The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  Henry only shook his head with a laugh. “She shouldn’t respect you at all.”

  “Why?” Dean tossed his hands up. “Because I won’t give you an understanding?”

  “Because no matter what I did. You Dean, are a bigger asshole than I could ever be. Excuse me.” Henry turned and walked into the dining area.

  Dean blinked slowly. “O.K.” Sure that Henry was just being a ‘Henry’ and stewing about the night before, Dean gave no more thought to the radical Henry comment and left containment.

  ^^^^

  Stepping from the school, Ellen peered up to the sky and watched the helicopter fly away in the distance. She stood watching for a moment and then, doing something she always did but never bragged about, she said a short prayer for Robbie and Frank in their endeavor then moved on toward the clinic.

  The streets were pretty empty which was odd for Monday. Usually they buzzed with people trying to get out of work and having a hard time getting back into their weekly routine after a day or two off. The streets should have been even busier. It was the first Monday in October. It was supposed to be Beginnings Day, but Joe postponed it a week because of all that happened and new additions. She was a little disappointed because Ellen enjoyed that free day, but at least took comfort in the fact that it gave Robbie and his band an extra week to learn new material.

  No sooner did Ellen step into the clinic, she saw Dean coming out of his lab. With a quick ‘hey’ call from her,. Dean, stopped, turned around with a bright smile, and quickly made it to her.

  He gave a pleasure grunt as he embraced Ellen and lifted her from her feet. “I missed you. When did you get back?”

  “About twenty minutes ago.” She kissed him. “Dean.” Ellen stepped back. “I . . . was a good girl.”

  He winked. “I know.” Kissing her quickly, he grabbed her hand. “Did you see the kids?”

  “I just came from there. They didn’t know I was gone.”

  “Yes, they did.” Dean started to walk with her. “Are you ready to try this?”

  “Our big talk,” Ellen nodded. “I’m excited.”

  “Trish is in there now.”

  “She’ll find out eventually. Do you think it’s a good time?” Ellen asked.

  “It’s as good as time as any. I want to start this.” Turning the bend, Dean and Ellen headed to Jeff’s room.

  ^^^^

  Trish’s arms felt chilled and she rubbed them to warm them despite the fact that she wore two shirts. She knew it wasn’t the temperature that gave her goose bumps. Her face crinkled too probably for the same reason. She kept her face pointed to Jeff, but her eyes shifted about. She hoped with his distorted one eyed vision he wouldn’t notice. It was hard enough for Trish to understand what he was saying, let alone watch him speak through a mouth that was pretty much gone. He ho lips and no means to control the saliva that seeped out with every word.

  Jeff handled it well, dabbing the drool that ran down his chin after each sentence with a tissue. He did his best despite the fact he never got it all. It was understandable to Trish since he was missing half a face. He was missing nerves as well. How could he feel it rolling down a face he just didn’t have?

  “So ew see . . .” Jeff spoke slowly and dabbed. “I ha in it ew for ears.”

  “Yes, four wonderful years we’ve been together.” Trish looked at the ceiling.

  “Ut. I oh I ook ad.”

  “Well . . .”

  “And I ill understand . . .” Jeff paused to get the drool. “If ew never ant to E ith E again. I’ll understand if ew alk a-ay.”

  “Oh.” Trish said perky. “O.K. thanks. Bye.” She turned and walked from the room.

  Dean and Ellen, who stood in the door, merely looked at each other as Trish practically skipped out of the room. Poor Jeff’s moans of sorrow seeped out.

  “Oh my God.” Ellen’s mouth dropped open and then she laughed. “Sorry. It’s an understandable decision on Trish’s part.”

  “El.” Dean shook his head. “But this is also a really good time. Let’s go take advantage of it.” Still holding Ellen’s hand, Dean pulled her into Jeff’s room.

  73 Miles due west of Beginnings

  “God! Are you miserable.” Robbie griped and rubbed his temple as he flew.

