The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I do.” Ellen started walking toward her house. “But it’s in a box of stuff I have at Doc Breyer’s office. Pete hated the fact that I had anything in the house that had to do with Frank.”

  Joe’s heart dropped when he heard the name Peter. So much had happened in the short time, he had forgotten.

  “You know, Joe, I swear if anyone beats this, Peter will...”

  “Ellen.”

  “He has had the luck of the Irish ...”

  “Ellen.” Joe grabbed hold of her arm.

  “It used to piss me off.” Ellen turned to Joe. “What’s wrong?”

  “Peter ... Peter didn’t make it, Ellen. He passed away right before we got to the aid station.”

  Ellen stared at Joe for a moment then continued walking up the path of her home.

  “Ellen, are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I want to see my children.” Ellen nodded, moved to the door, opened it and stepped in.

  Joe watched her. He completely understood Ellen’s reaction. No sadness. No tears. It was hard to feel anything about one thing when so much was going wrong around them.

  June 1st - 7:15 a.m.

  Fairfield University - Stamford, Connecticut

  William whistled as he dropped the tarp to the back of the large military truck packed with supplies. “How did you manage this?” he asked Dean who stood with him.

  “It never got unloaded. And Henry packed the medication. I doubt we’ll need it,” Dean said. “Ashtonville’s a small town. I figure they’re a day behind us, at least.”

  “I would expect as much also. Well ...” William looked at his watch. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck.”

  “And you come right to Ashtonville, you hear.” William pointed his finger at Dean then moved to the driver’s door. “You’re all I have in this world. I don’t want to lose track of you.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “You better.” William readied to step in the truck. He stopped, faced Dean with a smile and kissed his son on the cheek. “Be careful.”

  “You, too.” Dean held the door for his father, and when William was inside he closed it. He backed away from the truck when William started the engine. And before going back to the lab, Dean stayed until his father had driven completely out of sight.

  June 1st - 8:30 a.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  Joe stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hands. He tossed the towel back into the bathroom before going into Ellen’s room. The door was ajar and he pushed it open, slipping quietly inside. Ellen knelt on the floor by the bed, giving Josh a breathing treatment. Josh coughed quite a bit and Taylor grew restless, tossing and whining softly.

  Ellen reached over and turned off the nebulizer. She saw Joe. “They’re getting worse, Joe.” Ellen folded the tube, tucking it in the front of the machine. She returned to staring at her children. “Every minute that goes by they get worse.”

  Joe was exceptionally silent. He only moved to stand behind Ellen.

  “Kelly. Peter. The girls.” Ellen ran her hand over Josh’s face. “If I’ve learned anything from you, Joe, it’s to be realistic. I’m realistic. I know what’s next.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I know what’s next.”

  Joe rested his hand on her shoulder. “I wish I had the answers. I don’t.”

  “There are none. There are no answers to why my children are sick. Why this is happening to this world. And worst of all, there are no more answers to prayers.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I believe right now there is only one prayer being said by every person in this world. A prayer for help. With so many people praying for the same thing, wouldn’t you think that one single prayer would be answered?” Ellen tilted her head to lay it on Joe’s hand. “It’s not happening. Alas ... we’ve been abandoned.”

  June 1st - 10:25 a.m.

  County General Hospital - New York City, NY

  The squeaking wheels of the rolling hospital cart seemed loud on the quiet seventh floor. Andrea, dirty, sweaty, and wearing hospital scrubs, held on to the end of the cart and pushed it, body and all, down the empty corridor. She turned the corner and the cart came to an abrupt halt when it hit another. With the back of her hand she wiped the sweat from her forehead, took a breath then shifted the cart back and forth until it fit. Knowing that was all she could do in that particular wing, Andrea exhaled loudly and stepped back. She raised her head and took one more look. From where she stood at one end of the long corridor, all the way to the other end, sheet covered bodies on carts were crammed together in that hallway. No spaces between them. Carefully fitted like pieces of a puzzle. The west wing of the seventh floor’s own blanket of death.

