The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Bow,” the queen told her.

  The woman bowed, took Robbie’s hand, and kissed it.

  “She kissed my hand?” Robbie asked and before he knew it, a hoard of woman burst through.

  “Let me. Let me kiss him!” one yelled out.

  They all grabbed for his hand. All of then delivered kiss after kiss.

  “Hey, wait. They’re kissing my hand. I don’t have a right hand. Or do I?”

  Immediately, Robbie’s eyes opened. He saw the ceiling. His vision was blurry and his head pounded. Slightly he moved his head, but shifted his eyes down.

  He could see Ellen as she sat on his right side. Her head was bowed down to where his arm would be.

  Robbie looked away. He moistened his lips that were dry and closed his eyes. “I think . . .” he said soft and with a cracking voice. “I think I feel you touching my hand through those covers. Please . . . please tell me I feel that and it’s not my imagination.”

  There was a feel of cool air from the removal of the covers and then Robbie felt the soft lips touch his fingers.

  Robbie’s eyes closed tightly in a gratefulness he never thought he’d experience. He felt the happiness of regaining his arm as strongly as he felt the pain of losing it.

  He turned his head and looked. He saw the arm, saw the fingers, and then he noticed those in the room.

  His father. Hal. Frank. Ellen. All of them had their eyes upon Robbie watching his reaction but Robbie couldn’t speak. All he could do right then was bring his left hand to his face and cover his eyes in an attempt to hold back the burst of emotions he fought with diligence to keep in.

  ^^^^

  Two hours of sleep? How did that happen? Johnny could barely roll out of bed–literally–let alone stand up. His body was sore. Was it any wonder? His head pounded, probably from a combination of lack of sleep, food, and Mike screaming.

  ‘Thank you very much, Tigger’ was all Johnny could say to himself as he stood before the bedroom mirror. He looked like hell. His inherited dark circles were even darker. His face pale and he had a dabble of dried blood on the left nostril.

  Tigger was the cause of the all-nighter. He said it was just the beginning.

  With that thought, Johnny smiled . . . then laughed.

  It was the first time ever that Johnny had stayed out all night, woke up sore, had the world’s worse headache, and it wasn’t from drinking. In fact, it was the first time Johnny could recall staying out all night without going to a bar environment and getting hammered.

  No alcohol. Tigger was still two years under the Lodi drinking age, aside from the fact that Tigger didn’t want to deal with Mike’s repercussion. They just had pure, young fun and trouble. Then again, they still dealt with Mike’s repercussions and Johnny was certain that as the day rolled on, Mike would give it to them more.

  Was Tigger just going above and beyond to have fun with Johnny that first night? That was Johnny’s first impression until he found out it wasn’t the first time Tigger had crawled through the duct work of the local bar and waited in the ventilation system to slowly drip a blood-like substance down onto the first man who decided to sit on the commode.

  It wasn’t the first time Tigger’s rigged manhole blasted from the street, bringing with it a puff of smoke, demonic moans from the sewer system, and sent the night guard running scared.

  Nor, obviously, was it the first time that Tigger climbed to the top of a telephone pole located on the outskirts of town, all to flick on his hidden power switch that turned on his ‘Tigger Telephone company’ which consisted of seventy-two hidden telephone bells that all went off simultaneously throughout the town, waking everyone up at three in the morning.

  It was however, a first for Tigger when he became face to face with the killer toddler Lodi had captured.

  Tigger reminded Johnny a lot of the book character, Simon Birch. There was some amusement in Tigger’s taunting of the oversized killer baby who was a tad shorter than Tigger. Tigger would do really lame growls, aggravating the murderous child into an attack frenzy, but Tigger didn’t flinch. He just laughed and thought it cool.

  “We need more of these,” Tigger said the night before. “You know what we should do? Knock its ass out, hook it up to the strongest and longest chain we can fine, attach it to a runner somewhere, and have him be a surprise guard dog.’

  Johnny suggested they not do it, but found himself getting more and more convinced as the night moved on as a way to use the killer toddler as a practical joke. They would have found one too had it not reached the point when Mike said, ‘Enough is enough. Welcome back, Tiger, but you are so fuckin grounded.’

  The funniest part was, Johnny was grounded too.

  Grounded.

  The only adult Johnny ever knew to be grounded was his Uncle Robbie. That was another thing Johnny felt was cool.

  He took the punishment well and grew curious as to what Tigger meant by the grounding was the best alibi ever.

  Johnny was certain Tigger would get him into more trouble. It was just innocent trouble and no one got hurt. That was the endearing quality Johnny loved. For once, in long time, he was getting in trouble he could laugh about.

  ^^^^

  At least it was a balanced meal. It consisted of a single slice of bread, not toasted, a scoop of scrambled eggs, a slice of the new and much raved about ‘Dan-Spam’, a cup of coffee and an apple. Dean was impressed at how Gemma and Mary prepared the meals, wheeled them in on a heating cart, and set out the trays–complete with tin coverings–just like they did in the clinic.

