Chapter 13: Casting Seeds on Untilled Soil

"OK, folks, listen up. We've had a couple unfortunate incidents where my girls have disappeared without a trace. We've completely lost touch with both Monique in Charlotte and Debbie in Raleigh, both in North Carolina. Let me remind you, if our people are injured, it means entire regions of the country won't get treated. Thousands who we could save will die needlessly. We realize how dangerous things are now. We've also lost touch with our contacts in Hilton Head, South Carolina, Palm Beach, Florida and Salt Lake City, Utah. But we can't afford to lose the only people capable to curing the plagues.

Even if you don't wish to participate in our treatments, remember it does no one any good to attack our people. No one can treat themselves as the process requires careful supervision by someone who's already immune. If no one can perform this necessary task, there will be no help when the rest of you contract the Great Death. Remember, although the plagues have diminished, we expect a resurgence this winter. That is why we're working so hard to spread our treatments as broadly as possible before winter descends.

I'm worried we've lost two vital people so close together. It's too late to cancel our next meeting. But if we lose any more individuals, our entire mission is in serious jeopardy. We'll have to move into a single city en masse with heavy armaments. That will mean we can only treat a dozen people at most before winter halts our progress. That won't help anyone. Treating only a handful of people won't save this country or humanity. It's time for everyone to make a stand. Either we all work to survive as a species, or every one of us will die.

Our next appointment is in Columbus, Ohio. This is important, because it marks our move west. Once we establish a community there, we'll continue to Chicago and as far west as we can reach. We'll need particular help in these cities so we can move west with more support."

Nearing Columbus, Betty exited Route 33 at Lancaster. It was late and she needed to stop for the night anyway, but she wanted to investigate the local feed stores. David's group had only rescued a small collection of seeds. If she could uncover uncontaminated potato, corn and wheat seeds, they could conceivably grow them in carefully controlled greenhouses. That might preserve the American staple foods. If not, then at least she might discover other alternatives. They may also prove a useful item once she hit Chicago. Despite having plentiful farms in the surrounding regions, the larger farms were contaminated by the infected crops. Instead they'd need to grow food in smaller indoor farms using small apartments, glasshouses or well-insulated window panes.

The three-mile trek into the city wasn't quick. Lancaster was just large enough to be strewn with crippled vehicles and damaged roads. She edged around obstructions rather than jumping out and removing them. Due to the fading light, Betty turned her headlights on to read the street signs. She also broke into a couple of homes looking for a local phone book. She cursed the demise of the public telephone, despite never having used one herself. She finally found the location of Lancaster Feed & Seed on South Columbus Street.

It was a straightforward drive, though reading street signs was difficult as the grass and trees weren't trimmed. Several street signs were either damaged or missing. Approaching Center Street, only a short distance from her destination, she found her way blocked by a fallen tree. Since it was shy of her turn, she got out to decide whether to go around or move the obstruction.

It turned out the tree—actually only a sliver of the trunk—wasn't very large. She could swing it out of the way by lifting one end and dragging it. It was almost clear when she was distracted by a sound behind her. Glancing back, she saw three men; all wearing full beards making them appear like wild hillbillies. They were moving up on her, with the two men on the edges encircling her.

Dropping the tree, she turned to address them.

"Can I help you?" Assuming she was unlikely to meet anyone in the time it took to move the limb, she'd left her weapons in her car. She had a hunting knife, but felt stupid being caught unprepared.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the guy in the center asked. He wore a flowered Hawaiian print shirt and his beard jutted before him. The man on her left was a muscular bald black man with a shorter beard. The man on her right had a salt-and-pepper beard and wore a baseball cap and a flannel shirt. "Don't you know it's dangerous out and about nowadays? We don't take kindly to strangers in these parts. Maybe my friends and I can teach you a lesson. After all, it's been a long time since we've enjoyed a woman's charms."

Instead of responding or preparing to defend herself, Betty laughed. She took a step forward and spread her arms. "You want me, come and get me."

All three men halted. The apparent leader took a step back. "Huh?"

"If you want to rape me, knock yourselves out," Betty offered, smiling at them.

"Wait a minute," The guy in the flowered shirt asked, waving the other two men back. "What game are you playing?"

