The Horse Soldier: Beginnings Series Book 10

by Jacqueline Druga

  “History is mentally consuming but . . . I’ll do it. However, it will cost you.”

  “Cost me what.”

  Trish tapped her hands in thought. She held up her finger, grabbed a pad, and scribbled something down. “Paying my small favor slip to Danny Hoi.” She handed Joe a piece of paper. “Sign this and I talk.”

  Joe knew Trish’s filling him in could save him a lot of time and lead him in the right direction. So figuring he’d deal with owing Danny at a later time, Joe signed the paper that stated he owed Danny instead of Trish. He grabbed his small note book from his back pocket and proceeded to take notes as Trish slowly filled him in on the every single boring and detailed glitch of every typewriter in Beginnings.

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  “Jenkins,” Hal stated to Sgt. Ryder as they moved down the street of Bowman. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a good choice. And it would be less hassle since he would whine the most for not getting picked.”

  “My thoughts exactly” Hal said. “So we pack up and we leave for Beginnings tomorrow.”

  Sgt. Ryder let out a slow breath. “I didn’t think I would be included in this plan.”

  “Actually it was Ellen’s suggestion.”

  “The woman’s?”

  Hal cringed. “You have to stop doing that. All of us have to stop doing that. Yes, Ellen, the woman When we stated I would bring someone up to help Robbie protect her and the kids while the plan goes down, she asked specifically for you.”

  Sgt. Ryder grinned. “I’m honored.”

  “And you know what, Elliott? I’m glad she did. I feel better with you there.”

  “And I get to go to Beginnings.”

  “It’s not all that.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Sure the technology is there, but small town charm?” Hal shook his head. “No. Our new town will definitely, kick ass in the charm department over Beginnings.”

  Sgt. Ryder chuckled and strolled with Hal. They discussed Beginnings further and the plan that was going down much sooner than anyone anticipated.

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  Joe covered Hank’s body probably faster than he uncovered it in the morgue. “Christ.” He looked up at Robbie. “Bad, but not as bad as Marv.”

  “He was still as easy to carry. Did you call Ellen?” Robbie asked.

  “Yeah. She’s on her way.”

  “Then maybe we should go meet her.” Robbie indicated to the morgue door.

  “Yeah, let’s. Even though Henry’s out in the hall, I think this may be one of those times where I’m gonna have to intercept her and be the one to talk to her. We need answers.” Joe moved to the door and looked at Hank’s covered body again. “And we need answers now.”

  As soon as Ellen walked into the clinic she saw Henry standing in the hall, facing the other way. “Henry.”

  Henry turned around. “Hey El.”

  “I’ve been summoned. How bad?”

  “There was only the one bag this time.”

  Ellen let out a slow breath. “That is a relief. There is nothing worse than rummaging through a bin of very small body parts trying to distinguish . . .”

  “El.” Henry shook his head and held up his hand. “Please. Just the thought makes me sick.”

  “Sorry.” Ellen stepped closer to him. “So why am I not recognizing the name Hank? Who is Hank?”

  “Oh, a defector.”

  “Huh.”

  “One of the Society’s defectors that came in right at the time of the new plague. One of Jess’s men.” Henry spoke seriously then saw the snicker on Ellen face.

  “One of Jess’s men?” She raised an eyebrow.

  Henry started to snicker as well then saw Joe and Robbie walking down the hall. “Here comes another one of Jess’s men.”

  “Shh,” Ellen whispered. “This is a serious moment. Let’s be solemn.” She placed her hands behind her back and stood up straight and with less of a smile. “Hi Joe.”

  “Hank is in the back. I want answers from you,” Joe told her.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Ellen began to walk away.

  “No,” Joe called out. “If you can’t tell me what killed him then you’d better damn well have some answers about what is happening to my men and what we can do to prevent it. Got that.”

  “Joe, I said I’ll see what I can do.” Ellen swayed her head.

