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

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Tranquilizers? How do you know they used them?”

  Henry laid down a cartridge on the table. “I found this at Andrea’s house. My guess, their insurance against trouble. That’s why I don’t think they meant to take Denny. I think he woke up while they were snatching up Katie, hit him with a dart, realized he was a kid, and took him.”

  “Denny’s a big kid.” Joe sat back in his chair, a part of him relaxed. “In the dark, they wouldn’t know he was so young. Obviously they don’t want to kill anyone at this time.”

  “It looks that way.” Henry said. “Right now, I think it’s a kidnapping situation. The kids are the hostages. Beginnings . . . the ransom.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The screaming, hooting, and chanting heard from the darkness behind the trees, was the most un-nerving factor in it all. Knowing they were out there. Not knowing how many. Hearing the one child, one little girl crying out. “I want my mommy. Please let me go to my mommy. Mommy!” She cried over and over.

  Joe stood with George staring out into the darkness, they both tried their hardest to figure out why Robbie’s men were doing what they were doing. Were they taunting them for a reason or were they just being the sick displays of human beings that they were? The tension was so thick in the air but it paled in comparison to the helplessness now by those in Beginnings, or at least those watching the back gate.

  Joe paced back and forth in front of George. The three men ordered to stand guard with them waited for a signal they knew would never come. “How long have they been out there now?”

  George looked down at his watch. “About forty-five minutes. All I know is I wish they didn’t bring Kimmy with them. There’s nothing more that I would like than to just shoot the hell out of the trees.”

  “We’re at a loss here, George. If we kill one of them, what about the others that they have with them back at their camp. To make matters worse, they haven’t even told us what they want.”

  “In.” George was very confident in his answer. “I just don’t know why they haven’t said that yet.”

  Frank, not Joe, was the one who answered that question as he joined his father and George. “Because they aren’t finished taking what they want, that’s why.”

  Joe looked curiously at his son. “What, you really think they’re coming back in?”

  “Yes I do. Tonight too. This whole thing. These men out there sounding like a bunch of drunks, this is a diversion.”

  Joe moved closer to the fence. “Well if they go after the kids we’ll stop them. At least we know the kids are safe. How’s it look around the perimeter?”

  “Good. Very good.” Frank answered. “Instead of doubling men at a point. I singled them there. I figure one man hidden, and watching, can radio if they see anything. We can cover more ground.”

  “Excellent idea.” Joe stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back closer to Frank and George. “I just feel so responsible.”

  “You and me both, Dad.”

  George knew what they felt like. He had been there before, through many a crisis while he was president. One reason he never pushed to run the community, the responsibility was tremendous. “Joe, I know you blame yourself. If I can, I’d like to give a little advice. As a leader, blame goes with the territory. When things are good, fate is responsible. When things are bad, you as a leader, are responsible. But for as angry as they get, and as quickly as they get angry, that’s how fast it fades as soon as you solve things. Trust me.”

  “Thanks, George.” Joe looked to his son. Frank had wandered as near to the fence as he could get. He just stood there, arms at his side, staring out looking as if he was trying to focus through the blackness into the trees. Joe walked up to him, speaking softly. “Frank? What is it?”

  “Listen. Robbie’s not out there.” Frank kept his stare forward.

  “How do you know?”

  “There are eight voices out there. Seven men, one child. Not one of them is Robbie.”

  “Maybe he is just not saying anything.”

  “No. He’s not there.” Frank spoke with assurance. “If he was, I’d feel it.”

  “If he’s not out there, then where the hell is he?”

  Frank turned and looked seriously at his father. “I’d bet my life I know.” He walked away. “I’m changing this.”

  “Changing what?” Joe followed.

  “I want to pull some men from the perimeters and put them in town. The perimeter checks are useless.” Frank stopped walking. “My gut is screaming now. He’s gonna get in.”