  June 1st - 10:45 a.m.

  Outskirts - Chicago, IL

  Frank moved at a slow but steady pace and he moved away from the tents of the aid station. He had a small green knapsack filled with food draped over one shoulder. Across the other shoulder was an M-16. He figured one of those cars on the highway had to have a map in the glove compartment, but first he had to reach the highway. He kept moving away across the grass area packed with tents, despite the fact that an officer wearing a gas mask followed him. Frank didn’t know if the officer was male or female; it really didn’t matter. Once Frank heard the word ‘stop’ Frank made up his mind to keep going.

  “Sergeant!” the man blasted, keeping up to Frank. “If you are well enough to walk, you are well enough to stand post or help out here.”

  Frank silently scoffed at the thought of standing post. He had done that stint and for longer than he should have. Ignoring the officer, Frank kept moving.

  “You are still an active member of the United States Armed Forces. This country is under martial law. I am ordering you now to halt.”

  Frank didn’t.

  “Stop or I will shoot.” The officer pulled out his revolver and pumped the chamber.

  This stopped Frank. With an outraged look he spun around to the officer. “Shoot me? The world is dying and you want to shoot me? Take a look around you. It’s over!” Frank shouted, his arm flying out as he spoke. “Right now, I need to be with the people I love most in this world. And let me tell you something, pal. They aren’t here. Now if you’re gonna shoot me, you’re gonna have to shoot me in the back. That’s the only way you’ll stop me. Because I’m walking out of here. I’m going home.” Frank began to move backwards. “I’m going home.” Without missing a beat, Frank spun back around forward and kept on moving.

  The officer’s aim was steady on Frank, but not for long. Really hearing Frank’s words, he lowered his gun and returned to the tents.

  June 1st - 10:50 a.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  The sound of the truck motor in the distance was assurance to the dying woman that Joe had not been lying to her. Help was going to come.

  The squealing breaks carried to Joe, but he really didn’t see the truck until he left the woman’s side and ran closer to the street. He looked up. “Son of a bitch. The kid pulled through. Son of a bitch.” Joe smiled and jogged up the street to the military truck. He saw William step from the truck. “Tell me you’re our help.”

  “I’m the cavalry.” William extended his hand. “William Hayes.”

  “Joe, Joe Slagel.” Joe shook his hand then pointed. “You’re his father.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Hell of a kid you have. He pulled through.”

  William looked about the street. “A lot of people. You’ve started quite a set-up.”

  “With what little we have.”

  “I have supplies.” William pointed backwards. “Lots of them. Tents, cots, medication. But I need help.”

  Joe raised his eyebrow and clapped his hands together once. “I’m it. I’ll give you a hand, but first ... let me tell me daughter you’re here. It’s her home these people came to. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” William shook his head. “I’ll ju
st start.”

  “Thanks. I won’t be long.” Joe made a quick turn and began to dart with energy toward Ellen’s house. He had to tell her the help they were hoping for did indeed arrive.

  With excitement he raced into the home. “Ellen!” He called out as he moved to the stairs. “Ellen!” Leaving her children’s side to go help outside was one worry Ellen didn’t need. Joe wanted to give her the news that she didn’t have to leave them at all. “Ellen.” He raced into the bedroom. “The doctor from Stamford ...” Joe’s feet stopped before his body did and he nearly fell over. A thump hit his chest as his heart beat strongly. Taylor was asleep on the bed, but Josh was not. Josh was in his mother’s arms. In the rocking chair near the bed Ellen held Josh close to her. The chair rocked as she cradled a boy nearly the same size as she. His arms and legs dangled lifelessly as Ellen clutched his head into her chest and buried her lips to his head.

  “Ellen, honey.” Joe staggered to her and dropped to his knees before Ellen.

  “He’s gone, Joe.”

