It looked like he was going to say more, but one of the soldiers whistled just then and called out that they were rolling.
“Good luck.” Jack’s dad called to Garcia and his men. Several others repeated this sentiment.
“And to you.” Garcia nodded. With that, and a wave from Collins, they were off. They hopped in the back of the last truck and the convoy started moving seconds later.
The civilians stood there in a stunned silence, as the convoy rolled out, took a left out of the parking lot, and was out of sight within a minute.
The noise of the convoy faded away into the unnatural silence. Everybody suddenly felt very vulnerable, and unconsciously started backing into the building.
Emily and Bill Moyers were the first to recover. They each took hold of one of the school doors and motioned for people to get inside.
“Ok folks, let’s do as they said and get this door closed.” Jack’s dad said as he helped the handicapped Bill handle one of the doors.
The group stepped inside the doors. Nobody noted that the gate into the parking lot had been left open.
The doors were shut quickly behind them, and with an audible ‘clack’ and a feeling of finality, the bolts were engaged.
People were left wondering what had happened, to bring the world to this?
Chapter Four
October 11, 9:05 P.M.
Mogadishu, Somalia
The black computer screen had an electric glare to it, that somehow still made it stand out in the dark room. The only thing that was visible on the screen was a caret. The text cursor. The vertical line blinked white on the dark grey screen. The slight glare of the screen dimly outlined the frowning face of a man and the tops of his hands on the keyboard.
The man entered a string of text. The screen indicated that a server connection is being established. Several logins and verifications were required to get to the next step.
The next line simply stated: “Enter Command”. The text cursor blinked as if impatient with the operator.
“neurax112 wake up”. The operator depressed the ‘enter’ button on his keyboard and waited.
Nothing happened for several minutes. The person behind the keyboard did not panic though. He knew that this command would take some time. It was contacting many recipients. Many millions of recipients. The tiny units within radio range were brought out of a state of hibernation.
“neurax112 awake” Was the reply. “Enter Command” appeared on the next line.
“arm kill switch 211”
Another set of authorizations was required at that point. The operator entered the proper passwords. Several minutes passed after the last authorization check. The operator started to perspire.
“kill switch armed 211neurax112”
The next line appeared on the screen.
This is it.
“Execute kill switch 211? y/n” The operator sat in silence for a minute. All he had to do was depress the “y” or “n” key.
Push the n key and all this goes away...
“God forgive me.” The man uttered as his finger hovered above the y key and slowly descended.
Chapter Five
October 14, 6:00 P.M.
Just another day in the rat race for most people. They kissed their partners goodbye that morning, jumped into their vehicles to spend their daily allowance of time in traffic jams, while the kids got hustled off to school. They spent their day sitting behind desks, breaking up the monotone of the day by checking their social media and fantasy football pools, while their spouses shopped for groceries and other material things. Then at an agreed upon hour they all ran back to their cars, sat in the afternoon rush, and eventually got back to their houses.
When 6:00 P.M. came around, many of them had just finished supper or were eating it on the couch. The next half hour or so was their chance to get caught up with the news, before they had to run out to get the kids to soccer practice, meet up with the Joneses for a beer, or make their ways back to the malls for some more shopping.
The six o’clock news consisted mostly of political and celebrity scandals, interspersed with weather, traffic, sports, and the odd feel-good story. There is also a very brief portion of world news. Tonight, that news was disturbing to anybody that has family in East Africa or the Arabian Peninsula. It seemed that many crops are suddenly and unexplainedly failing. For the vast majority of watchers, this news didn’t stir up any emotion. Some folks were angry. How come those people in Africa just can’t raise a good crop and feed their own?!
Chapter Six
October 16, 6:00 P.M.
The television screen displayed a news anchor, smartly dressed and with properly stern look on her face. She was a handsome woman, with dark brown hair drawn back in a ponytail to accentuate her strong yet feminine features.
Above her head the text reads “Worldwide Crop Failures”
“Good evening and welcome to our program. I’m Tammy Jensen.”
Tammy possessed the crisp features common with people from Scandinavian descent, with sharp cheekbones accented by full lips. However, it’s her dark blue eyes which captivate most viewers. Those eyes were looking at the camera with an intense look. “We start the channel eight news with our headline story.”
“Yesterday we reported that many crops are suddenly failing in large portions of Africa and the middle east. We reported that farmers in these regions were stunned to find that their crops withered overnight. We now have reports that this phenomenon appears to be a worldwide event. Crop failures have been reported in Australia, Russia, Europe and South America, and the first incidences are being reported in the United States as well.”
“The affected crops include corn and wheat, which are two of the most important crops in America. The list also includes rice, soybean, canola, alfalfa, potato, cotton and others.”
