Seed Police

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Seed Police Page 6

by Gayla Prewitt


  “What's going on?” Emily whispered.

  “I don't know. You stay here,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to get something.”

  “Don’t leave!”

  “I have to.”

  “Chance!” Emily called out in disbelief, hoping to stop him. What could he be thinking? What could be so important to risk their discovery by the patrol?

  Chance summoned all the courage he had within, as he made his way just east of the house. Government men searched the field on the opposite side of the structure. Chance inched his way to a door, and then entered the home. He remembered that his dad kept a screwdriver in the kitchen drawer. He crept into the living room with the tool in hand. Now, if he could just remember which floorboard concealed the seed packet. He stood there, trying to recall the words of his father when he caught a glimpse of two men walking by outside of the living room window. Chance ducked below the windowsill in an effort not to be seen. Waiting until it seemed safe, he resumed his quest for the pouch. Pulling back a tapestry rug covering much of the floor, Chance noticed pry marks on one of the boards, probably from when his father first told him about the precious seeds. He retrieved the small sack, then snuck back to Emily, crouched behind the tree.

  “We've gotta get some help,” he told her.

  In the search area, not far from the two teenagers, Ted Harris approached the man who had summoned him with a discovery.

  “We’ve found some sort of electrical cable, looks like it’s going into the ground,” explained the government agent.

  Harris pulled the cable, which opened the louvered doors revealing the cavern greenhouse below. He then tugged on a different line, this time, he found a grow light attached at the end.

  “L-E-D. No wonder the sensors didn't pick up any heat,” said Harris. He referred to the satellite surveillance over the farm.

  “There's enough room down there to grow food to feed a small army,” observed another man.

  “Or a small town,” interjected Harris. “I want you to go into Mill Valley. See what you can find out. If you have any problems, remind the good people, growing crops is against the law,” he threatened. “I want these farmers found — fast.” Harris felt a sense of euphoria, almost giddy with the prospect that he was advancing on his prey.

  Chapter 22

  The Last Hope

  Rosalie Gibson just finished preparing the evening meal when she heard a desperate knock on the back door. She discovered Chance and Emily waiting outside and ushered them into the dining room.

  “Chance, what are you doing here?” Rosalie questioned with great consternation. “There are government men all over this town looking for you and your family.”

  “I know. Somehow, we got separated,” explained Chance.

  “You can't stay here. It's just a matter of time before they'd find you.” She gathered her senses and walked over to remove a set of keys hanging on a pegboard near the back exit. “Here — take Rex's truck,” she prompted, handing Chance the keys. “You will need to get out fast,” she added. “They’re watching the house.”

  The two government agents posted across the street from the Gibson home were refreshing their coffee cups when they heard a loud crash. One of the men looked up just in time to catch the sight of Rex’s truck smashing through the garage door.

  “What the...?” said one of the men, spilling the hot drink on his pant leg. The two men jumped into their car to pursue the vehicle that was already half-way down the block.

  Emily looked through the truck’s back glass. “They're right behind us,” she said.

  “I'm going to try something,” said Chance. He took a quick right down a winding country road, the two agents hot on their tail.

  “I'm going to slow down, instructed Chance. “When I tell you to jump — jump!”

  “What?!!!!” Emily gasped.

  Chance reduced the pickup’s speed. “Okay, now!” he signaled.

  Not having time to question the sanity of his decision, Emily followed instructions. She opened the door and leapt from the truck. Both Chance and Emily escaped the vehicle just as the pickup went over an embankment, plunging into the dry creek bed far below. The two quickly ran to the trees to find cover just as the government agents made it onto the scene. The driver of the car promptly applied the brakes, barely preventing them from suffering the same fate as Rex’s truck. The agents got out of the car, looked over the edge and observed the wrecked vehicle resting on its top.

  “Well, that's that,” said one of the agents.

  “Shouldn’t we make sure,” questioned the other.

  “Do you want to go down there?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Meanwhile, Chance and Emily raced through the woods to get as far away as possible from the collision. They reached a major highway where Chance flagged down a man in an old farm truck.

  “Where you headed?” asked the man.

  “North,” said Chance.

  “Get in,” invited the driver.

  “Thank you.” Chance and Emily climbed into the front seat, hoping to leave the agents searching for them, miles behind.

  Back at the accident site, Ted Harris arrived and inspected the demolished vehicle. Anger overtook Harris, once he discovered there was no one inside the truck. He yelled and kicked creek gravel several feet into the air. “Do you see any bodies?” He admonished the agents. “Until you find bodies — you keep chas’n!” he steamed.

  Chapter 23

  Reinforcements

  Reverend Ben Cameron had retired for the evening and had just nodded off to sleep when his peaceful slumber suffered a rude awakening. Someone hammered his front door, demanding attention. Rousing from sleep, the minister responded to the noise.

  “I'm coming. I'm coming,” he called out, putting on a robe as he approached the front entry. Looking through the peephole, he discovered a familiar face.

  “I'm congressman Jack Landon. I need your help,” Jack pleaded. The minister opened the door and ushered the congressman inside the foyer. Looking out, he scanned the area to ensure no one had trailed the representative.

