GMO 24- The Coalition- A Tale Of Prepper Survival (GMO 24- A Tale Of Prepper Survival Book 1) by James Hunt Page A
Authors: James Hunt
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do? Before this?”
“I was a doctor. General practitioner.”
“Why aren’t you stationed in one of the communities? Doctors are hard to find these days, and the Coalition would probably let you pick wherever you wanted to go.”
The old man shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to perpetuate their false hope. And this was the price I paid for my subversive behavior.” He gestured to his surroundings.
“Did you see it coming? The soil crisis?”
“Not soon enough. I remember receiving my first case of GMO poisoning. Of course, back then we didn’t know what it was. It resembled all of the symptoms of a flu bug. Then once the cases started piling up, that’s when questions started being asked, fingers pointing blame. The GMO companies screaming that it was the pesticide companies, the pesticide companies screaming that it was the GMO companies’ fault, the politicians yelling that it was both of their faults, and no one willing to share any of the information they had on their products and how they’d been using them. Everyone was afraid to let the science reveal the truth. They were scared of what it meant.”
The pain in Alex’s arm seemed to catch fire the longer the old man spoke. His head started to ache. Flashes of those first few months of famine pierced his memory. He started to feel cold, dizzy.
“He was nine,” the old man said. “That first patient with GMO poisoning that I had. I sent him home with some antibiotics and told his mother to keep fluids in him. He died a month later. When we discovered exactly what the GMO-24 strain did to the body, I realized just how painfully that boy died.”
Alex could hear the shouts and the sharp fire of gunshots. He could smell the smoke choking him and the fire melting his skin. His muscles tensed up.
“The acids in your stomach weakening to the point that they couldn’t digest water. Then the subsequent shutdown of your kidneys, liver, intestines. All of them just dissolving into nothing. Rotting from the inside out,” the old man continued.
“The screams,” Alex said softly to himself. “You never forget the screams.” He turned to the old man. “Do you remember that? People just… bargaining with some unnamed deity for more time. Saying they’ll give you anything for just a few more days, hours, seconds.”
The old man’s green eyes softened in the candlelight. The look on his face wasn’t one of revulsion or pity but of understanding. It was a face that had heard those cries before. But unlike the old man, who didn’t have the ability to save his patients, Alex was left with the ghosts of the dead that he could have saved.
“It was a hard time,” the old man said.
“Things haven’t gotten much better.” Alex closed his eyes, shaking the memories from his mind. “Look, the headquarters in Topeka will be checking in soon, and when they don’t get a response, they’ll be sending the cavalry. You won’t want to be here when that happens. Do you have any place you can go?”
“I’ll just do what the rest of them did. Grab as much food as I can carry then get as far away from this place as I can. Then die. I don’t think it will be as bad for me as it will for some of the others. I’m ready for it to be done.”
The old man didn’t have anything left in the tank. He’d reached that place of accepted apathy. It was an incredibly dangerous state of mind. Alex extended his hand, and the old man gripped it weakly.
“There’s a river just south of here. It could be patrolled by sentries looking for me, but at least you’ll be close to a water source. You might last a little longer with it,” Alex said.
“Thank you.” The old man got up from his seat and grabbed a rag that he converted to a pouch to carry whatever supplies he’d take with him.
Alex headed to the sentry station in the back. He gained access to the Coalition’s database with one of
“I was a doctor. General practitioner.”
“Why aren’t you stationed in one of the communities? Doctors are hard to find these days, and the Coalition would probably let you pick wherever you wanted to go.”
The old man shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to perpetuate their false hope. And this was the price I paid for my subversive behavior.” He gestured to his surroundings.
“Did you see it coming? The soil crisis?”
“Not soon enough. I remember receiving my first case of GMO poisoning. Of course, back then we didn’t know what it was. It resembled all of the symptoms of a flu bug. Then once the cases started piling up, that’s when questions started being asked, fingers pointing blame. The GMO companies screaming that it was the pesticide companies, the pesticide companies screaming that it was the GMO companies’ fault, the politicians yelling that it was both of their faults, and no one willing to share any of the information they had on their products and how they’d been using them. Everyone was afraid to let the science reveal the truth. They were scared of what it meant.”
The pain in Alex’s arm seemed to catch fire the longer the old man spoke. His head started to ache. Flashes of those first few months of famine pierced his memory. He started to feel cold, dizzy.
“He was nine,” the old man said. “That first patient with GMO poisoning that I had. I sent him home with some antibiotics and told his mother to keep fluids in him. He died a month later. When we discovered exactly what the GMO-24 strain did to the body, I realized just how painfully that boy died.”
Alex could hear the shouts and the sharp fire of gunshots. He could smell the smoke choking him and the fire melting his skin. His muscles tensed up.
“The acids in your stomach weakening to the point that they couldn’t digest water. Then the subsequent shutdown of your kidneys, liver, intestines. All of them just dissolving into nothing. Rotting from the inside out,” the old man continued.
“The screams,” Alex said softly to himself. “You never forget the screams.” He turned to the old man. “Do you remember that? People just… bargaining with some unnamed deity for more time. Saying they’ll give you anything for just a few more days, hours, seconds.”
The old man’s green eyes softened in the candlelight. The look on his face wasn’t one of revulsion or pity but of understanding. It was a face that had heard those cries before. But unlike the old man, who didn’t have the ability to save his patients, Alex was left with the ghosts of the dead that he could have saved.
“It was a hard time,” the old man said.
“Things haven’t gotten much better.” Alex closed his eyes, shaking the memories from his mind. “Look, the headquarters in Topeka will be checking in soon, and when they don’t get a response, they’ll be sending the cavalry. You won’t want to be here when that happens. Do you have any place you can go?”
“I’ll just do what the rest of them did. Grab as much food as I can carry then get as far away from this place as I can. Then die. I don’t think it will be as bad for me as it will for some of the others. I’m ready for it to be done.”
The old man didn’t have anything left in the tank. He’d reached that place of accepted apathy. It was an incredibly dangerous state of mind. Alex extended his hand, and the old man gripped it weakly.
“There’s a river just south of here. It could be patrolled by sentries looking for me, but at least you’ll be close to a water source. You might last a little longer with it,” Alex said.
“Thank you.” The old man got up from his seat and grabbed a rag that he converted to a pouch to carry whatever supplies he’d take with him.
Alex headed to the sentry station in the back. He gained access to the Coalition’s database with one of
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