  “What?” Frank questioned.

  “You. You’re miserable.”

  “Fuck, Robbie. I had to drive a hundred fuckin miles with Hal.”

  “That’s not good”

  “No, not at all.” Frank kept his eyes glued to the windshield as he leaned back, biting his nails. “He’s going on and on about this United Western Alliance . . . did Dad say anything to you about us being called that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, Hal insists we are.” Frank nodded. “United fuckin Western Alliance. What the hell does that mean?”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah. I refuse to tell people I’m from United Western Alliance, Montana. That’s like way too fuckin long.”

  Robbie chuckled. “Frank, I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “I think he’s implying that’s what the force is going to be called.”

  “What force?” Frank spit a piece of nail from his mouth.

  “The armed forces,” Robbie explained.

  “Whose? His or ours?”

  “Frank.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Forget what?”

  Robbie bit his bottom lip. “Frank, quitting spitting your nails on my chopper floor.”

  “I can’t open a window, Robbie. What the fuck else am I supposed to do with them?”

  “Don’t bite them.”

  “Man.” Frank shook his head and spit another piece of nail out. “You talk about me being miserable.”

  “I thought you quit biting your nails.”

  “I bite them when I don’t smoke. Can I smoke in here?”

  “No.”

  “Then I bite my nails.”

  Robbie cringed when he watched Frank shoot a nail particle on the floor.

  Frank snickered. “So, anyhow . . . what the hell does it mean?”

  “What the hell does what mean?”

  “What we were talking about,” Frank asked.

  “Your nails?”

  “No, the fuckin Western Alliance bullshit. What does that mean?”

  “You can’t tell?”

  “No.” Frank shook his head. “We aren’t west. We’re like sort of in the middle.”

  “It means . . . shit.” Robbie sat up.

  “Yeah.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Shit. Look.”

  Frank did. “What am I looking at?”

  “Nothing.” Robbie said softly.

  “Uh, no shit, Robbie.”

  Robbie shook his head. “They’re gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “The Savages.”

  “Is this where you saw them?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Robbie answered.

  “Maybe you just thought you saw them here and they were elsewhere.”

  “No. I have the coordinates correct. Besides, look out your damn window, Frank. What do you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Besides that.”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, Frank. See the burned out fires, the old tents. They were here.”

  Frank peered. “Oh yeah.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t see that. Sometimes I have to wonder if Dean is right about you having brain damage.”

  “Hey. Don’t make fun of my disability.” Frank rubbed his head. “Land.”

  “Why?”

  “Just lower down. See if we can figure out what direction they went.”

  “What if there are still some down there.”

  Frank only looked at Robbie with a wide grin.

  Ro
bbie smiled back. “Yeah. Let’s land.” Robbie lowered the chopper.

  Beginnings, Montana

  Ellen’s voice was high pitched and soft. She sounded more like Mr. Bill than anything else. “No. No. Dean. No. Don’t do this to me.”

  “Ellen.” Dean, on the other side of the center counter in the cryo-lab, peered up to her. “Stop.”

  “He looks so helpless.”

  “Yes. Well. if we want our experiments to work, there has to be sacrifice. Find me the head strap.” Dean told her.

  “Here.” Ellen handed him the tiny leather strap. “Do you suppose it hurts him being in that position since it’s not a natural one for him?”

  “Probably, but it won’t be for long. We’ll knock him out. Hold his head.”

  Shrugging, Ellen placed her fingers on the face of the rabbit that lay on a tray on his back. His body was trembling as he was spread eagle, his arms and legs bound by tiny straps. Dean secured his head and the only thing that moved on the bunny was the twitching nose and shifting wide eyes.

  “Sedative ready?” Dean asked.

  “All prepared.”

  “Scalpels and sutures?”

  “Yep.”

  “All right, let me look at Jeff’s x-rays once more before we remove his face.” Dean lifted Jeff’s x-ray up to the light. “The only thing I see is a tiny piece of bone chipped from Jeff’s cheek. We can rebuild that.”