  “I’ve been following your work. You took a big chance coming here,” chided the minister.

  “I had to,” defended the congressman. “I have some people needing a place to hide. I thought you might know of someplace.”

  “Why are they hiding?” questioned the reverend.

  “They have seeds,” confided Landon.

  “I'll get my coat.”

  While waiting on the minister, Jack Landon looked around the small but reverently adorned sanctuary. Stained glass windows lined one wall, with a crucifix placed as the focal point. As the reverend returned, Jack couldn’t help but fix his eyes on the symbol.

  The minister put on his coat, got his car keys, and continued to lock up the church. He handed Jack a hat and scarf. “Here — you better wear this. I suspect they're looking for you.”

  Outside, the two entered the minister’s car, with Reverend Cameron in the driver’s seat. “You'll need to direct me,” he told Jack.

  After traveling a short distance, the congressman uttered his first instructions. “Take a left up here and stay on that road for about five miles,” he said. For a time, the two remained silent, the only sound, the windshield wipers’ rhythmic squeak against the glass as they cleared the mist falling in the darkness. Just then, the minister noticed a police blockade ahead.

  “This can’t be good,” worried Jack.

  “It’ll be all right. Play it cool,” advised the reverend. He slowed the car, stopped at the checkpoint, and lowered the window to greet the policeman standing there. “What seems to be the problem, officer?” he asked.

  “Good evening, Reverend.” The officer was a local beat cop and recognized the minister. “Seems there’s been some trouble on Capitol Hill —some terrorist's threat — so we're checking all cars,” said the officer. He pointed his flashlight into th
e car. “You haven't seen anyone suspicious, have you?”

  “No, sir,” assured Pastor Cameron. “It’s just me and my assistant going to check on the needy.”

  The police officer held a small photo of Congressman Landon with Kyle Sanders. He studied the picture up close, looking once more at the congressman sitting in the passenger seat. He wiped the mist from the photograph making sure he had a clear view of the image. Still not sure, he rechecked the digital likeness comparing it with the man in the car. He paused. The minister moved his hand near the gearshift. He readied himself to make a quick getaway when he heard the officer speak. “Very good, you be careful, Reverend.” He smiled and motioned them on their way.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the pastor with a big grin of his own. He closed the window and continued on their journey.

  “I thought ministers weren't supposed to lie,” said Jack, teasing the minister.

  “What do you mean? I didn't lie,” rebutted the reverend. “Right now, you’re my assistant; you're doing God's work tonight. And, I suspect your friends with the seeds are about as needy as it gets.”

  A few miles ahead, the vehicle pulled around the corner where the Sander and Clarkson families were hiding. The congressman introduced the pastor to the families, hunkered down in a deserted alley, contraband seeds in tow.

  “This is Reverend Cameron. He’s here to help,” explained the congressman.

  “I think I know a place where you all will be safe,” the reverend told the group.

  Sarah and Kyle returned to the truck to retrieve sacks of seeds from the back. “How do we know we can trust him?” whispered Sarah.

  “If the congressman says he’s okay, it’s all right.”

  Moments later, the band of renegades reached a refurbished bomb shelter. The minister unlatched the door and directed the group inside. The ray of his flashlight unearthed shelves of canned food, batteries, and other “end of the world” essentials.

  “This is a storm shelter that belongs to one of the church members,” explained the minister. “I have his permission to use it however I need. There are plenty of provisions here. You might say he is one of those ‘prepared for anything’ guys. Anyway, you should be safe here for quite some time, until I can think of what else to do. I'm going to need to consult the boss (looking up) on this one.”

  “Thank you,” said Kyle.

  “Bless you,” added Sarah shaking the pastor’s hand.

  The reverend turned his attention to the congressman. “You best stay here too. They'll be looking for you. They find you — they find them.”

  “Okay, but I have to call my wife,” said Jack.

  “You know they will be expecting you to do that,” warned the minister.

  “I know. Have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Maggie Landon wondered where her husband could be. He often worked late, but not this late, at least not without letting her know where he was. She felt a sense of relief and apprehension upon hearing the phone ring in the front room. It must be him; no one else would call this late.

  “Jack, where are you?” she answered the phone.

  “I just want you to know that I’m okay,” replied Jack.

  “What’s going on?” asked Maggie.

  “I love you.” Jack knew he had to hurry. If someone were running a trace, time was getting close to possibly finding his location. “Everything’s going to be alright. I have to go.”

  “Jack! Jack!” pleaded Maggie. No answer. Over her shoulder stood an unwelcome visitor. Ted Harris and a few other government workers were in the Landon home trying to trace the call.

  “Did you get it?” asked Harris, referring to the tracking activity.

  “No, he put a block on the tracer. We can't even get a close proximity,” responded the agent.

  “You did good, Mrs. Landon,” praised Harris, empty flattery in his voice. “We’ll be in touch. Your husband can't hide forever.” Maggie Landon glared as Harris, and his entourage left her home.

