The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  Elliott swallowed, still staring at Ellen. “Thus by my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

  Ellen barely moved, just as written in the play, but she couldn’t determine if it was stage direction or Elliott. With a quick shift to the words, Ellen spoke, her voice cracking in a hint of nervousness. “Then have my lips . . . the sin . . .” She brought her mouth closer to Elliott’s . “That they did took.”

  Breathing a slightly heavy breath, Elliott lowered his mouth to hers. “Sin from my lips. Oh, trespass sweetly urged. Give me . . . my sin again.” Parting his lips so closely to Ellen’s, in his peripheral vision, Elliott caught the sight of a pair of big brown eyes. He looked to them, his lips still so close to Ellen’s. Frank stood there.

  “Don’t even think about it, Ryder.” Frank’s voice was raspy. “Back those lips away about, I don’t know, say . . .” He bobbed his head side to side. “Three or four fuckin miles?”

  The men enthusiastically took notes.

  Elliott stepped back and looked at Ellen, who giggled. “We were just doing the play.”

  “Yeah, right. You were taking advantage.” He turned to Ellen. “Give me that.” He snatched the book from her hand. “Only you, El, would turn an innocent Thanksgiving play into something pornographic. Sick.” He shook his head. “You guys are done. Fuckin Shakespeare would roll over in his grave if he knew what you did to his work as if it isn’t bad enough.” He huffed and sat back down. Frank would have to find a new scene and have to find one with women since they were they only roles Hal’s men wanted to read. When Frank thought of Hal, he got a little upset that he wouldn’t win that Danny Dollar contest. Little did Frank know his short review of the scene that consisted of, ‘They’re standing. They’re talking about pilgrims. Holy people. They mentioned lips’ would probably be the winner, because the abrupt end to his review that stopped with the hard written word, ‘fuck’ said it all.

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  What a great younger brother Robbie thought himself to be. Even though Frank gave him strict orders not to help Hal out, he was going to anyhow. Why not? He was done with Mechanics. He didn’t have to be at Containment for awhile and Hal was stuck with all of Frank’s work. Whether Hal was capable of doing it or not, Robbie was well aware how much work that was.

  He checked out the time. It was two p.m., and he hadn’t seen or heard from Hal, except for when they had lunch with Joe. If Hal stayed up with the typical Frank agenda of the day, he would be at the back gate region checking out traps. It was a big region divided up and since Robbie was near that area, he figured he’s lend a hand to speed things along.

  He stopped by Frank’s office and stepped inside just enough to grab a clipboard marked ‘eight’ that hung on the side of the file cabinet. On it was a map of traps to be checked in that particular region. Tucking it under his arm, Robbie left the office and headed the rest of the way to the back gate region. Midway there, he pulled out the clipboard and it brought Robbie to a dead stop.

  He lifted the single sheet of paper. “This isn’t right,” he spoke to himself. His eyes shifted to the number ‘eight’ on the clipboard handle, then the region map of area ‘twelve’ that he had. He thought how lucky he was that he knew the maps at a glance or he would have been in trouble when he went up to area eight. It would have been like walking in a ‘Frank’ style mine field. As soon as Robbie had that thought, fear struck him. If Hal was sticking to the schedule then Hal was at area twelve checking for traps. But the problem was, Robbie had the map.

  ^^^^

  From a squatting position in a wooded area, Hal stood up and brushed off his hands. “Well,” he spoke to himself. “Either my brother Frank is a genius at traps, or there isn’t any. How can I secure the traps if I don’t see them, Frank? He’s messing with me. Let’s try it again.” His legs were tired and needed a break from all the walking he did, Hal turned around and looked where the start of the area was marked. “All right. Red post. I see it. This seems ten paces from . . .”

  “Hal!” Robbie’s voice was heard in the woods.

  “Over here,” Hal responded, looking about the area, then checking the map. “Maybe I headed in the wrong direction.”

  “Hal!” Robbie called out again.

  Hal checked out where the voice was coming from. He saw Robbie and then he didn’t. Just as his curiosity was piqued, he saw him again, zigzagging left to right, down to the ground, rolling into a stand, and then charging forth. Hal laughed. “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Hal don’t move. Don’t move.”

