Inhaling, Ellen spun around. So close she was to Dean. Reaching up she laid her hand upon his cheek.
Dean took hold of her hand, removed it, then held it. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I owe you an apology.”
“Dean,” Near whimper she spoke, “please don’t do this. Can we just not think about what happens after quarantine and think about now?”
“This isn’t about now, or today, or even tomorrow. It’s about yesterday.” Dean saw the confusion on Ellen’s face. “Yesterday meaning a while ago. It’s . . . It’s an apology long overdue.”
“For what?”
With some hesitation, eyes still locked, Dean spoke soft. “For any time I never understood what you were going through six years ago. For not understanding why you got like you got.” He squeezed her hand. “For all that you went through, and for what you are today, I admire you, Ellen.”
Ellen was taken aback. “Whoa. You’ve never said anything like that to me.”
“I’m sorry for that, because I’ve always felt that way.” Slowly Dean released her hand, stepped as far as he could into Ellen, and embraced her. “I want you to know, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure nothing pulls you down again. Tell me . . .” Dean closed his eyes and whispered with intensity. “Tell me El, that you think I can do this. Please.”
Right then and there Ellen knew it wasn’t just the side effects of the antidote. All of what was going on was troubling Dean. Everything they viewed, everything that scared them, hinged on Dean. He was the key to letting that future happen, or stopping that, and Dean knew it. And for anyone, even Dean, that was an awfully big load to carry alone. Ellen wouldn’t let him do that. “No Dean, I don’t think you can do this. I know you can do this. I believe in you.” She felt him hold her tighter. “I really believe in you.”
HENRY’S JOURNAL
December 4
If anyone were to asked me again if I wanted to look into the future, from this moment on, that answer would be ‘no’. What we saw, where we were, was not a place I ever want to be again. It was a vision, a trip I want to forget--a nightmare. With the grace of God, it will remain always a nightmare that I can awaken from. Hopefully Dean, Ellen, and myself can ensure that what we witnessed will never be a reality to us in our lifetime or our children’s.
LEAST EXPECTED TURNS
CHAPTER TWELVE
December 6
Beginnings, Montana
The escape hatch in the skills room floor slammed loudly, causing the nine survivors in the room to jump. Joe, toting a clipboard, pointed fatherly around the group. “While Ellen’s in quarantine, I am in charge. And when I am in charge,. no more pissing in the hatch.” Grumbling he moved across the room. “I’ll lock it back up, I mean it.” Almost out, Joe spotted Mike. He sat on the floor on his hands in knees. “Mike, you’re in charge. Watch them.”
Mike barked.
“Good boy.” Joe patted the bald head of the man and walked out. He stopped in the hallway when he heard the buzzing of the main door.
“Joseph Slagel.” Andrea marched to him with her arms folded. “Joseph! I know you hear me you are not that far away.”
“What Andrea? I’m a busy man.” Joe walked to Ellen’s office He saw Andrea follow him. “What is it? And don’t slam that . . .” He cringed. “…door.”
“You know exactly why I am here.” Her finger pointed and her head bobbed. “What in the Lord’s name are you doing to Denny and Josh? And what is it that you have them doing now?”
“Working. They have to work. What else are they going to do?”
“Get an education.”
Joe scoffed. “They get an education a couple hours a day. The rest of the time they work.”
“They should be in school full time.”
“For what Andrea? I can see if they were headed to be the town doctor, but let’s face it, neither of them two boys are a budding Einstein.”
Andrea gasped.
“Andrea, what do I have them doing now that is so bad? They aren’t doing anything but unloading and separating the Christmas stuff.”
“Exactly.” Andrea raised her head. “Denny is seeing the gifts.”
“So what? It’s not like he’s nine and he still believes in Santa Clause.”
Andrea brought in her bottom lip and raised her eyes while tapping her fingers on her arm.
“Andrea! He’s fourteen years old for crying out loud. I understand you want to shelter the boy, but come on, you’re going overboard don’t you think.”