"Just be warned, if you try," Betty continued, ignoring his response, "you'll die a horrendous death in a short time."

"You're infected?" the black man asked, taking a step back. "But you're physically active and in good health. How can you move a damn tree if you're sick?"

"Simple. I'm immune. I've had each of the nine plague variants, but I'm now a carrier. I can't get it again, but if you touch me, you'll contract the Great Death."

"You're lying. Surviving a single plague is virtually impossible, but surviving ... however many you had, just isn't possible."

Betty took a couple steps forward, making the men even more nervous, and pointed to her face. "See this, this faded scar. It's from a bleeding sore from the GD4 variant. This one," she said, pointing to her arm, "the faded radiating blue lines. That's from GD1. And this one, this is GD3. It's not as noticeable, but you can see the blemish which never completely cleared."

Against their better instincts, the three men edged closer, struggling to see while keeping their distance. Finally the guy in the baseball cap asked the obvious question. "If you're contagious, can you infect us from here?"

"No, you're safe. We've done a lot of research and lived in a mixed community of survivors and the uninfected for some time. We've determined how it's spread, how to reduce the risks of infection, and... ," she paused for dramatic effect, "how to treat them all and make people immune."

"Wait. You mean you didn't just recover, you were cured?"

"It's not so straightforward. In order to treat people, we have to infect them. We supply a treatment which allows them to survive. That's why I'm here. We're traveling the country to find people who can—"

"Now I know you're full of shit!" the guy in the baseball cap announced. "There is no cure for the plagues."

"You think so?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at them. "Hold on, I'll provide a visual demonstration." Without stopping to see how they responded, she set out across the road to the nearest house. She walked to the front door and found it unlocked. She disappeared inside, only to reappear several minutes later.

"What was that about?"

"I had to pick this up." She held her hunting knife in one hand and a severed finger in the other. It was clear from the shriveled texture and the lack of blood that she took it from a deceased plague victim.

"You ... you aren't afraid of contracting the plague?"

"You really are immune, aren't you?" the lead guy asked.

"That's what I was trying to tell you." Betty re-sheathed her knife, but stood glancing at the finger. She hadn't thought this through and didn't know what to do with it.

"So you're traveling around, curing people?"

"Yeah," she answered, wrapping it in a plastic bag and slipping it into her shirt pocket. "I'm on the way to Columbus. The objective is to use the promise of a cure to allow larger cities to attract people, only treating people once they become infected." She took out a wipe and began disinfecting her hand.

"Can we help?"

"I'm not about to refuse assistance, but frankly, I'm leery after your initial threat of violence. I realize you were trying to scare me away, but I'd prefer you join and help develop a community first. Then, if you misbehave, you'll risk not being treated when you get sick." She walked closer and they didn't back up this time. "I'm Betty. I represent David's group from West Virginia. If any of you have a radio, we broadcast periodically throughout the day."

"I'm Malcolm," the man with the flowered shirt said, turning to the others.

"I'm Doug Stuart," the man in the flannel shirt said. He took his baseball cap off and held it in front of him.

The big black man, wearing simple attire of a white shirt and blue jeans broke into a smile. "I'm Brandon."

"I can certainly understand your position," Malcolm continued. "I'm not looking forward to getting the plague, let alone that many versions."

"Don't get the wrong idea. Even if you survive the treatment, if you attack anyone, you'll wish you caught the plague. In this new world, with so few people surviving, we can't tolerate anyone preying on others. We take the law into our own hands, and you won't even see it coming."

Brandon's smile faded as his face dropped. "I'm sorry, you got us wrong, ma'am. I didn't like that approach. I told Malcolm it was a bad idea. I've known too many bad men in my day. I don't like pretending to be someone I'm not."

Malcolm stepped forward, as if to take Betty's attention from Brandon. "It's my fault. As Brandon said, he complained about my tactics. I insisted it was the safest approach and you'd run back where you came from. I didn't know how else to get you to leave without causing a scene."

