From a distance it looked so normal, a few spot lights on in the streets, quiet with no movement. Dean and Ellen stayed close to the buildings just in case the guard who walked the street at night was still doing that. They didn’t want to be seen.
Dean spotted it first as they closed in to the clinic. The answer to the first question Henry posed. The CDC Mobile set in the street, directly outside the clinic. “We must have worked on the virus in there, El.”
“But if everyone had it, Dean, why wouldn’t we just work on it in the clinic?”
“I don’t know. We’ll check the lab out first. Maybe we won’t have to go into the clinic at all.” Dean stopped suddenly, grabbing Ellen and pulling her back when he saw a man he didn’t recognize walk from the clinic and past the mobile. Figuring it was some survivor or fearing it was a society soldier, Dean waited for the brawny man with a long blonde ponytail to move from sight, then he took another step. Another foot forward, another jump back. “Shit. Look.” He pointed.
Ellen peeked out. She watched as Joe walked from the clinic. He moved slowly, slanting in his walk. His shirt was dirty. “Dean. Joe lived through it. Maybe it’s not that bad.”
But his hopeful observation lasted only a moment as they watched Joe do something they didn’t expect him to do, something that frightened them, something so simple. He stopped in his stride, turned back, and went into the clinic. A few seconds later, the clinic, for the first time ever in the history of Beginnings . . . went dark.
Dean waited until he saw Joe disappear and he moved again. “Let’s try it again.”
Slowly and quietly they made it to the mobile, they saw no other people on the streets at all. In fact, the streets were darker since the brightness of the clinic wasn’t seen.
Dean approached the side door to the mobile. “Wait until I check it out.” He reached for the door. When he opened it, what was inside could not be hidden from Ellen who stood directly behind him. The mobile was no longer a lab, but a shell of a vehicle, filled now with bodies, covered with blankets, piled in one mass grave. With his eyes closed tightly, a knot in his stomach, Dean shut the door. “El . . .” He faced her and turned on his interior suit light. “This is going to be bad.” He reached down to her waist and turned on her face light. When he did, he saw her horrified look. “Can you do this?” He waited for her nod. “The fingers? How are they.”
“Hurting but let’s go in there, get what we need, and get the hell out.”
Dean’s turn from her and leading walk to the clinic was his non-verbal agreement.
The lights on the outside of their headgear was their guide when they walked in. It was over, and Dean knew it when they walked slowly down the dark corridor. Beds lined up the hallway and filled the waiting room, all of them empty. All of them exhibiting the signs and remnants of the struggle those who had lain upon them went through. “El, they’ve cleaned it out.”
“I hope they left the information in the lab.” She led the way, her head moving, to shine the light on the dirty beds and cots. “What happened here, Dean?”
“We’ll find out.” He walked first into the clinic lab, immediately pulling the blinds closed and turning on only his desk light. He booted up the computer for Ellen. “Start as soon as it’s ready. Copy my notes and don’t read. Just copy my work.”
“What will you have it listed under?” Ellen pulled out the blank disks.
“Just go into the hard drive and look at the dates. See what the last thing it was I worked on.” Dean set his bio-box on the counter and opened up the refrigerator. The top shelf was filled with tubes of blood. Dates on the racks that held the tubes told Dean they were virus strained samples. Quickly, without looking at any names he loaded them in his box, taking enough samples to work on. When he spotted a smaller bio box on the bottom shelf, he knew. “Let this be it.” Dean whispered as pulled out the box and opened it. His eyes closed after he read the label on the vial. “Yes.”
“You isolated it?” Ellen asked. “Please tell me you isolated it.”
Dean lifted the vial. “I isolated it.” He saw Ellen’s head lower with relief. “Which means, we can beat this,” Dean spoke with a little confidence. “We’re now ahead of the game.” He stuck one of each strain into his bio-box. “I have enough. How’s the copying going.”
“It’s going. I’m only copying the files that were worked on during these dates.”