  In a sense, Dean knew Containment was a clinic. Long gone were the days when Containment was strictly for survivors who went through a processing to show they were capable enough to be civilized. The new residents tended to stick with Bowman and Jordan. Beginnings was full. Now Containment housed those who were incapable of surviving out in the world on their own, yet useful in a way that Joe Slagel got some sort of slave labor out of them.

  According to the schedule posted on the dining room wall, Containment residents were making mops for the next two days. Some of the residents expressed excitement over the mops. They always found it fun. Others, Dean found, were stressed because Joe set a high goal for Containment. He wanted to residents to produce ten mops.

  Ten mops in two days? Dean figured he could do that in a few hours. The residents felt it was a lot. As explained to Dean by one resident, Leo, who sang everything instead of speaking, ‘how could they make that many mops with all the other activities they had all day? La. La. La’.

  Activities? What activities could be so time consuming. Dean knew of one activity and it was one everybody was up for. The first productive hour of the day was being dedicated to making ‘get well cards’ for Robbie.

  A brainstorm idea was told by Containment’s newest nut sergeant, Richie. With exuberance, he shared with the residents the night before how their cards would make Robbie much better, how their cards were going to be unique. They were going to be self portrait cards.

  What Richie meant by that, Dean didn’t want to know. He really didn’t want to know.

  All and all, he guessed he had to expect that Beginnings had low level expectations of Containment residents. How could they not?

  There were twelve in all, not including Dean. He made thirteen. Which probably wouldn’t have made a mental dent in the other residents had Richie not made such a big deal about thirteen being unlucky. That didn’t fare well with the man who thought he was a priest and kept trying to exorcize Dean’s demons all night. It did help that Dean told him that prayer exorcized them, not jumping jacks. That calmed the man down.

  Another resident that Dean got to know–against his will–was Herb. Herb was a rotund man. He rambled a lot, never told the same tale twice, and was the Danny Hoi ‘Everything man’ in his fantasy world. There was two things Dean learned right away about Herb. One, Herb latched on to people rather quickly. And two, the reason Herb was so rotund.

  “Gon
na eat that?” Herb asked Dean as he slowly brought his index finger down to Dean’s Dan Spam.

  “Hey.” Dean smacked his hand away. “It’s my food.”

  “Are you gonna eat that?” Herb asked again. He swooped the long piece of hair over his head to re-cover his bald spot. “Huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I’m gonna eat this. Do you know Frank?”

  “Frank’s cool.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Dean took a bite of his spam.

  “How about that?” Herb pointed to the bread. ‘You gonna eat that?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re already eating that.”

  “You know. . .” Dean raised his voice. “Before you proceed to ask about anything else, yes, I am eating the meat. Yes, I am eating the eggs. Yes, on the bread and yes on the apple. And . . . and I also fully intend on drinking all of my coffee as well.”

  “What about. . .”

  “Yes. Yes.” Dean pulled his tray closer. “Now quit pointing that finger. If you touch my food, I won’t eat it.”

  “Good.”

  Before Dean could respond, Herb’s entire palm went down and laid on Dean’s food.

  “Asshole.” Dean pushed his tray forward. “Take it.”

  “Thanks.” Herb began to devour. He looked up when Dean started to leave. “Where you going?”

  “Over there by myself.” Dean took his coffee and walked to the far end of the other table. No sooner did he sit, Herb sat across from him. “What?” Dean asked.

  “Don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I want to be alone.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to,” Dean repeated.

  “Why?”

  Dean growled, “Because I find you extremely annoying and disgusting.”

  “Dean!” Ellen’s gasp rang out. “We don’t talk to the residents like that. Be nice.”

  “El!” Dean gushed in relief and stood.

  “Hi, everyone.” Ellen lifted her hand.

  In unison, with limited excitement, everyone responded, ‘Good morning, Ellen.”

  Ellen giggled. “Finish up. I want to get those cards done so I can take them to the clinic with me.” She turned and walked from the dining room.

  “El, wait.” Dean flew out.”

  Ellen stopped in the hall. “Hey, Dean.”

  “It’s good to see you. You . . . you left me here last night.”

  “Well, Dean . . .” Ellen said. “I can’t take residents home with me. Let’s not forget, you are a resident, at least until that chip is tuned up or Frank reverses something or other.” She shrugged and walked again.

  “I’m not a resident.”

  “I beg to differ. You signed a document. You are a legal resident. You committed yourself.” She stopped and lashed a smile.

  “El.” Dean reached out. “Please. Stop.”

  Ellen did.

  “El, I thought you would have stayed.”

  “Dean, I can’t live here. I have a home. You did too. You gave it up.”

  “But do you know what it’s like in here?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. No one sleeps, El. Last night they told bedtime stories to each other. Do you know what the stories were? Episodes of the Brady Bunch.”

  Ellen snickered. “They are so inventive.” She started to walk the hall again.

  “And Dan . . . Dan from Security comes in at night just as they calm down. El, he’s like their Santa. He gives them cookies. They love him, praise him, and he gets this big ego trip.”

  Ellen grunted. “Oh, he knows I don’t want them having sugar at night. Thanks for telling me, Dean.”

  “Ellen, can you just stop.”