Don’t you take that tone!” Andrea yelled back.
“Jesus Christ, you still have the kid believing in Santa?”
“Joe Slagel, I will raise that boy the way I see fit. This is a new world and . . .” She took a breath of disgust when she watched him nod his head and wave his hand to hurry her. “Sweet Jesus, what is with the attitude!”
“I’ll ask you the same thing. I haven’t been paying enough attention to you. Is that it? It’s starvation.”
“Oh, you arrogant son of a bitch, I am insulted. Starved for you?”
“Please, Andrea. You need me.”
Andrea gasped. “Need you!? If I’m gonna be needing anyone it certainly would be someone who was still viable. You, Joe Slagel are too old.”
“Old.” Joe laughed with a loud ‘Ha!’. “I’ll show you old.” Tossing his papers back to the desk, Joe grabbed firmly with both hands to Andrea’s face, pulling her to him and kissing her.
Andrea struggled but only for a moment, her tense arms relaxed and she threw them tightly around Joe’s neck, running her hands fanatically through his always perfect hair.
Cling to each other, they became swept away in their kiss, clumsily bumping into Ellen’s desk, and knocking things off. Without thought, Joe turned Andrea around, clutching her leg, and lowering her down to the surface behind them.
The moment they touched down was the moment they stopped when a loud, shrieking, Frank bellowed into the room. “Uh!” Frank shielded his eyes with his forearm. “There’s something just not right, seeing your father like that.”
Joe lifted himself up, shaking his head. “Frank.”
“Dad, you assured me you weren’t seeing this woman.”
Andrea straightened her clothes. “Frank, grow up.”
“Grow up?” Frank scoffed. “I’m merely doing my job. My Dad calls for me. I get here, I hear screaming, and then I hear silence. I think you’re killing my Dad. Instead you’re molesting him.”
“Frank!” Joe yelled.
“On my wife’s desk,” Frank instigated.
“Frank!” Again, Joe yelled.
“What!” Frank blasted in return. “Don’t yell. You called for me. What’s wrong? Why are you guys yelling?”
“Andrea!” Joe pointed with a heavy hand then sat down. “Get ready for this, Frank. She has Denny still believing in Santa.”
“O.K.” Frank nodded. “Dad? Robbie believed in Santa until he was fifteen.”
A shriek flew from Andrea. She gurgled her voice in disgust. “And you ridicule me.”
“Andrea,” Joe barked. “There’s a big difference. I told Robbie the truth. I even took him to the goddamn mall at thirteen and pulled off Santa’s beard. But he still wouldn’t believe me.”
Frank snickered, “That was so funny. Man, were those little kids fuckin traumatized.” With a shake of his head and a laugh, Frank walked to the door. “All right. Glad I could help.”
“Frank.” Joe slammed his hand on the desk as he called his son. “I didn’t ask you here to solve our Santa dilemma. Robbie’s on his way back. Can you be my office when he arrives? He wants to have a meeting.”
“What for?” Frank asked.
“He says he brings good fortune.” Joe said.
“You mean, like a horseshoe?”
Joe’s top lip curled. “Frank, you dumb son of a bitch. He didn’t bring a horseshoe.”
“Ho
w do you know? He said good fortune and that…”
“Frank! Can you be there!”
“Yes!” Frank screamed in returned. “God, yell at me. Make my ass come all the way down here when you could have radioed.” He stormed out. “I know you do that shit on purpose.” His voice faded in his complaint.
After Frank left, Andrea looked at Joe. “He is not right, Joe. Not right. And here I would have thought Frank was the one who believed in Santa for a long time.”
“Frank. Frank used to set traps for Santa. Damn near cut off my toe the one year.” Joe shook his head with a laugh at that memory. He drew up an ornery look. “Hey, Andrea. Why don’t you shut and lock that door.” He winked.
“You are bad.” Andrea said seriously, then giggled and did as asked.
