The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  ^^^^

  Ellen had to wonder if they planned it that way. Was it a subconscious thing that was happening before her in the living room? It had to be because neither, Frank, Hal, or Robbie would openly agree to act and be the way they were.

  Under the thick cloud of cigarette smoke sat the three brothers. Part ‘A’ was their appearance, Robbie in a black turtle neck, Frank in a black tee-shirt, and Hal in a black sweatshirt. All of them wore the exact same style of faded jeans. On the respective spots before them on the coffee table rested each of their personal revolvers as if tossed there for the evening. All three held a cup of coffee in one hand as they lounged back.

  It was the weirdest cross between reminiscing and strategy Ellen had ever seen. Part ‘B’ was how the three of them found an attribute to their youth in every aspect of the preliminary ‘game’ mentioned.

  Hal and Frank’s description of getting up at the crack of dawn to drive around making decoy tracks reminded Robbie of the time they all went camping and how Jimmy got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and became lost. They found Jimmy at the crack of dawn sound asleep in someone else’s camp.

  The M.R.E.’s they had packed to supplement food brought back fond memories of Frank’s teenage cooking days.

  And the weaponry. Well, Ellen expected that there’d be a good story to go along with each piece of artillery that brought.

  And they did, story after story but one thing was certain. Ellen would bask in those stories. There was nothing better or more assuring than having the Slagel brothers protecting her. In Ellen’s mind, to them, it wasn’t just a job, it really was … an adventure.

  ^^^^

  The can fire of the check in post that they had just passed through reflected as a dance of light in the side rearview mirror. George stared at it, letting it hypnotize him as he rested back in the passenger’s seat waiting for Bertha.

  They had arrived with no fanfare. Not that he wanted that at near three in the morning, but some sort of greeting would have been appreciated. After all he was the President but George reasoned his disappointed state to being tired. To his internal clock, he had been up over twenty-four hours.

  He took a second to glance at the camp laid out before him and the glow of tents that were warmed by more can fires. A few buildings were erected and a part of George was excited about living the field life for a week.

  “Sir,” Bertha spoke as she opened the driver’s door.

  “Ready?” George asked. “All I want to do is sleep right now.”

  “The CO of the camp thought perhaps you’d want to meet the Beginnings war monitor.”

  “He arrived?” George asked.

  “Yes and has been waiting patiently to see you.”

  “Why the hell would I want to see the war monitor? Unless . . .” George opened the door. “Do I know him?”

  “I believe so, sir. I’m not sure. This way.” Bertha led the direction to walk.

  “Who is it? No, wait. Don’t tell me. Let me be surprised.”

  “He is in a VIP tent next to yours.”

  “VIP tent?” George walked side by side with Bertha.

  “That’s part of the rules. The CO heard from our man in Beginnings. He is set up with a home there.”

  “I’m not a real fan of this monitor thing or getting to know them but I spent years upon years in Beginnings. A part of me hopes that I already now this person. How enjoyable it would be to really spend a week irritating this person with my presence.”

  Bertha hesitated before opening the flap door to the tent. “Are you sure this person won’t irritate you?”

  “Oh,” George scoffed, “that’s impossible.” He stepped through the flap and stopped. The words, ‘scratch that just seemed to slip out when the smiling Beginnings war monitor stepped into view and it was Henry.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  January 15th

  Like a breeze Ellen wisped by Frank and to him, it was the last time. “El.” He showed her his wrist and finger as he tapped the face of his watch. “Do you see what I’m doing?”

  “Shh.” Ellen waved him off.

  “El, I’m serious. I’m indicating it is time to go.”

  “Frank, I have been here three weeks, I want to make sure I have everything.”

  “This isn’t a fuckin vacation motel, El. We can come back for it,” Frank said, perturbed. “It’s daybreak, sweetie. Hal has the diversion tracks from the house ready. We have to go.”

  With a huff, center living room, Ellen spun around. “God, Frank, I am not understanding the rush.”