“Let’s double check when it started.” He searched for his journal. “Just to be certain we don’t miss anything.” The journal lay on his desk as it always did; Dean flipped open to the end. “Shit, I stopped writing two days ago in this time.” He read back. “Oh God.”
“What? What is it?” Ellen asked.
“I . . . I gave up.” Dean’s head dropped. “Go back only . . .only one week.” Dean swallowed. “That’s when it started.”
Emotions carried in Ellen’s voice. “No. Not that fast. Not again.”
With a shake of his head, Dean began flipping through his journal. He knew everything written in there would be on the disks that Ellen was copying, but he wanted to read while he waited. So much he had noted. Symptoms. A suspected, but not proved incubation period. Air tests. Another turn of the page brought a heavy breath that was heard.
“Dean?” Ellen looked from the computer. “What is it? What did you find?”
“Listen to this,” Dean began to read. “The air exposure tests with the rabbits have proven that the virus is not airborne. One question answered leaves another at bay. How did so many come down with it so fast?” Dean stopped reading.
“We know the answer to that.” Ellen placed in the final disk. “They hit us and hit us big. Anything about the antidote?”
“Um . . . yeah, here. Shit.” Dean slammed his hand.
“What’s wrong now?”
“God I annoy myself. Four days ago, I wrote I found it and put it on the disk. Why did I do that? Why didn’t I just write it in here?”
“That’s you. In the Dean is dead history, we went crazy trying to figure out your meds. And this is done.” Ellen lifted the last disk from the computer.
“Good, then let’s get . . .” Dean saw Henry walk in. “Henry, good. Stay here with Ellen and gather the things. I’m heading down to an examining room to get supplies so I can splint her fingers when we get back.” He watched Henry only nod with a petrified look. Dean walked up to him, grabbing Henry’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“No Dean, I’m not. I saw the mobile. I thought you were in there. I opened it up. Everyone, everyone is dead.” Henry grabbed on to the counter for support.
“Help, Ellen.” Dean started to leave but stopped. “And Henry? This scene you see here. You won’t see it again. I’ll bet my life on it. I won’t let this happen, I won’t.” Backing up, Dean raced down the empty hallway to the first examining room. He just wanted to get the supplies and head out. They had the information and samples they needed to begin their work.
When Dean walked into the examining room, what he saw was not what he expected. Eight tables were lined up in the room. Two to his left, six to his right. It was obvious they were bodies. Covered so neatly with blankets. Probably the last of them needing to be removed, Dean figured. Not wanting to see and keeping his focus forward, Dean walked to the supply cabinet. He bent down opening the door, but it wouldn’t open all the way. He had to move the gurney that was blocking it. Reaching up and using his foot, with a grunt, Dean moved the heavy table away six inches. He grabbed cloth bandages and splints then shut the cabinet door. When he stood up, the bandages fell from his hand. The blanket had edged its way from the table exposing the person that lay under it. “Oh God.” Dean felt his stomach churn and his balance leave. It was too real, it was real. He found himself staring at someone he least expected to see. They grey pale face, the death so evident, the sores that never healed. The hero who lost his final battle . . . Frank. Sickened, Dean reached to re-cover him but froze. Through the speaker of his bio suit ricocheted
Ellen’s scream. His view jolted as she and Henry walked in. “Get her out!” Dean blasted emotionally.
“Frank?” Ellen began to hyperventilate as she neared the table, reaching. “Frank? No Dean, this isn’t Frank.”
Dean pushed her hands away. “Henry, get her out of here.” He finished covering Frank, feeling his heart race as he did. “Now.” He bent down for the bandages.
“El, come on.” Henry pulled at her.
“No.” She swung out trying to get back to see Frank, but in her spin of a turn she bumped into a table to her right. Losing some of her balance, she fell hands first, face first into the worst, most horrific scene of it all. Her baby . . . Brian. “No!”
Seeing what she saw, Henry reached forward pulling her away, dragging a hysterical Ellen. “Dean, come on!” He knew they both had to get out of there.
