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

by Jacqueline Druga

  He said nothing, just walked in.

  “Dean, I . . . I need to talk to you. I really need to talk to you.” She approached him, his back stayed to her. “I know you think what I did was wrong, but . . .”

  “What!?” Dean stormed in a spin to face her. “I think? No Ellen, what you did was wrong!”

  “I know that Dean. I hurt you, I hurt Frank . . .”

  “That’s not the worst of it.” Dean’s jaws twitched as he clenched them in a vain attempt to be in control. “This is bad El, really bad. Far worse than you ever thought. And what pisses me off isn’t what you did to me or Frank. You robbed your son! You robbed him of knowing his father’s love and that is unforgivable!”

  “He had your love Dean, he knew . . .”

  “He is not my son!” He reamed outward at her. “And no matter how much I love him or loved him, it doesn’t take away from the fact he deserved to know that from Frank. How did you face yourself with this for three years?”

  “Don’t do this!” Ellen charged at him as he walked to the other side of the lab. “You did the same thing with Brian. Don’t judge me.”

  “Brian is not my son. Quit using that as a defense. Quit it. You keep forgetting that one was your idea too. You know what El, I’ll tell you a little something about yourself. You manipulate. You manipulate situations to make them what pleases you. You manipulate people’s lives. You can give a shit who it affects as long as you are happy. Well that is wrong! Maybe if you gave a shit once, things wouldn’t get out of hand like they are now. Maybe if you would have done what was right years ago, I wouldn’t have had to waste my time on you!”

  Ellen’s mouth opened in a quiver, her eyes shut defensively against the hurt. “I’m sorry. I really am sorry.” Reaching passed him, she grabbed her tray and walked from the clinic lab.

  “El.” Dean clenched his fist bringing it down to the counter hard as she walked out. Harshly he ran his fingers through his hair as he stood there getting himself back in control.

  Ellen had barged into the first empty room. It was her escape. She needed to get away, and though it wasn’t the room she was supposed to go into to get blood, it was the first one she hit. Wanting to take a moment so as not to lose control, Ellen reached to set the tray on the bed. Mid extension the tray it toppled from her hand and crashed onto the floor, its contents spilled everywhere. “Shit,” Ellen whispered as she bent down to retrieve them. The moment she lowered herself, she gave in to her emotions and broke down and cried. She held on to the bed for support as her other hand covered her mouth.

  “Shh.” The close presence moved to behind her body and a hand reached down and grabbed hers. “Come here,” Dean said softly.

  Ellen shook her head.

  “El.” Dean hovered as he bent down to her; he wrapped his arm around her and placed his mouth close to her ear. “I never wasted a second of my life on you. Never. I was angry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Ellen’s head dropped and her body began to shake. She pulled from him, throwing the contents back in the tray.

  “Come here.” He lifted her to her feet. “We’ll get through this. O.K.”

  Ellen turned her body to face him. As she lifted her head to look at Dean, feeling his hand rest upon her face, she saw Joe, with Andrea walk into the room. Ellen stepped back.

  Andrea wouldn’t look at her. She folded her arms leaning against the archway. “Do it Joe or I will. And I won’t be nice.”

  Joe swallowed. “Ellen, I have to ask you to leave the clinic.”

  It took Ellen’s breath away and she shook her head slowly. “Joe?”

  The lump in Joe’s throat grew larger. “I have to ask you to get your things and leave the clinic. You aren’t to return here for any reason unless it is medical.”

  Dean spun to face him. “What are you doing?”

  “Joe.” Ellen rushed to him. “This is my job. My job.”

  “You can work at containment full time now.” Joe stated. “It has to be done. You can’t work here anymore Ellen, at least until council reviews Andrea’s request. This is her division. I have to respect that and agree to pull you for right now. You aren’t to work with patients anymore.”

  Ellen stood shocked. “But Joe, I have to work on lab stuff it’s so important . . .”

