CHASE
Stepping out of my SUV, the nauseating stench of rotting vegetation and stagnant water hit the back of my throat. I slammed the heavy car door shut and walked toward the edge of the primary agricultural sector.
Morning fog usually gave me this peaceful blanket over the Silverfang farmlands, but today it just trapped the smell of decay close to the ground.
I stopped at the edge of the main irrigation trench, staring down at a nightmare I could no longer deny or cover up with political spin.
For the past two years, my pack managed to survive the initial blights by relying on pure grit and decentralized farming.
When the large commercial fields first started yielding stunted, bitter harvests, I issued a mandate for every family to cultivate their own private plots. The civilians