  “Should we mimic that on the rabbit?”

  Dean looked down to the bunny. “No, let’s try to get through phase one first, then we’ll try it on the next one.”

  ‘Listen, Dean.” Ellen, ear first, leaned toward the rabbit. “He’s whimpering.”

  “Rabbits make noise. Go ahead and inject him.”

  Ellen took the syringe and injected the entire amount into the shaking rabbit. A few seconds later, the rabbit stopped moving. “Out.”

  “Good.”

  “Dean?” Ellen walked around the counter.

  “Tomorrow I want you to do a fat analysis on Jeff. Let’s see the best areas to do the grafting.”

  “Chunking.”

  “Grafting.”

  “Dean.” Ellen moved to him. “Chunking is what we’re doing. Skin chunking. Think about it.”

  “I guess you’re right.” As Dean went to lower the x-ray, he saw Ellen right before him. “What are you doing?”

  “Dean.” She softened her voice and stepped right against him. “Let’s fool around.”

  “El, the rabbit.”

  “He won’t mind. He’s out.”

  “How about we finish this first. I also have that meeting with Joe.” Dean kissed her quickly. “Can I have a rain check? Tonight?”

  “Sure.” Ellen stepped back. “In our bathroom or do we want to experiment in voyeurism with Frank since our bedroom door is cemented open.”

  There was only a slight delay from Dean. “The back room?”

  “Sounds good.” Ellen smiled.

  Dean took her hand and led her quickly to the back room. He stopped and looked back at the helpless, spread out rabbit awaiting de-constructive surgery. He took a moment to debate whether he should or shouldn’t. The poor rabbit was waiting on the counter. Then he shrugged and tugged Ellen into the back room, closed the door, and shut the blinds.

  ^^^^

  It probably wasn’t the most sensitive thing for Trish to do, taking the photo of Jeff off her desk and placing it in the bottom drawer. She contemplated hanging a sheet of paper over half of his face to capture the new likeness of him, but seeing him like that was more painful than seeing a picture of how Jeff used to look. Seeing Jeff period was painful to Trish, so she got rid of his picture. After all, he did break up with her from his hospital bed.

  In a break from the hectic History, Trish stared at the empty spot on her desk and tried to figure out what she would put there. A clock perhaps, maybe a vase, or a picture of someone else. A twitch of revenge hit Trish. That would pay Jeff back for breaking her heart. She looked up in surprise when the door opened--she knew no one had a history viewing appointment--and Danny Hoi walked in.

  “Oh, Danny.” Trish began to bend behind her desk. “Wait, I need my ‘scoop’ visor.”

  “No, this isn’t paper business.” Danny shut the door. He carried a folder.

  “Is it history business, because you don’t have an appointment.”

  “No. This is . . . . big.”

  “Big?”

  “Real big.” Danny sat on the edge of her desk, facing her.

  Trish perked up. “Really big . . . gossip? Scoop? News? What?”

  “All of the above.” Danny laid the folder in front of her. “When you get a chance, read those. This is hush-hush and it’s only a sample. There’s more.”

  “Oh.” Trish started to open the folder, and Danny stopped her.

  “Wait. You can’t tell anyone you’ve seen those.”

  “Scouts honor.” Trish held up two fingers.

  “Wait.” Danny stopped her again. “For embarrassment sake, wait until I leave.”

  “O.K.” Trish laid her hand on the folder. “Are you leaving now because I have some time to read this?”

  “I’ll leave.” Danny slid from the desk and spread his hands wide as he walked backwards to the door. “Oh, and Trish . . . big.”

  “Got it. Really big.” She winked.

  “You may need a glass of water.” Danny nodded and walked out.

  “Water yes.” Trish hurried from her chair and sprang up to the water cooler Danny had brought her from New Bowman. She filled a little pointed paper cup, sat back down, and flipped open the folder. Not ten seconds into her reading, her hand tensed closed, crushing the paper cup and sending fluid raining everywhere. Then sitting there in a wet mess, Trish turned bright red.

