The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Moron.” Shaking his head, Joe turned around. “Ah. A bright spot.”

  “Where.” Frank looked.

  “Robbie.” Joe lifted his hand in a wave. “Robert, wait up.”

  “Why is he a bright spot?”

  Robbie stopped at the door to Containment. ‘Hey, Dad. Frank. See, I’m on time for work.”

  “That’s all well and fine, little brother, but you’re not working Containment today.”

  “But Containment is my baby.” Robbie winked “I always check in.”

  “Still,” Frank said. “You . . .

  “Frank!” Joe barked. “Why do you have to be such a goddamn know-it-all today?” Joe opened the Containment door

  “Man!” Frank gasped out. “You’re so mean to me.” He stepped inside. “I’m just trying to . . . uh!” He skidded to a stop.

  Joe had it. “What! What!”

  “Look.” He pointed then with a turn of his body, a Joan Crawford flare, and a resonating voice, he gasped, “Ryder’s sword.”

  Joe looked. Next to the Security guard was Elliott’s sword. “Well, yeah, Frank. The man can’t take an accessible lethal weapon into . . . hey.”

  Buzz.

  Frank flew in.

  Joe shrugged to Robbie.

  “Ryder!” Frank stormed down the hall. “Ryder where . . .” With a squeak of his boot, Frank halted just as he passed Ellen’s office. She was in there with Elliott. “Uh.” Frank stepped in. “What are you doing here.”

  Elliott stood up. “I’m having lunch with Ellen. It’s part of the agenda.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.” Elliott pulled out the paper. “Plus, I hurried so I can have extra time.” He handed it to Frank.

  “Yeah, Frank,.” Ellen snipped. “He’s following your agenda. Don’t you have lunch with me?”

  “Yeah, but I . . .” Frank unfolded the note. “Fuck. I left it in there, I wanted to remove it when I typed . . . typed . . .” He saw the looks he received from Elliott and Ellen.

  Slowly Ellen stood form behind her desk. “When you what?” She moved to Frank. “When you made his bogus agenda?”

  “Yeah, I mean no. I mean . . .”

  Joe walked in. “What do you mean?”

  “Joe,” Ellen complained. “He typed up an impossible bogus agenda for Elliott to follow. I almost died when I saw it.”

  Frank gasped. “You lie. I did not.”

  “Did too,” Ellen argued.

  “Na-ah. I follow this all the time.” Frank held it up.

  Joe snatched it from his hand.

  “Ow!”

  Grumbling, Joe read it. “You don’t do this.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Robbie took the agenda. “Let me see.” He viewed it and laughed “Oh my God.” He laughed harder. “You expected Elliott to make it from Fields to Fabrics in this time frame while doing his rounds.”

  “I do,” Frank said.

  “You do not.”

  Elliott interjected, “I did.”

  Frank turned to him. “You did not.”

  “Did so.”

  Ellen jumped in. “He did, Joe, and look how tired he is.”

  “I am.” Elliott nodded.

  Frank grunted. “Uh! That’s my line.”

  “Enough!” Joe blasted. “Frank, you know goddamn well you hyped up this agenda.”

  Ellen smiled snidely, “Thank you Joe.”

  “Still.” Joe took the agenda from Robbie. “In Frank’s defense.”

  Shocked, Ellen shouted, “Frank’s defense!”

  “In Frank’s defense.” Joe folded it. “Elliott should have known better. It was his own goddamn fault if he was that stupid to think it was real.”

  Elliott was stunned, “Mr. Slagel, I . . .”

  Joe only held up a silencing hand. “But since you did it.” Smirking he looked at Frank. “So will you . . . tomorrow.”

  “What? No. That’s impossible to . . . I mean. Fine, I’ll do it.” Frank flipped off Elliott.

  Ellen heaved out a breath. “God, are you immature.” She walked back around to her desk. “Are you here to relieve me, Robbie?”

  “No,” Robbie answered. “I’m here to check on things and to let you know I ran into Diane. She said she’d do the extra speech therapy session.”

