The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II by Craig A. McDonough

he knew the number of potatoes harvested every year for the fast food chains and the bags of frozen fries at the supermarkets. The riches he could accumulate were staggering. The Chamber had found its patsy, and was more than happy to accommodate him in the achievement of his goals—without his knowledge, of course.
    The haste Baer was in to secure wealth and power meant he didn’t notice the lack of obstacles in his quest for a “super-sized” potato. He found only answers—fast answers. Everything ran smoothly as well-placed agents of the Chamber saw to it that Baer’s dreams would become a reality.
    Mr. Holmes had presented himself as a wealthy investor to Phillip Baer and was able to place agents throughout Baer’s empire on behalf of the Chamber. Two such agents, CIA biochemist Paul Dennard and Mr. Langlie, were brought specifically to Baer’s attention when he spoke of his desire to produce a potato that was more than double the size of anything available, something “so big all the farmers will want to grow it.”
    Within a matter of months, Dennard produced a potato as big as a football. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” Baer had roared with delight. A one-hundred-acre test farm was set up to begin growing the new variety while Baer, because of the chemicals involved in the process, sought approval from the FDA. This, too, was a forgone conclusion—the Chamber controlled every aspect of the operation.
    Other men brought in by Holmes, enforcers like Charles Black, would ensure it ran without a mishap. It all fit into a nice, neat package until that madman Hadlee came along. His tactical missile plan could have killed off the pathogen before it had a chance to do the job for which it was intended.
    The fly that got into the ointment jar, however, was the pathogen itself. Far deadlier than planned and with many side effects as yet unknown—unless you happened to live in Idaho, or Montana, or Oregon—the speed with which it spread was faster than the forest fire General Stodge believed would contain it.
    The hordes of foamers who wandered the streets baying for blood or flesh—or whatever they would bay at—grew rapidly in other countries. The higher the presence of fast food chains or potato byproducts from the United States, the more expeditious was the appearance of foamers.
    For the Chamber members in the United States, it was time to head to the nuclear fallout shelters and secret underground bases under their control. They would be safe from the foamers, who would die off in a few weeks, allowing Chamber members to return to a world under their authority. That was the scenario, but, like many other plans, it didn’t take variables into account. What if, for example, just one person in the shelters became infected and turned into a foamer, with thousands of others in an enclosed area and no escape? No one thought of the worst case scenario.

Twenty-Eight
    “Back in the home, get back in the motor home!” the Tall Man yelled after the shock subsided.
    “Oh my God, what are …?”
    “Never mind, Margaret, get moving!” David was now aware of the mass of portly midgets who ran like chimpanzees with nails in the soles of their feet.
    Margaret ushered Sam to the rear door of the motor home. Allan held the door open while keeping a hand on his Colt.
    What the fuck are they? He asked himself.
    “Cindy. Cindy? Bring the motor home up here next to us!” The Tall Man pointed.
    “Roger!”
    “What?” Roger answered before he realized she meant affirmative.
    Cindy drove the motor home to a spot next to the Hummer while Mulhaven jumped into the middle of the road and gave covering fire. Supporting himself on one knee, he snapped the AR-15 to his shoulder and took aim.
    “Here, take these,” Allan shouted from the rear of the motor home.
    The Tall Man, Elliot, and David snatched at the rifles like a drowning man would clutch at a straw. They had their sidearms with them but lacked confidence at such a