Hector’s legs buckled, but before he could gain his footing, Dean grabbed the back of his head and with a shoving momentum, slammed Hector face first into the counter.
Hector didn’t fall easily. His hands slammed to the counter, intercepting the face shot. In the ‘up’ of the after hit, Hector, at full speed, swung around his body, latched on to Dean and in a near toss, careened Dean to the lunch table not far from them.
Dean slid across the round slick surface, then rolled backwards, legs-over-head, off the table and onto the floor. Hector picked up a chair.
Like a wrestler, in a typical chair shot move, Hector heaved the furniture over his head and charged. Before he could crash it down, Dean kicked into the table. It flipped with a vengeance and smacked into Hector, sending him flying back.
Christopher screamed his loudest as he ran from the room. “Uh! The gods are fighting. The heavens will clash. The heavens will clash!”
“There is something about snow and winter,” Joe said as he walked down the corridor of the clinic with Elliott.
“I agree. It’s peaceful,” Elliott said.
“Quiet.”
“Do you hear that?” Elliott paused as they neared the bend.
“What?”
“Someone’s screaming.”
No sooner did Elliott say that than Christopher barreled around the corner.
“Whoa.” Joe reached for him, then quickly retracted his hand when he felt the weirdness of Christopher’s skin. “What’s the rush?”
“The sky will fall. The sky will fall. Run. Run. Run.” Christopher once again took off running.
Joe shrugged. “Goddamn people. Anyway, what were we saying?”
Elliot continued to walk. “About how peaceful it is.”
In a simple turn of the bend, Joe jerked Elliot out of the way when a massive human bowling ball, Dean and Hector who were entangled tightly, rolled down the hall.
“You were saying?” Joe asked.
Releasing a shocked, ‘oh my God’, Elliott raced to the tangling pair. In the run of his momentum, with a sweep of his arm, Elliott latched onto the first person he reached. That person was Dean. He lifted him nearly a foot from the ground, away from the brawl, and then released him with a firmness and a slam against the wall. “Enough!” Elliott ordered.
To Dean, Elliott was just a wisp of diversion. Wiry and worked up, he charged full speed only to be bodily blocked by Elliott.
“I said.” Elliot moved Dean further back. “Enough.”
Secure in the fact that Dean was handled, Elliott released him, took a breath, and turned around. He spotted Hector only for a split second before he spotted Hector’s sailing fist. With another loud, ‘enough!’ Elliott’s hand sprang up and with a smack of his palm against Hector’s knuckles, he intercepted that punch. With his fingers gripping tightly to Hector’s fist, Elliott’s brown eyes drove through Hector. “Enough!”
The few clinic workers there immediately gathered but the mumbles of their curiosity were silenced by the sound of Joe’s shoes against the linoleum. Like a clock, slow and steady, Joe approached the men. Their heavy breaths carried out. Both Dean and Hector fought to control their breathing and both of them showed outward and bloody signs of a hard drawn out fight.
Calmly, in a manner only Joe could pull off, he looked at both of the men. As soon as he did, both Dean and Hector, at the same time, started rambling their explanation.
Joe simply lifted his index finger and both of them shut up. “This is a hospital. Right now, I don’t give a rat’s ass who started it or who did what. You two got me . . . wrong place, wrong time, wrong day, and wrong goddamn year.”
Dan from Security rushed in. “Everything OK?”
“Yes,” Joe replied. “Help Sgt. Ryder. I want both of them in cool down for two hours.” The surge of Dean and Hector’s voices blasted out. “Not now,” Joe halted them. “Not now.” After giving the ‘go ahead’ nod to Elliott and Dan, still calm, Joe, with his hands in his pockets, walked away.
^^^^
The arrogance and confidence portrayed into the air by George was like a blanket. To Henry, it was too thick of a blanket and generated a lot of heat under his collar.