  “Today is the day. We have to move.”

  “You know, all three of you are acting like the Society is coming right now. Geez.” She chuckled. “You think you’re overreacting, just a bit?”

  Crash!

  The shattering glass of the living room flew about as ball of fire sailed in and landed at their feet.

  “Fuck.” Frank stamped at the fire. “See what I mean? Does that answer your question? Fuck.”

  Another crash. Another ball of fire.

  “Oh my God.” Ellen backed up. “We have to go.”

  “Um, yeah.” Frank gave up on the fire. “We have to . . .” He winced some when he heard another crash from the back of the house. “. . . go!” He led her toward the hall. As soon as they stepped in, Robbie opened the door with a rush.

  “Savage attack,” Robbie informed. “Big one too.” He kicked the door shut and grabbed the extra shotgun from the hall. “We have to move.”

  Frank grumbled. “See,” he said to Ellen. “Five minutes. Five fuckin minutes earlier and we would have been clear of this shit.” He opened the front door. “Fuck. Robbie. Down!”

  Ellen shrieked when Robbie side armed her and pulled her out of the way of the sailing arrow that zoomed by a ducking Frank.

  Frank pumped the M-16. “What’s the back look like?”

  Lifting from the floor, Robbie didn’t have to see. “Fire.”

  “OK.” Staying out of the door’s view, Frank stood to the side and peered out. “It’s raining arrows but they aren’t on the property.”

  “No,” Robbie told him. “They’re close to the perimeter, projecting the attack.”

  “Fuckin Hal.” Frank shook his head looking out to the truck that was parked at a distance. Hal looked like he was in an OK Corral fight. He would stand up, shoot, then duck behind the truck again. “Hal!” Frank shouted. “What the fuck! Move the truck!”

  “I’m . . .” Hal shot, then darted back down. “Trying here, Frank! They’re waiting for me to get to the door.”

  Disgusted, Frank shook his head. “Robbie, go help him. Back the truck up to the porch.”

  “Should we run with her?” Robbie motioned his head to a silent Ellen.

  “What? Are you kidding me? I’d have to carry her and the only distance I want to carry her is from this porch to that truck. Go. I’ll cover you. El, down the beams so we can drive straight out.”

  Robbie stepped mid leaving. “The beams are down. They think they’re up.”

  “Great.” Frank raise his weapon. “Thinking Savages. Go. It’s not gonna be much longer until they figure it out.”

  Side-standing in the archway with his M-16 raised and aimed, Frank scooped out and shot, trying to cover a running, smiling, and darting Robbie.

  “Frank,” Ellen called to him.

  “I’m a little busy here, El.”

  “But the house is on fire.” Ellen tried unsuccessfully to stay calm.

  “Yeah but we still have the porch as a means of clear escape.” No sooner had Frank said that than another fire bomb blasted right before the front of the porch shooting up and igniting the posts. “OK, maybe not.”

  “Frank . . . “ Ellen’s voice shivered in panic

  “We’re fine. As long as they get that truck here in oh, say . . .” Frank quickly assessed the blazing situation. “Ten seconds.”

  “Hey.” Robbie did a baseball slide, greeting
Hal at the back of the military truck.

  “One would think,” Hal said as he reloaded, “we’re in some sort of Cowboy and Indian video game.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “The house is on fire. We have to get that truck back there.”

  Quickly, Hal looked back. “Christ.”

  “No more fun, Hal. We have to chance it.”

  “On my call. You jump in the bed, I’ll go forward. Damn it, I hate getting hit with arrows.” Hal put his revolver away. “Go!” he ordered, leaving Robbie in his mid-shout and in a hunched position, Hal forged forward to the driver’s side of the truck. It was ready to go. Only the ignition needed turned over.

  Hal saw the arrows coming, steady and at the same speed. With a quick fling open of the truck door, Hal repelled the arrows and dove in the truck. Like making it inside from a thunderous storm, Hal took a breath in the silence. “Wow. That was easier than I thought.” Hand on ignition, he turned it over and threw the truck in reverse. He powered backwards at high speed, hoping that Robbie held on just in case worst came to worst and Hal pummeled into the house.