  “No.” Joe’s hand rose slowly and fell to Josh’s hair.

  A burst of tears escaped Ellen. They saturated her face, rolling over the lips that kept kissing Josh. “The treatments didn’t work.” Her breath quivered. “His lungs gave up. I picked ... I picked ...” She closed her mouth and stopped speaking. She just couldn’t at that moment.

  “It’ll be all right.”

  “No.” The word whimpered from her mouth. “It will never be all right. He’s gone, Joe.” Ellen sobbed. “My son is gone.”

  “I’m sorry.” Joe’s head dropped against her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ellen sniffled hard and deep, running her hand harshly across her wet face. “Could I ... could I just have a moment alone. Then I’ll put him in his bed like I did so many times. Just a few minutes alone with my son.”

  Joe said nothing. He ran his hand over Ellen’s face as he stood up. He brought his lips to her forehead then to Josh’s and he backed up and turned from the bedroom. Pulling on the door, Joe’s head dropped when he heard another sob come from Ellen. He looked back in the room to see Ellen rocking and holding Josh. So lost, so hurt and there was nothing Joe could do for Ellen but give her the moment of privacy she sought so she could say goodbye to her only son.

  June 1st - 11:43 a.m.

  Fairfield University - Stamford, Connecticut

  Molly’s eyes were wide open and lifeless. Her struggle had ended quickly, yet not without a lifetime’s worth of pain. Henry solemnly lifted his lowered head and reached out to Molly, closing her eyes. A sense of guilt hit him. He promised Dean he’d take care of her, but Henry couldn’t recall the last time he’d checked on Molly. He checked on Molly as often as he could, but there were so many people dying so fast that Henry couldn’t keep up. He felt bad, really bad for Molly. A woman he knew had three children and six grandchildren. She had a family, a life she loved. Yet with all that she had built in her personal world she didn’t deserve to die alone like she did, alone in a tent, draped off from so many others just like her.

  Henry brought the sheet over her head and left the draped-off area. He would have to go tell Dean. He could hear the flies buzzing. There was less movement and noise, Molly was the twelfth person in ten minutes that Henry had found dead. Walking across the darkened tent Henry saw a shadowy figure at the edge. It was a big man and he made it into the tent, looking around at the bodies. “Can I help you?” Henry called as he moved to the man. “Are you looking for someone?”

  “Yes.” Carl’s deep voice answered as he looked up.

  Henry neared closer and gasped when he saw Carl’s bloody and bruised face. “Do you need help? You’re ...”

  “No.” Carl rushed to Henry. “I need to find Lt. Dean Hayes and I need to find him now. Do you know where he is?”

  “He’s in the next tent.”

  “Thank you.” Carl rushed to the edge of the tent and stopped. “Can you tell me how I’ll recognize him?”

  “Um ...” Henry scratched his own head. “He’s the only one standing?” Before Henry knew it, Carl had raced out.

  June 1st - 11:44 a.m.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  A hand-drawn map courtesy of Joe was spread out on Ellen’s kitchen table. William, Joe, and Jenny stood around it.

  With a pencil in his hand, William bent down toward the map. “It’ll be easier now, as you can see where my lines are, to separate them. I know it will still be a task. Jenny and I counted close to six hundred.”

  Joe whistled and shook his head. “Didn’t think there were that many. You want to put those who need it more all together?”

  “Exactly.” William answered. “You’ve been keeping track of people so it will be easier. Treatment-wise, it should go a lot smoother. Joe, I noticed some people camping out about four miles from here. Any chance you can scout there for any healthy survivors?”

  “You got it. I’ll help unload a little more then head out.”

  Jenny had questions of her own. “What about the dead. It’s bad. We lost close to sixty already. What are we gonna do with them?”

