp,” the sentry said.

“Camps? How many were hit?”

“So far just one, but we’re trying to contain the situation.”

“Well, stop them!” Gordon bellowed, and Sydney finally passed out.

Chapter 10

The Humvee’s diesel engine rumbled along the highway outside of Topeka. Alex gripped the steering wheel tightly, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. He tugged at the collar of the uniform and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Each time his eyes found the rearview mirror and he caught a glimpse of himself, he shuddered.

Alex had only been to Topeka three times. The first was during the Soil Coalition’s first attempt at setting up the communities. The second was after those communities had failed. And the third time was his recent trip with his seeds to speak with Gordon.

Meeko’s farm camp was just ahead, and according to the Soil Coalition’s database, the sentries were about to start a shift change. The traffic thickened on his approach. Trucks on either side of him were loaded down with freight and goods to be dispensed at local communities. Others were on their way to the airport to load their contents there. With almost all of the country’s food production coming out of the farm camps around the Midwest, the soil crisis had made Topeka the unofficial capital of the United States.

Alex filed into a line of trucks heading into the farm camp where Meeko was being held. Dozens of sentries armed with automatic rifles, accompanied by the other armored trucks, made for a slow crawl. He kept his eyes open for any gaps in security, any lulls in concentration. Although this farm camp had more firepower, the same haphazard approach to their efforts was consistent with the sentries he took down earlier, which told him that they hadn’t been alerted to what happened at the other camp.

If they didn’t know now, they’d find out any minute. He needed to get in and get out fast. The line of trucks finally ended at the farm camp’s vehicle hangar, and Alex pulled into a vacant spot. He quickly climbed out.

“Hey!” a voice called out.

Alex kept his eyes forward, ignoring the shout behind him. His skin burst with sweat.

“Hey, stop!” the voice called again, this time followed by the pounding of boots breaking into a run.

Alex quickened his pace. Then, just before he reached the door, he felt the slap of a hand on his shoulder, spinning him around.

“Hey,” the sentry said. “You can’t park there. Those spots are designated for vehicles assigned to this camp. You’re from camp 0241, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Alex answered.

“You here for a transfer or shift coverage or something?”

“Transfer, which I’m already late for. You think you could park it for me?” Alex said, extending the keys to him.

“Sure. Just make sure you get here earlier next time so this doesn’t happen again.”

The sentry snatched the keys and trotted off. Alex wiped the sweat off his forehead and continued inside. The farm camp here was easily three times as large as the one he raided earlier. Hundreds of workers, nothing more than skin and bones, swarmed the aisles of the hydroponic dens, tending to picking food, adding nutrients, or cleaning equipment. Most of the workers didn’t even realize he was there. Their overworked and undernourished bodies were lost in their brainless motion of slave labor. Each aisle that Alex walked down only revealed more of the same.

Finally, Alex saw him. Meeko was at the very end of the row two aisles over. He could see the tuft of black curls poking over the top of the tanks. Alex kept his eyes locked on that hair, pushing his way through the zombies around him. He turned the corner and knocked over a worker carrying a crate of peas.

The sentries above hovered over the workers like hawks. One of them spotted Alex’s movements. “Hey! What’s going on down there?”

Alex stepped over the man and continued down the aisle. His actions had caused a few of the workers to break out of their stupor but brought more attention to himself from the other sentries.

“Stop!” another sentry ordered.

Meeko made eye contact with Alex. A smile curved onto his face. Alex tried to reach him before the other sentries noticed it. He was only going to get one chance at this. He brought his hand up, the other sentries barreling down upon him, and then smacked Meeko across his already-bruised face, which knocked him to the ground.

“You little shit!” Alex said. He lunged at Meeko, and the boy recoiled. “You think you can just run away from me like that?” Alex grabbed Meeko by the throat, and he could see the pain and fear etched across the boy’s face.

“What the hell are you doing?” the sentry asked.

“This little pissant is the reason I’m not home right now drinking a beer,” Alex answered.

“You’re here for a transfer?”

“Yeah. Lucky me, right?”