  “Frank.” Ellen watched the flames and smoke careen from the kitchen. She coughed some.

  “We’re fine. They’re coming.” Frank backed up in the hall.

  “What are you doing? We can’t go out that way,” Ellen said.

  “I didn’t say we were.”

  “But what . . .”

  Hurriedly, Frank grabbed her hand and pulled her with him further down the hall. “Listen.” He lifted her. “Put your legs around my waist as tight as they can go. Tuck your head and arms.”

  “Frank . . .”

  “Do it!” Frank ordered. His eyes peered at the front door as he felt Ellen grip as instructed. “This is our runners start.”

  Muffled within his chest, she spoke. “Runners start for what?”

  “This.” He grinned at the sight of the truck, held on to Ellen, and charged with his fastest of speed down the hall of the house.

  Hoping he didn’t crack his head off the archway of porch roof, just as he reached the door, in what seemed a single smooth motion, Frank gave a pivot of his body, covered Ellen’s head with his hand, and with a sideways motion, leaped in an ejection mode forward.

  Skimming the top of the blaze, Frank and Ellen sailed to the truck and dropped through the draping cover of the truck bed. One, two, three, there was no hesitation.

  Their hard landing on top of the supplies, just by the tailgate, motivated Robbie’s call out of ‘they’re in!’ With the screech of tires, not only did the truck peel out, but so did an unprepared Ellen. In a roll atop the supplies, she ping-ponged in a fast bounce right over the gate of the truck.

  Two hands reached out. Quickly Robbie had her shoulders and Frank had her arms.

  Excitedly, Robbie grinned over Ellen’s scream. “We’re cool.”

  “Yeah.” Over the hatch of the high bouncing and moving truck, Frank reach down and lifted Ellen the rest of the way in.

  Hyperventilating, Ellen’s eyes were wide as they moved her further into the safety of the truck.

  “You OK?” Robbie asked.

  Ellen only nodded.

  Frank’s body bounced as he tried to get near her. “Fuckin Hal. Hal!” he shouted. “Learn to drive!” He grunted in pain when, in another jump of the truck, Frank’s head banged off the metal arch over the back of the truck.

  “We’re going through the woods, Frank.” Robbie visually assessed a shocked Ellen for injuries.

  “Like he wasn’t prepared for this.” Settling, he found a spot next to Ellen. She immediately curled into him.

  Feeling the smoothness increase in the ride, Robbie smiled. “Hey, we got out of there.”

  “That we did.” One long breath was inspired by Frank to get his breathing back on track. He kissed the top of Ellen’s head and looked up to Robbie with a ornery grin. “The Game’s begun. We’re off and running.”

  ^^^^

  Dean literally dropped everything he was doing in the lab, and spun in total attention and retaliation to what was just spoken to him. “Sexual harassment!” he shrieked. “Oh, come on, Joe.”

  “That’s what is being said.” Joe lifted his hands as he spoke in a calm manner.

  “And you believe this?”

  “No, I don’t believe it. Did you hear me say I believe it? No. Christ almighty, Dean. I’m just doing my job. All right? I just want to put . . .” Joe coughed. It took him a second and then he coughed again. It bred an eerie silence and a glance and stare from Dean. “I just want to put an . . . don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” Dean asked.

  “Like that.” Joe pointed. “You looked at me like that for coughing.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Oh, yeah. So then how come you haven’t looked at me through this entire conversation.”

  “OK. All right.” Dean raised his hand. “The cough made me look.”

  “I knew it.”

  “But only because it reminded me that it’s time for another series of treatments and I want to get a full body scan.”

  Joe shuddered. “My cough reminded you of . . . Christ. Thank you, Mr. Dr. Compassion. This is why I hate talking to you. You don’t know how to be human.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Dean snapped. “I can be human.”