Dean couldn’t move, his eyes fixed with pain on the baby that lay on the table. Brian lay on his stomach the way he always had. Never had Dean felt what he was feeling. He had seen the world end, but nothing he saw was as painful as that moment. Right then and there he understood everything Ellen had gone through, Frank had gone through. There was nothing worse, no pain greater than to stare at his own flesh and blood, laying there so helpless and without the life he helped give him. Dean felt that. His heart ached as if it were crushing. His eyes grew heavy and his blood boiled with determination, more determined than ever to conquer something that obviously had beaten him in that future.
“Dean.” Henry, like he had to do with Ellen, pulled Dean from that room into the hall. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
What they witnessed was a magnet, drawing them to take it in, forcing them to believe that this was their fate if they didn’t do anything about it.
Dean walked slowly. He had a hard time moving. He didn’t know what to say to Ellen when he looked at her sitting on the hallway floor, her back against the wall.
Henry strapped the gear onto a stunned Dean. “You carry this. Dean . . . Dean.” Giving a slight awakening shake to Dean, Henry grabbed his attention. “I know this is bad. I know it is, but we have to get out. And what did you tell me? This is the last time I’ll see this? You bet your life on that Dean and I’m taking that bet.” Almost pushing him to move, Henry squatted down to Ellen. “El, please.” He held out his hand. “El? Let me get you out of here.”
Ellen raised her head and reached out her hand, she gripped Henry’s and stood to her feet. “I’m sorry Henry. I’m sorry I lost control. I thought I was prepared.”
“None of us were prepared for this.” Henry turned his head to see Dean, zombie-like move down the dark hall. “None of us.”
“This isn’t real, tell me this isn’t real.” She walked with him.
“It is right now,” Henry spoke the painful truth. “But it won’t be in a year. We won’t let it.”
^^^^
Frank’s eyes dropped in relief and so did his heart when he heard the doorway power up. The longest five seconds of his life were standing there waiting. All he saw of them were their backs as they closed the door quickly behind them.
Racing to the other end of the mobile, along with Joe and Jason, Frank stood at the large window with bated breath. He could see into the lab and the doorway from which they would come out. “What’s taking so long?”
In the small decontamination room, the three of them not only moved in silence, but in emotional haste. Hurrying from the suits they wore taking them from their bodies as if slipping them off would slip the vision of what they saw from their minds. They were back. But the truth came back with them.
Frank felt it when he saw Ellen come from the decontamination room first. His heart pounded when he saw the desperate and lost look on her reddened face as she emerged from the room, as if the secondary lab was a salvation she strived for. “El?” With widened eyes and confusion, Frank watched her nearly trip as she raced to the window. Her body shook as she cried. “El?”
“Frank.” She picked up the radio. “Oh God.” She lowered her head and started to cry, her hand reaching to the glass just to try to touch him, to feel him.
“El, El, what happened. Ellen . . .” Then Frank caught a glimpse of Dean coming out. He, too, looked just as bad.
With such helplessness, Dean walked up to Ellen. He searched for something to say, anything. But he couldn’t. Reaching out his hand, he pulled her away from the window.
Frank watched as Ellen stood up, looked at Dean and then so emotionally, she fell into Dean’s arms. Frank had seen enough. He charged away from the window and to the door. “I’m going in there.”
“No.” Joe followed him, pulling him back. “Stay put. You can’t go in there.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Frank asked his words cracking. “Just watch her through the window? Just watch and know there is nothing I can do?”
“That’s all you can do right now.”
With a close of his eyes, Frank swung his hand in the air as he turned his body and headed back to the window. As soon as his eyes looked in again, his feelings of helplessness increased when he saw the three of them.
Henry sat on the floor, knees bent up, his head down, buried in his folded arms. Dean was holding Ellen with his whole body. His face looking so hurt, finally raised enough to make eye contact with Frank. Then Dean conveyed it all with a somber, slow shake of his head.
