“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
