Pest , livre ebook

AuthorHouse - G. Spencer Myers

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

148 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

An EPA investigator experiences a deadly premonition while fishing in Florida. A murder in Michigan causes a small toxic spill.

EPA investigator, Derk Bryan, soon discovers that these two disparate events threaten every drop of water on the planet and every important relationship in his life. His laizze faire life on the beach is now on a collision course with the powerful chemical company magnate, Jack Von Lleuwan, and his bodyguard, an ex-wrestler with anger management issues.

Von Lleuwan's newest product, PESTfree© designed to replace chemicals that are contaminating the food and water worldwide, contains a deadly flaw. As the body count grows, Derk Bryan races against the clock to thwart disaster.

PEST is a fast paced fictional story but all of the facts are derived from public records. It paints an ominous picture of a society slowly being poisoned to death by special interests and a cooperative government.

Since the release of PEST, a suit has been filed against a major grower in Florida and NC accusing it of being responsible for several children born with birth defects and the death of one child. North Carolina has issued the largest fine in history. Scientiests employed by the State of Florida have resigned because the State coerced them to lie about their findings regarding the dangers of many pesticides used in Florida.

A Canadian study indicated that the effect of pesticides and industrial toxins is so pervasive that 1 of 6 children is suffering substantially lower IQs as a result.

Sujets

Contrôle des processus

Automatisation

Automate

Engineering

Technology

Sciences et techniques

Pest Control

Informations

Publié par	AuthorHouse
Date de parution	13 octobre 2005
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781467032933
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Pest

by
G. Spencer Myers

AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 1-800-839-8640
AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.
500 Avebury Boulevard
Central Milton Keynes, MK9 2BE
www.authorhouse.co.uk
Phone: 08001974150

© 2006 G. Spencer Myers. All Rights Reserved.

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.

First published by AuthorHouse 3/20/2006

ISBN: 1-4208-6729-6 (sc)
ISBN: 1-4208-6730-X (dj)
ISBN: 978-1-4670-3293-3 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2005905782

Printed in the United States of America
Bloomington, Indiana

Contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND FOREWORD
PREFACE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
AFTERWORD
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND FOREWORD

“The burden of the thinking man is that he thinks everyone else ought to think,” said a late 20th Century philosopher.
As a species we are blessed with the ability to ration, although myth and emotion often seem to be in control of our body politic. And as another thinking man once said, “The worst kind of information to have is the stuff you know for sure that ain’t so.”
This said, at times it may seem that the tenants have taken control of the asylum. Is this one of those times?

I shall be forever thankful for having parents, George Louis Myers and Joyce Elaine Myers, that granted me the latitude to question authority and instilled within me an eternal faith in myself and my maker and an unbridled optimism with which to approach each new day and each new challenge. Because of them I am aware that being human is both a blessing and a great responsibility.
I wish to thank the teachers at Hastings High School (Michigan) and the University of Michigan for challenging me to think critically, and to my children Erica Lynn Myers and Christopher Bradley Myers, for keeping me humble.
And I shall be forever grateful to my editor, Leonard Nash, who has more red ink in his pen than a 10th grade English instructor. Fortunately, his pen is filled with enlightenment.
And lastly to my friends and fellow humans, the ones who make me smile each day, a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