Three more armed sentries surrounded Alex. The Kevlar covering his chest concealed his heart, which was attempting to burst out of him. The sentries looked around them at all of the workers looking over at the scene unfolding.

“Back to work!” the sentry said, spit flying from his mouth, while his partners aimed their rifles at the mindless bodies. Their activities resumed, and the sentry focused his attention back on Alex. “Where’s he being transferred to?”

“Camp 0241. Look, I’m just doing this as a favor to my boss, all right? You can go ahead and radio him while I load the kid. The sooner I get him up to the camp, the sooner I get to go home and finish my beer,” Alex answered.

Meeko remained on the ground. Alex wasn’t sure if the boy understood everything that was happening, but as long as the kid stayed quiet, they might have a shot. If not, Alex had counted forty-five bullets in the magazines he had on him, and he was going to use as many as he could.

“All right,” the sentry said. “Take him around back, and I’ll confirm with your camp. But I’m sending the paperwork to you. Don’t think you’re pawning that shit off on me, smart-ass.”

Alex yanked Meeko up by the arm and dragged him through the aisles. The boy resisted the entire way. Once the two of them were in the hangar, he beelined it to the first truck he saw. He tossed Meeko inside and started the engine. “You all right, kid?”

Meeko punched Alex in the arm repeatedly, tears running down his face, the salty liquid stinging the open wounds on his cheeks. Alex grabbed Meeko’s fists in his hands, stopping the assault. “Hey. Hey! I’m sorry, okay? Listen. I’m sorry. It’s the only way I could have convinced them.”

Alex wrapped Meeko up in a hug, and he felt the boy weep into his shoulder. He kissed the top of his head. He pressed his fingertips gently to Meeko’s cheek. “Put your seatbelt on, kid.”

The click of Meeko’s belt was followed by the immediate wail of sirens. The jig was up. He slammed the shifter into reverse and floored the accelerator. Sentries dived out of his way as he navigated the truck in reverse to the hangar’s exit.

Bullets ricocheted off the armored truck, and Alex yanked the wheel hard to the left, spinning the truck 180 degrees. He shifted back into drive, the transmission whining from the stress, and again floored the accelerator. The tires bounced off the main road and onto the surrounding open fields, cutting huge divots through the earth. He adjusted the rearview mirror, counting the number of trucks hot on their tail.

“Where are we going?” Meeko asked, shouting above the engine’s throaty rumbling.

“We’ll lose them in what’s left of the forest.”

The sentries’ pursuit now eliminated whatever chance Alex had to break Harper out, but if they managed to pull this off, he still had the seeds he buried as a bargaining chip. He could even try and make it to Washington. Gordon was powerful, but he didn’t control everything. Not yet.

* * *

The farm camp was in chaos when Gordon arrived. He bulldozed his way to the front office to meet Dean Grout, who had already arrived to investigate the matter.

“They’re all dead?” Gordon asked.

“Every last sentry. I’m not surprised. The camps on the outskirts have gotten lazy,” Dean answered.

“And we still haven’t found Alex?”

“Not yet, but the camp that was attacked was due north of where we lost him in the woods. I’m betting he was behind it, along with taking the kid.”

“What kid?”

“An orphan assigned to Alex’s housing unit. During the blood sampling a few days ago, he was pulled out for having high nutrition levels.”

Gordon stopped. “He came back for the kid?”

“Yeah. The OIC said he came in here dressed like a sentry, faking a transfer to the camp he decimated.”

“I want a unit of men stationed at his community and another unit watching the woods. That’s where he’s headed. And that’s where we’ll hit him.”

“If we find him, do you want him alive?”

“Yes. And bring me Sydney.”

Gordon’s phone buzzed. It was Jake. “Where the hell are you?”

“He’s not talking,” Jake said. “You want me to bring him in?”

“No. I want the diamond mine, not the diamond.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Give them some breathing room. Make them feel comfortable. I think I have another way to get it. And I need you here, now. We have a situation.”

* * *

The shackles around Sydney’s wrists provided a foreign pain. The unforgiving metal provided no comfort against his bones and tore his flesh. For the first time in his life, he wanted his father. The door that sealed him in his cage creaked upon Gordon opening it, accompanied by Jake.