The picture changes to a close-up of a farmer pulling a cob from a corn plant. The plant appears fine, as does the cob. However, as the farmer peels back the leaves, he exposes a husk that appears grey. The farmer runs his thumb over the corn and the kernels squash easily, squirting a milky grey liquid over his hand.
“Crops appear to be rotting away on the stalk, as shown here.” Tammy’s disembodied voice added to the images.
The next scenes are of various crops withering away. From the rotted peas inside the bean in an otherwise green soybean field, to the healthy-looking apple picked from a tree, which when cut in half shows a blackened core.
“The agricultural industry world-wide is facing a disaster of epic proportions as major crops are failing around the world.”
More videos and pictures of dead or dying vegetables and fruit assault the viewer, this time without comment. What more could be said that the pictures don’t already show... The next shots are of runs on grocery stores and markets, as people are in a panic to gather food for their families. This is followed by the inevitable statement where governments are asking for calm and statements of assurances to the public. The hoarding of food items is already well underway in most areas of the world though.
Tammy appeared back on screen. She was the picture of professionalism and composure, despite the severity of the news.
“This phenomenon has not affected all plant types and crops. Local farmers have been contacted, and several have replied that there seems to be nothing wrong with their crops.”
Tammy frowned ever so slightly. A common trick for news anchors to draw attention as they are about to say something contradictory or disputable.
“However, this does not seem to be consistent for all farmers, as we also have confirmations from several other local farmers that something ‘strange’ seems to be going on with their plants.”
The feed switched to another camera. Tammy turned to face the camera, and a new graphic appears on the screen:
“Crop Failures Investigated”
Tammy started to speak after giving her audience a couple of seconds to read the headline.
> “The U.N. and many governments around the world have responded to this environmental disaster by directing their agricultural departments to start immediate investigations. At this point however, experts can not agree on the reason for these crop failures.”
The next scene shows a middle-aged man being interviewed by several reporters, in the front lobby of what appears to be a large research facility. His over sized horn-rimmed glasses and his unkempt black hair are a sharp contrast to his pristine white lab coat.
“We are not ready to discount any theory at this time. Our labs are assessing the affected specimens, but it will take several days before we will be able to come to any conclusions regarding the cause of this affliction.” As he spoke, a ticker on the bottom of the screen identified him as a research professor at the Agricultural Research Division of the United States Department of Agriculture. The heavily acronymic line read ‘PR Todd Dees, M.S. M.H.A., ARD, USDA’
One of the interviewers took that opportunity to speak up.
“I have heard from a reputable source that this was caused by a solar flare. Do you have any comment?”
The professor reacted slightly startled. “Absolutely preposterous! We will rule out any hypothesis in due course but can not jump at the theory of just any ‘reputable source’ that comes along!”
“Could this be a terrorist act?” Another reporter jumped into the fray.
The professor was flustered but recovers quickly. “We need to firstly determine what is happening to our crops, before we can begin to understand the how.”
“What about bacteria?” Another reporter spoke up.
Before the professor could respond, another reporter interrupts.
“Is this a conspiracy?”
Several other questions were blurted out, drowning out any response.
The feed was cut, and Tammy appeared back on the screen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, channel Eight News will keep you updated on this situation as more information becomes available.”
Chapter Seven
October 17, 10:00 P.M.
Stories of failing crops cover most of the news hour tonight. Many nations are scrambling to keep its populations from panicking. For now, there are plenty of food stocks to go around, as canned and other packaged goods appear to be unaffected by the blight. It is quite noticeable that these food products have a different taste.
To most people, most food now tastes ‘off’. Not rotten, per se, but stale or bland...
People are also nervous about the long-term effects of the blight. What do we do when the cans run out! People ask.
There is no easy answer.
Another interesting discovery is that not all farms are being decimated. The Mennonite communities in Pennsylvania have experienced hardly any crop loss at all. A minority of other farmers around the world are similarly finding that their crops are fine.
Why is that? It leaves experts and farmers scratching their heads.
There is something in common with these farms, although the mega-corporations of the world are lobbying governments to keep it hushed up.
These farms produce organic products from non-gmo seed. But the world is prevented from hearing this announcement for some time yet.
Chapter Eight
October 18, 11:15 AM
“Sam, get over here!”
What is it now! Sam stood up off his bed, quickly stuffed the nudie mag under his mattress and headed out of his room. At the doorway he paused.
“What is it mom?!” His southern drawl made it sound like ‘Mah’.
“Just get down here!” The authority in his mom’s voice made him leap into action. Not before closing and locking his room though.
If mah ever found his illicit stuff, there’d be hell to pay.
Sam made it to the kitchen before the dreaded ‘third call’. That would have been a scolding. A fourth would have been a whoopin’.
Sam warily walked up to his mother, but her attention was elsewhere. She was staring out the window.
“What is it, mah?”
Sam’s mom was a big woman. Beefy, some would say. She ran this household and the farm with tireless energy, pride, and utterly without fear.