  “Dean, I have to get to the clinic.” She stopped just outside her office door. “We are short one doctor. I want to get to New Bowman by late morning. We have cards to make for Robbie.”

  “How is he?”

  “Fine.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Nope. Can’t discuss matters like that with Residents.”

  “Come on, El.”

  “Dean.” Ellen folded her arms. “I asked you yesterday. Elliott is a witness. Frank is a witness. Joe . . . Joe is a witness. You insisted you be in here. You insisted no one know you are here. You signed a paper telling us. You, Dean, told us you will follow Containment rules and procedure as long as we let you stay here to . . . how did you put it? Hide out until it was safe for your mind? Well, that’s the plan and I’m sticking to it. I’m busy.”

  “You’re loving this aren’t you?”

  “Love the fact that I work here with the man who recently divorced me for a former child lesbian? Yeah, in a way you can say I love the fact. But . . . which way? I can . . .” Ellen shrugged. “Love the fact that I will be part of helping you get well. Or you can say I love the fact that I can . . . torture you.” She smiled and reached for her office door. She saw Dean take a step and she held her hand out stopping him. “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “Following you.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “My office is off limits to residents. Sorry.”

  The door closed.

  “El.” Dean’s hand hit against the door. “This is unfair. I’m more than a resident. I’m a mind. I should get more respect. I am a scientist.” Hearing no response but the locking of the door, Dean lowered his head to greet the door’s surface when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He peered up and groaned when he saw Herb. “What, Herb?”

  “You . . . you . . . you’re a scientist?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a scientist. An astronaut scientist.” Herb nodded. “Before that, I was a male stripper. Wanna see me dance?” He wiggled his hips.

  Dean walked away.

  ^^^^

  Jess Boyens likened it to a scene from some old movie. It had that feel about it with the damp train tracks, the whistle blowing in the background, and the sound of the steam engine getting ready to roll. By his feet was the green military duffle bag all packed and ready to go. In front of him was George and his right hand man slash woman, Bertha. The pseudo parents.

  George had gone down the entire scheme of things, how Jess was to take the train down to Augusta, Georgia where a base sergeant would drive him the rest of the way to Florida. It would be a one shot trip, so he’d better prepare to be tired. George didn’t expect much work from him when he arrived the very next day down to the camp where James, the southern division leader was located. But George expected Jess to get situated. Get ready.

  Hand extended, George shook Jess’s hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir. I promise to give my all.”

  “I know you will.”

  Bertha then extended her masculine hand to Jess. “Boyens, you be careful. With that reported defector activity, we don’t want to take a chance of losing anyone, especially with the overseas expedition gearing ready to take off.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jess nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

  “I hold high hopes,” George said, “that you and James together will put an end to this upraising. We don’t want another repeat of the UWA. Christ knows we don’t need another thorn in our side.”

  “Sword,” Bertha corrected. “They’ve grown to a sword now.”

  “How ironic.” Jess raised his eyebrows and looked back to the old fashion ‘all aboard’ being called out.

  George shook his head in disgust. “Asshole. I have assholes working for me. You’re the only one waiting out here.” Another shake of Jess’s hand and George followed it up with a swat to Jess’s arm. “Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you.” Jess lifted his bag and took the first step.

  “Boyens?” George called out.

  “Yes.” Jess stopped embarking.

  “I know you know. How could you not. You’ve done really well not say
ing anything this far to James. When you get there, you’re still going to keep that silence, right? Nothing said.”

  “I haven’t yet.” Jess shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of saying anything . . . ever.”

  “Wouldn’t be in the best interest of the Society, would it?” George stated.

  “No, it wouldn’t.” Jess gave a reassuring smile, a nod of goodbye, and stepped up into the train. He thought of George’s instruction of not saying anything to James. Once inside he had to stop. He had to pause. His face reflected the confusion he couldn’t show to George because Jess didn’t have a clue as to what George was talking about.

  ^^^^

  He was the ‘I spy guy’ with Mission Impossible blaring in his head. Frank, with a hushed appeal, looked around the corner of Warehouse Five. After seeing it clear, he slipped between Warehouse Five and Four. He let out a short whistle.

  Danny arrived out from the other corner.

  Looking over his shoulder again, Frank whispered, ‘you got it?”

  Danny chuckled. “Um, yeah. Here” He handed Frank a video cassette. “I told you I could.”

  “I owe you ten Danny Dollars.”

  “Frank? Why is this so secretive?”

  Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a surprise. Thanks.”

  “Frank, it may be a surprise but it’s not illegal . . .” Danny paused. ‘Is it?”

  “Oh, you better believe it. Dean asked Council to make this illegal because it could frighten the residents.”

  “Yeah, right and I’m Polish.”

  “No shit?”

  Danny chuckled. “Um, yeah, on my father’s side. My mother was German.”

  “I thought you were Chinese.”

  “I just look it.”

  “Oh.” Frank nodded. “Okay, I have to go. Thanks again.”

  “One more thing, Frank.”

  Frank stopped. Dramatically, he flung back his head, grunted, and turned around. “What now? I can’t make this a cohort operation if you don’t let me sneak away.”

  “Just . . . just tell me. Is it true Dean is in Containment?”