“You’re right. It had been a bunking area before it was converted for deliveries.”
“And how many deliveries can this facility handle?”
“Set up for simultaneous deliveries of three hundred, but we’ve recently tested a heck of a lot more. You gotta see it to believe it. They actually turn the beds over, like a restaurant does with its tables. The carriers who made their deliveries are moved to bunks overnight in the prep area.”
“Looks like a clinic or those same-day surgi-centers,” Jack said as he scanned the rows of gurneys that were separated by curtains.
“Somewhat. You’re looking at the prep area. The deliveries are actually received down the hall in the collection chamber, and then the carriers are moved to a recovery area similar to this.”
“Okay, so the sixty-four-million-dollar question is, what happens with what I call babies and you call deliveries?”
“The fetuses are administered a pharmaceutical dose just before delivery and are stillborn.”
“You kill them in the womb?”
Garland said, “Let’s cool it down, Jack. The dose is completely pain free. It’s a type of sedative that puts the fetus to sleep.”
“You have a ton of acronyms down here, don’t you? Sleep sounds so peaceful, doesn’t it?”
“Get off your high horse, Jack. It’s the most humane way of handling this.”
“Oh, now I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You guys were really slick. You had a master plan, didn’t you?”
“Jack, I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“The Birth Limitation Law. When it was enacted it also completely legalized abortion, no matter what the stage the pregnancy was.”
“You got it wrong, Jack. That bill had nothing to do with this.”
The general forced a cough. “If you’d like to continue, gentlemen?”
“Sorry, yes, General, let’s get moving.”
The general swiped his card and a pair of doors swung open to a chamber with two rows of twenty stations, each with a bed and an assortment of machines, brightly lit by overhead fixtures.
Jack immediately focused on the rear wall, which was lined with large stainless steel doors. He shuddered and said, “Don’t tell me those are refrigerators.”
The general nodded and said, “Once the carry is delivered, they’re placed in reefer holding pens.”
Jack wiped with his sleeve perspiration that had erupted on his forehead.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Right back there, to the left of the placenta freezers.” The general pointed.
Jack nearly broke into a run as he approached the bathroom. He hit the door, entered, and leaned over the sink and spit out some bile. After his bile backed down a bit, he straightened up. Jack processed the reality he’d just witnessed as he looked in the mirror. He pounded his fist on the counter. Just what the hell was Garland and his crew thinking? This was nuts, he told his reflection and vowed to get out of there and back to New York immediately.
Jack pumped the paper towel dispenser and splashed water on his face, wondering how a brilliant guy like Garland, who’d been critical to his career, had gone off the rails. He ripped off the towel and wiped his face as his heart skipped a beat and a band of butterflies began to flutter in his stomach.
What if I’m wrong about how I see things? Jack wondered. Am I looking at this from an unbiased, journalist’s viewpoint? Jack considered his uneasiness and left the bathroom, convinced he should finish the tour.
Chapter Thirty-Six
An impatient Garland couldn’t press Jack for what he hoped was a supportive piece because of a tragic double suicide. Though five years shy of the maximum age, Laura’s parents decided they could no longer go on and were found dead in their car from carbon monoxide poisoning.
The distraught couple took a trip to Iowa to settle her parents’ affairs and held a quiet service in their honor.
It took him ten days after visiting Andrew’s Air Force Base to compose his article, and when Jack did, it was clear he’d crossed the line from journalist to commentator.
Cannibalism or Survivalist? A Perspective
By Jack Amato
Does the Rogers Administration latest plan represent a rational move to ensure survival, or is it the end of civilized society?
Placenta Plus, a top-secret plan conceived and launched by the president, represents a radical attempt to feed seven hundred million Americans. Though a worthy goal, it’s safe to claim the nation would be hard-pressed to think of anything more controversial.
Its very name is nothing more than a blatant attempt to disguise the facts of the plan to ensure public acceptance. Likewise, the lingo describing Placenta Plus, in which mothers are called carriers, reinforces its surrealistic impression and leaves Americans questioning the program’s validity.
The basic underpinning of Placenta Plus, as painful as it might be to confront, is the harvesting of fetuses to provide a desperately needed, stable food source.
But is Placenta Plus a good program? Is it a rational life-saving attempt at survival, or does it represent an irreversible descent into a barbaric, lawless society?
I’ve given this a tremendous amount of thought, and the only way to properly assess the program is to remove the emotional component and look at it clinically.
The program is a form of cannibalism. There, I said it. Okay? Now get over it. Put aside the revulsion we feel when we consider cannibalism and examine Placenta Plus.
Cannibalism has been around for as long as mankind has roamed the earth. Primitive cultures still practice cannibalism, either for ceremonial purposes or for sustenance. When food is scarce or an emergency arises, survival mode kicks in and hunger sometimes supersedes societal norms.
