James Hunt - GMO 24 - The Coalition

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.

The rat had been in his cage long enough to process the results. Todd couldn’t figure out what was taking so long. Were they figuring out what to do with him? Did his nutrition levels warrant some executive call to officials on the other side of the country?

The door to the mobile lab opened, and the rat emerged. He handed the results to the street thug, who looked them over. Todd could feel a lump in his throat clog any path that would have allowed him to swallow.

After a few minutes of flipping through the pages, the thug slammed the clipboard back into the rat’s chest and stomped off.

“Inspection’s over!” Street Thug said.

After three hours of being handcuffed to the chair in the darkness, Alex’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. Not that there was anything to look at in the first place. When the door opened and the fluorescent lights flickered on, the skin crinkled around his eyes and forehead as he shut his eyelids to protect his pupils from the intrusive light.

“Alex Grives, so nice of you to come and see us this afternoon.”

Alex blinked furiously. Flashes of white continued to blind him every few milliseconds. He twisted in his chair a bit and winced from the pressure of the cuffs around his wrists.

“I hope you’ve been comfortable, Alex.”

“And when did you start caring about that, Gordon?”

When Gordon’s face finally came into view, he looked slightly thinner than the last time Alex had seen him, but other than that he still looked like the same bullshit-shoveling piece of scum.

“When they told me they had a hunter in custody with a bag of non-GMO seeds, I had a feeling it would be you, but never in my wildest fantasies did I think you’d ever have the balls to come and see me again.

How’s the shoulder?” Gordon asked.

“I want to make a trade.”

“Ha HA!” Gordon clapped his hands together and looked back at the sentries. “See? Balls. God, I miss dealing with men like that.” He leaned on the table, keeping his hands clasped together. “I already have what you wanted to trade, Alex. Sooo… what other business do I have with you?”