“So you’re the one who tampered with the samples,” Jake said.

“Look, I can give you the original results. I still have them. I can show you what they’re doing, what they’ve done.”

“We already know what they’re doing,” Gordon said. “We just need to find it.”

“Well, now you have the authority to do it. Everyone in that community had high nutrition levels. One man in particular. I can give him to you.”

“You might be able to give him to me,” Gordon said, “but you can’t give me the work he’s done.”

Sydney wept. Snot and tears dribbled down his face. “P-please. I c-can try. Or you can just force him to give it to you. You can make him.”

“This guy isn’t going to let anyone force him into anything,” Jake said.

“If you get enough of the research that he’s done to create the soil, can you replicate it?”

“Y-yes. If I h-had his original work, I could do it. Right now there’s just too many holes, too many variables. But if I had enough of it, then I could finish it. I could solve it,” Sydney answered.

“For your sake, Sydney, I hope you can,” Gordon said.

* * *

Every time Warren took any type of deep breath, he could feel a sharp pain emanating through his entire body from a single point on his side. A gurgling sounded deep within his chest and was followed by a violent hacking of spit and blood over his hand and chin as he attempted to cover his mouth.

The hot liquid burned the back of his throat and mouth. He could taste his own death, the warm, metallic flavor of blood. He tried pushing himself to his side, but his collarbone was broken, and any attempt to move at all was stopped short by the pain that now controlled him.

Aside from his own feet and the dead bodies around him, the only other sight in his field of vision was the road leading up to the cul-de-sac. Since Gordon left, there hadn’t been a single person who’d come or gone. The sentries around him circled like buzzards, seeking the carrion buffet at their feet. From what comments Warren could hear, it sounded like Alex was still giving them trouble.

“Hey, how much longer are we going to have to sit here?” a Class One sentry asked.

“For as long as we’re ordered to. Now shut up,” a Class Two sentry replied.

“I’m just saying we could waste the rest of these meat sacks and then go home. Whoever this guy is they’re chasing isn’t coming back here.”

“That’s not what the boss thinks.”

“Why the hell would he come back? For these people? Psh,” Class One said, waving his hand. “I’d let ’em rot.”

The two sentries continued their mumbling but walked too far away for Warren to continue his eavesdropping. Is Alex still counting on using the seeds in exchange for what he’s done? Gordon wasn’t going to let Alex off without his life and perhaps the life of everyone else in the community.

Another violent gurgle and spit of blood erupted from Warren’s mouth. His body jerked and twisted on the ground. It wouldn’t be much longer. The only question that remained unanswered was if he was going to die from his injuries or a bullet to the head.

* * *

Machine gun fire blasted behind the truck’s armor-plated siding. Its protection wasn’t going to last much longer. The back window was so shattered and riddled with cracks that Alex couldn’t see how many sentries were in pursuit. Both of his side mirrors had been blown off, and he could feel the engine straining to keep up the hurried pace. Alex kept his foot floored on the accelerator. They were so close to the woods.

“This was a bad idea,” Meeko said, trying to keep himself from falling out of his seat from the swerving, jerking ride, even with his seatbelt on.

“Oh, and would you have liked me to just leave you there?”

“You didn’t have to hit me so hard.”

“And you don’t have to be so ungrateful, punk.”

An explosion of shattered glass signaled the final blow to the rear window, sending some of the shards over the backs of both Alex and Meeko as they ducked. With their back side now exposed, the bullets started peppering the truck’s back row of seats.

“Yeah!” Meeko said. “This is SO much better than the farm camp!”

Alex swerved left and right, giving the sentries a moving target. The front windshield was cracked, but through the broken lines, Alex could see the cluster of dead trees.

“We’re almost there!” Alex yelled.

The boom of gunshots echoed louder now that the rear window was gone, and when another volley of bullets came speeding their way, Alex felt a hot, singeing pain strike his right shoulder. His entire right arm went slack, and before Meeko could scream, the wheel slipped out of Alex’s left hand, and the truck barrel-rolled. It toppled end over end, spraying dirt and glass into the air. Pieces of metal and bits of the undercarriage flung wildly into the sky. The high speed rolled the truck half a dozen times before it finally came to a stop upside down.