  “I knew it,” Hal said. “The way he and Frank are, there are probably no traps in this region. Assholes.” With a shake of his head and a mind set to ignore his taunting little brother, Hal trudged on.

  Hal hadn’t worn combat boots in a long time. They were heavy and made his legs ache. They lacked the connection to the ground that his UWA boots had. But heavy, thick or not, Hal felt the sensation when he stepped on it. The slight ‘crack’ emerged first, along with the feeling that something snapped. Hal looked down.

  The sounds, ‘click-shift-release-whistle’

  No sooner did Hal’s eyes lift, all the air escaped him when in a blur of movement, fast and hard, Robbie pummeled into him. Shoulder to gut, Hal grunted with the force of the hit and slammed backwards into the ground with Robbie on top of him.

  With a shake of his head, Hal’s eyes met Robbie’s. “What the . . .”

  Clank. Thump.

  Hal only had a moment to see the grenade that lay by the base of a tree before he felt his body roll. Tackled by Robbie with body going over body and with speed, they moved seconds before the grenade exploded. Hal felt the pelting of dust and debris hit against his face as they came to a stop and then he felt something else.

  Snap.

  “Shit.” Robbie, with his fist clenched to Hal’s shirt, ejected himself backwards as he held on to his brother. With everything he had, he moved them both out of the way just as a board of spikes lifted from the ground and smacked down with a vengeance where they once were.

  Breathing heavily from the excitement, Hal looked up to Robbie. “Safe?”

  “Yeah.” Robbie lifted to his knees. “I think. Let me get my bearings. We’re . . . shit.”

  “What.”

  Crack.

  “Fuck!” Robbie’s one word echoed with the disappearance of the ground behind him. Still on his knees, Robbie lost his balance and toppled backwards, head first only to be stopped by a grab of his ankles a split second before his skull careened into the spears that layered the bottom. “Shit.” His voice echoed. “Hal?” Robbie called up as his eyes locked onto the point of a spear. He was so close he swore he could see every ridge of their carvings. “Um, don’t let me go.”

  “You’re heavy.” Hal held on. “Wait. I got it but I have to secure your weight.”

  “How are you gonna do . . .” Robbie screamed. “You’re breaking my legs. Get off!”

  “I have to hold you while I try to lasso the rope around the tree and tie it to your ankles.” Hal secured his weight on Robbie’s legs.

  “Play cowboys and fuckin Indians later, Hal. Pull me up!”

  “Fine.”

  Robbie widened his eyes in question. “Fine?” He tilted his head back to see the tips of the spears. “He’s getting pissy with me and I . . .” Robbie shrieked as he slipped another inch. “Hal!”

  “I got you.”

  Robbie breathed a slight sigh of relief when he felt his body pulled up. But he wasn’t going to totally be secure until he felt the safety of the ground and when Hal no longer set off any more Frank booby traps.

  ^^^^

  Robbie, cigarette in mouth, ignited his lighter. “Welcome to the Frank House of Horrors.” He lit his cigarette and extended the still flickering flame to Hal.

  “Thanks.” Hal lit his. “I could have been killed.”

  “We have to tell Frank they worked.” Robbie tugged Hal’s arm and pulled h
im to the right. “We’re almost out.”

  “It’s a maze.”

  “Frank has no pattern. Well, he does.” Robbie took them to the left. “There’s just enough room for us to walk through and do a check.”

  “It’s almost unnecessary to have all these traps.”

  “Yeah, it’s habit though . . . big step here, Hal.” Robbie stepped over a log. “I mean, years ago survivors tried to sneak in left and right, but they were nothing compared to the Savages and SUTs.”

  “I see your point, but why keep them up?” Hal followed Robbie into the safety zone.

  “For fun.”

  “Fun? Look what happened today. Was that fun?”

  Robbie shrugged and hit his cigarette. “In a way.”

  “I guess you have a point. But . . .” Hal held up his hand. “Mistakes are made. Frank forgot to mark down where one of his traps was.”

