The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Sounds good.” Carl moved to the back end of the truck as Dean walked toward Henry.

  It took all of Jenny’s body weight to hold down the convulsing man while Ellen held a suction tube into his mouth. “He’s hurting me.” Jenny grunted.

  “One more second.” Ellen struggled with the man’s jaw as much as Jenny did with the body. She felt the cot tip some and Ellen moved her body more into it. “Almost done. Then we’ll give him fifty milligrams of ...” Pulling back the tube and trying to turn the man’s head to the right, she observed Henry and two men walking toward the special isolation tent. “Jenny, who are they?”

  Jenny saw Ellen twitch her head and she looked over her shoulder. “Don’t know.” She shrugged and leaned on the man. “Just please hurry.”

  Ellen kept looking until they went into the tent, then slowly, more curious about what was happening in that other tent, Ellen returned to helping the man.

  Dean’s soul felt about as heavy as it could. His disappointment was so crushing he could barely breathe. Inside the tent, with a painful expression, his head shook slowly back and forth, and it took everything he had to keep his eyes from closing. The cots were lined up neatly. On them people moaned, cried and even thrashed about in their misery.

  Henry spoke very softly, “Their progress slowed down some after the first and second doses, but not a lot. Where they should have moved into the next phase last night, they moved into it this morning.”

  Dean let out a sigh. “They’re still sick. No regression. No remission. It should have worked.”

  “You said you brought more,” Henry said. “What about hitting them again, and the others outside.”

  “If the original serum didn’t do it, I doubt very much the copy will. We can try though. We can try. I really thought ...” Lifting his hand, Dean let it drop and hit against his leg in defeat. “Damn it. I failed.”

  “Come with me, Dean.” Henry motioned his head. “Please.”

  Dean, feeling lost, watched Henry walk from the tent. He started to follow but stopped to speak to Carl who still stood there gazing about. “Carl, you can ... you can start to inject these people if you want. I’ll be right back.” Letting out another breath of his disappointment, Dean left the tent.

  She saw one of them again, this time walking toward her home with Henry. Ellen, pushing the suctioning machine to the next person, spun around watching as they disappeared into her home. “Jenny,” Ellen spoke in a daze. “Take over. I think I know who that is.” Ellen’s hand slid slowly from the machine, and without saying any more, her focus forward, she walked to her house.

  Dean didn’t understand why he followed Henry across the lawn of sick people into the quiet house. He just did.

  Henry held on to the doorknob of Taylor’s closed door. “What did you say to me in Stamford? Do you remember?”

  Dean shook his head, not really in the mood for guessing games. He shrugged.

  “I’ll tell you,” Henry said. “You told me if you could save one person, just one person, it would all be worth it. Take a look, Dean, at the one person you saved.” Henry turned the knob and pushed open the door.

  Dean was immediately exposed to the sight of Taylor on the bed. Maggie sat beside her with William behind Maggie. The little girl slept peacefully. Dean’s mouth dropped open as he neared the bed. He looked to Taylor, then back to William. As he turned to question Henry, Ellen barreled through the door at full speed.

  She nearly knocked over Henry to get into the room. She skid to a complete stop and stared at Dean. Breathing heavily, she stepped slowly to him never taking her eyes off of him. “William, is this him?”

  “That’s my son,” William answered.

  With a shriek Ellen all but leaped at Dean, taking him by surprise, tossing her arms around him. Her thin arms gripped him and squeezed him as if she wasn’t letting go. Dean’s hands hesitated in his shock then finally he gave up and returned the embrace.

  “Thank you,” Ellen spoke in his ear. “Oh, God, thank you.”

  “Dean.” William decided to make introductions. “This is Ellen.”

  “Nice to ...” Dean grunted through the hold. “Meet you.”

  Ellen, realizing she could very well be squeezing the life out of him, pulled back. “Sorry.”

  “Dino.” William moved toward him. “This little one here,” he indicated to Taylor, “is Ellen’s daughter.”

