Joe raised a finger, then stood up. He pressed a button. “Just listen for a second before I explain.”
Over the speaker, a snippet of the foreign language rang out.
“Swahili,” Dean said. “What’s the blue doll?”
Joe spun in surprise. “You know Swahili?”
“Fluently,” Dean answered.
“Christ.” Joe tossed his hands upward. “Anyone else around Beginnings know Swahili.”
Leo raised his hand slightly. “Probably Dr. Godrichson and maybe Danny Hoi. I think Tim from . . .”
“Stop,” Joe halted him. “That wasn’t a question directed for an answer. It was a sarcastic comment. Christ.” He shook his head. “Anyhow, Dean.” Joe took a breath. “We tuned in, by luck, on a low level frequency, a frequency being used by the Society to broadcast the attacks executed in the Game. The Swahili, my guess, was used so we wouldn’t be able to understand. The blue doll, from what we gathered, is Ellen. We’re guessing that’s a code name of sorts.”
Dean’s hand immediately went to his mouth. “Oh, God. They found them.”
“The Society found us, yes,” Joe told him. “I wanted you to know that things are hot underway.”
Dean neared hyperventilation. “What’s the situation?”
“It seems round one is over,” Joe explained. “Take a breath, Dean. Rest through this one. The Slagels have 62, the Society . . . thank God . . . zero.”
^^^^
It was childish. George knew it but there was nothing more that he wanted to do about the immature snickering than to say ‘fuck it’ and give the order to shoot Henry in the head. A part of George was almost positive Joe would thank him in the end.
Enough was enough. Just about the third time through of Henry’s own rendition of ‘We are the Champions’, George slammed down his hand. “Henry, do you mind?”
“Again?” Henry asked.
“You were not this annoying when I knew you. It’s probably the gay factor now.”
Henry’s mouth dropped open.
George grinned. “I found it, didn’t I? I found your shut up button. Great. Now . . .” He returned to Bertha. “Where were we?”
“You were reprimanding me.”
“Do you understand why?”
“I did my job and gave the order.”
“You weren’t thinking,” George said strongly.
“No, sir, I will disagree with you. You gave me the authority to give directives. You approved my strategy. Under normal circumstance, my directive would have been correct.”
“Under normal circumstances yes. These aren’t normal circumstances.”
“Sir.” Bertha chuckled. “We’re talking three men and a woman.”
“We’re talking the Slagels,” George said hard. “One is an explosives expert. One organized and brainwashed enough men to wipe out a thousand of our men with swords on horseback, dressed like the cavalry. And the third, well, not only was he a big dumb son-of-bitch before who is driven like no other, but now I hear tell he’s been enhanced by the Beginnings mad scientist. No to mention, Callahan, all three of them were raised to protect, kill, and survive.”
“They are still men.”
Calmly, George lifted a hand. “I know two of them personally. Things have to change.”
“You want to scrap the whole strategy. It is very good . . .”
“No, don’t scrap it,” George said. “It is a good strategy. It just needs enhanced, manipulated to possibly reflect what their strategy might be because they have a plan.” George ran his hand over his mouth in thought. “Get in touch with the remaining four teams.”
“But they are looking for a trail.”
“Stop it. Stop them. I have a better idea.”
“What is that, sir?”
With a relaxation breath of security and confidence, George sat down. “We’re moving one step ahead of them.”
^^^^
Hal told Ellen to go get Robbie, but the instruction given would have been one Ellen carried out on her own. There was something about the look on Robbie’s face that not only could be seen, but could be felt as well.
It wasn’t so much that he was in thought. He was but concentration was more like it. Robbie was in a retreat of sorts. Not only the look, the feel, but where he was at said a lot.
His own little campfire was built a distance from the main one. His face was aglow as he worked diligently on a small box.
“You know.” Ellen sat down next to him. “I always wanted to come to Yellowstone National Park.”