  ***

  Ellen covered her son with a blanket as he slept on a cot in the skills room of the containment center. The huge room was beginning to quiet down finally. The children thought it was just a big party. Running around, ignoring their care givers, totally oblivious to any tension in the air. “Night Billy, I love you.” Ellen leaned down, gently kissed him on the cheek.

  Dean’s hand reached in front of her as she stood, he rubbed it over his son’s head. “Are you going to stay here all night?” he asked her.

  “Yeah. I doubt I’ll sleep though.” She walked away from the cots. “Walk with me, Dean.”

  “Sure.” He followed. “What’s up?”

  “I want to run to the house. I have some things to get together, and I want to get cleaned up.”

  “Do you think you should be alone? Frank doesn’t.”

  “I know, but I don’t think they’ll come back in two nights in a row. They won’t be that stupid.”

  “I think you’re right. Sure go ahead, don’t be long though. I don’t want to leave them to go and find you.”

  “I won’t be.” Ellen started to walk away but stopped. “Dean, when I get back, can you and I . . . can we . . . we need to talk. Quietly.”

  “About what?” Dean questioned. “It sounds serious.”

  “It is. But I’d rather wait until I get back to tell you what it is about. Is that all right?” Ellen kissed him on the cheek and backed up.

  “Sure.” Dean was curious. The kiss he received to his cheek seemed to send warning rights through him and he couldn’t figure out why. Shrugging it off as a figment of his tensed up imagination, Dean returned to his children’s side.

  ***

  “Why won’t they just shut up!” Frank pounded his fist on the map which sat on the hood of the jeep.

  “Ignore them.” Joe said. “They’re trying to get to you.”

  Frank shook his head, and continued to try to explain to his father what the plan was. It was difficult because the men behind the trees grew louder and louder. He slid his hand across the map. “I want to do some concentrating on the vacant rows of houses in the living section. If I were sneaking in. That’s where I’d hide . . .” Frank huffed a breath. The voices in the trees began to repeatedly call his name in a taunting manner. “I can’t concentrate.” Hands on hips Frank spun from the jeep.“Shut the fuck up!” He bellowed out.

  “Frank.” Joe cringed and pulled him by the arm off to the side. “Take a break, just an hour or so.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes you can. If you exhaust yourself, what good will you be to me? Besides you’re making me tense. Take a break before I shoot you.”

  Frank turned back and looked into the trees. Walking away from it wouldn’t be a bad idea, even for a short time.. “You’re right. I’m gonna find El. Radio if you need me.”

  “I’ll do that.” Joe was as relieved to see Frank. As soon as he did, he ran his hand over the bridge of his nose in relief. One more minute next to his totally frustrated son, and he would have snapped.

  The containment center was eerily quiet when Frank walked in. He headed back to the skills room after checking Ellen’s office. He immediately spotted Dean. Dean sat on the floor leaning against the wall in the space between his two children. A pen light in his mouth, a book in his hand. “Dean.” Frank whispered. “Where’s Ellen?”

  Dean took a deep breath in frustration. He took th
e pen light from his mouth, closed his book and stood up. “She’ll be right back.” He spoke as he stepped over the sleeping adults.

  “Where did she go?”

  “Home, Frank. She’ll be right back. She wanted to get some things and shower.”

  Frank ran his fingers through his hair. “I told you not to let her out of your sight.”

  “That was seventeen hours ago. I don’t think even you can take seventeen hours straight with Ellen.”

  “I’m going to check on her. If she comes back. Tell her to stay put, I need to talk to her.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dean opened his mouth to ask more, possibly how everything was going, but Frank was long gone.

  ***

  Robbie made his way down the small hillside covered with brush. He stayed low, on his stomach, the whole time since he made his way in through the front tunnel gate. He was never seen. They weren’t even looking for him there.

