“Calm him.”
“Roberts,” Elliott snapped. “Give me straight facts.” He listened, nodded, wrote down. “Where …”
Before Elliott could write anything down, a steady beeping, alarm style caught everyone’s attention.
Danny asked, “Find out if it’s is due north of Beginnings.”
Elliott answered. “They are saying three hundred and ninety miles north of Beginnings.”
Danny corrected. “It’s 404 to be exact. The first camp.”
Frank exhaled in a calm manner, hands on hips and walked to the board. “Fuck me.”
Above Beginnings, there were four pockets of lights. Three small. One large.
Elliott conveyed his message as he received. “Roberts reports three company size elements set, ten miles apart from each other., one medium size GP at each, 15 two man GPs.”
Danny explained, ‘that’s pretty accurate to what we’re getting, too.”
Elliott furthered. “Twenty miles north is a bigger one. Uniformed soldiers, heavy artillery, weapons, there’s a whole list.” He returned to his scout. “Get me as much detail as you can. I’ll call you back. Good job.” He hung up. “Frank.” Elliott sighed out. “Scout reports the fourth camp is huge. I’ll get more details later. But he conveyed to remember Kuwait.”
Frank spun to Elliott then to the board. “Danny?”
“This is what popped up. Nothing Air. Nothing Sea. But land …” Danny whistled. “The scout can get direct details but I can tell you this. The computer gives us approximates. We have over a thousand structures, over two hundred and fifty operating heavy vehicles, not to mention, at least ten 100mm towed weapons.”
Calm, still calm, Frank stared at the board.
Elliott gave a squeeze to Ellen’s shoulder. “Good thinking.”
She nodded. “It’s scary.”
Danny added. “Who knows if they would have moved or where they would have been by the time we got this up and running.”
Frank asked, eyes still fixed. “You say it gives details.”
Danny answered. “Yes.”
“Can you print them?”
“Yes.”
Frank nodded. “How … how many men. Can we get that?”
“Unfortunately …” Danny hesitated. “Yes.”
Frank snapped a quick glance at Danny then returned to the board.
Hal asked. “How many?”
Danny swallowed. “Biological count is 2455.”
“2455 troops?” Hal asked.
Danny nodded.
“Good God.”
Another nod, a calm one, Frank stepped away from the board. “Run me the reports I want as many details as you possibly can get me. Roy can you expand the scan?”
“I can go three thousand miles. That’s it.”
Frank sniffed slowly in thought through his nostrils. “That should get us the Gulf. Give me a land, air, and sea scan as soon as you run those details.”
“Yes, Frank,” Roy began to work.
“Frank?” Hal questioned. “What do you think?”
“Same as you,” Frank replied. He stepped toward the console and stopped. “No one believed it. A part of us all didn’t think it was going to happen. But gentleman, I believe we're looking right now …” He faced the board. “At the start of the Great War.”
<><><><>
Timing was imperative. Not only in what he did, but in the time of day. Robbie couldn’t be sure that Dan would be exactly twenty minutes. When he raced quietly from the lab, he immediately turned his phone on silent. The blinds on the trailer were drawn and Robbie couldn’t see inside.
He positioned himself by the door, waiting, hoping, whoever was inside would come out.
It was apparent they didn’t know Robbie was there. No jeep. No indication.
Robbie kept his eyes on the front door. He couldn’t look at his watch, turn away for a second. He didn’t want to miss a thing.
His phone buzzed insidiously on his hip.
Who was calling he didn’t know. His gut told him what he was doing, right there, was most important.
His phone kept buzzing. Vibrating.
He whispered the word ‘fuck’ in his mind several times.
Wanting the person to leave him alone.
A reprieve.
The phone vibrated again.
Robbie bit his lip. Growing more aggravated by the second.
How long had he been waiting by the front door, his back against the trailer so as not to be seen.
Ten minutes? Fifteen?
Dan would be there so and his efforts would be in vain if the jeep was heard coming.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
His heart beat and chest heaved heavy breaths.
The phone buzzed again. Just as he contemplated breaking it, he heard the turn of the front door.
Robbie back up more, pressing hard against the metal surface. He could see, through the corner of his eyes, the door.
It opened. No one was there.
He pulled out the Mist gun, beckoning in his mind that it would work.
Thinking, ‘Jason don’t fail me now’, Robbie eyed the screen door.
As if a ghost were in control, it opened.
Footstep on the wooden porch.
A footstep. But no one.
The screen door shut.
Another footstep, they hit the second step.
Robbie had to be fast and accurate.
He had to be. With an over extension of his leg, Robbie leapt forward to surpass the porch, pivoted his body, held out the gun, and in Dirty Harry action, Fired off five shots of the gun.
A blue mist, large and soaking emerged.
Within a split second, so did a figure directly before Robbie.
Robbie lowered the gun. His shoulders moved up and down, eyes focused wide and forward on the figure.