“We were here once,” Robbie said, eyes still on his project. “Me and my brothers. Jimmy won a national calculus contest and we had three days out here.” Finally he looked up. “Of course, I remember my father having to pay for a lot.”
“There’s always a catch and a corny joke. How about Frank irritating Hal by saying he thinks he saw Yogi?”
“He irritated Hal the last time we were here too.”
“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Ellen questioned.
“I’m making flash bombs.” Robbie held one up. “They blind you and burns out the retina. They make you into a defenseless target.”
“Your invention?”
“Somewhat.” Robbie shrugged. “Actually, this is great practice for building with one hand.”
“Is it difficult?”
“Every explosive I make now is difficult.”
“Maybe after you get the prosthetic . . .”
“It really has nothing to do with the prosthetic.” Robbie set down the explosive. “It has everything to do with the fact that every time I build one, it reminds me how, in essence, I am responsible for my own loss.”
“Robbie . . .”
“It’s ok. I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me.”
“You’ll get like this for a while.”
“I know.”
“Dinner!” Hal called out.
“I also get hungry.” Robbie smiled. “Let’s go eat.”
“Oh, yeah.” Frank set down his papers and took the bowl Hal handed him. “Oodles of Dan-noodles. Thanks, Hal. You’ll make Ryder a good wife someday.”
“Ha-ha-ha.” Hal sat on the ground by Frank. “Your humor keeps me alive.”
“Thanks for cooking, Hal,” Ellen said as she and Robbie joined around the campfire. “I love Oodles-of Dan-noodles.”
“So do . . .” Hal lifted his fork then opened his mouth in disgust at Frank, who nearly inhaled his by the gulp-full. “Good Lord, Frank.”
Frank looked up with a mouthful of noodles dangling. “What?”
“Have some manners.” Hal shook his head.
“Hal.” Frank snapped and wiped his mouth. “They’re Oodles of Dan-noodles. Besides, we wouldn’t be eating them if it wasn’t for me telling Danny Hoi to bring them back.”
“Yeah, right.” Hal nodded. “If that’s true, then why aren’t they called Oodles of Frank-noodles?”
“Uh, Hal?” Frank sarcastically. “These are an oriental dish. Oodles of Frank Noodles? Frank is not an Asian name. That’s why they are called Oodles of Dan-Noodles.”
“Can you be any less PC?” Hal asked.
“Yes.”
“I see,” Hal stated in disbelief.
“It’s true,” Ellen interjected. “Frank did give Danny Hoi the idea.”
Robbie interjected, “Danny is the man.”
“Danny,” Hal said, “wanted us to give name to our venture. After all this is being called ‘The Game’.”
“Team Danny,” Frank added. “Fucking funny. Then I remember that kid, what was his name from school that had the dodge ball team.”
“Danny,” Robbie clarified. “Danny Rushe.”
Frank snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Fucking bunch of misfits on his team. Damn if they couldn’t kick ass in dodge ball though. They had that one chick.”
Hal interjected, “Sophia. She whipped a mean dodge ball. It always came down to you and her, Frank.”
“Would
have come down to you, too, if you weren’t always staring at her.”
Ellen laughed. “I never heard that story and I’ve heard them all. All this stemming from eating Oodles of Dan Noodles, Frank’s invention brainchild.”
“See?” Frank smiled. “Plus, they’re good. They also travel well, light as a feather.”
Robbie snickered. “Stiff as a board.”
“Speaking of board,” Hal said. “I am.”
“Why don’t you read some?” Frank asked. “I got through about fifty pages so far.”
Hal was shocked. “You read fifty pages tonight? Have you even read fifty pages of anything in your life?”
“Yeah,” Frank answered. “I think. No. Yeah. I did. Maybe not. Who knows?” He shrugged. “But you should read this. Robbie and Ellen did good. Man, what a fucked up place they’re writing about.”
Hal blinked slowly. “They’re writing about Beginnings, Frank.”