Betty shot him a withering glance. "As someone I know keeps telling me, don't pull a gun unless you're willing to use it. And don't promise violence unless you're willing to die for it. I not only carry a pistol, I'm a crack shot. Nowadays, people are fighting for their lives. Rather than trusting someone making threats, they're more likely to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Point taken, miss," Doug said, waving his cap. "It was stupid. Is there anything we can do to make up for it?"

"What were you doing here anyway?" Malcolm asked. "This isn't a large city. We're the only three people here."

"I was actually heading to the seed store down the road."

"The feed store? You mean Lancaster's? Lady, I hate to tell you, but as an ex-farmer, nothing grows since the plagues hit."

"That's where you're wrong, Doug. The plagues are pervasive, but they afflict the more common species. The things most farms raised aren't viable anymore and they contaminated the soil they were planted in. With so few people now, there's no need for industrial farming. We're expecting this coming winter to be severe. You'll do better setting up protected greenhouses to harness the limited sunlight. I'm here to find seeds for the more uncommon vegetables. Things like quinoa, bok choy, snake beans or bekamaru would be ideal. Even if they were wiped out in Asia, the viruses which killed them wouldn't travel this far."

"Man, where have you been hiding? We've learned more talking to you for a couple minutes than we've picked up the past several months."

Brandon cocked his head. "What are you planning to do with the seeds? I'm guessing you're not heading back home. In which case, you won't be able to return the seeds. If you're interested, I can take some of what you find back home for you to make up for our poor introduction."

"Really?" Betty asked, a little taken aback. "Normally, I'd be nervous about you volunteering, but our people are good at evaluating people and defending themselves. Sure, if you could, that would be wonderful. I can give you directions and fill a car with gas for you to reach there. If you pick a small car, you can probably make it with whatever gas you can carry."

"If these people are as smart as you're suggesting, I'd love to visit and learn what I can. What's more, I know a bit about farming techniques. I could help them beef up their productions."

Malcolm waved the other men forward. "That's terrific. Let's get this tree moved for you and we can all visit Lancaster's. Doug and I can locate the best seeds and help you set up once you reach Columbus."

Betty rearmed herself and returned. "So you didn't hear our broadcasts? We were counting on some advance notice, allowing people to prepare for our arrival."

Doug shrugged. "We stopped listening to the radio some time ago as all we received was static. I checked last week and couldn't get anything."

"That's because we can't spare the people to broadcast continually. We automated the broadcasts so it sends out recorded messages every hour during daylight hours."

"I considered that, listening at different times. I tried to find a station, but couldn't raise a signal." Doug wiped his hands off after the three of them removed the tree.

"Hmm, that's probably due to the mountains. David's place is situated so it sends a clear signal east, but he's got a mountain range behind him. Chances are the signal can't make it across."

"You've got electricity too?" Malcolm asked. "Hell, maybe we should head back with Brandon?"

"Don't worry, we'll get that all set up in Columbus too," Betty assured them. "By the way, how did you end up together? Were you members of a beard growing commune or something?"

Malcolm ran his hand along his prominent beard. "Nah, we met over the past several weeks. I kept my beard neatly trimmed. The others were impressed and decided to follow suit. I mean, just because there's no one else around, there's no sense living like pigs if you don't have to."

"Were you all in the neighborhood? How did you find me?" Betty asked as she motioned them over to her vehicle.

"Doug, go get our truck," Malcolm suggested. As Doug ran off he continued. "It was your headlights. You have to remember, no one here has any lights. When you drive by in a large gas-guzzling vehicle with your lights blaring, you tend to attract attention."

"That was part of the plan, to locate anyone remaining," Betty informed him as she climbed behind the wheel. "But I should have anticipated it would leave me exposed. I guess I'm still new at this."

"Well, let's get moving," Malcolm said. "We can continue the conversation at the feed store." Doug brought an older pickup, chosen simply because it had some gas left in the tank. Betty realized they'd used most of their limited supply trying to scare her away. She shook her head as she pulled around the relocated tree trunk. She needed to rethink how she approached people in the future.

"You're right, Malcolm. I think this will work better than either Capitol Square or Genoa Park downtown." Betty strode across the asphalt, glancing at the expansive empty parking lots surrounding the Ohio State Football Stadium. "It wouldn't be my first choice. I'd think a pastoral setting would make people feel more relaxed and allow them to observe before approaching. But if we set up here, everyone can see us from a long ways off without worrying about anyone lying in wait."