  “Unless it has to do with the virus, you aren’t to be working on it. Anything that relates to the clinic, relates to Andrea and she has requested that you be removed.” Joe said what he didn’t want to say.

  Andrea reached forward taking the tray from Ellen. “And that means now.” She waited for Ellen to move. “Now, Ellen.”

  Ellen, looking at Dean once more, then at Joe, ran from the clinic room.

  Dean started to follow her but stopped to face off Andrea and Joe. “What is the matter with you? Both of you?”

  Andrea moved to him. “What is the matter with me? What is the matter with you? If this was the old world, she not only would lose her license to nurse but she would go to jail as well. She used her knowledge and her skills to make a situation what she wanted it to be without regards to the costs. We can’t have that. If we let her go this time, what will be next?”

  “All this may be your domain, but the lab work is mine Andrea.” Dean hands and body moved as he talked. “I need her to work with me. She’s the only one who knows my work.”

  “Then you will work with her somewhere else.” Andrea was cold. “I don’t want her in my clinic. She’s unfit Dean, unfit to call herself a nurse.” Andrea moved with vengeance to the door and spun back. “And sometimes I have to wonder if she’s even fit to call herself a human being.”

  Joe held his hand up to Dean to stop him from saying anything further then he himself followed Andrea down the hall. “Andrea, stop!” He waited until Andrea faced him. “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard on this one? I’m not saying what she did was all right.” Andrea started to move again and Joe followed her. “I’m just saying does it truly warrant this behavior from you?”

  “Is this her father talking or the leader of the community?”

  “This is a person talking,” Joe spoke with agitation.

  “Then I will tell this person this. This isn’t just one incident. It is a mere section in a long line of Ellen-deceit events. Think about that.” Andrea walked faster away. She stormed into her office and sent a clear message to Joe that she wanted to discuss it no more. She slammed and locked her door.

  ^^^^

  Dean heard the slamming and the banging before he even reached Frank’s office door. Someone had to speak to Frank, and since Dean was in the same boat--sort of--he needed to talk to Frank. He knocked and then he waited.

  “What?!” The door flung open Frank stood red faced, huffing.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “You !” Frank backed up. “You tried to cover for her.”

  “And you wouldn’t do the same thing?” Dean shut the door, hoping against hope that his calm manner would carry over to Frank. “You would Frank, don’t deny it.” He sat down.

  Frank plopped down hard at his desk. He tossed his face in his hands grunting loudly. “God what has happened? Never, never did I expect this. And it wasn’t just to me, Dean, she did this to you too.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. I thought you and I could talk about this.”

  Frank slid his hands down. “What’s there to talk about? Joey is my kid. Ellen knew that and Ellen hid that from me. Ellen stole that from me.”

  “But you didn’t even know Joey until a little bit ago. We have to consider that. We weren’t here.”

  “Come on Dean.” Frank’s hand slammed on his desk. “Does it make it right? No. And what she did three years ago isn’t what bothers me the most. I asked her. You asked her since time was changed. She had the chance to come clean to tell us. She chose not to. She chose to lie.”

  “That’s Ellen Frank. You’ve known her long enough to know her.”

  “I’ve known her
long enough not to expect this from her. Never this. This is far worse than anything she has done. It shows me more than I wanted to know about her. And I don’t know if it’s something I can get past.”

  “Frank.” Dean shuffled in his chair and spoke soft. “What are you going to do?” Dean carried a disbelieving chuckle. “Break up?”

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t know. I just need time to think. I’ll talk to her later. I just can’t face her right now, or my brother for that matter.”

  Dean stood up. “I’ll leave you alone. But can I give you something to think about? In this world now we don’t have much of a choice. Women Frank, they have us. We either deal with what they do, or we deal with life alone. Alone.” Dean walked to the door. “If you really want to, you can get through this with her.”

  “Yeah, but should I?”