The seatbelt drew tight across Alex’s waist as he hung in midair. His right arm was slick with blood that flowed in random patterns down to his fingertips then dripped onto the truck’s ceiling below him. His head throbbed. “Meeko?” He gathered his bearings and finally managed to get a good look at Meeko in the seat next to him. The boy was out of his seatbelt, lying sprawled out on the truck’s ceiling. “Meeko!” Alex couldn’t tell if the boy was breathing or not. His arms and legs were cut up pretty badly, and there was no telling whose blood was whose.

Outside the flipped truck, tires skidded to a halt, and the shouts accompanying the harsh voices snapped Alex back to the situation at hand. The AR-15 he kept was nestled next to Meeko’s lifeless body. He reached for it, his fingertips barely close enough to grab the strap. But by the time he had a good grip on the rifle, the sentries had cracked the door open with a crowbar and yanked him out of the truck.

Alex’s body hit the dirt with a thud, and he could feel the warm, sticky liquid mixing with the dirt and clumping along his body. He tried pushing himself up, but his limp shoulder wouldn’t allow him. His fingers grabbed at the dirt around him, attempting to find anything solid to hold on to, to give him strength. But the dead earth around him offered no such gift.

* * *

Alex’s head rolled to the left and right on his neck. The thick, blood-soaked sentry uniform had been removed from his body and was replaced by the standard rags given to community members. His body was propped against a wall, with an IV bag hung above his head, dripping its solution into his veins. He slowly opened his eyes, very aware of the throbbing pain still in his shoulder.

The blood and metal that had covered his arm had been replaced by bandages and a sling. There was a clang of a door opening, and a blurred figure, followed by a few others, walked briskly toward him. Alex blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to make the images come into focus.

“It’s good to see you alive, Alex.”

Even though Alex still couldn’t see the man, he recognized the voice. It was Gordon.

“We had the doctors patch you up as best they could. You almost lost that arm, which would have been bad for both of us,” Gordon said.

“Meeko. Where is—”

“The boy’s alive and well. In fact, he’s going to come inside and join us in just a little bit. Your people, this community,” he said, exposing his palms openly to the walls around him, “they love you. They’re loyal to you. Those other seeds you told me about, no one gave them up. Not a single person, and trust me, we were very, very thorough.”

Flashes of screams and gunshots began to break through Alex’s mind. He could feel his body start to tremble. He shut his eyes, furiously trying to quiet the noise.

“It didn’t matter how many times we beat them. Or what we threatened to do to them. They just wouldn’t betray you,” Gordon continued.

Alex could feel the heat of fire. The flames licked his arms, legs, chest, and face. More screams. More gunshots. More pounding. More pleading. More heat. More gunshots.

“And the fact that they didn’t betray you tells me either one of two things: one, there are no seeds, which would make sense, seeing as how most seed silos were burned down by the extremists in the first few months of the famine. But with your history and track record, you were never the kind of man to bluff. So that leads me to option two: you do have the seeds. Your community does know where they are. And you were such a powerful, polarizing figure to them that they would let themselves die before they’d betray you,” Gordon said, his hot breath beating down on Alex’s ear.

The visions started to subside, and Alex felt himself come back to the moment. He slowly opened his eyes, and the smooth, rounded features of Gordon’s face came into view. “I still want my deal,” Alex said.

“Oh, the seeds for Meeko and Harper’s freedom? Well, I want a new deal.” Gordon turned around to his associate in a black leather jacket and nodded. The man walked out of the room and wheeled in a man with bandages on his face, neck, and arms.

“Warren?” Alex asked.

“And he was worried you weren’t going to recognize him,” Gordon said, slapping Warren on the shoulder. “So here’s the deal, Alex. You’re going to do something for me, or I’m going to kill Warren.”

“Not until you coordinate a release for Meeko and Harper approved by the representatives and the President’s office,” Alex said, his upper lip quivering. “You hear me? You’re not going to get the seeds until that happens.”