  Puzzled, Joe looked from Robbie to Ellen. “Speech therapy? We haven’t done speech therapy in here for a while, since we processed survivors. We don’t even have survivors any more we only have lo . . . loon . . . mentally unstable individuals. Who needs speech therapy?”

  “Misha,” Ellen answered.

  “Misha?” Joe questioned. "Misha speaks fine.”

  “Oh no, Joe, I disagree. I can’t understand a word she says.”

  “You are so full of goddamn shit. What are you up to?” Joe quizzed,

  “Me?” Ellen played innocently. “Just trying to get her the help she needs. I mean, since yesterday, she has become unruly. I hate to think of the direction she is heading. She may not leave.”

  Joe grumbled. “Ellen, if she heads in the direction of being a resident here, I blame you.”

  “Blame Dean,” Ellen said smugly.

  “Blame me for what?” Dean asked as he walked in.

  Joe tossed up his hands. “What the hell is this?”

  Robbie snickered. “Now correct me if I’m wrong but I’d say this is an Ellen man gathering.”

  “Robert, go.” Joe pointed. “Get to work.”

  “I’m gone.” Inching his way through Frank, Joe ,and Elliott, Robbie delivered a simple peck to Ellen’s cheek. “See ya tonight.”

  Frank looked at Robbie. “What’s going on tonight?”

  Robbie turned to Elliott “Elliott, will you be there.”

  “Without a doubt. I look forward to tonight.”

  “What’s going on tonight?” Frank asked.

  Robbie smiled “Me, El, and Elliott are hooking up for kinky . . .”

  “Robert,” Joe scolded.

  “I’m gone.” Robbie walked to the door.

  “Tell me about it,” Joe mumbled.

  “Dad?” Robbie paused in the doorway. “Are you stopping by?”

  “Yeah.” Joe waved out his hand. “I can use the fun.”

  Frank huffed loudly. “What’s going on tonight?”

  “God,” Ellen exclaimed. “It’s karaoke at the Social Hall. Danny got new a system. It should be fun.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “I thought it was something exciting.” He turned to Dean. “Are you going? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. I can’t. I’ll be in the lab until . . . Well . . . until.” Dean swallowed. “I came to tell Ellen I’ll be pretty much down in the cryo-lab, so if you can keep an eye out at the clinic to make sure Andrea isn’t abusing our new trauma worker.”

  Ellen blinked in surprise. “Trauma worker?”

  “Yeah, added hands for injuries,” Dean answered.

  “Whose hands would they be?”

  Before Dean could answer, Frank did. “Margaret Hadley.”

  “Margaret?” Ellen laughed. “Are we bringing in another female so you can boost your ego and maybe have her fall for you.”

  Dean closed his eyes. “Ellen.”

  “You can’t blame the chip his time, Dean. Since young didn’t work, now you’re heading for old.”

  “Ellen, be fair. All right?” Dean pleaded firmly. “You know Margaret.”

  “All right. All right. I’ll be fair. I’ll check.”

  “Thanks.” Dean quietly nodded, turned, and left without saying anything more.

  Elliott glanced quirkily around the room. “Is it my imagination or is Dr. Hayes very much preoccupied? He doesn’t seem like himself.”

  “No,” Joe answered. “He isn’t himself. Tension is high, very high. There’s a ton riding on the next twenty four hours.” Joe sighed out heavily. “You can say he’s a man with a lot on his mind.”

  Frank eyes shifted to the photograph on Ell
en’s desk, a picture of all the kids. His finger extended, brushing against Brian, as he softly mumbled, “And a man with a lot to lose.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  It was cold, but not as cold as it could have been for February. A front had moved in and warmed up the weather enough to make the snow into a thick mud hazard. Frank didn’t mind, nor did he mind the chill. In his mind it could have been far worse.

  He was able to steal a short nap and dinner with the kids before heading back out to work. He had earned the time off he would get the next afternoon and Frank kept that goal in his mind to keep him awake and keep moving.

  Not much happened in the winter. More time than not was spent thinking about the turn of events that would occur with the change of the season into spring. It seemed as time went on, each year that passed brought a new enemy. The Society had been a quiet enemy and that concerned Frank. They had been too quiet. Something had to be brewing or at least in the works. Diligently, George went after Beginnings and since Johnny turned defector, George had seemingly turned his attention but Frank knew that wasn’t the case, or wouldn’t be the case for very long.

