The Xanthic Maize: Transcription Factor X

By P.G. Dunn

Bonosano, the largest manufacturer of hybrid corn in the world, has hired the brilliant scientist, Dr. Allen, to test for possible side effects of their greatest project. Dr. Allen has exhibited exemplary and reputable work on the Xanthic Maize Project, but something has gone wrong to change the course of things. The dumping of Bonosanos test products in the woods surrounding the cornfields has caused the creatures to be infected. The creature could be the answer to mans greatest weapon or the worlds worst enemy. How long can Bonosano engage in a cover-up before strange and dismal events begin to happen? How will these events cause mutations and blood-curdling catastrophes to occur? Can Dr. Allen save every living creature that could possibly be infected with this zombielike trance?
From start to finish, this story is told through the vivid imagination of the author, keeping the reader sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479727957

P.G. Dunn

Phillip G. Dunn was born in 1962 in San Bernardino, California. He now resides in northern Alabama with his beloved wife, Valerie. Phillips desire is to show his works in a positive way, filled with light humor and imagination for the world to enjoy.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

N othing like standing on the carpet and getting your ass handed back to you, all nicely chewed.

As it was now, they would give me the usual teardown. They would say, Dr. Allen Isaac Newton, it appears that we are doing your annual review a little early just to see how your progress is going with the company.

My ass, I thought. They just wanted to start putting the pressure on. Please, you may call me Berry.

Berry? they asked.

Ah, yes. The nickname I got in college, playing with my phone all the time, you know – equations, research, and such.

Yes, well, Dr. Newton, we see you have an excellent attendance record, always punctual. And your work is exemplary and quite reputable, bearing this incident over the Xanthic Maize Project.

The old build-and-break-them routine, then tell them what kind of performance they would expect.

I will spare you the rest of the hour-long drill. Basically, they were fair and open-minded, and they let me have thirty days to hand them over any hard empirical data that I had. This, of course, would be impossible for the fact that nobody in the world had any data on this except Bonosano, and to prove my hypothesis would take time. It would take years and dozens of trials to even get close to my outlandish ideas, they thought.

Well, I guess I had it coming, for it was I and I alone that could potentially place a gazillion-dollar company, years of research, and untold millions spent for this one product to feed only the famine-stricken areas of the world, the United States, and our allies and even make a profit off our enemies. Oh well, you get the picture.

Now you know why I am so nervous. It is not just conspiracy theories, for you see, if you get in the way of a better world, they might just put you to rest with all the others. Presidents, leaders, lowest of the low – whistle blowers.

So as not to put the company in jeopardy, I was to get a new manager/boss/supervisor/spy all rolled into one. The henchman would torment my every move and every waking moment at work until I willingly got on the bandwagon – the one where I could be riding with the company and stockholders or the short ride to the unemployment line. Hopefully not the alternative: a hit squad to give you the final good-bye. A nice one to the back of… No more than I could finish the thought, a bright flash of light with the crack of thunder behind me went off.

Crap! It was one of those freak midsummer thunderstorms that went rolling through and let one more go just to say good-bye. The clap of thunder was so loud, it set off car alarms, rattled windows, and left a very annoying ringing in my ears. As I picked myself up and rolled my jaw around to try to help with the ringing, I noticed the fluid building up in my mouth. Oh great, just great. As I spat blood, I realized that I had bit my mouth.

When considering all the recent events, I was as happy as a lark. Whistling, between spitting blood. I unplugged my car and was headed for the nearest mud hole. I sped along the back roads just to make sure that I would get my money’s worth at the community college car wash sponsored by the cheerleaders. I couldn’t wait to see Wendy there, one of the newest applicants accepted to the Crows Cheering Squad. And why not? She had received an athletic scholarship and was now going to my old alma mater. She was probably my most perfect opposite – beautiful, graceful as doves dancing in the air, and voluptuous with her tanned, muscular, toned body. She had beautiful calves from running track, the perfect bounce in volleyball, and lungs that leave me breathless when she cheers.

I guess I should reevaluate my position against Bonosano’s mutated Xanthic Maize Program. Other companies had tried to develop a similar project, but only Bonosano had progressed far enough to make corn grow even in the driest conditions. This puts their program hands down over the rest and makes XMP top-shelf.

The way they promoted it, you would think that they could grow corn in the desert or on the moon. I agree it is very impressive, but I have my reservations on the side effects. Just because we do not eat our body weight in corn or eat three to five meals a day consisting of only corn, it doesn’t mean there are organisms that do not. My suggestions are that this mutation could be passed on to them in a short amount of time. Ah, I digress. Thank you, Bonosano, for my six-figure salary and the scholarship that I received for the community college that you practically funded all by yourself. Of course, the county had donated the land and was more than willing to play a part in your PR program. My neighbor, Wendy, was now going to the Old Crow because of a Bonosano athletic scholarship. Truth be told, about 20 percent of all graduates were going to the Old Crow because of their scholarship program. Oh, I felt a pounding in my chest as my heart and car both seemed to race at the thought of Wendy.