  He lifted his head slightly above the weeds. The lights from town were bright and he couldn’t see anyone that looked like they were walking guard. Peering through his binoculars he saw containment was guarded, but by only two men. He moved his view over to check out the living section which sat close by the containment. The huge spotlights did not reflect into that area. So dark and only one man patrolled the street. So easy, he thought, how stupid could they be? Three guards in the whole inside of town. They were giving their enemy an invitation to walk in. Robbie knew his work would be easier than anticipated and he just had to wait until the time was right.

  Just as he began to settle into his waiting position, Robbie spotted him walking from containment. The thought of bonus rang through Robbie’s mind. He perked up some and smiled . . . Frank.

  ***

  Frank didn’t want to get angry with Ellen for leaving containment. His break time was limited and he didn’t want to spend it yelling. Ellen was his biggest sense of support. He knew that and he needed that. Seeking what he could only get from her, he walked into her house and straight upstairs. He could hear the shower water turning off when he reached the top of the steps. Positioning himself by the closed bathroom door Frank waited.

  Ellen shrieked when she opened the bathroom door and Frank was there. Closing her robe, she grabbed her chest. “You scared me.” She walked by him to her bedroom.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Showering.” She smiled at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you to stay put in containment.”

  Calmly, Ellen stopped in the bedroom. “I’m not responding to that. Because I refuse to believe I’m not safe walking around. Not with you out there. So . . . why are you here.” She turned to her clothes that rested on the bed. Reaching for them, she heard the long emotional breath from Frank. Slowly, she turned back around and he stepped to her. She looked upon his face and the lines that formed there. Though Frank had always been the portrait of strength, she saw behind the eyes of a man who had reached his limits. “Frank.” She whispered out his name.

  He took hold of her, grabbing onto Ellen as if he hadn’t done so in a long time. His lips went immediately to hers and he began to kiss her. His actions were his response. They spoke the words he wanted to, and Ellen heard them.

  He searched for something to take away all that he felt and feared and he found it in Ellen. Lifting her up, his arms clutched around her, Frank brought Ellen chest to chest. He stepped to the bed, his wide kisses never ceasing. After bringing his knee to the bed first, Frank gently laid Ellen down and brought himself to her. He felt every ounce and inch of her body wrap around him, and Frank got lost, if only for a moment, in the security of that.

  Frank wanted to stay on top of that bed with Ellen, nakedness to nakedness, but he couldn’t. He had to get back to the tense horror that still lurked at the back gate. He watched her briefly as she fastened her shorts, sitting on the side of the bed still half nude. Total appreciation of Ellen was in his stare, he knew she just didn’t see it.

  “Frank.” Ellen giggled as she placed on her bra. “You’re being weird. You’re staring.”

  “You’re beautiful . . . where’d I throw my socks?” Frank scratched his head, laying one hand on his bare chest as he looked around.

  “Check under your shirt.” Ellen looked around. “And see if mine’s there, you threw it off the bed.”

  How so few articles of clothes could make such a mess was beyond Frank. He shuffled Ellen’s robe from the way and spotted his pants near the bed. Shifting his views around more he saw the whiteness of his tee shirt and lifted it. “Nope. Gun.” He dropped his shirt.

  “You’re not getting dressed?”

  “El, there’s a fine routine. Boxers . . .” Frank pulled at the elastic of his boxer shorts. “Socks, pants, shirts. Can’t break that routine . . . here’s your shirt.” He tossed it to her.

  “Thanks. I want to hurry back to containment before Dean decides to leave.”

  “Yes. My socks.” Frank bent down.

  “I want to tell him about the baby.”

  “El?” Frank dropped his just found socks in surprise. “El.” He stepped to the bed. “I know I’ve been pressuring you. But today, tonight, you don’t have to. Not with all that’s happening.”

  Ellen hesitated before placing on her shirt. “It’s time. I’m three months pregnant, or near to that. He has to know. And containment is best. It’ll be too quiet for him to yell.”

