The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink

By Craig A. McDonough

TOWARD THE BRINK

The Beginning of the End

© 2015 by Craig A. McDonough

All Rights Reserved

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

The Battlefield: Twin Falls

A black and white SUV belonging to the Twin Falls police department cruised down an empty Addison Avenue before it came to a halt at the intersection with Elm Street. A teenager, still considered a boy by many only a few days ago, got out from the passenger side. He held an AR-15 in his hands. On his hip rested a chrome Ruger Super Redhawk .44 Magnum.

“Let’s make this quick, Elliot. I want to get back to the others before dark!”

Elliot Goodwin nodded to the driver, the former Twin Falls police sergeant. He understood. He didn’t want to be out there much longer either.

They’d been on their way to Albertsons on their search for medical supplies when Goodwin spotted movement in front of the store.

“I’m sure I saw something move out here. It could be someone trying to survive like us, Sarge!” Goodwin said.

“Yeah, and it could be one of them red-eyed creeps. Haven’t you seen enough of them for one day?”

They wanted to get the supplies and get back to their safe haven before nightfall and begin preparations for their own “evac” to Shoshone the next morning. The car park was still half-full, indicating that most had fled on foot. Well, hopefully they’d fled. Goodwin didn’t have the time to search all the vehicles and decided a check behind the one remaining delivery van would suffice. If nothing came from that, he’d jump in the SUV, a panda to most kids his age, and get the hell out of Dodge. Goodwin believed the foamers were more active in the dark, judging by his earlier experience. He kept an eye on the setting sun as he approached the van. The shadows of the supermarket stretched across the asphalt. Add the shadows of the two softwood trees nearby, and he would be in near dark in another five minutes.

With every step he took, his heart thumped harder into his ribs while droplets of sweat formed on his brow. Breathing was more than difficult; he felt like a wet cloth had been draped over his face.

“Fuck this. I’m getting out of here!” he said.

He started back to the SUV when a clanging sound from inside the van signaled he wasn’t alone. Goodwin turned back toward the van and raised his left hand to shoulder level, fingers stretched up. He hoped the sarge would see his request for silence.

“C’mon, Elliot, it’s getting dark!”

Goodwin shook his arm in a furious manner.
He’s gonna get me killed!
He took a deep breath, placed one foot down precisely after the other, and then reached out and opened the rear of the van.
Slow, just nice and slow
.

“FUCKIN’ JESUS!”

An object flashed in front of his eyes from the darkness of the van. He jerked his head backwards to avoid the lunging missile. His feet gave way when he felt a thud to his upper chest. Elliot staggered for a moment and tried to hold his balance then stumbled heavily to the ground. Adrenalin surged through every fiber of his body; the jackhammer that was his heart now resided in his throat, he was sure.

Is it going to end here at a fuckin’ supermarket
?

As he contemplated his demise, he heard laughter coming from the police SUV. His pulse was surging through his ears like a raging torrent, but he could still hear it. It was that loud. He summoned the courage to open his eyes. The rear of the van and the graying sky above were in sight, but there was not a foamer to be seen. The tension left him like air from a punctured tire. He muttered his thanks to the god of the young and foolhardy; his innards were not going to be eaten today.

“Look, look,” he heard the sarge yell.

Goodwin looked to his buddy then followed the direction in which he was pointing. On his left, scampering away, was the cause of his near-fatal heart attack and the sergeant’s laughter.

“A
squirrel
. A fucking squirrel!”

He looked back, shook his head and then also started laughing. It certainly helped relieve a tense moment. It didn’t last, however. A moment later, Goodwin noticed the sergeant’s expression change to one of alarm.

“Move aside, Elliot. Move aside!” The sergeant raised his pistol from his position—the door on the old panda had stuck.

Goodwin realized someone was behind him, and it wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness selling Bibles or that fucking squirrel.

The sound of a foot dragging along the asphalt gave him a rough idea of the distance between him and his unwelcome guest. He was ready this time, not frightened of the unknown as before. He raised his AR-15 as he turned about-face in a single motion, ready to fire.

“Rodney? Jesus Christ, Rodney, is that you?” Goodwin asked.

“Shoot it, Elliot, or get out of the fuckin’ way!”

Goodwin half-turned back at the waist and saw the sarge aiming his P-226 out the window of the SUV. He heard a scraping sound. Rodney was less than ten feet away.

“So it got you too, huh?” Goodwin breathed out. “I’m sorry, Rod … So sorry.”

A tear formed in the corner of his eye and trickled down the side of his face. He raised his AR-15 in a deliberate process.

“Is this ever going to end?” he asked himself this as his finger applied pressure on the trigger. “Or is this just the beginning?”

Two teenage boys sat at the outside tables of their favorite fast food restaurant in Twin Falls, Idaho. The two chatted about the approaching graduation party while they waited for their friend who was inside, picking up the orders.

A moment later, the double doors behind them burst open. The last of the trio, with a tray full of burgers, fries, and three large colas, came through.

“Here we go!”

“Shit, Roger, that’s more than we ordered,” Elliot Goodwin said. “Who’s payin’ for this?”