I was now zipping past all the thousands of acres of brilliant test fields and now entering the realm of nature’s last stand against this human perversion of one of its greatest gifts to animals and mankind. The forest seemed to be looking dark and ominous at the fields. Trees appeared to be swaying in unison, waiting patiently for the event that had been building for years. Now the mystery was apparent to revealing itself close to the edge of all three.

CHAPTER TWO

T he sound of the Chevy as it crept through the old dirt access roads behind the fields was as an old friend to my ears. My dad, Eddie Johnson, liked to think of himself as a great mechanic, hunter, and all-around know-it-all, but that was okay. He was taking me out hunting today, and that was great. The bellow of the exhaust cracked the silence of the night the way the dawn was about to tear away at the dark. The faint glow gave an eerie feel to the woods this morning. The chill of the morning air was brisk upon my face, and for some reason, the hair on the back of my neck seemed to rise. I put those feelings aside as we got out the truck.

I was with my dad, and nothing else mattered. He had promised me a shotgun for my twelfth birthday, and he always made good on his promises.

He would say, Jake, a man is only as good as his word.

I, of course, could see he was reluctant to mention anything about the gun since he taught me how to shoot on my tenth birthday. That was probably why we had gotten me a bow for my eleventh birthday. I had to remind him a few times even though I could see some restraint in what he wanted to say. He would reluctantly shrug and nod his head.

Jake, grab your bow and gear and don’t forget your flashlight. You might need it to signal or look into some dark, dangerous holes.

I obediently answered, Yes, sir. And then I asked, Are we going to just scout, or do you think we might have to shoot something to protect ourselves?

Good boy, that’s exactly what you say to the game warden. No, we are just going to scout. I don’t want you going too far, no more than a hundred yards from me. Okay?

Yes, Dad.

Jake, we will split off. You go to the left, and I will go right. Jake, please try not to shoot me.

Jake walked off, bow in hand, chuckling as he went. Somehow, he still couldn’t shake that feeling that something big was about to happen.

Eddie was excited himself, especially after drinking a pot of coffee this morning. I am just not any good or awake until I’ve had my third cup, he’d say, and everybody would stay clear until then. He would have to admit that he would be a little irritable and, maybe, just maybe, a little bit irrational at times. Not far into the walk, he heard something moving ahead. He stopped and took a deep breath. He got his arrow and raised his bow. It was too big to be a person and made too much noise for a deer.

Suddenly, there was a break in the woods, and a glimpse of light shined on the creature. Fear raced through him as he saw the beast. A wild boar, he thought. The tusks looked like they were over several feet long instead of mere inches. That thing looked like it must have weighed as much as a car. If this boar was anything like its prehistoric ancestor, it would be the same size as a rhino. His arms started to tremble as he realized that this behemoth of a monster was the gigantic tusked boar that he had heard hunters talk about. It was one of those that hunters had brought from another country and let loose in the wild. This was so they could hunt big game here, not realizing the dangers of these things breeding with others, and now, their numbers were getting out of hand.

It was then that he heard a twig break to his left. Jake, oh no! Snapping back into reality, all he could see was this thing devouring his son. He raised the bow, knowing that the creature was now heading straight into Jake’s direction. Knowing it wouldn’t do any harm to this monster, he let go. Yes, straight into the side.

How could I miss? he thought as he drew and let go the second arrow. The creature let out a blood-curdling squeal that sounded like a siren and was now charging into the second arrow.

Damn! A shoulder hit. He dropped the bow and reached into his jacket. Eddie drew his snub nose .357 and cut loose. The .357 made a bam and then a shuddering kabam!

Eddie had the shells in his .357 staggered. A .38-caliber shell followed by a .357. The .38 shell would glow when fired out of the barrel with a two – to three-inch flame, but the .357 would remind you of a pirate ship shooting its cannons. The flame looked like it was six inches round and at least a foot in length. He rolled off six shots, and all that he could feel was a slight click, the faint click of recoil as the hammer fell on empty shells as he sidestepped the charging boar, but the creature threw his head wildly around at him. The huge tusks ripped into his shirt and delicate flesh as he grimaced from being gored.

Knowing that he was out of ammunition, Eddie dropped his gun and headed for a tree. This one was big, and it leaned a little, like it was half-cocked. He was able to take two steps up in the tree and was grabbing at