Let’s face it, we’re in survival mode now. How else could you explain the public’s uncontested acceptance of programs like banning births, eating their pets, feasting on unearthed corpses, and weaving euthanized citizens into the food stream?
Humans are born with an intuitive switch that can be flicked on like a light switch, going from the pursuit of comfort to the pursuit of survival in a flash. How else could you explain someone hacking off their limb with a pocket knife because it is trapped beneath a boulder, shipwrecked men killing and feasting on an ill shipmate, or the air crash in the Andes where the survivors resorted to eating those who died in order to stay alive for the seventy-two days it took to rescue them?
Granted, most of these examples occurred years ago, but that is more a function of the advances in food production and rescue efforts. Make no mistake about it, when pressed, humans will do what is necessary to ensure their survival.
Keep in mind that the cemetery plan was responsible for a five percent bounce in food supply. It was a calculated effort to tap into a source that was in the ground, and it worked. Though this new program goes further by actually harvesting human fetuses, to this correspondent, Placenta Plus is nothing more than a graphic expression of our innate drive to survive.
I had the rare opportunity to tour one of the nation’s test sites. Last week, a senior member of the Rogers Administration took me deep inside an air force base for a look at the incubator program. One of thirty such test sites inside some of the country’s military facilities, we navigated two sets of security fencing before reaching the clandestine operation.
Thirty-four buildings comprising the campus were carved out of the base, the majority of which were barracks. Minor renovations had been made, offering a modicum of privacy for the thousand women living in each of the thirty housing structures. The women take their meals cafeteria style, three times a day, in a building within walking distance of their barracks. Much of what the women do here amounts to waiting, and an exceptionally outfitted recreational center serves to provide plenty of distraction along with an opportunity to socialize.
The diverse group of women living there, known as carriers, genuinely seemed happy
. Their only complaint was the inability to see their families during their pregnancy.
It’s important to note that anonymous donors are used to artificially impregnate the women in an effort to put some emotional distance between the mother and the fetus. Many of the women I spoke to leaned heavily on this point to alleviate any guilt they felt. As payment for their carriage, the women’s immediate families receive additional rations, ensuring they meet all nutritional and caloric minimums. Most of the women I spoke with likened what they were doing to a higher form of surrogacy, saying that instead of carrying a child for another family in exchange for money, the benefit they received in the form of higher rations was lifesaving for their families.
Without exception, they all thought the medical care was high quality and that they were treated with respect.
Outside of a general who acted as our tour guide, I was unable to speak with any of the US Air Force personnel staffing the facility and have no insight into how they handle their unusual duties. None of the women had anything negative to say about the workforce, excepting the occasional reference to the staff being a bit cold. Surprising as it was, it was clear to me that these women have come to terms with what they are doing and have no regrets.
Though the women are comfortable with their role, the reality of Placenta Plus comes home in the compound’s hospital.
The deliveries, as they’re known in Placenta Plus parlance, are orchestrated through C-sections or inducement to ensure that housing accommodations are emptied and refilled within a two-week period. The delivery facility looks and feels like a surgi-center.
The women are brought into a prep area, sedated, and hooked up to a battery of monitoring devices, but that is where the similarity to a surgi-center ends and the consternation begins.
During labor but just before delivery, a deadly sedative is administered and the fetus is delivered stillborn. The stillborn fetus is rinsed in an aseptic solution and moved into what is called the Carry Holding Pen, but which in reality is nothing more than a large refrigerator. The protein-rich placenta is immediately flash-frozen to preserve its nutritional value and stored in a freezer.
Our guide advised that refrigerated trucks transport the pen’s contents to an undisclosed processing center, where it enters the food chain.
Though I did not witness any deliveries, the emotional wrench of the delivery area stayed with me for several days. That said, it is preferable to the growing number of cannibalistic kidnappings that are spreading across the nation.
The question we need to answer is: Does Placenta Plus amount to a turn toward cannibalism, or does it offer a rational, though radical, way to survive?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jack and his grandmother were watching the news as Laura mixed canned Spam with thin slices of a homegrown tomato for their supper.
“Oh, my!” Jack’s grandmother covered her eyes. “That poor man.”
Laura said, “What’s the matter?”
“Hurry, there’s a replay.”
The television displayed video of a man scaling the White House fence as a contingent of black suited men raced over. The intruder made a dash for the vegetable garden as a Secret Service agent knelt down to support his gun. As the man reached for a tomato his head exploded.
“That’s crazy, he wasn’t a threat!”
“Maintaining order, I guess, otherwise everyone would be hopping over.”
“What ever happened to the two teenagers who got caught a couple months ago?”
Jack said, “Almost every crime carries a death penalty, so I’m sure those kids were turned into food.”
Jack’s grandmother shook her head and made the sign of the cross.
Laura said, “I can’t believe with all the, uh, human, stuff . . . I mean, we’ve got Placenta Plus, Right Ageing, and we still can’t get everybody fed? It doesn’t make sense.”