^^^^
The Plains, VA
Elliott flashed a bright smile after listening carefully to the Captain. He leaned over the map spread upon the table. He tapped his finger quickly on the paper then released a sarcastic laugh. “What are you? Nuts?”
“Elliott, Elliott, Elliott.” The Captain shook his head. “It’s four women. Four measly little women.”
“I understand that.” Elliott said. “But, I did surveillance that spoiling camp. You did not. I understand your plan with this . . . . pre brain surgery concentration camp. It works. We can go in there with fifty men, hide out, and not be seen. That area is dense. But this spoiling camp,” Elliott argued to him. “It’s not a camp. No. It’s a big red building in the middle of everywhere. We don’t know how many guards are in there, because we only saw the changeover. We can’t move in with a large group of men.”
The Captain smiled. “You really need to calm down. I didn’t say go in with a large group. I’m thinking small. Very small. Go in, get our women, get out.”
“I suppose you just want to walk right in.”
“Yes,” The Captain said with excitement.
“No,” Elliott argued adamantly. “It’s a huge place. The only way we’re gonna walk right through those doors is if one of us is a woman.”
^^^^
Washington, D.C.
“I hate you.” Elliott grumbled from beneath the long, dirty, purple shawl that covered his head and shoulders. “I can’t believe this,” He said to the Captain who sported a Society uniform.
“Elliott, Shh.” The Captain brought him to the reception window inside the empty entrance hall. “And hunch down. You’re too tall.”
Elliott did. “I don’t know why you aren’t the woman. You have the long hair.”
“You’re prettier.” The Captain winked, grinned, then knocked on the glass of the window. “Now don’t say anything and keep your head . . .” The Captain grinned, when a balding man in a lab coat approached the window. “Afternoon. I’m dropping off.”
Irritation laced the doctor’s heavy exhale. “Paperwork.”
“You don’t have it?” The Captain asked.
“No. You’re supposed to.”
“No, you are. That big guy, um . . .” The Captain snapped his fingers several times. “What’s his name . . .”
“Burke?” The Doctor asked.
“Burke, that’s it.” The Captain said. “Burke was to drop off the papers earlier. This one was a bit frisky. She keeps . . .” The Captain dropped his voice to a whisper. “…grabbing me.”
“Burke didn’t leave them. Then again, he’s an asshole. O.K., go on. Take her up to processing.”
“That would be floor . . .”
“Three.” The doctor told him. “And by the way. have you seen my guard?”
“Yeah. He’s out front.”
“He’s supposed to be right here. All right. Take her up, thanks.” The doctor grumbled and walked from the window.
Taking hold of Elliott’s arm, with a jerk, the Captain tugged him. “Careful. No footprints.”
After another grumble, Elliott looked down to the dead guard that lay right beneath the window, then carefully stepped over the body and the blood that flowed freely from his neck.
The elevator wasn’t that far, a mere ten feet. The Captain pressed the button and the doors immediately opened. He hurried inside and pressed three.
Once inside and once the doors had closed, Elliott dropped the shawl. “You owe me.” He swung around his rifle that was on his back, then reached behind him to the gas masks that were also hidden under that shawl. He handed one to the Captain.
“Thanks.” The Captain took the mask. “Stay back,” He instructed when the door opened. Placing his foot out first, the Captain stayed behind the doors and peered. “Clear.” With a motion of his head, he and Elliott stepped from the elevator. “Look, Elliott. Look how proficient.” The Captain pointed to a sign that greeted them immediately. The word ‘processing’ had an arrow indicating left. ‘Preparation and spoiling’ were to the right.
“They’ve been here too long to be in processing,” Elliott said.
“You’re right.” The Captain moved to the right. A single door with a small window was before them. Peering through the window but keeping out of sight, The Captain spotted guards in the long corridor. “Masks.” He placed his on.
“You or me?” Elliott adjusted his mask.
“You take this one. Ready?”
Elliott lifted the small gas canister. “Ready.”