For almost a week, Henry lived, talked, ate, and watched George. Never in that entire time span had George been so sure of himself. Gambler or not, odds were always something any person looked at. The Slagel team had out smarted, out played, and out maneuvered George’s men. Truly, what were the odds that they would keep that going? That continuously, ‘idiot leaders’ as George called them, would lead the troops, not just into battle but into death.
What were the odds?
With each passing day and with each passing victory, the odds grew slimmer for the Slagel brood, even though Henry held high hopes.
But there was something about the phone call he had overheard between George and the last battalion leader that took reign of the mountain that ended up being nothing but a huge Slagel booby trap. Something about it stirred incertitude in Henry.
George smiled with his arms and looked at the speaker on the wall as if it were the actual sergeant. All look of worry left him when the Battalion Sergeant said, ‘Upon realizing that a forward movement and chase upon that mountain would breed loss of men due to the amount of traps we estimated were set, I apologize, sir, but I felt it better to retreat and regroup.’
So instead of losing all one hundred and seventy-five men, the Society lost seventy.
That worried Henry.
There were two days left. And too many soldiers. Going back to odds, what were the odds that George would say, ‘well, three hundred soldiers is too many. Let’s only send in half.’?
Slim to none.
Reiteration of what Henry feared would be done came when he heard George, in the glory of confidence, discuss his ultimate strategy with Bertha.
“Get in touch with our field correspondent,” George told Bertha. “Maneuver a meeting place between them all. We’re not just gonna see an end to this Game, we’re bringing an end to this Game.”
“Hit them continuously in small spurts?” Bertha questioned. “That is the original . . .”
“No., no petty shit,” George informed her. “Unity, my dear. We’re gonna hit them hard, hit them big, and we’re gonna hit them with everything we have, all at once.”
^^^^
The one thing that Jess did not expect to do while performing his stint in the Society as ‘Beginnings spy’ was laugh. Sure, he figured he’d get an amusing chuckle here and there from the antics. Johnny’s pseudo retrograde amnesia was also amusing. But laughing? Whole hearted laughing was not on Jess’ agenda.
Yet he did.
From the belly up, he laughed, rocking back and forth in his chair with each chuckle that emanated while he was on the phone.
James, or as many called him, Level Two Naval Officer in Charge, was actually really funny. At first Jess thought the humor wasn’t humor at all, but lack of intelligence on the part of James but the second time Jess spoke to him, he sensed a sarcastic wit rather than stupidity.
Jess had to admit he didn’t know much about James, just a title and first name. That was by accident because he answered the phone. James was in charge of the far southern region, the area where Bertha originated her command. James, though labeled by some a militarily brilliant, did not project it, nor did he boast it. He rather complained about having to be in charge when he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to dictate infantry divisions and movements, but preferred to just perform the job he was give, oversee and architect the Caceres Society naval division. That was it. That was all James wanted to do. In the after-days of Bertha’s departure, he stuck to his job and avoided dealing with any aspects of the new responsibility. That was yet another thing that made Jess laugh. James figured no one would notice if he blew it off for a while. After all, nothing was happening down south anyhow.
It was a comfort to Jess to find out that the southern division was where he w
ould be sent following the return of George after the Game and to know that he would be working side by side with someone like James because in Jess’s immediate opinion and gut feeling, spying on the Society would be easy due to the fact that James wouldn’t bother to notice or possibly even care.
James’s loyalty was somewhat to the Society, but more so to his men and to doing his job. That was evident to Jess when James blasted into yet another imitation of George Hadley.
Jess wiped the small amount of tearing from his eyes in the after laugh of a pretty good ‘George Hadley’. “That was great,” Jess told James.
“I practice. But, hey, I don’t get much chance to because I don’t talk to him much, not much at all. Just to that . . .” James made his voice whiny. “Steward Lange.”
“That’s pretty good.”
“So . . . when do I get you down here to do this work?” James asked. “I am getting you down here, right?”
“I’m assuming as soon as the Game is over.”