  “Frank never forgets to mark down where his traps are, Robbie said. “He’s too good at that. You just had the wrong map.”

  “The wrong map?” Hal was shocked. “My God, how often does that happen?”

  “Never, really,” Robbie replied. “I guess someone screwed up. Or someone did it on purpose because . . .” With a kidding swat to Hal’s back, Robbie walked passed him. “. . .they wanted to kill you.”

  Hal stopped cold. He watched Robbie walk away, laughing at what he thought was a funny comment. But to Hal it wasn’t funny, nor was it a joke. He hated himself for thinking it but he knew the idea of someone trying to kill him was more a reality than Robbie would ever imagine possible. And with that thought came another . . . Johnny.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  New Bowman, Montana

  Ellen stared at the note that was left for her on Hal’s dining room table. It was neatly written and folded for her to find when she returned from a day of patients.

  ‘I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries.’ was the line in the letter that simply told Ellen the kiss was not intentional. After the scene from the play, Elliott stepped to the back of the room and hung out in case Frank needed any help. Actually, Ellen stayed for a while as well, hoping to get more amusement out of the class. But Frank, like he always did, pulled through and ended up not looking like a Shakespearean illiterate. He had the class so confused when he went from Romeo and Juliet into a pilgrim’s frenzy that they didn’t even have time to question what happened to Shakespeare. Ellen still chuckled at Frank’s theory on why John Smith was nearly beheaded. Pocahontas' father was pissed, not because it was a case of ‘white man and Indian’, but rather John Smith was nothing but a pedophile hitting on his underage daughter.

  “El,” Frank called out from the living room.

  Ellen folded the note and slipped it in her purse. “Almost done.”

  “I’m doing this now.”

  “No, Frank. I’m done.” Ellen checked her reflection in Hal’s bedroom mirror, tossed her purse over her shoulder, and walked out. “I’m ready.”

  Frank smiled. “You look really nice.”

  “It’s just jeans.” She shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “I’m doing it. Take that off.” Frank reached for her purse. “It’s not . . .Christ, El.” He slipped the purse from her shoulder. “What do you have in here?”

  “Stuff.”

  “Fuck.” He tossed it on the couch and the bang it caused when it rolled to the floor made Frank hunch. “Man. All right.” He clapped his hands. “Ready.”

  “To go?”

  “No. You know.”

  Ellen whined. “Fine.”

  “Go on.” He flung out his hand at her. “Go.”

  Rolling her eyes slightly, Ellen shook her head and walked back in the bedroom. She stood there with her arms folded and listened to the door close. She bobbed her head in the few second wait until she heard the knock on the door. Trying to shun the annoyed look, Ellen placed on a fake pleasant smile, walked to the door, and opened it. “Oh,” she said with badly acted surprise. “Frank?”

  “Hello, El. I’m here for our date.”

  “Gee. Come in.” She opened the door wider. “Let me get my purse.”

  Frank chuckled out a ‘ha’. “El, isn’t this great?” he said with enthusiasm. “I pick you up. You grab your purse. Dean wouldn’t do this.”

  “No, Dean wouldn’t act out picking me up.”

  “No, I mean the date. He wouldn’t take you out on a date.”

  So offended, Ellen looked at him. “Yes, he would.” She adjusted the purse on her shoulder.

  “No, he wouldn’t. I know. He said something about taking you out.”

  “See.”

  “And then . . .” Frank continued. “He asked how much everything cost in New Bowman. When I told him, he said to forget he asked.”

  “He is so cheap.”

  “He’s a doctor,” Frank shrugged.

  “Hey, Frank.” Ellen smiled sneaky. “Wanna make Dean into a generous man?”

  “How?” Frank asked.

  Ellen unzipped her purse, emerged her hand into the deep sack, rummaged around, and with a wide grin, pulled out Dean’s Danny Dollar card.

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  His little face was smashed beneath the palm of his hand, as Billy leaned with his elbow on the table, rolling his eyes. A closed book sat before him.

  Over his cupped hands that held his cigarette, Joe kept peering from Billy to Dean, who stood by the door.

