GMO 24- The Coalition- A Tale Of Prepper Survival (GMO 24- A Tale Of Prepper Survival Book 1) (5 page)

***

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.