Well, anyone who tested positive did have a lot to worry about. Those who didn’t had nothing at all to fear and could go about their business.
He’d already tested negative for the bacteria. Good thing. He had a lot of work ahead of him to prepare for the elimination phase. But first, it would take several weeks of intense activity to obtain the complete list of carriers.
Ted sat back and considered exactly what to do about those carriers once he had the list. Always best to start planning early.
CHAPTER 63
Stu Walters fidgeted with his notepad as he waited for everyone to take their seat at the executive conference table. Early December already. Animal-protein- and soy-based foods had been banned for several months now and malnutrition had become widespread, especially among the more vulnerable populations. Time was ticking, and he worried that another BigAg company might get the jump on Cornucopia. And that he could not have.
“All right, let’s get right to it. How close are we with the lab-raised meat?”
Ken Barnes, head of product development, cleared his throat and avoided eye contact. “We’ve made progress, Stu. Just not as much as we’d like.”
“How so?”
“Well, we’re ready to start producing Version 1.0, but 2.0 is still … presenting some challenges.”
“Explain.”
“We can produce the flat-sheet form of the product in volume now, and it tests clean. The amino acids are all in the proper form, no valine issues. It’s reasonably palatable, but of course, because it comes in sheets, it can’t deliver the experience of biting into a steak. Not yet.”
“What’s the holdup?”
“Trouble with the tissue scaffolding design. That’s critical to producing something that actually looks like a steak and has integrated marbling.”
Eric Regan, head of marketing, scowled as he made a note, then looked up. “Under normal circumstances—normal being where there were competing alternatives—this would be a product-killer. But I think my team can design a campaign that would work.” He shrugged. “You want beef these days, you take what you can get.”
Ken ran a hand through his hair. “And we’re still working hard on the scaffolding. Don’t get me wrong. We’ll get there, but not as soon as I’d hoped.”
Stu nodded. He had no doubt they were working on it as fast as they could. But it would all be for nothing if the competition leapfrogged them, so he had to keep up the pressure. “All right, keep me posted. What’s the product name going to be?”
“SmartBeef. We want to make sure the consumer doesn’t get the idea it’s fake or substitute beef. It is real. And it’s smart for them to eat it. They’ll get a new source of complete protein that is certified safe to eat.” Eric smiled.
Stu leaned back in his chair and considered the name for a moment. “I like it. I like it a lot. Let’s go with that. Get it into production ASAP. We’ve got to get out there first—and our bottom line could use the boost. The losses in the soybean division have been staggering.”
He adjourned the meeting and headed back to his office. Maybe the timing would work in their favor after all. Consumers would be so desperate for beef by now they’d snap this stuff up while they worked out the kinks in Version 2.0.
Hell, a beef dinner in about any form was starting to sound good about now.
CHAPTER 64
“Thanks for watching her. I know you’re all very busy here.”
“No problem, Dr. Sommers. She’s such a sweet little girl. We enjoy having her around.” A look of weary sadness crossed the nurse’s face. “She brightens things up around here.” She squatted down to Lara’s eye level and smiled. “Come on, honey. Let’s go to the playroom for a while.” She picked her up, taking care not to bump her injured shoulder.
“’Bye, Daddy!” Lara waved her good arm and flashed a smile over the nurse’s shoulder.
“’Bye, Lara. Be a good girl, okay?” He waved back.
Kyle stifled a yawn as he watched them head down the hall toward the children’s room. The horror of what had happened was still every bit as potent for him as it was that night a couple of weeks ago. He spent his days dealing with the consequences of the attack, both practical and emotional, and sleep had been hard to come by. Every single night, as soon as he fell asleep, he relived the night of the attack in vivid detail and woke up drenched in sweat. He doubted he’d ever have peaceful dreams again. How could he, when his family and all sense of normalcy had been ripped apart?
Gretchen was admitted to Lakeside the night of the incident, like any other violent inmate, to await her turn through the legal process. And a long wait it would likely be, given the number of inmates already ahead of her, and the confusion in the courts. Judges were struggling with how to fairly assess guilt, given the physical basis for the violence.
Lara had spent several days in the ICU, and to the end of his days, he’d never forget how fragile she’d looked lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to IVs and monitors. So pale and weak. She’d lost a lot of blood in the attack and they’d had to give her several units of blood that night to stabilize her. Fortunately, she’d avoided any major physical damage. She was recovering well, considering.
She was full of questions every single day, questions that tore at him. Over and over she asked when would Mommy be coming home, where was Mommy—and why did Mommy want to hurt her? Of course, he had no words to explain any of that to a three-year-old child. So he did his best to duck her questions and hide his pain, at least for now.
He sighed, turned, and proceeded down the hall to where Gretchen awaited him. And it took every ounce of determination inside him to make that walk again, knowing what he would see and knowing what she had done.
Kyle reached the door to her ward, clenched his jaw, and forced himself to go inside. The sight sickened him as it did every time he’d come to see her: bed after bed arranged in double rows along each side of the long, harshly lit room. Each of the beds occupied—and equipped with restraints.