  ^^^^

  It was so quiet a pin could be heard dropping or a stomach growling. Joe sat behind his desk, Dean and Henry were on chairs off toward the door, and Frank, with his arms crossed in a ‘get ready’ interrogation pose, stood by the file cabinet with Robbie right next to him. They were waiting and prepared to back up their mouths. They got what they didn’t expect.

  “Well?” Joe asked Reverend Bob as he watched the Reverend close the folder.

  With a long breath Reverend Bob laid the folder on the desk. “I’m sorry. I . . . should have told you from the get go. George Hadley is my first cousin. We grew up in the same house.”

  “You’re admitting this?” Joe asked.

  “Yes.” Revered Bob nodded.

  “Why . . .” Joe’s voice squeaked in surprise. “Why in God’s name didn’t you tell any of us this sooner?”

  Reverend Bob fiddled nervously with his folded hands “When I was first picked up on a survival run, George was the one that approached me. He asked if I would not say that we were related. I was shocked by this, but not surprised. See, I distanced myself from George years prior to the plague.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew what he was doing. I tried to stop it. I tried to form a radical group to undermine it. I got involved with one already in process. But . . . as you see by our world around us, I wasn’t successful. For two years my cousin had a price on my head. I lived in hiding from the conference on.”

  “Knowing this and knowing he lived among us, why didn’t you come forward?”

  “I feared for my life and had a demented sense of family obligation.” Rev. Bob shrugged. “I really don’t know. I’m giving you the most honest answers I can.”

  “So you’ve been helping him ever since.”

  “Absolutely not, Joe.” Rev. Bob shook his head. “No way. I love Beginnings. It is my home. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my life here. I’m afraid the only crime I have committed was the crime of silence. I told you nothing. I should have.”

  “Did you know of the new plague?”

  “No.”

  “Did you know of any of the attempts on me, Frank, or anyone else?” Joe questioned.

  �
��No.”

  “You know I’m finding this extremely hard to believe.”

  “And rightfully so,” Rev. Bob spoke softly. “I would too. I knew as soon as I was found out, I would be in trouble. I would lose everything, possibly even my life, but I swear to God on my faith that I partook in no wrong doings here. That’s not to say George hasn’t tried to get me involved. Yes, he has called me since we got phones. His people continuously badger me to be with them, but . . .”

  “His people?” Joe saw everyone in the room give their full attention. “People meaning more than one?”

  “People meaning a group, a whole group, living here, working for him, and pretending to be dedicated Beginnings residents when all they do is try to find out what they can and keep George informed.”

  “Do you know these people?”

  “Yes.” Rev. Bob nodded. “In fact, just the other day, George called. He was having a hard time getting in touch with . . .”

  “Wait!” Frank spoke up. “George called you?”

  Reverend Bob turned in his chair. “He does it often. I hang up shortly into the conversation.”

  “The other day meaning when?” Frank asked. “A week, what?”

  “Two days ago,” Rev. Bob answered.

  “So George is alive?” Frank’s eyebrow rose.

  “Yes, very much so. He’s sick but he’s alive.”

  “Fuck!” Frank stomped about in angry circles. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  “Frank!” Joe screamed out. “Knock it off!”

  “Fuck!” Frank’s hand cut through the air and landed in a point to Dean. “George is alive and this is all your fault.”

  “My fault!” Dean nearly laughed. “How is this my fault, Frank?”

  “You virus sucks!”

  “I told you that ahead of time,” Dean argued.

  “Fuck,” A pissed off Frank exclaimed again. “I can’t believe he didn’t fuckin die. Fuck.”

  “Frank! Enough!” Joe yelled, “George is alive. What the hell are you gonna do about it?”

  “But, Dad, I thought I killed him.”

  “Well you didn’t so get over it.”

  “Dad.”