The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “This isn’t Beginnings.” George grew angry.

  “My accommodations suck,” Henry bitched.

  “Why are you complaining so much?” George asked.

  “Because Joe said to be myself.”

  Running his hand over his mouth, George held back the growl. “Figures.”

  Henry peered around the tent. The three of them were the only ones in there. “Why is he, I mean, she here?”

  “Callahan is here because I asked her to be here. That’s why.”

  “Sir,” Bertha finally spoke up. “We should do the meeting in private.”

  “This isn’t a meeting,” George told her. “I lived in Beginnings once. I wanted to have a meal with this man. I used to like him.”

  “Oh my God.” Bertha sat back. “Why?”

  Henry gasped, “You aren’t very nice. I’m just doing my job. If I bitch, I bitch. Don’t you ever bitch?”

  “No.” Bertha shook her head.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Henry nodded. “You’re a . . . or . . . OK, what are you anyhow? A man or a woman?”

  Softly, in a grumble, George warned when he saw the veins in Bertha’s neck protrude. “Bertha.”

  Henry sniffed, “Afraid to answer, right?”

  Bertha’s hand slammed at the table and she pointed strongly at Henry. “I’ll tell you what, you little wiry twit. One more he-she comment from your whiney mouth and this big hand is reaching across that table, grabbing you by that mane, and I’m gonna shove your head between my legs and you can see for yourself. How’s that sound?”

  “Disgusting.”

  The clearing of the throat was the knock of intrusion by the soldier who entered the tent. “Sir.” He walked up to George. “This just came in.”

  “Thank you.” George took the paper and glanced at Bertha, “The scout party we positioned outside of Beginnings just intercepted a radio transmission.”

  “You’re eavesdropping.” Henry was aghast. “You can’t eavesdrop on the radio transmission.”

  “Yes we can, Henry.” George handed the information to Callahan. “It’s a good thing that we can. One of the hardest things you and I have discussed, Bert, is figuring out where the Slagels began their run. We knew once we found out the beginning destination, we could follow them. Well, if that pans out . . .”

  Bertha smiled. “If this pans out, then someone give us the two hundred dollars. We may have just passed go.”

  ^^^^

  The Savage body that lay before Elliott clearly showed evidence of a man who was killed by random bullets. It was not a typical Slagel massacre scene at the house and Elliott didn’t need for Sgt. Doyle to recant what he himself had already pieced together.

  “They did exactly what I would do in this situation,” Tim spoke as he walked with Elliott by the still smoldering house. “They didn’t bother following through on the attack. They just cleared a path and took off.”

  Elliott nodded. Hands behind his back, he peered over his shoulder. “A clear path through those trees.”

  “They’ve been long since gone at a high rate of speed by the time we arrived. My men took out the Savages remaining in the area, the ones retreating alone with the ones heading toward Beginnings.”

  “Then?” Elliott asked. “Did you . . .”

  “Yes, sir,” Tim replied without even hearing the question. “We sent another truck through those woods to lay another set of tracks.”

  “Good. With the four of them making a quick escape, they more than likely left an obvious route.”

  “That they did, due southwest.”

  “And your men went?”

  “Due north and another set was sent northwest.”

  “Good. Then . . .” Elliott froze. The clear and loud sound of synchronized pumping of chambers rang out at the same time the Sergeant at Arms shouted, ‘SS forty degrees north.’

  Elliott spun around.

  “On my call!” The sergeant cried.

  With widened eyes, Elliott spotted the blue arm bands on the ensuing and walking Society soldiers. “Hold your fire!” he ordered out. “Hold your fire.” His hand held up in a sophisticated manner, calmly Elliott walked at a good pace to the strong aiming line that Doyle’s men held. “Lower your weapons,” Elliott informed as he walked to the Society solder that led the pack. Certainty was not lacking. Elliott knew what the blue arm band signified. They were part of the Game. Still knowing that, Elliott went through the motions. He stepped face to face with the lead Society man.