  Ellen grabbed hold of Dean’s hand and tugged him closer to the bed. “Look what you’ve done,” she told Dean, clenching his hand. “Right now, Dr. Hayes, you’re my hero. Look at my little girl. I lost one child to this plague already. You stopped me from losing another. Twelve hours ago she was in the final stages of the plague.”

  “The final ...” Dean quickly looked at William. “Dad.”

  William shrugged. “Hey, it worked.”

  Dean smiled. “That it did.” Dean felt his hand gain freedom from Ellen’s hold and in total awe, his eyes glued to Taylor, he reached down and laid his hand on Taylor’s face. Cool skin. A short huffing laugh of disbelief escaped him as he raised his eyes to Ellen. Her smile made him smile. After a sway of his head and another short chuckle of amazement, Dean looked back down at Taylor. He hadn’t failed completely after all.

  June 2nd - 12:05 p.m.

  The White House - Washington, DC

  “Well? You didn’t say.” President George Hadley grew tired of waiting on a response from John Matoose. He watched the young corporal, barely over the legal drinking age, flip a page in the Garfield Project manuscript then flip another. “John?”

  John shrugged in an undecided way.

  “You have to have an opinion.”

  “Ok.” John swiveled his chair a little to face George. “Sir, the concept is good, don’t get me wrong. Secured community. Built to be self-sufficient. Secluded. The Garfield Project sounds good on paper but ...”

  “It’s a real place, John.”

  “Oh.” John nodded and looked back to the manuscript. “But there’s still one problem.”

  “What would that be?” George asked.

  “Uh, out of the fifty locked down here to start things over with, we’re the only ones left.” John raised his eyebrows a few times figuring he informed the president of something he may not have thought about. “You and I.” He pointed to George then himself. “We can’t do it. We can’t repopulate the world.”

  Annoyed, George grabbed the manuscript back. “What is your duty down here?”

  John sat straight up. “To monitor and track life signals for diminishing or stabilization and inform you of the results ... Sir.”

  “When you find one that isn’t diminishing and has stabilized, you just let me know, ok?” George stood up. “That’s where we’ll find some of our fifty people.”

  “Oh.” John nodded.

  “Didn’t think of that, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Now your job makes more sense doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Back to work.” Giving a curl of his lip in disgust at the lack of John’s common sense, and before he said something crass or insulting to the only other person he had left to talk to, George quietly left the room.

  June 2nd - 12:20 p.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  “Mommy?” Taylor opened her eyes and shifted them with fright. She looked at Dean, a stranger to her. He sat on her bed examining her. “Mommy?”

  “It’s all right, sweetie.” Ellen ran her hand over Taylor’s forehead as she stood on the other side of the bed. “This is Dr. Hayes.” Ellen looked at Dean. “Twenty-four hours ago she was so lethargic and delirious she couldn’t even speak.”

  “Amazing.” Dean hung his stethoscope around his neck. “Has anyone charted her progress?”

  “Right here.” Ellen lifted the clipboard from the night stand. “Charted every hour, Doctor.”

  Dean took it and flipped a page. He raised his eyes to Ellen. “We’ve been physical.
You can call me Dean.”

  “Dean.” Ellen gave a blushing smile. “I’ve also taken blood samples every two hours. They’re downstairs in the fridge.”

  “Excellent.” Dean handed her back the chart and stood up. “Now if you can tell me how to get to that clinic you worked at so I can get set up and start trying to beat this virus.”

  “I’ll show you.” Ellen leaned over Taylor, tucking her in more. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” she spoke softly to her daughter then kissed her. She led Dean to the door and stopped. “Do you think you can beat it?”

  “You can say ...” Dean looked over his shoulder at Taylor then back to Ellen with a wink. “I’ve been given great incentive.”

  “That’s all I needed to hear.” Checking on her daughter with a smile, Ellen then pulled the door closed.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Andrea gasped as she stepped from Joe’s car on the edge of Elks Drive. She closed her eyes to the noise, noise that reminded her of all those zombie movies she’d watched. Scary loud moans of pain carried through the air.