  William hesitated before answering because he knew the coldness his answer carried. “Move them together in one place until we can burn them. But we must exercise precaution now. Cholera is a threat and something we aren’t immune to. And my dear Jenny, if you think it’s bad now, wait. Out there, that is only the beginning.” With a deep breath and his pen in hand, William leaned back down to the homemade map and continued the quick design of what would be their aid station.

  June 1st - 11:46 a.m.

  Fairfield University - Stamford, Connecticut

  Carl grew frustrated when Dean wasn’t in the tent that Henry told him. He moved to the next and to the next. Had Dean not been the only one standing—as Henry described—Carl wouldn’t have known it was Dean. Dean not only stood, but he moved quickly away from the tents. “Lt. Hayes!” Carl cried out, running as fast as his injured and exhausted body could move. “Please wait.”

  Dean stopped moving and turned around. He could see the bigger man chasing him. Aside from his father and Henry it had been a while since he saw anyone else walking. Dean made his way to Carl.

  “You’re Lt. Hayes?” Carl asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God. Please, come with me.” Carl started moving in another direction.

  “What is ...”

  “Please.” Carl beckoned as he picked up speed.

  Shrugging and confused, Dean followed Carl away from the aid station near the end of the long line of idle traffic. Dean watched Carl stop at a Jeep. Carl stood by the open passenger door, and Dean, figuring there was someone there that needed help, walked a little faster toward the Jeep.

  “She’s in too much pain to move.” Carl said then stepped out of the way for Dean.

  Confused even more, Dean walked around the Jeep and gasped in shock when he looked inside. He dropped immediately to his knee beside the vehicle. “Catherine.”

  A sob, barely heard, escaped Catherine as she exhaled. She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her face.

  Dean saw the oozing stomach wound and his eyes rose up to her head, which bled as well. She was so pale and weak. Just as his hand moved to examine the extent of her injuries, Carl squatted next to Dean.

  “I have something.” Carl reached into his pocket, pulled out the vial and handed it to Dean.

  It was so tiny that even in Dean’s hands the vial was lost. His eyes looked at it then to Carl. “What is this?”

  “I believe Catherine deserves to tell you,” Carl said.

  “Catherine?” Dean had questions in his eyes. He saw her throat move in her desperate attempt to swallow.

  A heavy breath came from Catherine as her hand, seemingly out of her control, tried to grab for the stack of papers on her lap. Her fingers grasped but she couldn’t lift them, even the papers were too heavy. A painful sob seeped from her as she spoke breathily and shortly. “Our ... chance. Sl
ows ... slows early stages.” Her lips quivered as she fought with everything she had to talk. “Combine ... it. Try.” In her final attempt to lift the notes, Catherine’s fingers crinkled the paper, stopped, and her head flopped to the side, eyes open toward Dean. Catherine stopped moving; she was still and quiet.

  Lifting Catherine’s hand, Dean slipped the stack of papers from her lap, looked at the vial in his palm and up to Carl who nodded. Once more he faced Catherine. He reached up and in a slow sweep of his hand down her face, Dean closed her eyes. He swallowed and dropped his voice to a deep whisper. “Thank you, Catherine.” Eyes closed tightly, Dean paused gratefully to honor her. Then clenching the papers and vial tight, Dean stood up with the first sense of hope he’d felt in a while and raced top speed back to the lab building.

  June 1st - 12:42 p.m.

  St. John, Indiana

  It was easier than Frank had thought getting to this location. The toughest trudge was the first mile or so making it to the main highway. To find transportation, it was faster searching out cars easily removed from the jam. Frank did. He cleared the car, pulled it to the breakdown lane of the road and drove there until he hit a clear section of highway. But then the other problem kicked in. Gas. By the time Frank ran out of gas, he was in a section of the country without power. No power. No ability to work the gas pumps. So he had to abandon that vehicle and search for another. That brought him to St. John. He found a little blue car, keys inside, parked sideways, and it had gas. Enough, Frank figured, to at least get him to another city. But first, Frank had to remove the dead occupants from the car.