  “Sgt. Milford, Eastern Caceres Society,” he introduced himself in a stern stance.

  “Elliott Ryder, second in command of the United Western Alliance army.”

  “Second in command. Second?” Milford nearly smirked. “Kind of a . . . I don’t know, lowly scene for the second in command to be in surveillance. Personally, I would have sent a unit master unless, of course, there was more importance to the scene at hand.”

  “You and your men are in United Western Alliance territory.”

  “We’re with the retaliation.”

  “Then I suggest you state your cause for being here and move on.”

  “I think you know our cause.” Milford took an arrogant step past Elliott. “Our reasoning is rather obvious,” he spoke staring off. After a second he turned around and smiled at Elliott. He then called to his awaiting unit, “Get me the radio.”

  ^^^^

  Powell, Wyoming

  “Bodies,” Frank grumbled. Even speaking softly, his voice filled the library where he and Ellen were. “I would think . . .” He reached down. “After all these years.” His hand gripped the tattered shirt of the body on the floor. “That time would have turned the remaining bodies into dust.” He lifted the body up. “Some still have petrified fuckin flesh.” Like it weighed nothing, and really it did, Frank heaved it slightly in a toss to the large crate. “Shit. A leg fell off.”

  “Just leave it,” Ellen said, moving the push broom, “I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks. Why there are bodies in here, I don’t know.” Frank dusted off his gloved hands. “This would be the last place I’d want to die.” He walked a few feet. “I want to start moving shelves.”

  “So why the library?” Ellen asked as she took a breather and held on to the broom handle.

  “It’s center town. It’s got a good roof for watching and it’s not far from where we hid the truck. Center town . . .” Frank moved to a shelf. “Makes it easier for traps.” With a slight grunt, he started pushing the shelf, sliding it across the floor as he spoke. “And . . . the shelves can block the glass of the window” He stopped. “Plus, it’s big enough for us all and spacious enough for you and me to hide out in the romance section.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “Actually.” Frank took off his gloves. “I’m hungry.” He tossed them down and walked over to the main desk. “I’m hungry.” He pulled forward the duffle bag. “Wanna snack before dinner?”

  “What do we have?” Ellen laid down the broom and walked to him.

  “Crackers . . .” Frank rummaged. “Pretzel nubs . . .” He lifted two brown foil packs. “Wolf cookies?”

  “I’ll take the wolf cookie.”

  Frank tossed her one. “What does this remind you of?”

  Ellen caught the pack. “A year and a half ago in Colorado.”

  “That was a nice little run.” Frank ripped open the pack with his teeth.

  “Are you kidding me?” Ellen shook her head. “You hated it.”

  “Nah, I loved being out there with you. This . . . this should be different.”

  “Oh, yeah. Real different,” Ellen said sarcastically.

  “We’re much better prepared. Hey, at least this time we know there are soldiers following us.” Frank began to munch his snack. “Plus we have Dean-ami mortars if they come full force. We’re good.” He winked.

  “And we have Hal and Robbie this time.”

  Frank fluttered his lips. “Dead weight.”

  Ell
en laughed. “Listen to you. Dead weight.” She shook her head.

  “What? You don’t think I could keep you alive and safe for a week?”

  “From six hundred and twenty-three soldiers?”

  “You don’t think.”

  Pausing in a bite, Ellen pulled the cookie from her mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, you could. Only you.”

  “See.” Frank nodded in arrogance. “I think this time it might even be easier. I think they may have some strategy considering this is part of war. What that is, I’m still working on. I know what I would do if I were following us. I’ll get a better idea if we actually run into the Society.”

  “If?” Ellen asked. “We’re safe here in this town.”

  “We’re not staying long. A day or two and that’s it. Then we have to move on. Hiding is not an option. Besides it’s stupid.”