  “It got ahead of us.” Joe told her, watching Denny dart from behind the car.

  “I’ve been there.” Andrea told him. “I just wasn’t expecting to be there again.”

  “You don’t have to help if it’s too ...”

  “No.” Andrea held up her hand. “It’s our call. The Good Lord spared us.” She shook her head.

  “Seems endless.”

  “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Andrea began to walk with Joe. “Unfortunately Mr. Slagel, from what I see and hear you may be closer to the end than you think ...” Andrea slowed to face Joe. “Or want to be. Trust me.”

  June 2nd - 2:25 p.m.

  Dairy, Ohio

  To make it home.

  Frank was a man on a mission. He was also a man with the worst of luck. He dove to the ground behind his open van door when a bullet seared by nearly hitting him when he stepped out. “Hold your fire!” Frank yelled. “Hold your fire!”

  The man that called out in the distance had a country drawl to his voice. He spoke slowly and sounded as if he were older. “I suggest ya best get on back in that vehicle and be off with you. Don’t need no sick people here.”

  “I’m not sick.” Frank replied loudly, staying behind the van door.

  “You look sick.”

  “I have a head injury and I’m getting dizzy from all this hiding shit!” Frank blasted in anger. “Now let me stand up and don’t shoot at me!”

  “If you’re sick, I’ll drop ya right away.”

  “I’m not sick!”

  “Just so you know. Stand up. But if you’re ...”

  “I am not sick!” Frank stood up. “Ok?”

  Three people all toting rifles came into Frank’s sight in center of that small town. They were old; not one of them was younger than seventy. Two men and one woman. A man average in height stepped forward. He was the one calling out. “You don’t look sick.”

  “I’m not. Not with the flu anyway. Just a head injury. Which ...” Frank closed his eyes for a second when he felt his head throb again, “which, by the way, really hurts.” He began to rattle on in a complaining manner. “I’m tired. I’m dizzy. I’m hungry. I need food. I need gas for the van. If you can just help me get these things, I’ll be on my way in ...” Before Frank had even finished his sentence, everything got to him. He didn’t sway, he didn’t give a forewarning, he just dropped. For the second time in two days, Frank passed out face forward to the hard ground.

  The three elderly farmers stepped out of Frank’s way. Then Dirk, the ring leader who had done all the talking, cautiously inched his way forward and poked Frank’s body with the shotgun to see if he were alive or dead.

  June 2nd - 3:47 p.m.

  The White House - Washington, DC

  “Anything?” George asked John as he slid in the chair next to him in the monitoring room. He watched John stare at the computer then realized why he received no response. The music blared so loudly through John’s headphones that George found it distastefully loud. “John.” George reached out and tapped John on the shoulder.

  John jumped in shock. He looked to his right, saw George and took off his headphone. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  “Anything new?”

  “No. The signal is shrinking but definitely the strongest we’ve gotten in one area.”

  “Good, keep me posted.” George stood up. “If it stays pretty strong, that little spot in Connecticut is where we’ll find the Garfield residents.”

  “Ok.” John lifted his headphones and placed them back on.

  George started to walk away but paused to look at the corporal. How easy it would be for George to just sneak out, find that spot in Connecticut, and leave John. But there was only one problem with that. John wasn’t smart. To George, ninety percent of the fun in leaving John behind would be John’s bitching about it. But George firmly believed John wasn’t bright enough to notice he was left behind.

  June 2nd - 4:00 p.m.

  Dairy, Ohio

  A wet rag draped across Frank’s forehead as he lay on the rose- patterned couch. He opened his eyes with a grunt and had to wonder if he was in Kansas. The three elderly farm people stared at him as if he were an alien.

  “I have to get out of here.” Frank grunted as he tried to sit up.