  A hush took over Frank and he dropped to his knees before her taking the shirt from her hands. “El, listen. I want to ask you something.” He held her hands.

  “Frank, I have to go. Ask me later.”

  “No, now. I want . . . I want to ask you now. Dean . . . . he’s not going to be happy about this. You know he believes that what happened last year was just an incident. It’s pretty much going to be over anyhow when you tell him. And I never said it, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

  “Frank.” Ellen had a chuckle to her. “What are you rambling about?”

  “I want you to be my wife, El. What do you say?”

  “You know you’re only asking me because I’m pregnant.”

  “See. Why do you have to be like this? I am very serious. I . . .” Frank lifted his head to the sound of breaking glass downstairs.

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know.” Frank stood up. “Dean?”

  Ellen shook her head.

  He had to check it out. With all that was going on, Frank couldn’t take a chance. He reached down and grabbed his gun. Laying his forefinger to his lips, he moved slowly to the door. He placed his back against the wall, clicked back the hammer on his revolver, and slid his way to the steps. When his back hit the edging of the wall, he peered slightly over to see who was down there. He spotted shoes. Dirty shoes. He knew it wasn’t Dean.

  Quickly he went back to the bedroom and walked up to Ellen, he whispered softly so his voice could not be heard. “Stay here. Don’t move. It’s not Dean.” He kissed her quickly and backed out.

  Ellen’s eyes widened. She mouthed the words. “Be careful.”

  He mouthed his response. “Always.”

  Repeating his earlier motions, he made his way back to the steps, looking over again. The person was gone. Holding his gun high in front of him, finger on the trigger, Frank backed his way slowly down the steps, being careful not to make a sound. Taking the steps seemed to take forever. Reaching the bottom step was a triumph.

  Frank took a deep breath as he reached the first floor. Ready, he turned the corner sharply, holding his gun out. As he opened himself, he saw his Robbie standing in the living room holding a gun of his own.

  Before any words could be said, before there could be any thoughts, a single shot was fired. Only one brother had time to fire his weapon. Only one brother had time to hit his target dead on. That brother was not Frank.

  Placing on her shirt, Ellen jolted at the shot, and fear raced through her when she heard the front door slam. Who did
Frank hit? Did they get away? Was he chasing him? She couldn’t just stand there and wait. Grabbing Frank’s radio that rested on the dresser, she flew from the bedroom and ran to the stairs. Her heart stopped beating when she saw Frank trying to walk up the steps. He held on to his stomach, blood flowed from between his hands. “Oh God. Frank!”

  Frank didn’t have the strength. His brown eyes peered up at her as his body swayed. One more look and he fell backwards, crashing into the wall and dropping to the floor.

  “Frank!” Ellen flew down the steps, falling feet first on the last four. She crawled to Frank, who laid, blood pouring from his gunshot wound. Hand still clutching her shirt, Ellen covered his stomach. Pressing hard to stop the bleeding. She lifted him and slid behind him, holding him in her arms. She laid her lips to his cheek as her hand reached for the radio that had fallen by the steps. Shaking, she called into it. “Joe. Oh God, Joe, help. Frank’s been shot. Hurry, my house.” She dropped the radio to the floor and cradled him more. “Hold on, please hold on.”

  Frank opened his eyes, he could barely focus, when he looked up to her. “El . . .” His words were weak and hoarse. He coughed as he tried to speak.

  “Shh.” She kissed him, brushing her cheek against his, still holding on tightly to her shirt, trying to stop the bleeding. “It’ll be all right. You’ll be all right.” She looked down at him. She looked into his eyes which were trying to stay open. As she saw the blood seeping over her hand and on to the floor, a feeling of desperation hit her. She realized at that moment what she held in her arms. She held her life, and she was losing it. She couldn’t lose Frank. As she stared down at him again, it happened. A reaction that had not happened in five years. A single tear formed first, it welled within her eye, flowed softly down her cheek, and dropped onto Frank.