Standing between Frank and Jason, Joe took in the vision. “Dear God.” He spoke in a gasp. “What did they see?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Former Quantico Marine Headquarters
It hadn’t been all that long since he heard from his person in Beginnings, but to George it seemed like an eternity. Davidson, after several sentences of writing, assured George it could take a day or two to find out what they recovered from the future trip Beginnings made. Theorizing that it probably was kept under wraps from general population, George would have to wait to hear the remnants of gossip to get any lead at all.
George accepted that explanation, though he didn’t like it. Things were going pretty smoothly. At first he thought he was just so wrapped up in the future trip that he didn’t notice, but Sgt. Doyle confirmed it for him. Nothing had been seen or heard from their defectors. None of the sweeps were interrupted. But George knew they hadn’t encountered the last of the bold rebellious men. His gut sang to him. What Sgt. Doyle had to say about it sounded so plausible, that George actually felt secure in counting on it. Basically, what Sgt. Doyle explained, was anymore interference would be few and far between until they were no longer heard from. History shows man’s traits. What starts as a chivalrous blast will end in a fizzle when the momentum is replaced with the reality that they have other things to do. Like survive.
Sgt. Doyle had a point.
George walked. Trucks from the sweeps weren’t expected in. Survivors had been moved out and the afternoon was clear. Even though George had walked through that small town of Quantico, he hadn’t really looked at it. Remains of the old world were still present. The shops that sold relics and military souvenirs still held merchandise. He wanted to take in and enjoy his recent achievement, watch for a while the hustle and bustle of his hardworking men as they refurbished the small town.
He found a seat on a bench. The peripheral view was good, especially the word ‘Java’ that still remained hand painted on the front window of one of the shops. George smiled because the little coffee shop made him think of someone he hadn’t thought of in a long time…his wife.
How Margaret loved her thick espresso. George used to call her a junkie over the way her moods would swing if she didn’t get it and sneaking out at all hours trying to find an open coffee shop, like a crack addict trying to find a dealer. It got to the point that the secret service men grew tired of the aggravation that entailed in taking the first lady out. George decided to put a miniature espresso store, complete with a java artist, in the White House.
Margaret. What would have become of himself had Margaret s
urvived the plague. Margaret was good. She would have put a stop to any and all of George’s society connections. Surely George would have still been living in Beginnings. Still second in control, drinking the bad coffee, and probably sharing Margaret with Joe in some sort of warped ‘understanding’ Beginnings ritual. He surely wouldn’t be sitting in Quantico. He wouldn’t be building giant forces that would secure the Untied States the way he wanted. He wouldn’t be a man of power. Exhaling in those long thoughts while watching one of his men work on a truck across from him, George realized how much he loved his wife. How much he missed her. And even though he was deeply saddened by her death, there were some positive points to Margaret’s passing.
It was almost time to move on, perhaps head to that area George wanted to designate as a golf course. Standing up, he took one more glance to the soldier across the way. The brawny man who worked with so much diligence, he never stopped to notice anyone watching him. The soldier lifted a battery from the truck and placed it in a green sack. He then tossed the green sack over his shoulder, grabbed another from the ground, and shut the hood.
George knew it was men like that soldier--the ones who insured that the smaller things ran--who never received any of the society’s appreciation. So because he was in that rare type of mood, and just to show the soldier he could be a cordial leader, George lifted his hand in a wave to the man.
And just so not to be pegged, or suspected, the Captain returned the wave, and added a smile before toting his two batteries and walking off.
^^^^
Beginnings, Montana
The pain medication not only seemed to soothe the pain of Ellen’s injury, but her nerves as well. The warm water of the shower helped her too. Ellen knew she took longer than needed. But Dean was working on the reviewing the disks and virus, so there was really nothing else to do but wait. Struggling through the splinted finger to fasten her pants, Ellen turned to the knock on her bedroom door. “Come in.”
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 196