PREFACE
It is with immense sadness that I report only the characters of my book are fictional. The rest of this story has become the stuff of which horror movies are made, especially for many families in Florida and North Carolina.
Since the release of PEST in October 2005, three children born to farm workers in North Carolina and Florida entered this world with horrific birth defects - one without arms and legs, another without a jaw and a third died. Two national supermarket chains, Publix and Walmart, have now stopped selling the tomatoes from this grower, who has violated pesticide regulations 88 times in Florida and 369 times in North Carolina. Although the company received the largest fine ever assessed by North Carolina, the state says it may not be able to stop the carnage from continuing.
In 1996, under immense pressure from the agricultural/chemical interests, the U.S. Congress passed a law that weakened the greatest protection that Americans have ever had against the intrusion of these dangerous and life-threatening chemicals in our food supply. The new bill, H.R. 1627, prohibits the states from implementing standards that are stricter than the federal law.
More bad news. In December 2005, the Palm Beach Post reported that the State of Florida has, for years, been suppressing research which exposes the dangers of these chemicals, and has gone so far as to ask officials to lie about their findings. Naturally, some of these scientists have resigned in protest, but the state continues to deny any culpability.
If, after reading PEST, you have questions about the safety of your food and water, you will not be alone. I sincerely hope that PEST will encourage you to talk with your grocer and your elected officials, and to those who are supposed to be protecting our environment.
CHAPTER 1
“Son-of-a-bitch!” A pen-sized beam of light pierced the air above him as he fell to the floor.
“Shut up,” came a loud whisper through the darkness.
“Goddamnit! I shouldn’t have let you to talk me into this.”
“I didn’t. Two hundred bucks did.”
“I thought this was his office. Fucking golf balls everywhere.”
“I know. Can you reach the light?” A light flickered on the floor several feet from him.
“I think I broke my ass.”
“You mean your sacrum.”
“Fuck you!” The beam of light took flight again. “Where are you?”
“Over here.”
A ray worked its way from the man on the floor to the other’s pants and then to his face. Then it circumscribed the area around the man on the floor, then against the walls.
“He’s got a friggin’ golf course in here,” said the man on the floor.
“What’s happening? Are you in?” a voice corroded by static penetrated the darkness.
“Shit! I can’t find the walkie-talkie,” said the man with the light.
“On the floor,” said his accomplice. When the light hit it, “Over there.”
The man on the floor crawled toward the walkie-talkie. The sound of golf balls rolling across the wooden floor was like thunder in an old folks’ home. He pushed the send button, “Roger that,” but the button wouldn’t move. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“Damn thing’s broken.” His eyes had adjusted to a dim light that filtered in from a narrow window overhead. The ceiling was, at least, twenty feet high. He sat up and fanned the balls away from him with his legs but an electric current shot through his lower body. “Eeesus!”
“You hurt?” said the other man.
“Egocentric fart. Everybody’s mother told him to clean up his room.” He lay down and brushed the area around him with his forearm. The balls rolled again, and it seemed like an eternity before they bounced off the wall at the other end of the room. “What is this place?”
“Can you make it?”
He shined the light around him. When the area seemed clear he struggled to his feet. “Ahhh!” He massaged his lower back. “Fucker ought to have to walk blind folded through here.”
“Hey, did you find anything?” came the voice on the walkie-talkie. “Come back.”
The man aimed the tiny flashlight on his friend, then shot a beam on the floor between them. The other man kicked away the balls in his path and joined him. They were inside the office of the president of a Von Lleuwan Enterprises, a leading pesticide producer, and they were standing on a putting green. The pin was in the hole next to them.
“Fucking-a,” the man with the light said as he held out the number eighteen flag.
“Shine it over there,” his friend said.
“What are we looking for?”
“Files, product lists, experimental shit. Something like that, I guess.”
The small light scanned the room, landing upon a set of golf clubs, a desk, a computer and a wall full of books. “No files here,” the man with the light whispered.
“The computer,” the other man said.
The light hit the PC again. Suddenly a voice came from below them.
“Oh shit, we’ve got to get out of here.” The light searched for the door. Once found, it scoured the floor for a clear path.
The hallway was as dark as when they had entered, and they retraced their path down the stairs, but the light in the corridor leading to the rear exit was off. It had been on when they entered. By the time they reached the door, they heard only a faint moan, resembling a cry for help. They stopped and turned toward the voice. “No way,” said the man rubbing his sacrum. He pulled the other man out the back door by his arm.
The rear exit was illuminated only by a half moon. The lights had been knocked out before they got there. They ran for a clump of brush at the back of the property, sidestepping storage containers as they proceeded, then leaped down a brief embankment and forded a small stream to a cornfield. They walked along the edge of the field until they reached a country road. In the tall grass they recovered their bicycles and rode back to the van where their boss waited. They threw the bikes into the back of the truck and sped off.
CHAPTER 2
It was past two in the morning when the phone rang in Derk Bryan’s St. Pete Beach condo. He got in late after an all night drive from Key West and was as tired as a slug on a thousand mile journey. At that hour no voice is familiar, and he felt like heavy metal poured onto cotton wadding. A female voice identified herself as Joyce, told him “be in Grand Rapids this afternoon,” and left the flight time and number.
He recalled the message from Wallace Twill on his voice mail about the unusual events in west Michigan. The story was bizarre enough that it would have been picked off the wire service and shown up in the St. Petersburg’s Times ,