The Cure, стр. 5

Around forty people were in the room and most would get their chance to speak. Heads of different departments took their turn to talk about food, energy, military and anything that might have an impact on ensuring there was enough food available to feed the remaining population, whilst replenishing stocks and bringing back civilization. But out of everyone talking everyone only had eyes on one person, and that was the President.

’So, where do we stand with communication with other countries and what are they are doing?’ he bellowed.

Up stood Franklin J Pitkin, probably the meekest looking man you’d ever seen. A man who lack of food probably wouldn’t have made much of an impact to his appearance. He wore a grey three-piece suit and looked like an accountant, but had foregone the tie as clothes were now in limited supply. The sweat came off him and carried through the room so much so that the man sat next to him could almost taste the smell. As for men you wanted in the frontline Franklin was not one of them, but if he knew one thing it was communications and he ran his department well.

‘We are currently still in touch with Sweden, Norway, France, Spain and of course Britain. However, over the course of the last week we have lost contact with Russia, Germany and Australia. They have chosen to stop communications and no longer work in allegiance with us. Unfortunately, to our knowledge, India and Northern Africa have lost contact and according to the Ecology Department have less than months before their supplies are fully depleted and likely a year become the population is wiped out completely.’

This news may have rocked a political cabinet had it been under different circumstances and had they not heard it all before, but these countries were just the latest in many who had already lost contact and were known to be nearing extinction. Bigger countries had already dropped off the face of the earth and in the months to come many more were expected to follow. Not one country had come up with an answer and there was no standard strategy to why those left were still there. There were of course people still scattered across the fallen countries, but with no food there was no coming back for them now. If they still had officials in place it was only a matter of time before they disappeared.

‘Can we get the British Prime minister on now?’

‘He's not available sir, I believe that he is currently discussing the wall between them and Scotland. They are in critical talks to ensure that the Scottish do not cross the border. Sounds like Civil War is imminent,’ Franklin stammered.

‘Sounds like if they have enough army resource to start a war then they are in a good position from a food perspective. What do they have in place that we’ve overlooked?’ The President looked down his spectacles at Franklin who was backing towards his chair nervously.

‘They started the process a year before us Sir, it’s purely a timing issue. Our scientists put them at risk within six months to a year. They are no further along than us Sir.’

The President tutted, waved Franklin away and slammed both hands in frustration down on the large oak table. In his prime Nathanial Mathers was a force to be reckoned with. A war veteran, he was a man with huge presence who did not suffer fools gladly and whilst he appreciated everyone’s input and the enormous amount of stress his workforce were under he had started to admit defeat. It was starting to show on the furrow above his brow. Nathanial had been thrown into the Presidency having been Vice-President at the start of The Cure. When the former President decided to take his own life, he was sworn in with the job of saving a sinking ship. Being the man he was, he would not shy away from the job at hand and would never let his sons see him give up on the nation he had promised to lead.

‘Brad, I guess we are no further forward with regards to food,’ he threw the comment out not really expecting a response.

Brad Holton was the exact opposite of his communications counterpart. If anyone had embraced the fact the base still had access to food, it was Holton. His face was flush from alcohol the night before and he maintained not two but three chins. He was not only in charge of the scientists looking to get food out into the world but looking at ways to create new sustainable foods, like supplements and replacements. He was working with the remaining NASA staff, what was left of them, to find ways to mass produce freeze dried foods that could be easily distributed to the cities. Unfortunately, every path they investigated had relied on existing produce which was something they did not have access to. But what he did have access to was the base produce and boy did he abuse that privilege. His son and wife were also on the base and like father like son, Brad Junior, did not worry where his next meal was coming from.

Holton wasn’t shy or embarrassed about his weight, bearing in mind he knew first-hand what the country was going through and he cared not what the rest of the base thought of him. As far as he was concerned, he was the sole person who would solve the world’s problem and he should get exactly what was coming to him. He stood to attention with his stomach resting on the table.

‘Sorry Sir, yet another dead-end. We’ve got people working on the mass production of replacement meals around the clock. But the timelines are just too long. By the time we have the production up and