The Captain grabbed the door handle. Slowly he nodded his head. On the third nod, he flung open the door and Elliott tossed in the can. The canister rolled down the hallway and stopped at the tip of the boot of a soldier. The soldier peered down and reached for it just as it exploded.
The Captain stood back against the closed door. He peered through the window, watching the soldiers drop. “Now.” Another grab of the door, rifle high, the Captain and Elliott barreled through. “Christ.” The Captain turned to walk backwards. Through the steam, only three doors were seen. “Elliott, I’ll take the far end. You take this one.”
“Got it,” Elliott said, watching the Captain race to the end of the corridor, and then he himself prepared to go in the room. He tried the knob first. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. He looked through the small window only to see a doctor walk by with a clipboard. Not seeing a guard, but not taking a chance, Elliott lifted a gas canister from his belt, placed his back against the wall, turned the knob, pushed the door open with his foot, and tossed in the gas. He counted. He waited and then rushed in. The moment he did, Elliott not only lost his weapon, he nearly lost his heart when the steam of the gas moved enough to expose the longest glass wall he had ever seen. But it wasn’t the glass wall that took Elliott aback. It was what was behind it.
“Elliott.” The Captain barreled in. “That was only ...” His speed and words slowed down. “…an office. Dear God,” He gasped.
Elliott could barely speak. His hand lifted in a point to the wall, then closing his eyes, he turned around. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think, I think numbers 72 through 75 are ours.”
Those numbers were near the end. Though struck with the painful vision, unlike Elliott, the Captain had to take a closer look. He stepped nearer to the glass wall. Reaching up, his fingers pressed against the pane of glass, the Captain looked inside. A large room, a lab. It was dark with the exception of the glow brought on by the digital displays and power lights that graced the bottom of each vat. Vats, thin, tubular and tall, filled the room. They were too numerous to count, too many to see them all. The only identification was a posted number near the bottom. Some of the vats stood upright, some vertical, and some on a slant. But every single one of them was not only filled with a clear effervescence fluid, but the bodies of women suspended by wires. Their bodies were nude, their heads shaven. The life signal display at the bottom of the vat indicated their vital signs, while the rapid blinking eyes and twitching body parts reiterated they were still alive.
“Are they?” Elliott asked with a crack to his voice flinging off his mask.
“I . . . I believe one is Rosemary, yes.” The Captain turned arou
nd, taking off his mask.
“What are they doing to them?”
“I don’t . . .” Before the Captain completed his answer he saw the clipboard still clenched in the hand of the scientist who lay upon the floor. He walked to it and lifted it. The first sheet told him nothing, but the second sheet made the Captain’s eyes grow wide.
“Captain? What are they doing with them?”
“Breeding.” The Captain swallowed and dropped the clipboard. “They’re all pregnant.”
“We can’t leave them. Is there any way we can save them?” Elliott asked.
Slowly the Captain looked back into the lab. Clearly he could see the small scar that graced above the left temple of every woman. “I don’t think there . . . yes. Yes there is. Stay here.”
“We don’t have much time. The gas will wear off. What are you doing?” Elliott asked, watching the Captain move to the door that led into the lab chamber.
“You’re right. I don’t have time to help them all. But I can at least save our women from this. I’ll be back.”
Elliott didn’t have to look to know what the Captain was doing. He listened to the Captain’s boots move slowly across the linoleum of the echoing lab.
The Captain approached the vats of numbers 72 through 75. He confirmed visually that they were indeed the women that had joined Elliott and him. And when he knew they were, the Captain took a deep breath, blinked long, blessed himself then raised his rifle.
Elliott’s eyes closed at the four sequences of sound, a single shot, a shattering of glass, and the ‘splash’ of rushing water. His head lowered and he prayed.
“Let’s go,” The Captain said with solace as he emerged from the lab.
Elliott followed. A few moans were heard in the hall along with something else, female screams and a pounding on a door. Immediately Elliott looked up. “The other door.”
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 198