“The . . . game?” James asked. “Whoa. Wait. They’re having war games. No shit.”
“No, not war games. The. . . Game.”
“Like football?”
“No . . .” Jess laughed. “Like . . . you really don’t know?”
“Nope. What is . . . the Game? I remember a wrestler who had that name.”
“Well it’s . . .” Jess stopped. He had to be more careful. What if James was a setup or a test? As much as he enjoyed talking with James, Jess still had to keep his guard up. “You know what? On the chance I am not allowed to tell you, I’m gonna just not say anymore. OK?”
“Fine with me. So, how long is this . . . Game?”
“A couple more days.”
“Then I should see you soon. You’ll love it down here. I’m not sure how much you guys know up there, but I’ve been working pretty hard to deck this place out. Man, I got Disney World up and running ASAP. First order of business . . . fuckin Space Mountain hooked up.”
“I look forward to that.”
“So, Jess, you didn’t tell me. Where exactly did they pull you from? I never heard your name before Bertha-babe said it.”
“You’re serious?” Jess questioned.
“Yes.”
“I was in the Beginnings plan.”
“Well, most of us that are in authority were in it from the beginning plan. I mean what region.”
Jess froze. He didn’t know Beginnings? It had to be a joke or the rumors Jess had heard about George not informing everyone of everything had to be true. so Jess tried a test. “Um . . . Montana? Ring a bell?”
“The state. Yes,” James said. “I’m not talking about where you grew up or were born. I mean what region of the Society were you at? You had to be really far north. We don’t hear much about people up there.”
“Very far north,” Jess said. “Actually, the Canadian Border movement.”
“Sorry about that.”
“What?” Jess chuckled.
“Yeah, I heard the Canadian Border movement sucked.”
“You heard the . . . oh, you’re joking.”
“Yep. Got to go. The timer dinged. I’ll check in later.”
“For what purpose?” Jess asked.
“I don’t know. It makes it look like I’m working. Catch you later, Boyens.”
Still in a snicker, Jess shook his head and hung up the phone. Checking out his watch, he knew he had surpassed what he considered his usual ‘update’ time to Beginnings. From his chest pocket, he pulled out the palm computer and set it on the desk. After turning it on, Jess immediately readied to send a message, then he saw one on there. It was from Joe. It was short and it asked simply if when Jess sent an update, could he include one on Johnny because Joe had been thinking about him.
Fingers ready on the instrument, Jess halted when he heard the light tap on the door. He slid a folder from the desk over the computer. “Come in,” he called out.
The door opened and Johnny stepped inside. Slouching, with his face drawn and hair messed up, the young Slagel looked as if he had mentally deteriorated.
“Well.” Arrogantly, with his hands behind his head, Jess leaned back. “Did you not shower today?”
Johnny didn’t say anything. He stepped to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “I need to talk to you.”
“About?” Jess brought himself forward and placed his hands on the desk.
“You said we were friends in Beginnings.”
“We were.”
‘Good friends?” Johnny asked.
“Don’t you remember?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Johnny’s voice dropped.
“What is it?” Jess asked with seriousness.
“Were we good friends?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“So I don’t get a bullet in my head.”
“What?” Jess nearly choked out the word. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Just . . . just answer me.” Johnny wouldn’t even look up. “Were we good friends?”
Hesitantly, Jess nodded. “Yes, but what does that have to do with why you wouldn’t get a bullet in your head.”
“Because I’m hoping you’ll understand and not say anything. I don’t remember, Jess. I don’t remember why I am here. I don’t remember what led me to this. I don’t remember. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Clueless, Jess shook his head. “Asking me what?”
“To let me get the hell out of here.”
“What?” Jess asked, even more confused. “Out of here? You mean leave to go to another division?”
“No.” Johnny shook his head. “To go to Beginnings.”