“Yeah, well, I got extra fries.” Roger placed the tray in the middle of the table.

“And I bet I know who they’re for,” Allan Pearce said.

Allan was two years younger than the other two but was in the same grade. He was considered a genius by some and a nerd by others, which accounted for the jump in two grades. Elliot and Roger happened to like him regardless. The three got together to have lunch on a regular basis, but this would probably be the last time. The end of the high school year was only a few weeks away.

“When will the store open, Elliot?” Allan asked.

All three had their future planned. Elliot’s parents had bought an Army/Navy surplus store in Twin Falls. It had a house at the rear of the store, and they were in the process of moving in. There were many things that interested the young Elliot, but there wasn’t one thing that stood out. When his father came up with the idea of getting the store, he found himself truly excited at the prospect of a family business they could manage from home, and his mom could rest easy too. A lot of it was about his mom. Roger planned on joining the Army or Marines; then, after a few years, he’d come back and become a sheriff’s deputy. Allan, on the other hand, was going to college for his certificate in network design. He had a desire to work for Cisco Systems, and this would be a step in the right direction.

These boys had their heads screwed on right.

“About another month, Al, all things considered.”

Neither of the other two knew what Elliot meant by “all things considered,” but he had that “I don’t want to talk about it” look, and no one dared ask.

“Have some fries, man. I got extra,” Roger changed the subject quickly.

“Thanks, but fries are off my list at the moment.”

“What do you mean, ‘fries are off your list?’ That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” Allan said.

“You both know about the pesticide company here in Idaho that developed the growth hormone and began testing on potatoes nearly five years ago, right?”

“Everyone knows about that, Elliot. Potatoes nearly as big as watermelons giving three times the output, which gives three times as many fries. And
that
has made our friend here very happy!” Allan slapped Roger on the back.

“Yeah, well, did you know that in order to get FDA approval, the hormone was only used on private tests on select farms and only in Idaho for the first year? When no problems arose or could be detected, they were given the green light. Only one year later, they had control of most farms and potato chip and frozen potato manufacturers in the state. Fast food chains wanted the bigger potatoes and, as the company got richer, they bought more and more shares in these chains. The result being they now control most of the fast food industry as well as frozen fries you buy at the market and anything else that’s related to potatoes. The company then inflated the price of its product, putting it out of reach for most potato farmers. Then they bought out the farms across the rest of the country.”

“And what does this have to do with not eating fries? I’m at a loss.”

“He’s getting to that part, Allan. Don’t worry,” Roger promised.

“The traditional farmers were losing money because no one was interested in buying normal-sized potatoes anymore. It’s not about taste anymore but the money, always the
fucking
money, and bigger potatoes meant more fries, which means more money.”

“Do you still have your Che Guevara T-shirt?” Allan asked.

“The farmers that were going under were bought outright or made an offer of partnership by the very company that had forced them to the wall,” Elliot continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Not all, however, shook hands with the devil. Instead, they ploughed up their fields and left the sale in the hands of realtors. Within three years of being granted permission to use the hormone throughout the country, most potato farms in the United States had signed multi-year deals with the company or had sold a sizeable stock to the pesticide company.”

“I’m still missing something here I’m sure,” Allan said.

Roger laughed as he tucked into yet another handful of fries.

“All fast food stores, most cafes, and restaurants were buying their potatoes. It was a win/win for all. But,” Elliot held up a finger, “about two years ago, a lot of young people started coming into the hospitals in Idaho. In Boise, Pocatello, and here in Twin Falls. I know this because my mom is a nurse and worked over at the medical center until … well, until she couldn’t any longer. She told me of the many patients with complaints of severe stomach pains, a lot being healthy-looking teenagers like us, throwing up …”

“He’s getting to the best part now!” Roger smirked.

Elliot shot darts from the corner of his eye at Roger.

“Anyway, as I was saying, they would throw up this really vile green ooze that foamed like a shook-up soda. Then they …”

“Okay, okay, I’ve heard enough,” Allan surrendered, putting both hands up. “I’m trying to eat my lunch, you know.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing that really got me.” Elliot disregarded his protest and continued. “That was two years ago, but twelve months ago, other major cities around the country reported the same thing. Altogether, it had been four years since this hormone was approved for general release.”

“Man, I don’t think I want any fries now,” Allan said.

“Aww, come on, man. Don’t tell me you afraid of Elliot’s horror stories?”

“And my mom said just before she stopped work there were a lot of women coming in to the center to deliver prematurely and,” Elliot leaned toward his friends and lowered his voice as if passing on secret information, “the babies were all born grossly deformed.”

Elliot then sat back, placed his hands behind his head, and waited for Allan’s reaction. He already knew that Roger couldn’t care less. As long as it tasted good, he didn’t care what it was made of.

Allan reached for his cola but before taking a drink looked up at Elliot.

“Is there anything wrong with the cola? I mean, am I going to start up-chucking green sludge and father disfigured children in the future?”

Elliot threw his head back and chortled. Roger joined in on the comical moment too.