  “But you said, ‘if’”

  “Yeah. If.” Frank repeated, “It’s a big if, El. Realistically.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Come on.” Frank smiled. “It’s a big country. There are four of us. We have a head start. Realistically speaking, finding us will be like finding a needle in a haystack unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless . . .” Frank shrugged.”They get a good grip and find our starting point. But . . .” He flung out a wave of his hand. “The chances of that are slim.”

  ^^^^

  “We have their starting point.” George handed Bertha the message he had just received.

  “So the house and radio panned out?” Berth asked.

  “Absolutely. Right now we’re playing a game of ‘Let’s make a Deal’. There are three sets of tracks going in three different directions. One of them is bound to lead us to the Slagel crew.”

  Bertha handed the paper back to George. “Border camps?”

  “Packed up and move out. They should all meet up at the designated spot within ten to twelve hours.”

  “So do I now have the go-ahead on my strategy plan?’

  “You certainly do. Since this is where most of our men are, I want implement your suggestion. Don’t get too comfortable. We’re packing up the entire camp.” George smiled at a finally silent Henry. “We’re all going west.”

  ^^^^

  “Hate Beginnings?” Jess sort of snickered over the evening conversation in his small issued apartment. He poured red wine into what looked like sherry glasses. “I never said I hated Beginnings.”

  After giving a ‘thanks’ look, Johnny took his glass. “But you were a spy.”

  “I was an observer.” Jess sat down in a comfortable position. “I never caused Beginnings any harm. Basically my job was to go there, live as a resident, and not do anything until needed. When needed, I’d do my job, release information, and then leave when it was too close. I’m here.” He smiled a flash smile then sipped his wine.

  “What happened when they found you out?”

  “Nothing. I left. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “And you didn’t hate Beginnings?”

  “On the contrary. I rather liked Beginnings very much. I liked . . .” Jess ran his finger over the rim of his glass. “I liked certain people very much.”

  “Is that why you were reluctant to do your job for the Society?”

  Quickly Jess looked up from his wine. “I never said that.”

  “But you just said . . .”

  “I said I liked Beginnings. I never said I didn’t want to do my job for the Society.” Jess watched Johnny for a reaction.

  “So who were some of the people you really liked?” Johnny asked.

  “Honestly?”

  “Please.”

  “Your Uncle Robbie.”

  Johnny smiled. “How can anyone not like Uncle Robbie?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me,” Jess said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t like him.”

  “Yes, I did.” Johnny finished off his wine quickly. “I love my Uncle Robbie.”

  “You turned your back on him and your entire family. You hated, I mean hated, your Uncle Hal.”

  Johnny swallowed hard. “I . . . I . . . find that so hard to believe.” He rubbed his eyes. “I hated Uncle Hal?”

  “Very much so.” Still watching Johnny for any sign, Jess continued. “I was one of the two people you could go to. You came to me and used to, uh, bitch quite a bit about him. In fact, you tried to kill him . . . twice.”

  Johnny stood up. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t . . . know.”

  “You talk about finding things hard to believe. I find it hard to believe why you’re so confused. Now, please, I’m speaking as your friend here. We were very close in Beginnings.”

  Slowly from his confused pace, Johnny looked at Jess.

  “You don’t recall that?”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “Let me ask you this.” Jess set down his glass. “Where does your memory stop?”

  “It doesn’t, not completely. Everyone thinks this retrograde amnesia is causing a total block of the past so many years but that’s not the way it is. I lost some things. I remember up to about a two years ago. But still, in that time period of my memory, things are lost.”

  “Like?”

  “Like how I got here. I was hoping you can tell me. I’m not talking about the escape,” Johnny said.

  “Come on, Johnny. You have to recall your closeness to George. You have to. No one turns that bad over night. No one.”

  “That bad?”

  “You don’t remember the hell you put Ellen through.”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “You shot your grandfather and your father.”

  Johnny’s eyes closed and he blindly reached to sit back down. “That is something I don’t understand. I shot my Pap.”

  “I think the second bullet was meant for Hal. Of course, Ellen says even though you shot Joe, in an essence, you saved his life. In my opinion, using mind over matter, you condemned him to death.”