  “Do it,” Joe ordered. “You’ve been working on Marv for days. Do it.” He faced Henry after Ellen walked down the hall. “What I need from you, Henry, is for you and Danny to sit down and figure out how much fence you need and how many men you’ll need to erect a perimeter as fast as possible. Cliff or no cliff, do not want to take a chance, no matter how small, of whatever got two of our men coming into this community.”

  “But Joe . . .” Henry said. “That’s a lot of area and the kids play out there.”

  “Then you minimize the area by going around the base of the cliff as close as possible then you double the fence. The one on the inside of the community is the protection from the one that’s hot. We are just gonna have to teach these kids to stay the hell away from the fence. I don’t mean to step on your toes Henry . . .”

  “No, Joe. That’s O.K.” Henry nodded. “I’ll get a hold of Danny right now.” Henry noticed the look on Joe’s face. “That bad, Joe?”

  Joe looked at Robbie then Henry. “Put it this way, Henry. I feel like I am in a Stephen King novel.”

  Ellen looked at the semi-mound that was supposed to be a body on the table in the morgue. She let out a deep tension breath as she put on her gloves and moved to the table. “Oh boy.” She cleared her throat and brought the accessories with her, tape recorder, chart, and trays. Hesitantly she grasped the of the top of the sheet and pulled it back, exposing Hank’s half -torn apart head that was barely connected to his body. Ellen dropped the sheet and slowly closed her eyes. “Oh God. Not again.”

  ^^^^

  Binghamton, Alabama

  On a small grade dug pretty much into the hillside, Jess and John laid on their stomachs. It was an odd thing for Jess to hear. Perhaps that was why he turned to John when he heard the snickering.

  “John. What? What do you see?”

  “I’ll be damned. Take a look.” John handed Jess the binoculars.

  “What and where am I looking?”

  “Walking into what we call building ‘A’. Look.”

  “Oh shit.” Jess lowered the binoculars and smiled at John. “Frank.”

  “Yep.”

  Jess looked again. “Holy hell.” Jess then handed the binoculars back. “I almost didn’t recognize him. He has hair.”

  ^^^^

  Frank didn’t think it was a poisonous apple. It didn’t look poisonous. But then again it didn’t look like an apple either. It was round and green and Frank thought maybe it was the start of some really huge plum. He held it, looked at it, and debated in his mind on whether to eat it. It had been so long since he had fresh fruit, a custom he had become used to in Beginnings.

  Figuring he’d take it with him, relax after working out, and stare at it for a while, Frank walked down the corridor of the main building and to his office. He was surprised when the door was unlocked. He was more surprised when he saw Dean sitting there. “Dean.” Frank hurried and shut the door. “How did you get in here?”

  Dean sat in the chair by Frank’s desk. “That guy Richie unlocked the door.”

  “Richie? He, uh, didn’t say who he was, did he?”

  “Richie, Frank. You know the guy who came from my closet.”

  “Oh yeah. That Richie.” Frank palmed his mysterious fruit, looking at it.

  “Frank? What do you have?”

  “An apple, I think. Kind of small.” Frank held it up. “Maybe the start of a plum or peach. I was gonna eat it.”

  “Frank, you can’t . . . go on.” Dean raised his head. “Enjoy.”

  Frank o
pened his mouth, paused and smiled. “No-no.” He set the thing on his desk. “You’re supposed to wait until we get home. It’s poisonous, isn’t it?”

  “No. Eat it.”

  “No Dean. It’s poisonous, isn’t it?” Frank smiled. “Huh? Isn’t it? Huh? Isn’t it? Huh?”

  “Frank!” Dean snapped. “God. Yes. It is a poisonous berry.” Dean picked it up and whistled. “And a really big one too.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Frank sat down behind his desk. “Miss me?”

  “No, contrary to what you’d like to believe after the initial slight happiness of seeing you, I’ve had my Frank fill.”

  “Whatever. What do you want?”

  “I have news.” Dean moved closer to the desk. “Guess who’s coming to Binghamton in two days?”

  “Who?”

  “Guess.”

  “Um . . .” Frank closed his eyes. “My dad.”

  “Aside from him.”

  “My brother.”

  Dean snickered. “Aside from him too. Guess.”