He pouted his thick lips, moistening them before speaking in a cracked voice. “Who?
One word. One word choked out until he got out another. This time he spoke his next word with passion and desperation. “Please.”
The ink started to disappear, but not before a recognizable arm reach up to the head.
Robbie’s heart pounded harder, faster.
The figure removed the hood. “Robert, Goddamn it,” he said with irritation. “Son of a bitch bastard.”
Was Robbie happy, thrilled, relieved, angry, shocked? Whatever emotion it was, Robbie was still barreled over with his own revelation, and could only gasp out, “Dad.”
<><><><>
Black Parade
Beginnings Book 24
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Imagine if you will if the events of the previous six books DID not occur. Or happened differently. Black Parade is told by Danny Hoi and is a ‘what if’ book based on the cessation of time travel in Beginnings. What if things weren’t changed? What if Joe … was never killed in Beginnings?
While this is an alternate storyline, keep in mind … how Book 23 ended. What Robbie discovered and …could this possibly be Beginnings reality.
Black Parade takes you pre-plague far into the future.
I hope you enjoy the diversion.
Introduction
The Teller...
Man is meant to be extinct. He was not meant to last. I firmly believe that. A species short in span. A few thousand years. Not long in the evolutionary process. His lifespan from beginning to extinction … a minor blip in it all.
He simply was an error. Here today, gone tomorrow.
That’s what it was supposed to be.
But man had one thing that no other species had.
Will.
A will to survive and a determination to carry on.
Who am I to make this observation?
A storyteller by choice, a historian by chance. Depending on how you view it, I was fortunate or unfortunate enough to be alive for the last hundred years. A hundred years where in a half of a decade, fate and life threw every scenario at man to wip
e him from the face of the earth.
But we’re still here.
Through every dark there is a light. For every down, there is an up. Eventually it will end up one way.
My role in this all is unimportant.
A mere witness, I was there from the start. Not the beginning of time, but rather the beginning of the end. Or so we thought.
In my lifetime, man has been to the brink and back more times than I can count. However, the question remains, is it the species of man as a whole or man as a ‘one’ that has brought us back?
Was it the spirit of the people or the spirit of one man that rallied the people?
I accept as truth, the latter. At least for myself. In m y experience it has always taken the few to shine a beacon of light when the many are swallowed in the bowels of darkness. They are warriors of life and soldiers of mankind’s fate.
They didn’t choose that path. It was delivered unto them via their genes.
This is the story of a few such men.
This story is a token of my gratitude to them and a symbol of everyone’s thanks. It takes the place of the statue that will never be erected in their honor.
It is the least I can do.
The Plague
1.
First Step
The world was besieged by a great plague. Wow, how was that for being cliché with writing? But, as melodramatic as it sounds, that line best summed it up.
The world wasn't in a perfect place, nor was the world ready to take the plunge into eternal darkness through the wrath of God. We were just living our lives, that’s all.
“Danny Hoi,” I answered my office telephone, wedged it between my shoulder and ear as fast as I could. It was easy, I had just hung up from another call.
May 31st. The day is as crystal clear in my mind as if it happened just yesterday.
It was a Sunday, but it was not unusual for me to be working. Actually, at the end of the month, it wasn’t unusual for anyone to be working. I was a designer and builder and owned a company that incorporated everything you needed under one roof.
When I answered the phone, I was hoping it was Marianne, my secretary. I had called her earlier because I couldn't find a file, but had no luck when she didn't answer.
“Daniel.” It was my father on the other line. He had a deep voice and a distinctive dialect. You wouldn’t expect such a resonating voice to come from a man of his size. Although he was a small man physically, in every other way he was larger than life.
“Hey, Father, is something wrong?”
He sighed heavily and I heard him take a deep long breath. Then he said, “Daniel, what are you doing?”
“Working.” I snickered. After all, he did call my work phone. I suspected he was going to scold me for working on a Sunday. I had my preparatory ‘bid day’ speech already planned out in my mind.
“I have been trying to reach you.”
“Really?” I asked surprised, grabbed my cell phone from the desk, and looked. Six missed calls. “Shit. Sorry. I had it on silent.”
“Have you watched the news, Daniel?”
“I haven’t had a chance. Plus, I can’t get on the internet for some reason.”
“There is a reason. I cannot believe you do not know of it.”
“Father, I’m busy. We have a bid going out tomorrow. A big …”
The sound of my father’s scoffing chuckle silenced me. He laughed?
“Father?” I questioned.
“Daniel, it is time to come home. You have been too engrossed. This is obvious. Come home, Daniel. You are needed.”
“What’s going on?” I asked with concern, grabbing my belongings in the middle of my question. After all, if my father was instructing me to come home, then something was wrong. He never did such a thing. Was it my mother? My brother?
“I will explain when--”
And then the line went dead.