  Confused, Johnny looked up.

  “Had you not of shot him, they wouldn’t have discovered that your grandfather . . . that Joe . . . has cancer.”

  Silence.

  “He’s dying, Johnny.

  Every ounce of Johnny’s breath left and he gasped not only for air but for grounding. His jaw dropped and eyes widened.

  “Wine?” Jess showed the bottle then poured some more for himself and Johnny.

  “How Jess?” Johnny asked. “I don’t know what and when and how this happened.”

  “You didn’t have a connection to George.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Then that explains it.”

  “No,” Johnny exclaimed adamantly and stood up. “It doesn’t explain how I turned on my grandfather. Nothing could explain that. Jess.” Johnny swallowed. “You don’t think? You don’t think I was brainwashed do you? And the amnesia undid all that was done? There has to be a reason. There has to be for why I’m feeling this way.”

  Jess only shrugged and downed his wine, hiding his subtle ‘interrogation success’ grin. He had an answer for Johnny but he didn’t give it. Jess knew damn well what the reason was for the way Johnny was feeling, and in Jess’s mind it wasn’t brainwashing or amnesia. It was pure unadulterated regret and guilt.

  ^^^^

  It wasn’t that Dean was at a loss at what to say. He could say a lot but most of it would be based on a guess. “It’s possible.”

  “Jess doesn’t believe it,” Joe told him, joining Dean at the dining room table.

  “Amnesia is tricky,” Dean explained. “There is no medical means to prove it. You have to rely on the patient.”

  “So we’ll never know.”

  “Not exactly.” Dean pulled his chair closer. “Ask yourself this simple question. What does Johnny have to gain by faking amnesia with George? When Frank faked his amnesia, he was gaining trust. What does Johnny have to gain?”

  Slowly Joe shoo
k his head. “Nothing, really.”

  “Exactly. He left Beginnings to join the Society. He pulled a lot of shit here, Joe. In my opinion, he’s not faking it.”

  “What about him feeling guilty and he changed his mind.”

  “Now is that wishful thinking on your part?” Dean waved a finger. “Guilt? Johnny? No. He shot Frank. He shot his father. Too much hatred went into what he said on that stand in the courtroom. If Johnny says he doesn’t remember, Johnny doesn’t remember.”

  “Will it comeback?”

  “Most likely, yes,” Dean answered, “in time. But there are cases of retrograde amnesia where the patient never regained that partition of memory.”

  A little surprised at the sudden feminine clearing of the throat that entered the room, Joe looked over his shoulder. “Margaret?”

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?” Margaret walked from the back bedroom hall. “The kids are all tucked in.”

  Snidely, Joe looked at Dean. “Why am I now discovering you have this inability to handle things on your own?”

  “No,” Margaret interrupted. “I asked. I wanted to get to know William’s grandchildren. It was my pleasure. May I?” She asked of a seat at the table.

  “Please.” Joe pulled out a chair for her. “You know, I was really shocked to hear you knew William.”

  “Yes.” Margaret smiled. “I’ve been sharing stories with Dean all day.”

  Joe snickered. “Good thing Frank’s not here, Dean. He’d find another womanizing angle behind this for you.”

  Dean groaned and sunk into his chair. “Please, don’t remind me, Joe. I shudder at the thought of what Frank has told Ellen.”

  Curious, Margaret questioned, “I’m lost.”

  Dean lifted his hand. “Long story. But let’s just say Frank is going to use my last lab assistant to the best of his ability, while he’s out there with Ellen, to destroy my marriage.”

  “Frank?” Margaret chuckled. “Destroy your marriage?”

  Both Joe and Dean replied with a loud ‘yes.’

  In a don’t be silly fashion, Margaret chuckled again. “Marriages are stronger than a few words, Dean. Really . . .” She reached out and laid her hand on Dean’s. “If you think about it, what can Frank possibly say to Ellen that would destroy your marriage?”