  The killer baby region was quiet. They found some sort of wild life to keep them occupied and the babies even sang a song for Frank. Frank applauded their efforts, tossed out a bag of old bakery cookies, and went on his way.

  The front part of Beginnings was pretty much his region and call, not that Frank had to make rounds all that much. He just had to be available should there be trouble. However, if there was trouble, there certainly wouldn’t be a problem gathering all the Beginnings residents into safe area considering most of the adult population gathered at the Social Hall.

  It was packed. They had karaoke before but nothing was ever a success like this night. Frank had to stop by. He himself even debated on getting up and doing a song but the line of slips was too long. He indulged on water and watched. He had to admit he enjoyed it. Robbie and Elliott did a duet of the old Sonny and Cher song, “I Got You, Babe’. Hal didn’t sound half bad singing, “Peaceful Easy Feeling’ but, to Frank, the best and the most surprising karaoke artist of the night was his father. It was borderline comical, yet Frank probably enjoyed it the most. Joe, half sloshed with a drink in his hand, did a pretty damn good job of singing ‘That’s Amore’. He called it a night at the Social Hall when Ben from Fabrics started crying during his rendition of ‘You Don’t Bring me Flowers’.

  Music and laughter carried into the streets as Frank made it a point to stop and see Dean. It was quiet in the cryo-lab. Anticipation filled the air down there but it was an anticipation that lacked enthusiasm. Frank found it almost painful to see the digital countdown on the cryo-case hit ‘hours’ instead of days.

  By the time he made it back up to the street level, a unison crowd singing of ‘We are the World’ brought a warm chuckle to Frank.

  They were the world, or at least a good part of it. It felt odd because, in a sense, the survivors of the old world were slowly being projected back into that world courtesy of Danny Hoi. Danny meant no harm. Frank supposed he just did what someone would eventually do. Frank, himself, was one that wanted the return of the old world to take its time. The old world was filled with memories that were good, but more so with memories that were painful.

  Family and friends lost, more so . . . his children. His daughters that were lost in the plaque would forever plague Frank. Even though he buried them deep in his mind, they made their way forefront more often than not. Frank would see their faces when a certain song played or a child laughed. Pretty much anything would cause those memories to stir.

  Frank thought of them more lately, more than he admitted. How could he not? Like with them, Frank had placed the thought of Brian deep into his mind. He recalled the day he saw Brian die. He also recalled vividly when they tested fate and went back in the time machine to freeze the child to give him a chance.

  The day Brian was born played over in Frank’s mind. How happy he was. How complete he stamped his life at that moment. Frank so badly wanted Brian back, to hold him, laugh with him, and be a father. But for as much as Frank wanted Brian’s return, Frank took comfort in the cryo-process. While cryogenically frozen, Brian was safe from the world and the germs that took his life. Under the process, Brian couldn’t die. He was perfectly preserved forever. No harm. No pain. Safe.

  That safety veil was about to be lifted.

  Frank wasn’t ready. Truly he wasn’t. If given a choice of when to release Brian, Frank would honesty say there would never be a perfect time. Now there wasn’t a choice. The clock was ticking, countdown had begun, and the hour was drawing closer and faster.

  Against everything he wanted to show, Frank wasn’t just worried. He was scared.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  February 10th

  Joe felt as if every hair on his scalp had a sharp daggering object on the end, piercing into his skull, making him want to just rip out his own eyes, reach into his brain and hose it down.

  The headache woke him but not as much as the smell of Andrea’s perfume gagged him. Joe knew what caused it. The rekindling of the ‘old fashion’ drink was just too much or perhaps Joe had way too much.

  Andrea hummed some sort of tune. Joe groaned. She opened the closest. He flipped over the pillow for a cooler side. She closed the closet, Joe sprang up. “Christ, Andrea. Do you have to make so much noise?”

  Andrea turned slowly and looked at Joe.