Doug glanced at the large stadium behind them. "I feel like we're the only ones who showed up at a tail gate party."

Ignoring his interruption, Malcolm walked up behind her, indicating the nearby roadway. "It's easier to access. It's right off Woody Hayes Drive. In addition, more people are familiar with the football stadium than with either of the inner city parks. The Ohio State Oval offered what you were looking for, but it's harder to reach and people wouldn't trust it as much. People prefer seeing what they're getting into. An overgrown field with trees and buildings is too difficult to evaluate."

"All right, it's settled. We'll use this as our meeting place." Betty turned to address the two nicely dressed men. "Since no one knew we were coming, you'll need to post notices all over town. It may not reach anyone, but hopefully someone will notice."

"You don't think driving through town flashing your lights and blowing your horn attracted enough attention?" Doug asked, grinning.

"Hey, if no one knows we're here, what better way to announce big news? That's why you should post notices on the route we took. If anyone heard us, they'll investigate. When they see the posters announcing what we're doing, they may check us out."

"OK, I'll take Olentangy Freeway and the downtown area." Malcolm started pointing out the different highways. "Doug can take route 71 leading into the city. Betty, since you don't know the area, you should concentrate on routes 70, 71 and 670 as they enter and encircle the city."

Betty shook her head. "Sorry, no can do. I'm heading for the Arthur James Cancer Hospital to find supplies to treat people. Since neither of you can enter, I'm the only one who can."

"Yeah, leave me out of that." Doug visually shivered. "I've got no desire to venture into those houses of the dead. I get quivers every time I drive by a hospital now."

"The images of hospitals certainly took a beating," Malcolm added. "Before they were for anything which ailed you, but now they're deadly monuments to the ineffectiveness of medicine."

"Yeah, rather than treating people, they simply warehoused them," Betty acknowledged. "Some tried to make people feel better, but without an effective treatment there wasn't much they could do, especially once they became overwhelmed."

"I'll admit, I delivered some of my family there and left, hoping to save the rest. It didn't help. But at least I survived. So I'm not so sure it was such a bad idea."

"No, it was the best choice with few reasonable options, but it stripped the survivors of their last remaining humanity. If you no longer feel connected to or owe anyone else anything, then there's nothing left to draw people together."

"I certainly don't envy you." Doug pulled his coat around him, his shivering at the mental image reminding him of how cold it was. "It's got to be grisly entering one of those places. There's got to be hundreds of bodies inside. Most hospitals stacked the dead outside even before the final die-offs."

"It's rough," Betty admitted. She stared in the direction of the hospital even though they couldn't see it from there. "It's a visceral reminder of how many people died. What's more, they sealed them off once they determined the plagues were airborne, so the air inside is stifling. Though that's why I chose this particular hospital. Since it dealt with cancer victims, hopefully it won't have been overwhelmed with plague victims."

"You haven't done this before?" Malcolm asked.

"No, it's kind of a final test. To prepare each community, we enter a nearby hospital, drag out any necessary supplies and open it to allow air in. Once we treat a couple people and leave, their first task is to enter them again and begin disposing of the bodies. It's a grueling task, but it has to be done. From what I hear, it isn't as depressing as it sounds. They say it reinforces what they have to do to prevent more deaths in the future."

Doug shot her a caustic grin. "The more you describe these treatments, the happier I am you don't trust us enough to include us."

Malcolm cocked his head. "Speaking of tasks and avoidance, how do you think Brandon is making out?"

"He left when we did early this morning," Betty reminded them. "Since I drew out his route and supplied him with enough gas, I don' think he'll have much trouble. But the roads aren't easy to travel. That's another task you'll need to do, after disposing of the dead. We've got to clean the damn streets so people can travel back and forth."

"You won't help convince anyone to chip in with that approach," Doug laughed.

"Hell, it's so damn boring sitting around, I'll jump at the chance to participate in any way I can," Malcolm said. "There's a big difference between hiding in a closet and helping get humanity out of the rut it's stuck in. Frankly, I don't mind doing a few dirty jobs."