  “Hating to say it.” He opened the door. “Yeah. Let it go. If you need to talk . . .” He saw Frank look away not wanting to respond. “I’ll leave.”

  Frank stared at the closed door. He leaned into his desk, once again placing his face to his hands. And Frank stayed in his office, in silence, alone, and in thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Washington, DC

  The dust was so thick and caked not even a good blow caused it to move. Sgt. Doyle used his index finger to clear a clean spot on the small picture frame. He looked with a slight smile to the young woman with long dark hair. “Your wife?” He asked Steward Lange.

  “No.” Steward shook his head as he rummaged through the drawers of what used to be his office. “My daughter. I was divorced.” He shook his head and looked in the drawer again. “I know I wrote that combination down as a phone number.”

  “You don’t remember it?” Sgt. Doyle asked.

  “It’s been six years.” After an exhale, Steward closed the drawer and scratched his head. “All right. I’ll try, if not, you can shoot the lock off.” He walked across the office to his filing cabinet. Dirt settled everywhere forming little clouds as he moved. “You know this only proves my discontent with post plague movies.” Steward wave his hand about in a point to his office. “No disarray, no destruction, just dirt of an unused world.” He walked to a filing cabinet. “I wished I would have taken those photographs though.”

  “Now’s your chance.” Sgt. Doyle lifted another of a girl much younger than the first. “Another daughter?”

  “Same one,” Steward said. “Only had one child. All those pictures are of her.” With a grunt Steward moved out the file cabinet.

  “You loved her very much. Can I ask why you opted to be cryogenically frozen in the plague then? I know I had no family.”

  “Neither do I,” Steward replied. “Jessica, she um, she died in a car accident.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” He bent down. “Ah, the safe. Amazing that I kept the information thinking one day I might need it.”

  “And now you do.”

  “Odd. I’m a man of limited education. No leadership skills. Just a White House aid.” Steward tried unsuccessfully to open the combination. “Yet, I am chosen for the society based on the fact that I obtained the order to kill one little old man.” He tossed his hands up after another attempt. “Useless.” Dusting off his palms, Steward stood. “How did you get chosen?”

  “Me?” Sgt. Doyle pulled out the revolver. “I was a Sergeant Major in the Marine Corps. Highest ranking enlisted man. Infantry Division, assault weapon training.” He walked to Steward.

  “So you must have been highly decorated.” Steward saw him shake his head. “How did you get chosen for the Military train operations position?”

  Sgt. Doyle did something he rarely did. Smiled. “Remember the saying it’s not what you know it’s who you know.” He checked the loaded weapon, moved Steward aside and aimed. “Dr. Joanna Holmes was my aunt. The moment I made Sgt. Maj. I was inducted.” Sgt. Doyle fired his weapon. The door to the safe popped open. “Not very secure, sir.”

  “No.” Steward shook his head. “But then, nothing in here wasn’t that confidential. Actually it would have been considered obsolete. How wrong we were.” Opening the door wider, Steward reached inside. An accordion folder, thick and dust free was in there. He pulled it out, opened it and peeked inside. “Looks like everything’s here.” He stood up straight. “Let’s go see the president with this.”

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  The thin white streams of smoke that flowed through the refurbished chimney were masked by the grey overcast sky of Bowman. The heat generated on the insides of the structures paled in comparison to the energy generated outside.

  It snowed, light and constant. The weather grew bitter, but no one noticed. There was too much buzz, too much movement, and too much experimenting over the launching day of the Captain’s grand plan.

  It was something the Captain hoped for but never dreamed would happen, the abundance of enthusiasm that followed in the initial preparations.

  The Captain chuckled when the swaying head of the slow wayward horse hit into him. “Whoa.” He grinned then looked up to the younger man riding him.

  “Sorry, Captain.” The man no older than nineteen spoke innocently. “I’m still learning.”