After the shooting a couple of months ago, the hospital made significant changes to protocol. The violent offenders were now fully segregated from the mental health patients. The rent-a-cops had been replaced by mandatory restraints and potent drugs to make the violent residents easier and safer for the limited staff to manage. Only staff that had tested negative for B. metasonis were allowed to report to work. The rest had been placed on paid leave for the time being.
The changes had somewhat stabilized the atmosphere at Lakeside, but the sheer number of new admissions continued to grow as time went on and more succumbed to the brain changes stemming from the malicious interaction of the malformed valine and B. metasonis. But despite the number of residents, an eerie silence hung over the ward.
He kept walking, passing bed after bed with some ruined, violent soul lying there, drugged and restrained like an animal. He averted his eyes, saving what strength he had for facing the sight of his Gretchen.
Kyle arrived at her bed and his vision blurred with hot, unshed tears as he gazed down. She lay there, her wrists and ankles peeking out from under the covers, tethered to thick metal bars with ugly, brown-padded-leather straps. Her deep blue eyes, once brilliant and lively, lay open and empty, sunken in darkened pools. She didn’t even notice him there, she was so thoroughly drugged. She looked as if she might as well be dead.
And that was the hell of it. He knew the changes to her brain were permanent, irreversible. She could not be rehabilitated, and so would likely be committed here for the rest of her life.
Realistically, what else could be done with her? He’d seen firsthand what she was capable of. No matter what he did, no matter how much time passed, he would never be able to erase his mental image of her plunging that knife into Lara. He had no doubt whatsoever that if he hadn’t intervened when he had, she would have killed Lara. No doubt at all. And she’d likely have turned the knife on him next. He feared her for it, but he couldn’t hate her for it. Her brain had been alte
red. It wasn’t really Gretchen who held the knife that night. It wasn’t her fault, but the fact remained that she could never be trusted again.
He stood beside her bed, staring down at the antiseptic white linoleum floor. No, there was no other choice than to institutionalize her. It might be a little better if it were a private institution with fewer patients to tend to. Maybe. Or maybe it wouldn’t matter to her, only to him.
In light of the situation, he’d asked for a leave of absence. Vic had been generous in granting him the time he needed, but added that when he returned, he wanted to present him with some form of recognition for his excellent work in unearthing the problem.
Nothing could be further from what Kyle wanted now. He wished to God he’d never even come here, never had anything to do with the investigation. He knew he didn’t bring this onto Gretchen. But still, he harbored a form of guilt about it even though he knew it wasn’t rational.
Kyle glanced out the grimy window at the end of the ward. Snow fell outside. It was nearly Christmas. He crumpled to the floor beside Gretchen’s bed, put his face in his hands, and sobbed.
CHAPTER 65
Les Anderson lounged in his living room in the middle of the afternoon, something he hadn’t had time to do in as long as he could remember. Demand for his services had disappeared nearly overnight, save for the occasional call to treat a household pet. Something had to give. He’d been a vet his entire adult life, and didn’t know what else he could do—or would even want to do—for a living.
He pushed aside those thoughts for the moment and clicked on the television, for lack of anything better to do. Most of the time these days he wondered at the point of even watching the news at all. Every report was a tragic déjà vu of protests, panic, lost jobs, and food shortages. People killing wild game—and each other. And now, sure as shit, malnutrition had become rampant.
People were starting to die.
First it was the vulnerable ones. The old, the ones with chronic conditions. Pregnant women were miscarrying at a shocking rate. Those few who did make it to term generally didn’t survive childbirth. Newborn deaths were skyrocketing. It was as if third-world malnutrition had come to the United States. Children were dying now, too, their little bellies bulging beneath their shirts.
Les clicked off the TV and flung the remote across the room. It shattered against the wall with a satisfying crash. He covered his face with his hands, letting the hot tears flow as he sobbed, his entire body shuddering with overwhelming grief. All his life, he’d been devoted to treating farm animals. His good care enabled the farmers to put nutritious, quality food on people’s tables. Now those animals had become poison, and people were dying because of it.
He wondered if there was any future left, or if this was the food chain’s version of Armageddon.
CHAPTER 66
Stu Walters glanced at the report in his hand, then at Ken Barnes, whom he’d called into his office for an emergency meeting along with Eric Regan. “SmartBeef is too expensive. Sales are crap.”
Ken stared down at the papers in his lap. “Well, we’re still working out some kinks in the production process. Normal stuff for a new product, nothing unusual. I agree, it’s pricey per pound, but our margin isn’t much right now. I’m hoping when we smooth out our production lines that we can lower the price and still make money on it.”
“I think we need to lower the price now, even if that would make it a loss leader. We’ve got to get more people to at least try it and see it’s the best there is on the market. I’ve tried it myself. It tastes good, but the form of it is, frankly, off-putting. We need to overcome that and build product loyalty in the near term.”
Ken nodded. “Understood. By the way, we’ve nearly solved the scaffolding problem on the 2.0 version. Might be several months before we’re ready to start producing it, but at least we’re finally about through that roadblock. It’s been a real bear.”