“No they’re not.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Hal.” Perturbed, Frank huffed. “Where are you getting that from?”
Holding back from losing it, Hal decided to explain like Joe. “Well, Frank. Look at the names.”
“Yeah. Moe the leader. Nasty guy.”
“And Moe’s son’s name?”
“Hank.”
“Moe. Hank.” Hal shifted his hand back and forth as a scale. “Moe. Hank.”
Frank shook his head.
“Think back to The Bobby and Helen Story. You did the same thing.”
It didn’t take long. Frank was quick. “Oh! They changed the names to protect the innocent.”
Hal snapped his fingers with a smile. “You got it.”
“Well, who’s Moe?”
“Moe. Joe,” Hal said then waited and saw the confused look. “Dad! Dad is Moe.”
All breath escaped Frank. “Oh my God. Dad is Moe?” He looked to Ellen for a ‘yes’ nod. “Oh my God.” Frank was so offended. “I’ll never look at Dad the same way again. I can’t believe he was that corrupt and slept with Josephine.”
At that point Hal opted to give up and just eat his Oodles of Dan-Noodles.
^^^^
Dean watched Joe flip through the tiny sheets of paper in the notepad. “Can you read my writing?”
“Unfortunately,” Joe responded. “I want to thank you for doing this.”
“I wanted to do this. I wish I could monitor the transmissions twenty-four seven, but I can’t.” Dean walked over and sat down on the sofa next to Joe. “You know, that guy Tim from Plastics, he’s better than me, Elliott, and Jason in Swahili.”
“Why do people even know that language?”
“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Anyhow. The spy slash Swahili linguist was able to follow them to the point that he pretty much had a good idea of where they were going.”
“I see.” Joe flipped a page. “And he returned to . . .”
“Meet a special team. But that’s when he said if it’s the wrong team, there might not be a transmission. I didn’t understand that.”
“Simple. It says here they think they are in Yellowstone National Park. There are three teams, north, south and west. All are positioned about seventy-five miles west of Yellowstone. Instead of attacking, they are gonna try to cut them off.”
“That’s assuming they are going west,” Dean said. “What about the possibility that Frank will head them east?”
Joe shook his head. “No, the plan is simple. The route, at least preliminary, is laid out. Put it this way. I know where I have to pick them up when this is all said and done.”
“Ok.” Dean was calm. “Knowing this and knowing the route, are Frank and them going to run into the Society trap?”
“Oh, yeah.” Joe nodded. “Knowing my boys, they’ll love every minute of it. So I’d say in about . . . oh . . .” Joe looked at his watch. “Twelve hours, Slagels versus the Society will be well into round two.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
January 19th
“Well, your father has more important things on his mind, Johnny.”
Recalled. How old was he? Fourteen perhaps. It wasn’t too long after getting to Beginnings when Johnny really started spending more and more time with George. It built up right before the survivors started coming through the walls. Fishing. Flying. Darts.
“But he’s my father. How come I’m not important?”
“You are. But, you know, we’re rebuilding everything. We need men like your dad to get things going. You have me, right?”
Never a bad word. Johnny couldn’t recall a bad word being said about his father until right after George returned from Colorado.
So when did it happen? Where did it all begin? Johnny racked his brains trying to pinpoint a moment in time when he turned on his father . . .
“Oh no, John. No.” There was a laughter about Frank’s voice that carried with a sadistic joy through the woods behind the military training field.
“Sorry, Dad,” Johnny said. His fifteen year old voice still hadn’t settled into its deep phase.
“No. Try again. Just don’t miss Uncle Robbie this time. Try for death.”
Robbie’s voice carried through the woods back at them. “I heard that.”
“Paint pellet loaded?” Frank asked.
“Yep,” Johnny answered.
“Go for it.” Frank stepped back with a proud look on his face. “Hit it, Robbie.”