  “You’ll get it.” The Captain grinned, stepping back and giving the horse a gentle push if guidance. “Keep trying.” In his turn that included a slight slide on the snow covered street, the Captain nearly bumped into Joshua Owens.

  “Got those sites picked out and routed that you wanted.” Joshua showed the Captain a clipboard.

  He stopped in his stride to read. “Good. Men?”

  “Like you suggested. Four teams. Four men. Rationed two meals a day for a three day trip.”

  “Good. But let’s send scouting parties to the regions. Though I would say it’s safe to assume with the weather that the Indian wanna-be’s and the society soldiers are tucked away. Let’s take no chances. Send them out, scout, get back to us then we’ll send out for the supplies.”

  “Got it.” Joshua nodded and kept moving.

  The Captain moved on through the men that moved about the street in what seemed to be a rush of revitalization the town. He had things to do, and he wanted to head to the house where the women lived. It had been a while since he checked in and his mood was up enough that even Grace couldn’t bring him down.

  “Captain.” Danny Lewis called out and trotted his way.

  “Lewis,” the Captain said, “you’ve returned. Everything went safe?”

  “Perfect,” Lewis said. “We were fortunate that it was untouched. No attacks. Actually it was barren.”

  “Make sure you tell that to Owens. He’s getting scouting parties picked out.”

  Lewis nodded. “Sir, the supplies are here and the would be seamstresses are ready for orders.”

  “Tell them I will be with them in about two hours. But start organizing their area. Get them the supplies.” The Captain started to move again. “Tell them I want them to set up for measuring every single man.” Snapping his finger in revelation, the Captain stopped and headed back to Lewis. “I’m heading over to the house of women then I have a meeting with the men I chose for instructors. Can you handle the reigns?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The Captain moved on.

  Elliott watched.

  Bustle. That was the best word Elliott could think of to describe the activity on the street. A bustle similar to the last minute holiday rush. All of the sudden the remaining work on the town needed done, and not by Captain’s order, but by the wishes of the men themselves. They just wanted to do it. The old stores were being cleaned out, set up for being used as something else. Search parties that went out at dawn for supplies were returning. Fabric, shoes, clothing. An old garbage bin was being dictated for metal storage. Metal that would be melted down. Though they hadn’t a clue how to begin making swords, they were ready to embark on the production of them.

  It seemed to Elliot
t that with the snap of a finger, the rise of the sun, suddenly everything changed. Elliott knew the sudden motivation the men were experiencing couldn’t have been caused by the Captain’s speech. Yes, it was good. Yes the speech had some impact, but it wasn’t a mind blowing experience. It had to be the Captain himself. To Elliott, the Captain could be compared to the plague that wiped out the world. Everything about him was highly contagious, spreading fast, and before the men knew it, they had been completely taken by him and too far gone.

  Watching the Captain try to make it in his journey down a simple street block without being stopped, filled Elliott with a feeling he hadn’t has since he was young . . . jealousy. Elliott couldn’t recall in the whole entire time since the plague, even in a world so dead, ever feeling so isolated and alone.

  The Captain made a strange face to a man called Craig. Not wanting to show disapproval with a ‘put on’ fake impressed look, the Captain held up his index finger to the civil war style cap Craig wore. “Personally . ..” The Captain nodded. “I like it. But . . . it won’t work for when we fight. Perhaps we can instill that as a work look if you want.” He gave a swat to Craig’s arm. “Keep up the good work.” The Captain turned, stopped and froze. The smiled dropped from his face only briefly when Elliott stood there. “Elliott.” He said his name with a smile. “How are you?”

  “Good. Do you have a minute?” Elliott asked.

  “Can you walk?” The Captain asked as he started to move.

  “Sure.” Elliott placed his hands in his pockets. “Captain, I . . . I was looking at the postings. I wasn’t given an assignment. Was there a mistake?”

  His pace halted, and The Captain turned to face Elliott. “No. No mistake.”