  “My head is killing me. If you . . .”

  “Ah, no. No. No. Don’t even be telling me to be quiet. I am quiet.”

  “I’m sick.”

  “You are hung over.” She shook her head then shook her finger at him. “You want to act like a bad boy then you deserve to feel bad. Shame on you.” Motherly in tone, she rambled as she walked out. “Coming in my house at all hours, singing them bad songs in a drunken stupor. Sweet Jesus what . . .”

  Her voice faded and became barely audible.

  “Thank God.” Joe winced and tried to lie down. Just as his body leaned back . . .

  “Sixteen years old!” She blasted into the bedroom. “That is what you acted like.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Joe grumbled and started to lie down again.

  “Get up!” she scolded. “You have work.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m up.” Joe swung his legs over the bed and saw the time. As he proceeded to stand, his eyes caught something else, the phone. A bright idea hit him. Andrea said he acted sixteen so Joe figured why stop now. Picking up the phone, he began to dial with the mindset to do something else he hadn’t done since he was sixteen . . . play hooky.

  ^^^^

  Hal rushed. He moved about his office, gathered things, and put them in order as he rambled to Elliott. “I haven’t a clue how long I will be gone. I’m not thinking I’ll be needed overnight. Then again, I can come back home to pick up things. Correct?”

  “Yes, Captain, I . . .”

  “Scouts!” Hal snapped his fingers. “Any word on what they found?”

  “There’s word. Still nothing. They also checked out the Fort Peck Lake area. It is Society clean as well.”

  Hal paused. “Perhaps we may need that area sooner than later.”

  “Sir?” Elliott questioned.

  “Let’s send a couple scouts up there just to keep watch. Keep it safe and clean from Society.”

  “I’m not understanding . . .”

  “Look at me. I’m a mess.” Hal shook his head. “I think I need more coffee.”

  “I can send for some.”

  “No, I’ll grab some from the mess before I head to Beginnings.”

  “Are you all right?” Elliott asked.

  “No.” Hal exhaled.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Good God, Elliott, my father has taken ill. You know this.”

  “But he only called off of work. Maybe he needed a day off.”

  “For his illness.” Hal shook his head. “He said he wasn’t well and need
ed me to be leader today.”

  Elliott gave a quirky. “But still . . .”

  “But still? But still?” Hal walked to Elliott. “He has an illness, Elliott. You of all people know how that illness can wear you down.”

  “Absolutely sir, but I of all people know how alcohol affects you when you have that illness or at least are getting treatment.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Hal questioned.

  “Okay.” Elliott raised his hand. “Chancing a reprimand, seeing how your father was extremely well yesterday and knowing how much fun he had last night, do you think maybe it isn’t his illness but perhaps the alcohol?”

  Hal gasped. “Are you suggesting that my father has . . . a hangover?” Hal was appalled.

  “Well, I . . .”

  “Dear God, Elliott, where is your mind? Surely you are joking. My father? A hangover?” Hal laughed. “No. I know him well. He would not call off for a hangover. This is serious.”

  “Sir, he did have quite a few last night, maybe even more.”

  “No, he did not,” Hal argued,

  “I saw,”

  “You saw wrong.’

  “Captain he was singing Dean Martin.”

  “Dean is his favorite crooner.”

  “He danced with Josephine.”

  “He felt sorry for her.” Hal finished gathering things.

  “Then explain why he sang a Boy George tune.”

  “He was in a good mood.”

  “What about . . .”

  “Elliott!” Hal snapped his name. “Where are you going with this?”

  “I’m just trying to ease your worry.”

  “No, you’re making my father out to be a drunk.”

  Elliott chuckled. “I am not.”

  “You are too and it isn’t very nice. He’s ill. What do you need to convince you? A sign from God?”

  The phone rang.

  Both men shifted their eyes to it.

  Hal snapped his fingers. “You’re the Bowman leader. You answer.”

  Elliott picked up the receiver. “Sgt. Ryder speaking. Yes, the Captain is filling in for Mr. Slagel today. He’s right here.” He nodded. “May I ask who is calling?” Elliott nearly choked and handed the phone to Hal.