Sam tensed, as he saw just a hint of doubt – or was it fear? – in her expression.
“Sam, I think there might be some critter out there. I can see a bunch of rodents crawling away from the grain silo – like they’re spooked or sometin’. Grab the shotgun.”
It wasn’t until that moment that he noticed the rifle on the counter, which his mom picked up.
“Should we wait for dah and Jimmy to come back?” Sam suddenly felt infinitely smaller than his 14 years.
His mom shook her head quickly. The doubt and fear shedding off her countenance with every head shake. Determination taking their place.
“Let’s go, Sam.” And she stepped to the door, picking up and handing over the shotgun that leant against the wall. Sam took the shotgun. There was no need to check if it was loaded. ‘What’s the use fer’ havin’ a damn gun, otherwise?!’ his dah always said – usually with a lot more swear words and comments directed at liberals and the government.
The pair stepped outside. Sam could instantly smell the crops, starting to rot in the field.
“It just don’t smell right.” He said under his breath. His mom didn’t hear, and he had to step quickly to catch up to her.
Sam could see the mice now. A whole... What is it? A flock? Nah. Maybe a herd? Ah whatever.
A whole bunch of them had migrated away from the silo. They all grouped together so it looked like a furry carpet crawling across the hard-packed ground. Sam could see little individual tufts of the carpet being left behind. Like it was shedding or something.
As Sam and his mom got closer, they could see dead mice here and there. They followed the dead mice to the silo. Sam tensed as they got close, not knowing what to expect.
Nothing.
As they stood at the silo, they could see another mouse squeeze out of the small crack in the foundation.
“Ah told James he got to fix that!” Sam’s mom uttered, as the mouse got out and tried to scamper after its brethren.
“But mah, what coulda’ gotten in there to scare all them mice away like that?”
They were both puzzled. The mouse scampered right past them, but neither mother nor son paid any attention to it.
They walked a full circle around the silo, detecting nothing out of the ordinary.
“Ain’t no way nothin’ big coulda got in...” Sam stated. His mom nodded in agreement.
“Ah, well. I guess maybe it aint nothin too serious. Let’s get back to the house.” And with a sigh she turned and started walking back. Sam took a few more steps around the silo.
What he saw surprised him. He ran after his mom and caught up to her quickly.
“Mah, them mice! They dead!”
“Yeah, I saw the dead mice. Some a them musta got trampled by the others or sumtin”.
“No mah, they’re all dead!” Sam pointed to the mass of mice, which all lay unmoving, at the edge of the field.
Chapter Nine
October 19, 6:00 P.M.
Tammy Jensen sat at her news anchor position again. Sharply dressed in a women’s suit which also including a skirt and a low-cut blouse, she was the picture of both professionalism and strength, yet also of feminine beauty and sexual attraction. The perfect tv news personality.
“Good evening and welcome to our program. I’m Tammy Jensen.” Tammy started with the same line as always. Normalcy and repetitiveness bred comfort within her viewers.
The main headline was still about the crop failures that were being reported around the world. Farmers were taking to extreme measures of destroying affected crops in hopes that healthy crops would remain unaffected. Little was known of the cause of the failures, but some within the farming communities were blaming bad seed. The only commonality between the failed crops was that they all were produced using ge
netically modified organisms, or ‘GMO’. There were already talks of major lawsuits brewing.
Civil unrest had reached America. Stories of mobs of people breaking into big box grocery stores were supplemented with the gruesome story of a Mennonite farm that was raided by a hungry, desperate crowd. The camera shows ransacked buildings and fields as well as several objects covered by tarps. The next few camera shots show tall hatted, bearded stoic figures holding rifles at roadblocks leading to their farms.
The second news item this evening was the mysterious illness that seems to be spreading in livestock. Little was known about the cause of the illness, but it seemed that some livestock appeared to be in discomfort. Locally, some farmers were corroborating this story. One farmer has even blamed the death of his old dog on this mystery illness.
It was the next item that people should have been paying attention to.
The feed switched to another camera, and as Tammy turned to face the camera, a new graphic appeared beside her of a world map. Large Black circles with red outlines, similar to solar eclipses with their dark centers and bright nimbuses, are visible on the map all over Africa and the Middle East. The graphics were very impressive and sensational.
Above her head a new graphic appeared, this time with the text: “New Stomach Bug?”
“Last night’s reports of large-scale food poisoning have been debunked, as we have received reports of the potential outbreak of a new stomach bug. It is yet undetermined if this bug is bacterial or viral in nature, but reports indicate that there are already millions of people afflicted. Reports indicate that the infection is limited to locations in central and east Africa, and the Middle East. Our reports indicate that many people are having various stomach complaints and are crowding clinics and hospitals in these regions.”
Apocalypsis Immortuos | Book 1 | Syndrome Page 6