  The little old lady, Thelma, was strong. She pushed him right back down. “No, you don’t. You really shouldn’t go anywhere. Not with your head like that. Wait ‘till morning. Better chance you won’t crash when you pass out driving.”

  Frank tried to move again. “Why is my body so sore?”

  Dirk snickered.

  Stan, the third, person back handed. “Stop that.”

  “Sorry.” Dirk snorted one more laugh out.

  “What?” Frank asked confused.

  “Well.” Dirk answered. “Probably you’re sore from us bringing you in here. Had to use a plow pull on you.”

  “A plow pull.” Frank’s reddened eyes widened.

  “Yep.” Dirk nodded. “Attached one of them carts the mechanics use to slide under cars.” Another snicker escaped him. “You’re a big guy. Dropped you twice.”

  “Shit.” Frank wanted to say worse but he was being respectful.

  Stan reached out and gave Frank a friendly tap. “Watch the language. There’s a lady present.”

  Dirk chuckled. “Where.”

  “Aw.” Thelma whined. “Now why ya got ta go and be all nasty and rude with me.”

  “I ain’t being nasty and rude.” Dirk replied. “I’s being honest.”

  “Oh my God.” Frank’s eyes rolled and he plopped backwards on the couch. It was a dream to him. It had to be a dream. There was no way with all that was happening that he was stuck in this situation. He closed his eyes hoping to wake up to something sane, maybe on a highway somewhere. Frank’s head pounded and anywhere else was better than that living room where the three elderly people bickered loudly right above his aching head.

  June 2nd - 4:32 p.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  “Johnny. Back in the house!” Joe barked to his grandson as he held his arm out and bodily blocked the woman who had so violently thrashed and convulsed that she flew off the cot, landed near Johnny’s feet and cracked open her skull. “Now.” Joe ordered. To him it had reached the point that Johnny should no longer watch.

  Johnny backed up in horror. His eye stayed glued and peering down to the river of blood that seeped from the woman’s head and flowed around and through Joe’s feet. He shook a little, spun and flew, running right into William. Not looking back, Johnny moved away from William and kept on running.

  William knew he was too late to aid Joe with that woman. The syringe he intended on using was still clenched in his hand. He shifted his eyes around the people who all seemed to hit their final stage of the virus at the same time. Raising up his eyes, William looked to Joe. “I’ll get the others. It’s time.”

  With pride
Andrea stood over Taylor’s bed, her eyes having a hard time moving from the little girl. She gripped Dean’s hand. “Catherine would be so proud to know her efforts were not in vain.”

  “They certainly weren’t.”

  “I’ll tell you, Dr. Hayes.” Andrea shook her head with a pleased look. “There may be a world of hurt outside of this house. But there is such an abundance of hope in this room it makes you not want to leave it.”

  Henry’s voice was not one they expected to hear. With a rush he spoke. “You are going to have to leave. Dean, your dad says he needs you both now. It’s ... it’s falling apart.”

  As Henry flew back out of the room, Dean slid his hand from Andrea’s and followed him out. Andrea took a second, closed her eyes, laid her hand on Taylor and prayed. Prayed to have the strength she needed to face what she hoped would be her last round in the battle of the virus.

  The first box was emptied, the second, then the third, a mountain of vials formed on the medication table as William dumped yet another box filled with morphine. “Ok, people.” He called out. “Grab it.” He spoke as the hands reached in. “Area four is where we’ll start. That’s where it’s happening worst. Three cc’s. And try to conserve on needles because we still have areas two and three to deal with. They’re next. Quickly now. Let’s go.”

  Ellen moved slower than everyone else. They all hustled, she didn’t. Stuffing four vials in her pockets, Ellen lifted another and moved toward area four as she stared at it.

  Joe had all he needed. As he rushed past Ellen, he bumped her, spun backwards and grabbed her arm. “You all right?”

  Ellen nodded, her eyes wide as she walked. She looked down to the vial then back up to Joe who was far ahead of her. “My God ...” She swallowed. “We’re killing them.”