  “Who?”

  “George.”

  “Who?”

  “George!” Dean yelled. “George Hadley.”

  “Oh my God. No shit?” Frank snapped forward. “How do you know?”

  “Leonard just told me.”

  “Oh this is so great. How long will he be here?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s just hope he stays long enough for us to safely kill him.”

  “All you’ll have to do is your Frank thing to him and how long will that take? One second.” Dean told him.

  “You don’t want to help?”

  “What? Kill George?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No.” Dean shook his head. “You can have the honors. Killing is really not my cup of tea, except for you.”

  “Ha!” Frank rocked in his chair. “Really ‘Mr. Wipeout Half the East Coast’? Come on, Dean. You don’t want to take the pleasure in killing George?” Frank raised an eye brow.

  “Frank. I’m saving my energy for you.”

  “He killed the world, Dean. He . . . gave my dad Salicain.” Frank tossed out the list with an enticing manner. “Started the new plague. Had something to do with you going blind. Gave our kids the new plague. Brian, Dean. And . . .” Frank stopped rocking and leaned his elbows on the desk. “According to Henry and Ellen, he even killed you.”

  “O.K.. Maybe you have a point. But how much help do you need to shoot him in the head?”

  “Dean,” Frank smiled. “I was thinking on the lines of something sicker. Something that would make him suffer. You know, hit him with a delayed reaction. He thinks he got away and BAM, he dies a slow, painful, really disgusting, Dean-style chemical death.”

  “Frank . . .”

  Frank tilted his head. “You make it. I hit him with it. What do you say?”

  Dean moved his lips around as he thought. “O.K., you got a deal. I’ll see what I can make here. It depends what they have.”

  Frank slammed his hand on the desk. “Excellent. You’ll get on it right away.”

  “Sure, why not.” Dean shrugged. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I have no test subjects. I’m gonna need test subjects. Rabbits or such.”

  “When do you need them?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Frank smiled arrogantly. “Don’t worry. I know just where to pick them up.”

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  Andrea’s office.

  Joe looked at the nearly shut door, facing it for what seemed to be an eternity. He checked out the note from the future and then replaced it in his chest pocket. With a hand that held a requisition, he knocked once on the door and pushed it open.

  Andrea looked up from her desk, smiled, and then began to stand. “I was just leaving.”

  “Oh yeah?” Joe placed his hands in his pockets. “I need to uh . . .” Joe held up the requisition. “Need to borrow your typewriter. Can I?”

  “Oh sure.” Andrea piled up some folders, moving them neatly to the corner of her desk. “Are you sad about Hank?”

  “Who?” Joe asked.

  “The new guy that died.”

  “Oh.” Joe nodded once. “Yes. Very. It’s a shame.”

  “Ellen didn’t say if she needed help with the autopsy. You know, with Dean gone and all.”

  “I’m sure Ellen’s fine.” Joe waited impatiently for Andrea to move from behind her desk so he could use the typewriter on the little table next to it. “She’s fine.”

  “Good.” Andrea smiled. “Are we having a special council meeting regarding it?”

  Joe lifted his shoulder. “Don’t know. Andrea, can I . . .”

  “I guess I should be asking Henry that, huh?”

  “Yes. Andrea, could I use that typewriter? I’m really can’t fit back there with you standing there.”

  “Oh.” Andrea snickered. “Sorry.” She stepped from behind her desk. “Be my guest.”

  “Thank you.” Joe walked over, sat in her chair, and turned it to face the typewriter. He looked at it.

  “On the side.”

  “What?”

  “On the side. The power.”

  “Andrea, I know how to turn . . . thank you.” He reached for the power button as if she guided him, even though Joe was quite aware of where the power switch was located. He pulled out his glasses and placed them on. He could see, from the corner of his eye, Andrea standing there. “Are you gonna watch me?”

  Andrea closed her eyes and shook her head with a smile. “Sorry. I’m a little out of it. I’m going to go. See you at home.” She pointed to the door.

  Joe watched her. Then Joe watched her stop.