  ”Yeah, right. You changed the goddamn subject.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Back to the sexual harassment issue.”

  “On that . . .” Dean lifted an index finger. “I did no such thing either.”

  “I’m just trying to silence this issue, that’s all. Did you grab her?”

  “No!” Dean barked.

  “Did you tell her you can’t have her working here with you because you want to have an affair with her?”

  “No, Joe. No.” Dean shook his head. “I told her I couldn’t have her here in the lab because of Ellen. I can’t believe she got all this from that. It doesn’t sound like Misha.’

  “Well, between you and me, I think she got all this sexual harassment shit from my wife. But that’s another issue. Would you have a problem with her working in the clinic? She wants to be in the clinic?”

  “I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” Dean explained. “It’s not Misha. It’s me. I can’t have her in the lab. I was missing Ellen so much, I was forgetting Misha wasn’t my wife. I lost, Joe. I wasn’t thinking, I got wrapped up . . . innocently in having that companionship and I lost. I mean, as stupid as this sounds, Frank doesn’t want anything to do with me. That is something I didn’t want.”

  “I think that will resolve itself. You and Frank have come too long of a way to end it over a tiny dispute.”

  “He decked me, Joe.”

  “Well, you’ll have that. Now . . .” Joe exhaled. “You need help in this lab.”

  “I found an assistant. He’s actually really good. He’s in the back now. He did impressively well on plasma separation this morning.”

  “Whatever that means. So who is . . .” Joe stopped. His eyes moved from Dean to the lab door.

  Dean turned to see where Joe looked. Elliott stood there. “Sgt. Ryder.”

  Removing his bandana and looking too serious, Elliott stepped into the lab. “I hate to interrupt.”

  “Something is wrong.” Joe moved toward him. “What is it?”

  Elliott, seemingly unsure, looked at Dean then back to Joe. “I received a call from Jordan reporting smoke due south in large amounts. They believe . . . they believe . . .” Elliott exhaled. “It may be coming from the house.”

  “Christ.” Joe closed his eyes.

  “Now since we’ve not received a report from Henry about any Society knowledge of your family’s whereabouts, I am going to assume it could have been Savages. Sir, I’d like permission to disburse a few units from Sgt. Doyle’s cam
ps to the sight and I would like to head immediately out there for my personal observation.”

  “Permission granted. “Joe gave a single nod.

  “Thank you, sir.” Elliott gave a snap of attention, a nod to Dean, then in a pivot of a turn, moved with haste to the door,

  “Elliott,” Joe called to him. “You’ll get back to me ASAP?”

  Elliott only gave his look of agreement, then hurriedly left.

  “Joe,” Dean said with concern.

  “No.” Joe shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. I would feel it if it was. Nothing is wrong.”

  Hating to give in, Dean exhaled with reluctance. “If you think so.”

  “I know so.” Joe winked. “Now . . . back to this new assistant. Who is this assistant that has impressed you so quickly?”

  Joe receive his answer but not in the form of a name from Dean, but rather a ‘hi Pap’ as Billy emerged from the back room.

  ^^^^

  Henry’s spoon lifted above his bowl then with a tip of the utensil, he slowly released the thick, brownish liquid. “Oh. This just isn’t right.”

  “What, Henry? What?” Aggravated in his interruption of his own lunch, George snapped. He glared across the table to Henry. “What isn’t right?”

  “This.” Henry pointed to his bowl.

  “It’s soup,” George said.

  “It’s like prison food. I’m being fed prisoner food.”

  “Well, so am I.” George barked. “And so is Callahan.” He pointed to Bertha who was eating.

  “Well,” Henry snipped. “He, I mean, she looks like she’ll eat anything.”

  Bertha dropped her spoon.

  Henry pushed the bowl forward. “Does he, I mean, she want it? I can’t eat it.”

  “Then you’ll starve.” George moved the bowl. “I am to feed you. I’m feeding you.”

  “Bet you your person in Beginnings is eating well.”