  Chapter 24

  Illness Hits Home

  Tulle and tiny tiaras filled the Downtown Dance studio as Tilley Mason and her classmates prepared for their upcoming recital. The little girls grasped the long wooden barre, placed lengthwise of the wall-sized mirror. With a rendition of classical music playing in the background, the group waited for its next set of instructions. Parents watched their aspiring ballerinas.

  “Very good girls. Point those toes. Now pile'. Very good!” praised the dance instructor. After rehearsing numerous steps, the class ended. “Thank you all for working so hard tonight. I will see you next week, okay?” smiled the instructor. Tilley and the other girls ran to meet their parents.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Look at my pile',” Tilley called to Caroline. She then started to take the bow. “Ow!” she exclaimed.

  “What's wrong, honey?” worried her mother.

  “My knee hurts,” replied Tilley, grasping her leg.

  “Let Mommy kiss it,” comforted Caroline. She leaned down to apply the smooch. “I am sure you just strained something. Let's get you home.”

  “Okay, Mommy. Carry me?” asked Tilley.

  “Sure,” said her mother. She picked up her daughter and headed for the car. At home, Tilley sat at the table, eating supper and watching TV. Caroline was in the kitchen, finishing the evening dishes.

  A commercial for one of the newest government-produced cereals played on the small screen. “New improved Rice Crunchies … the healthiest cereal you'll ever eat,” blared the announcer. “Grown in a perfect environment … from our lab to your table … Rice Crunchies … ask for them by name!”

  Tilley finished her dinner. Her mom called from the kitchen. “Tilley turn off the TV. Time to get ready for bed.”

  “Okay, Mommy,” she replied.

  Caroline Mason emerged from the kitchen to help Tilley undress for nighttime. “Here, let me help you, my little ballerina.” She playfully tapped her daughter on the nose. Tilley removed her dance tights when her mother noticed a strange wound on Tilley’s knee.

  “Oh, honey, how did you do this? Did you fall?” asked Caroline, very concerned.

  “No, Mommy,” answered Tilley.

  “Here, let Mommy put some medicine and a band-aid on it. Okay?” consoled Caroline.

  “Okay.”

  The single mother headed for the bathroom to retrieve bandages from the medicine cabinet to tend to Tilley’s wound. It was times like these that reminded her how much she wished she wasn’t alone, how she needed someone to share the responsibility of raising Tilley. Caroline returned with the medicine.

  “Here, we'll get you fixed right up.” Caroline placed the bandage on Tilley’s knee. “Does that hurt?”

  “A little,” said Tilley.

  “Was that the same knee earlier?” asked her mother, even more worried.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Caroline helped Tilley get into her pajamas, her favorite flannels with dancing pink elephants. “Okay, honey, let's get you into bed.” Caroline was hopeful a full night’s rest would help her daughter heal. “I'll tuck you in. If your knee's not better tomorrow, I'll take you to Doctor Joshua.” Caroline placed the bed covers up to Tilley’s shoulders, smoothing the edge with her hands.

  “Mommy?” asked the little girl. Her Mom continued to ready the room for sleep.

  “Yes, honey,” said her mother.

  “Is it scary there?”

  “Where?”

  “Heaven.”

  Caroline was somewhat startled by the question. “No honey, heaven is — Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” she replied, turning to her side.

  “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I love you, sunshine.” She reached down and kissed Tilley on the cheek. At the doorway, Caroline switched off the bedroom light.

  “Love you, Mommy. Goodnight,” Tilley called to her mother.

  “Goodnight, sweetie.” The mother left the room and closed the door.

  At Community Hospital, Dr. Simps
on sat bleary-eyed reviewing patient charts. When would it let up, she wondered. The sick just kept coming in droves. Just then, Phil approached the weary doctor.

  “I've been doing some research. I want to know what you think,” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked, looking up from her work.

  Phil glanced side to side, noticing the hustle and bustle around them, he wished for a more secluded setting. “Not here,” he muttered.

  “Okay?” questioned the doctor, wondering why he felt the need for such secrecy. The two went to Phil’s lab. The pathologist sat down and opened a file on his computer to share information he hoped would further their quest to end the current tragedy.

  “You know how we keep saying that we've never seen anything like this before,” said Phil.

  “Yeah,” said the doctor.

  “Well, apparently, we have.”

  “What?” said the doctor. She stood looking over Phil’s shoulder as a picture of a man in a white lab coat appeared on the screen along with a news article about the physician. Phil summarized the information.

  “About 20 years ago — a Dr. Rogers saw a number of patients with disease symptoms much like what we’re seeing,” said Phil. “The rash — fibers coming out of the skin — changes to the DNA — the one major difference, apparently there were no deaths. The disease was even given a name — Morgellons.”

  “I see a link to the government's disease center.” The doctor pointed to an icon on the computer window.

  “Yeah, I tried it, but the page has been removed.”

  “Any mention about what caused this?” asked Charity.

  “Well, according to the good doctor, all of his patients had been eating food from an experimental farm that was growing genetically modified fruits and vegetables.”

  “So what happened to his patients?” asked the doctor, her curiosity grew.

 

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