  “Joe.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we have everyone over for dinner? I don’t mean the community.” She snickered at Joe’s grunt. “I mean, Ellen, the kids, Robbie, Henry, and Johnny. Can we? We haven’t had the family together in a while. I’m making pasta and there’s . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, goodie because I just think with Dean leaving and . . .”

  “Yes Andrea. You can do this. You don’t need to explain.”

  “Thanks.” She reached for the door. “I think it would be nice don’t . . .”

  “Andrea! Christ, I’m trying to get this done.”

  Andrea gasped. “Was that tone necessary Joe Slagel? Oh, I don’t think. Do you?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Well Mr. Attitude. We’ll just deal with this later. You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass out of my office now.” Her hand moved about. “Talking to me like that. Snapping at me. Sitting in my desk. Using my typewriter. Which by the way, I let no one use. Feel privileged, Joe.”

  “Are you done?” Joe peered up at her.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. See you at home.” He waited and it didn’t take long. Andrea huffed and stormed from the office, slamming the door. Joe turned back to the typewriter.

  He set down the requisition. He didn’t want to type on it, not wanting to waste I, so he grabbed a slip of scrap paper from Andrea’s little holder. He rolled it in the typewriter, bringing the paper up a little. He peered over his glasses, placed his hands on the keys, and then typed the words, ‘this is a warning’. After he hit the return key, and the words barely inched their way up, Joe knew. He didn’t even need to take the paper out of the typewriter. He pulled the future note from his pocket, just to double check. He compared both notes. There was no mistake about it, the faulty type, the cut off capital letters, and the blue and black ink running together. The future note’s irregular and defective print was a dead match for the irregular and defective print of Andrea’s typewriter.

  Joe’s heart sunk.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Beginnings, Montana

  “It doesn’t mean anything Joe.” Henry handed Joe back the future note and the one Joe typed. “Anyone could have snuck in there an
d used the typewriter. To me, it’s not conclusive.”

  Joe sat behind his desk, actually Henry’s desk, leaning back in the chair, and looking at the two notes that laid before him. “Robbie, what do you think?”

  “I hate to do it but I have to agree with Henry. Just because it was her typewriter, doesn’t mean it was Andrea.” Robbie said. “What does your gut tell you, Dad?”

  “My gut.” Joe lifted the notes and dropped them. “My gut tells me . . . she typed the note. And . . .” Joe stopped when there was a knock at the door. “We’ll discuss this later . . . Come in!” Joe sat back with an ‘I’ve been expecting you’ look on his face when Ellen, so frightened, walked in.

  “Hey Joe.” Ellen was wearing Dean’s jean jacket. She shut the door and shook her arms nervously. “Cold out there. Hi, Henry.” She looked at Robbie, who stood up. “Hi.”

  Robbie inched his way to her as if Joe or Henry didn’t see him do it. He whispered, “I need to talk to you later.”

  “O.K.” Ellen looked around Robbie to see an impatient Joe. She waited until Robbie sat back down and then she took center room. “I’m still inconclusive on what is doing the killing. Our analysis program . . . um, it doesn’t . . .” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. It doesn’t recognize the uh, animal.”

  Joe slowly rocked in his chair. He brought his folded hands up to his chin. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Ellen said. “Whatever it is, uh . . . goes for the jugular vein first. Most of the body wounds thereafter are not bleeders meaning it goes for the throat, ripping and tearing until all movement stops and then it eats.”

  “The victim?” Joe questioned.

  “Yes,” Ellen answered.

  “And this is all you have for me.”

  “Well it only eats the fleshy parts. And . . .” Ellen reached into the inside jacket pocket and pulled out a pump spray bottle. “Here.” She set it on Joe’s desk.

  “What is this?” Joe picked it up.

  “Um, it’s this super, uh, anti-animal formula me and I conjured up.”

  “Super anti-animal formula? For what?” Joe asked.

  “It’s a mixture that will burn an animal’s mouth on contact. If the men spray it on their neck, the second the animal bites him, the animal will go no further. You may have an injury but probably not a devastating mangled mess of a death.”