“Father?” I clicked the receiver. Nothing. Hanging up, I lifted my cell phone. My father was the last call received and missed. I hit the ‘talk’ button only to be greeted with three tones and a recorded voice stating that all circuits were busy.
I was stricken with an immediate sense of doom. No reason for it, just a gut instinct.
Like a movie playing in my head, visions and flashes scattered before my eyes as I grabbed what I could and left my office.
I had left my home at six that morning and it was now nearly two p.m. Time had flown by.
I lived in Sacramento, California and at first I didn’t notice. It didn’t dawn on me until I headed to the parking garage to get my car.
There was no one in the parking garage booth. Thinking back, I realized that no one had been there in the morning when I came in. In fact, traffic had been non-existent and I couldn’t recall seeing a single person.
Was it my imagination?
The garage was empty and my car was parked near the entrance. Walking up the ramp, I jolted at the sound of a gunshot. Then several other shots followed.
Hurrying to get into my car, I started it, pulled from the spot and sped toward the exit.
When I got to the gate I slowed down to check for traffic. That's when I saw it.
Smoke was billowing up in the distance. More gunshots rang out. What the hell?
Within seconds, I saw a gang of six men racing toward my car.
One of them pointed my way and they all picked up speed.
Were they nuts? Not waiting to find out, I floored it.
The ‘thump’ against my car caused me to jolt again. I checked the rear view mirror. The men had hit my car with something although I didn't know what, but I was relieved to see they had stopped running and chasing me.
There wasn’t any time to waste. Turning the corner, I nearly collided with another car. After swerving out of the way, I kept going.
What was happening?
As I raced toward the freeway, I looked out the windows. To my left three men were beating up a police officer. To my right I saw broken windows and looters. Everywhere I looked was madness.
I drove as fast as I could to reach the freeway.
My concentration was there. Not on anything else, but there. I was focused on driving and avoiding the chaos.
Until I was clear of the city, I did nothing but drive. There weren’t many other cars. As soon as I hit the ‘on’ ramp, I dialed the phone, trying my father once more.
Nothing.
A dead line.
Finally, I got the brilliant idea to turn on the radio.
Click.
‘President Hadly’s speech will be replayed …’
Switch.
‘…following orders from the President …’
Switch.
‘Authorities are urging all citizens to stay clear of the streets until …’
Switch.
‘Followed by a list of aid stations …’
Switch.
‘…Martial Law is in effect until …’
Switch.
‘… unknown origin of the virus or make up …’
Switch.
‘… To the emergency broadcasting system…’
Back. Switch.
Virus.
I listened.
I gained as much knowledge as I could.
The virus evidently had begun the day before. It had crept into the air while I slept and the world spiraled into a panic while I had buried myself in work in the isolation of my office.
My father was right. I was too engrossed. So engrossed that everything pulled apart at the seams before I could even put together my sub contractor bids.
And I … never noticed.
Ignorant and none the wiser.
My father was a clash of cultures. A Chinese immigrant, he was orphaned as a young boy, adopted and raised by an Italian Catholic family.
It always made me chuckle when we’d celebrate the Feast of the Seven fishes like any other Italian family at Christmas.
In his teens my father dis
covered he had a spiritual talent. The aspect of healing intrigued him. He studied the herbs and rituals and all through my life he was a healer people sought out. He was good. He was better than good. He was amazing. He had a magical talent. I never understood it, but people believed in him and whatever he did worked for so many.
Miracles. That’s what I would call them.
Illnesses that weren’t supposed to be curable, my father treated and cured them.
Knowing all this, why wouldn’t I expect a line of people at my father’s basement door where his practice was located?
I expected it. I envisioned in my head that I wouldn’t be able to get near his house.
If a plague had hit this world with a vengeance, then the ill would flock to my father.
To my surprise, the street was quiet.
Not a soul.
I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ modest home, stepped from my car and looked around.
Where was everyone?
Hurrying up the path, I didn’t knock; I merely entered, calling out, “Father.”
“Daniel, in here,” my father replied.
I recognized the direction it was coming from was the first floor bedroom. I rushed into the room and saw my father sitting on the bed next to my mother.
She was lying on the bed fully dressed and wearing a winter coat. A winter coat?
She coughed.
“Father?” I questioned.
He held a rosary in his hand as he stood. He paused to gently kiss my mother and then turned to me. “Her fever has risen. I fear your mother has now slipped into the next phase of this illness. Please, Daniel. Stay with her for a moment while I finish preparing. There is much to do.”
My head spun. He laid a hand on my shoulder, then walked by me.
“Sit. Sit with your mother,” he instructed.
I couldn’t breathe. I literally couldn’t breathe. “What has happened?”
Of all people, my father would know.
He paused in the doorway. “A great illness has swept this world, Daniel. Have you listened to the news yet?”
I nodded.
“Then you are aware. It is fast. Too fast.”
The Third Ten Page 115