“Alex, you really think what representatives are left have any jurisdiction here?” Gordon squatted down to his knees, making sure he was at eye level with Alex. His voice softened. “And what makes you think I still want the seeds?” Gordon extended his hand behind him, and the man in the black leather jacket handed him a pistol. Gordon rose and pressed the end of the pistol’s barrel into the side of Warren’s head. “You’re going to come back and work for me again, or I pull the trigger.”

“What?”

“There’s a community in Wyoming that has something I want. And if you don’t go in there and get it for me, then I’m going to bring in your community members one by one and shoot them in front of you until you agree. Starting with him. I’ll give you to the count of three, Alex.”

“Don’t make me do this. Please.”

“One.”

“The seeds! I can still give you the seeds.”

“Two.”

“GODDAMMIT, LISTEN TO ME! The seeds are buried out behind—”

The high-pitched ringing that filled Alex’s ears following the gunshot silenced his own voice. He could feel the pain in his throat, the pressure in his head, and the thrashing of his limbs, but no matter how hard he screamed, he couldn’t hear himself.

Warren’s body was dragged out and replaced with Meeko, who broke down in tears at the sight of Warren’s lifeless body. Alex could see the stitches on Meeko’s cheeks. Gordon had given everyone medical attention to make sure they were alive and well for when he put a gun to their heads.

The man in the black leather jacket positioned Meeko right where Warren had been. Bits of blood and brain matter still soiled the floor. The ringing in Alex’s ears slowly subsided, and Meeko’s sobs grew louder. Gordon placed the gun to Meeko’s head. Alex became aware of Gordon mouthing his countdown. He didn’t let him get to two.

“I’ll do it,” Alex said. The words came out hoarse, tired. “I’ll do it.”

Gordon lowered the pistol. “Excellent. Now, everyone here in your community will remain alive and well as long as you do your job. We’ll let you heal up and then brief you on the specifics. We’re going to need you healthy.”

Chapter 11 – 1 Month Later

The bits of dried wax from the candle were crushed in Todd’s grip as he picked it up from the barrel. He lit it, and the candle illuminated the still-healing wounds on his face. He spit on the plaque and entered the community hall. He joined Emma, Nelson, and Ray at the bench, where Billy’s spot was vacant.

The orange glow of the candle cast half of their faces in shadow and half in light. Everyone was sullen, quiet.

“When did it happen?” Todd asked.

Ray’s voice caught. “Last night. Ben said he thought it was some kind of aggressive cancer. There wasn’t anything he could do.”

Todd remained silent. Billy was the community’s hunter, and the only way for Todd to stay in contact with the other communities in Wyoming. “If we move forward, we remain on guard. The process doesn’t change. Does everyone understand?” Todd asked. Everyone agreed. “We start back up in the lab tomorrow. Normal time.”

The group extinguished their candles, exited the community building, and headed their separate ways. As Todd made his way up to his house, he saw a sentry truck drive by, splashing his ankles with mud. The vehicle stopped by Emma and rolled down the window. Todd watched the two go back and forth, then the truck pulled up to the sentry housing. Todd waited for Emma to catch up, and the two of them headed back to their homes. “What was that about?”

“It’s the new hunter,” Emma answered.

Todd looked back at the man getting out of the sentry vehicle, grabbing his bag out of the back seat, and favoring his right shoulder.

Find Out What Happens Next

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Starvation has wreaked havoc on the United States, and the Soil Coalition’s fascist communities aren’t making the situation any better. Alex Grives is torn from his community by the Coalition’s founder, Gordon Reath, and blackmailed into locating the scientist who Gordon believes has found a cure for the damage done by GMO-24.

Alex is caught in the middle of life and death, feast and famine, and only he has the ability to change the fate of the entire country. There will be casualties, but the decision of who will fill the body bags rests with Alex.

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Copyright

Copyright 2015

All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

Content

James Hunt
GMO 24: THE COALITION
A TALE OF PREPPER SURVIVAL

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 – 1 Month Later

Find Out What Happens Next

Copyright