^^^^
“Swell.” Through the corner of the right mirrored cupboard, Dean saw the reflection of his injured eye. He opened the cupboard up all the way and replaced the bandages and ointment he had pulled out. “Two days,” he mumbled to himself. “In two days, I have to face Ellen, Now not only do I have to deal with the emotional damage done by Frank, I now have physical damage as well.” After shaking his head, Dean closed the cupboard door only to scream in a start when he saw Elliott’s reflection.
“I didn’t think my appearance was that frightening,” Elliott said as he walked to Dean.
“You shocked me. I didn’t expect to see you there.”
“Obviously.” Elliott moved closer, then with a peering, serious look, shifted his eyes over Dean’s face to check out his injuries. “I’ve seen worse.”
“I’m sure, but I don’t think I’ve been worse.” Dean lifted an index finger.
“Any idea why the fight broke out?” Elliott asked.
“None. None whatsoever. I can’t think of a single thing I did to Hector to make him hit me.”
“So Hector threw the first punch?”
“Yes. And the second.”
“May I ask, if there was no reason for the accosting, then why was there an all out fight.”
“He hit me,” Dean said. “I had to defend myself.”
“I see,” Elliott nodded. “And it couldn’t end there.”
“Yes. No,’ Dean grunted. “Probably not. I got pissed.”
Elliott partially smiled. “Sometimes in stressful moments of our lives, it becomes more than defending ourselves or our honor that allows for fights to go forth for so long. Sometimes . . .” He winked. “We need a good . . . brawl.”
“Sometimes.”
“How’s the vision?” Elliott indicated to Dean’s eye.
“It went out on me for a split second. I think it was just the hit. Jason did a CT scan and didn’t see anything but Danny is going to run a diagnostics check on the chip to see if there are any malfunctions. He said he’ll rejuvenate it while he’s in there”
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
“I mean, we’ve come a long way since the old world. Now a man doesn’t just get a medical examination, he gets a tune up.”
/> Dean chuckled. “You’re really not that bad of a guy, Sgt. Ryder.”
“No, I’m not. I don’t believe you ever gave me a chance. But . . . that’s OK, I like a good . . .”
“Brawl?” Dean finished the sentence.
Elliott smiled. “Sometimes.”
“So, why are you here?”
“Aside from to see you beaten? Mr. Slagel asked me to come here.”
“For what?” Dean questioned.
Joe’s voice answered, “To mediate.” Joe whistled when he saw Dean. “Christ, you took a beating, didn’t you.”
“Thanks.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Mediate what?”
“Let me explain something.” Joe stepped closer. “When you have two opposing sides, sometimes you need a calm figure to ... not say a word and to not interfere, just to . . . mediate.”
“Swell,” Dean groaned. “What? Elliott’s gonna play peer advisor while Hector and I sit in this room, have it out, shake hands, and be friends when it’s all said and done?”
“Not exactly,” Joe said. “Hector’s not the opposing force. He’s not the problem.”
Dean was offended. “What? I am?”
With a shrewd shrug and a smirk, Joe folded his hands in front of him. “I don’t know, Dean. Your track record for starting trouble proceeds you. Let’s look at the past few months, shall we? I mean, you defect to the Society, to save my son none-the-less, but the community viewed you as a trouble maker. You get accused of not only having an affair with Bev Hadley, but fathering her child as well. You then get accused of killing Bev Hadley and you hide the true murderer. The mighty physician in you diagnoses drug abuse when your own wife denies it. You . . .” Joe started flipping out fingers. “Tranquilize and lobotomize a Savage. Freeze my grandson in a cooler. Create a genetically cannibalistic breed of rabbit. You accost my son Hal during a binge in which you got stoned out of your mind. You turn my other son into a jackrabbit. And let’s not forget that little span of time when you ran around screaming, ‘I went to the future, I went to the future’.” It was obvious from the strain on Joe’s face that he was hiding his smile.
Dean just stared. “Ha-ha-ha. You done?”
The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20 Page 291