“From what I know, we’re twenty-five to thirty percent under where we need to be.”
Jack’s grandmother got up. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”
The musical cue sounded the section of the news devoted to daily updates on the crisis’s rules, along with reminders to the populace about the severe penalties for any infractions. As usual, it started with an example of the consequences of breaking the law.
“In Oklahoma City, John Bushmell was arrested attempting to use his deceased mother’s ration card. The mother’s skeletal remains were found in a shallow grave at Bushmell’s home.”
A picture of the family gathering on their home’s front porch filled the screen.
“It is unknown whether the father of five killed his mother or if the seventy-seven-year-old killed herself, with the age limit looming. Bushmell was quickly arraigned, pleading guilty to spare his family the full loss of rations. Bushmell will be publicly euthanized Friday.”
Next, a picture of six handcuffed men being shoved into a paddy wagon appeared.
“In Chicago, six members of the Insane Deuces, a Northside gang, were apprehended in a home on Roscoe Street. The gang operated a contraband ring, selling foodstuffs they’d stolen from homes in North Landale. Authorities had surveilled the gang as they terrorized North Landale over the past month. Patrons who were filmed purchasing from the gang are being identified and will also be arrested.”
The picture of the hoods was replaced by a split screen, the anchorman on one side and a heading for the coming bullet items to his right.
“This evening’s update contains some important revisions, so please take note.” The reporter paused as the first bullet items appeared on the screen. “A three percent reduction in rations will be implemented the first of the month. Water kit replenishing will be delayed thirty days. Right Age limits will be adjusted to a maximum of seventy-six.”
“Oh my God, Jack!” Laura said. “What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure something out.”
“You think Garland can help us?”
Jack’s grandmother came out of the bathroom. “What’s the matter?”
“Uh, nothing, Grams.”
“Jack, she has the right to know.”
“What is it, John John?”
“Sit down, Grams. It’s not good.”
After she sat, Jack said, “I’m really sorry, but they’ve lowered the age on Right Age again.” He paused. “This time down to a maximum of seventy-six. We’ll do something. I’ll call in my favors and . . .”
Jack’s grandmother held up her hand. “It’s okay, Jack. I heard it on an earlier broadcast.”
“But how come you didn’t say anything?”
“Look, we all knew this day was coming, and I’ve prayed a lot about it.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be, Laura. It’s okay. I’ve made up my mind on how I’m going out.”
“What are you talking about?”
She reached for their hands. “I love you both dearly. You’re the only thing that I’ve got, and I’m not gonna let them take me to one of their plants to be killed.”
“But what can we do?”
She sat back. “I’m just gonna swallow a handful of my meds and go peacefully right here. Then you can use my body for food. You’d have the whole thing to yourselves. It’d sustain you for quite a while, I suppose.”
“That’s crazy. No way.”
“You took me in when I had nowhere to go. Living with the two of you has been just wonderful, even with all the problems we’ve got. It would be the ultimate gift, the gift of life just for you two. Not like Laura’s poor parents.”
“I, we can’t allow that.”
“John John, I’ve made my decision! It’s final, and that’s that.”
“But Grams, can you promise to at least think about it?”
She smiled at Jack. “I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I’d like you to grant this old lady her last wish.” She rose. “I’m gonna take a nap.”
Jack and Laura encircled her, and
as the trio embraced, the one sentenced to death did all the consoling.
***
There was a quick knock on the Oval Office door before it swung open and a dozen Secret Service agents swarmed in.
“Mr. President, we’re taking you to the bunker.”
The president stood. “What’s going on?”
The lead agent guided the president to the door. “The perimeter has been breached again by a gang looking to steal vegetables.”
“Don’t shoot them.”
“Is that a direct order, sir?”
“Yes.”
The leader barked instructions into his sleeve.
The president left his office telling the agents he’d go to the Situation Room if they insisted, but the bunker was out.
Garland met the president in the hallway to the Situation Room.
“It’s under control, sir.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Twenty men stormed the gates outside the garden storage shed where the vegetables are packed.”
“Geez. We’re they armed?”
“No reports of weapons. They appear to be vagrants.”
“Poor fellows just trying to eat.”
“Uhm, three of the trespassers were shot dead, sir.”
“That’s excessive force!”
“It may seem that way, but they broke onto the grounds. The agents had to take action.”
“By shooting unarmed men trying to get food?”
Garland sighed. “I know it’s crazy, but they’re just trying to maintain order.”
“By shooting innocent people?”
“We’ll expand the perimeter by a hundred yards or so. That’ll give us a buffer zone so nothing like this happens again.”
The president silently shrugged as they approached the door to the Situation Room.
“I think we should also close the White House to public tours.”
The president shook his head. “This is a damn mess.”
The Final Enemy Page 22