  Hal listened more than watched facial reactions. He felt bad the way they spoke of Billy as if he wasn’t in the room.

  “It’s concern. I’m not picking on him,” Jenny explained. “Dean . . .” She exhaled. “I’m at a loss.”

  “It gets frustrating, I know,” Dean told her. “I’ll talk to him . . . again.”

  “I appreciate it. It undermines my authority when he refuses to do the work. Yes, he very well may know the answers, but the other children don’t. I even asked him to help the other children. He scoffed at me. Scoffed.”

  Lifting his hand as if at a loss for words, Dean shook his head. “I’m right with you there, Jenny, but I’ll try.”

  “Chapter four.”

  “Got it.”

  “Hal?” Jenny called out. “Care to walk me home?”

  Hal’s head lifted up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Walk me home.” Jenny tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s dark.”

  Joe saw the hesitation in Hal. “Hal, walk her home.”

  “Yes.” Slowly, Hal stood up.

  Joe saw it as Hal moved slowly with a slight limp and almost in a slant. “Hal, what’s wrong with you? You got the gout?”

  “The gout?” Hal laughed. “I walked quite a bit today. My legs aren’t used to it. Besides, I’m thirty-five years old. I hardly have the gout.”

  “Actually, Uncle Hal,” Billy spoke up with a tapping of his fingers. “Gout has no boundaries on age.”

  Dean snapped a view to Billy and smiled.

  “See, Dean.” Jenny pointed. “Billy, we don’t correct adults.”

  “What if they’re wrong?” Billy asked. “I should let Uncle Hal think, just because he’s grown up, that at thirty-five he can’t get gout?”

  “Yes, well, you could put it in a nicer way,” Jenny told him. “We don’t speak down to adults.”

  “O.K.” Billy shrugged. “Uncle Hal, I know you’re young, but you can still get gout.”

  “Yes, I know,” Hal stated, “but I just said that because it’s uncommon.”

  “Actually . . .” Billy’s words were cut off by Dean’s hand.

  Giving an awkward smile, Dean looked at Hal. “Why don’t you walk Jenny?”

  Not looking like he wanted to do so, Hal escorted Jenny out.

  Releasing a breath, Dean slid his hand off of Billy’s mouth. “Control your mouth.”

  “I’ll try.” Billy laid his hand on his book.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” Dean sat down.


  “Dean,” Joe spoke up. “I remember what William used to tell me. You were pretty much the same way.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t act that way.”

  “You don’t think?” Joe asked.

  “I’m positive, Joe.”

  “O.K.” Joe shrugged. “Try this. Did your father ever say to you that when you have kids, he hopes you have a son just like you?”

  “Yes,” Dean answered.

  “Then trust me, you were just like him. He did the parent curse on you.”

  “It worked.”

  “Always does. Look at Robbie.” Joe reached over and laid his hand on Billy’s book. “Do your work. It’s one chapter.”

  “Pap, I don’t want to. It’s dumb.”

  “I realize that,” Joe said. “But you have to do it.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “Ah,” Joe leaned back. “The proverbial argument I have heard before. Let me tell you a story. A while ago, there was this boy. Son of a bitch, the was kid smart. At five he was doing mathematical equations that college scholars couldn’t do. In the old world, they gave awards for smart kids. This kid . . .” Joe whistled. “Won a ton of them. He wasn’t allowed to enter contests. He invented things. He actually invented the little gadget inside an M-16 rifle that lets it go with a squeeze of a trigger from semiautomatic to automatic. That was at age seven. The world knew him as the prodigy boy. Experts were saying he made Albert Einstein look like an idiot. Well, this kid, see, he started getting attitude about school and said he didn’t need it. He was smart enough. He argued up and down.”

  “Rightfully so,” Billy said. “He was smart.”

  “Yeah and the world agreed. He got special permission from the courts to not have to go to school. At age nine, he never went to school again.”

  “See,” Billy stated. “He was lucky. So what happened to him?”

  “Well . . .” Joe breathed out. “Sadly enough he turned into the Frank we know and love today.”

  Without hesitation, Billy opened his book.