There was rustle of the leaves and the moment Johnny caught glimpse, he fired.
The pellet sailed through a patch of branches and to Johnny, it was almost a certainty that he would have missed again. He realized he didn’t when he heard the ‘fall’ in the woods.
Frank whistled once. “Robbie. Did he get you?’
“Head shot.” Robbie stood up.
“Yes!” Frank grinned and gave a proud pat to Johnny’s back. “Excellent. What a way to be a Slagel. Wait till Pap hears.”
Pap.
Johnny’s eyes closed and he reached out at the end of that memory and lifted the picture of Joe that laid on the table in a room off Jess’s office. Wearing his typical white shirt, the picture was taken outside during the ground breaking of something. It wasn’t marked but Frank was in the background of the picture. With a cigarette dangling from his mouth and his hands in his pockets, Joe looked at the camera. The look on Joe’s face was almost as if he had just shaken his head in disgust at Frank, yet there was a hint of a smile.
It seeped out in a painful whisper, ‘oh, Pap’, just as there was a knock on the door. Johnny looked up across the room. “Yeah.”
The door opened. “Hey,” Jess said, “I didn’t know if you wanted to sit with me or not. I’m awaiting the results of the next hit.”
“Now?” Johnny asked then looked at his watch. “It’s not eight in the morning yet on that side of the country.”
“I know.”
“They can’t hit until after eight.”
Jess shrugged. “They’ll probably wait.”
“How many are they sending after them this time?”
“I don’t know,” Jess interrupted and pointed to the door with his thumb. “Are you coming? I want to get there.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to miss it.” Johnny stood up and walked.
Jess noticed the far off look and the slight quiver sound to Johnny. “You all right?” he asked, adding an almost a smug tone. “You’re not . . . worried about your Dad or anything are you?”
Johnny swallowed and did such a ‘Robbie’ pout that his answer couldn’t be hidden.
“Your Uncle Robbie.”
“Huh?”
“You’re worried about Robbie. You did his look.”
Nervously Johnny let out a smile. “Yeah. I’m worried about him. Let’s go.” He took another step, stopped, held up a ‘waiting’ finger to Jess, and then back tracked. Before leaving that room, he lifted his pictures into a stack making sure as he took them he sneaked a look at one of Frank.
^^^^
<
br /> “Skin.” Dean explained to Christopher, lifting his own skin by the follicles of his forearm hair. “See. This is what I want to try to give you.”
“I have skin.” Pinching his translucent flesh, Christopher showed Dean.
With a cringe, Dean watched the corpuscles bunch together. “You know what? Um, don’t, uh, don’t do that.” He shook his head and mid-swing of doing so, he saw Misha entering the lab.
“Dean,” she said quietly. “I will come back if you are busy.”
“No. What’s up?” Dean asked.
Smiling politely at Christopher, Misha walked into the lab. “I just need to see if things are better between us.”
“Things . . .” Dean clung tight to his clipboard. “Would have been just fine had you accepted the reason I fired you.”
Shocked, Christopher’s eyes widened. “You tossed fire at Misha?”
“No.” Dean shook his head. “I didn’t want her to work with me anymore.”
“I didn’t understand what I did,” Misha said. “I was upset.”
“And because you were upset and bitter, you accused me of sexual harassment.”
Curiously, Christopher interrupted. “What is sexual harassment?’
“Something I didn’t do.” Dean answered.
Misha shook her head. “No. I did not start that . . .”
“Misha, you have the entire female population of Beginnings accusing me of being a near pedophile.”
“What is a pedophile?” Christopher asked.
Dean ignored him. “At anytime, during the past few days, you could have spoken up.”
“You are gonna make me cry again.” Misha began to pout.
Christopher snapped his finger. “Ah, crying. When you make someone cry is that sexual harassment?”
Misha didn’t respond. “Dean, I just want for us to be able to work in the clinic without me running by the lab.”
The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20 Page 282