“That’s good news. The 2.0 version’ll be a great product, but I suspect it will be substantially more expensive to produce, at least in the near term. We need to round out our offerings with a second-tier product that doesn’t try so hard.”
“What do you mean?” Ken raised an eyebrow.
“The nonprescription version of our pharmaceutical liquid diet. We talked about it a couple of months ago.”
“Oh, right. I remember we brainstormed it, but SmartBeef took priority in the meantime.”
“Conditions are ripe for consumers to accept this sort of product now. We could capture those who can’t afford or won’t accept SmartBeef, as well as the vegetarians who’ve lost their soy-based dietary protein sources.”
Eric gazed up at the ceiling as he spoke. “A portable, ultra-convenient way to get your day’s nutrition. A product that fits right into people’s busy, mobile lives.” He scribbled a few notes. “I’ll get the campaign ready right away.”
Ken brightened. “We can have it in production and distribution well before SmartBeef 2.0.”
“Then make it so. Get it done and out there as fast as you can, of course making sure to test it for safety.”
CHAPTER 67
Jeff McClain seated himself at his dining room table, folded his arms, and gazed at his dinner plate. He didn’t like what he saw there, but he’d run out of choices. His dealer had disappeared on him weeks ago, and he’d been unable to find a real steak anywhere ever since.
He took a sip of his Merlot and considered the irony of his situation. Here he was on the outskirts of Kansas City, arguably the meat capital of the United States—at least it used to be. And he’d finally had to resort to purchasing beef that had been grown in a lab. He wondered how good—or bad—it would be.
He glanced over toward the glass sliders, at the snow falling on the cedar deck beneath the porch lights. Nearly Christmastime. He thought back to memorable holiday meals with his extended family, back when they were still around. Every year, they’d all get together and share a huge, juicy prime rib roast with all the trimmings. Those were the days. His relatives had all since passed away, and he’d never married. Such was life. So he took his pleasures in good food, especially a good cut of beef. Now even that had been taken away from him.
Jeff sighed and stared down at his plate, at the flat plank of lab-produced beef that lay there. It looked more like a wide piece of jerky than anything else. If that. He’d carefully sautéed it in a little olive oil and garlic, along with some black pepper. It was so thin, he feared a high heat would toughen it right into shoe leather. There it sat, next to a baked potato. A baked potato dotted with margarine, of course, since real butter was banned these days.
He cut a piece of the meat, stared at it on his fork for a moment, then put it in his mouth. He chewed cautiously, not sure of what to expect, though for what the stuff cost per pound, it ought to be damned good. He swallowed, then tried another piece.
After a few bites, he decided it was a thin impersonation of the real thing. Yeah, Cornucopia said it was real beef, from actual beef tissue, and that may be. But it lacked the complex flavor and texture he loved and missed so much. Maybe for someone who’d never enjoyed a good cut of fresh beef, it would be satisfying. For him, it was more of a tease, making him wish he had a steak. One produced the old-fashioned way.
At least SmartBeef didn’t contain the problem protein that had started all the trouble. He never was sure about the beef his dealer had sold him. He’d claimed it had never been fed soy, but there was no way to confirm that. And if he’d ever found out the dealer had been lying, he couldn’t exactly go to the cops about it or sue him.
Even if it wasn’t as satisfying as a normal steak, it would be good to get some proper protein and iron again. He’d been feeling somewhat weak and lethargic lately from trying to get his protein from beans, rice, and nuts.
He’d never been able to stomach fish.
CHAPTER 68
Les Anderson switched on his wipers to clear the snow and slush from his truck’s windshield be
fore it iced over. He was out driving in moderate, mid-December snow—more for old time’s sake than for any real reason. He had no house calls to make, no one to visit, no errands to run. It depressed him, having nothing to do. Given the winter gloom outside, he could either sit in semidarkness in his house, or he could turn on all the lights to dispel it. But he knew that wouldn’t work.
So he’d decided to get out in the truck and take a drive, despite the weather, just to get himself moving and to get some fresh air, frigid though it might be. He pulled over near the edge of Marty Janssen’s place, killed the engine, and got out.
Gloved hands in pockets and the hood of his down jacket snugged around his face to keep out the cold and wet, he walked slowly along the fence line, his boots crunching in the snow, and gazed at Marty’s spread. A chill—unrelated to the weather—went through him as he took in the view.
Empty. So damned empty. Where normally the snowy pasture would be dotted with cattle, there lay an expanse of clean, unbroken whiteness. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Marty had pulled up stakes and left the place, livestock and all. But he knew he was there, doing his best to survive by starting up that fish-breeding operation out back. He shook his head. So much had changed in a few months. At least Marty and Paul were working on a Plan B. All the rest of his clients were hunkered down for the winter, witnessing the certain deaths of their livelihoods.
He didn’t know which was worse: to lie down and accept what had happened, or to kill yourself trying something risky to change it. Marty and Paul were taking a shot, for sure, but they might well be working their asses off to wind up the same as their neighbors in the end. He hoped they made it—for their sakes, and especially for Susan’s—but raising fish up here seemed crazy to him.
Broken Chain Page 17