The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  He did his baseboards then showered and it still wasn’t nine a.m. While having coffee and preparing breakfast, Mike heard Johnny moving about upstairs and that was another hurdle he had to jump.

  He had to tell Johnny that not only did George know he was in Lodi but wanted to see him. Mike would have told him the night before but by the time Mike returned home after dealing with a small problem in the killer baby region, Johnny had gone to bed with a massive headache—according to Tigger. Mike hated to hear Johnny had a headache. It could have been tension, sinus, or any type, but it still concerned Mike. It was a reminder that time was short and things needed done.

  “The eggs smell good,” Johnny said as he walked into the kitchen.

  “Morning, John. How are you feeling? Tigger said you were sick last night.”

  “I had a headache. I wasn’t sick.” Johnny reached for the coffee. “Did Tigger also tell you the reason for my headache?”

  “No, what?”

  Johnny snickered. “We were doing rafter hunting at …”

  “Whoa-whoa-whoa.” Mike held up his hand. “Rafter hunting? What the hell is that?”

  “It’s this thing Tigger does. We find an old house, one of the big ones, and crawl through the rafters looking for junk. There’s no real value. It’s just like a treasure hunting game and kind of fun.” Johnny shrugged.

  “Crawling through the rafters. I can see Tigger doing that but you’re too big.”

  “Exactly.” Johnny smiled. “Hence my headache. I whacked my head.” He saw Mike getting ready to question with concern. “No worries. I immediately went to see Lars. He said not to worry about it. Anyhow, it was worth it. It was something I didn’t do as a kid. We went to a house about three miles from here. Tigger found these really cool diamond earrings and plans on giving to them Ellen from you.”

  Mike’s mouth dropped open. “He what?”

  “Don’t worry. I think he plans on letting you give them. I think. Not sure. Can I have some eggs?”

  “Um …” Mike blinked. “Yeah, help yourself.” He pushed the pan forward.

  “Thanks.” Johnny picked up a plate. “So did George arrive last night?”

  “Yep.” Mike sat down. “You and I need to talk.”

  Johnny scoffed a laugh. “Don’t worry, Mike.” He shook his head. “I plan on staying out of sight. He won’t know I’m here.”

  “He already does,” Mike said.

  The plate nearly toppled from Johnny’s hand as he froze midway to the table. How ... how …how does he … no, no way.”

  “Yes way, John. You answered the phone yesterday. He hung up. He didn’t say anything but he knew it was you.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Language.”

  “Sorry.” Johnny sat down. “Did he make threats or what? I need to know because if he plans on attacking this town to get me, I’ll leave with him and just escape again. I don’t want anything to happen to …”

  “Hold it.” Mike halted him. “George made no threat … yet. I didn’t confirm you were here, which I’m certain made me look like an idiot. However, he merely said he wants to see you. He also said it is obvious because you have access to the phone that you aren’t here against your will. My guess is because when you left him, you had amnesia. He probably still thinks you do. I don’t know. That’s just a guess. He was calm but he wants to see you.”

  Johnny slowly nodded. “What should I do?”

  “There are reasons to see him and reasons not to. I stand behind whatever your decision is, but it is your call.”

  “Can I think about it?” Johnny asked.

  “Absolutely,” Mike answered. “Think about it and eat your eggs before they get cold. Speaking of food.” Turning his body slightly, Mike aimed his voice. “Tig! Breakfast! Come on.”

  “Tigger’s not here,” Johnny said.

  Mike looked at his watch. “It’s only eight forty-five. Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “What the hell? He’s never out and about this early unless …” He groaned and grumbled. “Unless he’s up to something. Son of a bitch.” Mike shook his head. “Where is that kid?”

  ***

  At first George believed it to be the result of some sort of hallucinogenic placed in his food. Seeing things was not something George usually did but as he sipped what he thought was a damn good cup of coffee, George saw it at the window of his third floor room, a blurry dart and go sort of thing.

  A lot was going through his mind. They hadn’t heard anything from his troops going after the Slagel clan. Then again, when going after the Slagels, no news was not good news. George could only assume they either failed at their task or we’re batting away at attempts until they failed. Twenty-four hours had passed. He was pretty certain had his soldiers out west succeeded, they would have gotten an affirmative call. They hadn’t.

  George also took notes on what he was going to say at his meeting and as he reached for his cup, he caught glimpse of it again. “What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong?” Bertha came from the bathroom. “Have you showered? The water is very soft.”

  “Callahan, watch that window.”

  Wearing only a towel, Bertha quickly shifted to military mode, picked up her revolver, shifted the chamber, and sideways darted to the window. “Sniper?” she asked.

  “It’s either a hallucination or ghost.”

  With an ‘excuse me?” she lowered her weapon.

  “I’m seeing something outside that …there … There it is again. Son of a bitch,” George got up from his chair and went to the window. “Get dressed. I’ll handle this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  With his eyes focused on the window, George nodded and whispered, “Positive.”

  Hearing her leave, George stepped back a little to halt his reflection against the glass and standing more to the side, vowing to not even blink, he watched. Within a few seconds he saw it. Slowly, the tiniest of hands lifted up the sill of the window from outside. In one motion, George whipped up the window with his left hand, while he extended his right and grabbed …a head. “A ha!”

  “Shit.” The little voice called out.

  Still gripping, George clenched the head tighter, but not too tight because he swore he held a small child. Worried that the child might actually topple to his death, George brought out his other hand and, without looking, grasped the tiny body and lifted him through the window. “Get in here.” George snapped and set him down. “Does your mother know you’re climbing about in dangerous places?”

  “My mother is dead,” Tigger said.

  “Still,” George took on a parenting tone as he looked down at Tigger and spoke as if he were five. “It is not a very safe thing to do, little boy. You could fall and hurt yourself. Think about how … how …”George paused.

  “How what?”

  With a tilted head, George stood up, “Are you a midget?”

  “No. Midgets have big heads, normal torsos, large butts, bowed legs and huge penises.” Tigger straightened his clothes. “Unfortunately, I fall into the category of little people. Can we shut the window?” He walked over and closed it. “Man, it got cold.” He turned around and extended his hand. “What’s up? I’m Anthony, but people call me Tigger.”

  Hesitantly, George gripped the hand and shook it. The hand shake was firm. “George.”

  “How’d you sleep?” Tigger asked. “Can I sit down?” He pointed to a chair.

  “Uh, yeah, you …”

  “Cool, thanks.” Tigger hopped up on a chair. “I hear you’re George Hadley, President of the United States. Well, former US but now kind of a bit there and a bit there sort of thing. Huh?”

  George hated to admit it, but his head spun as he sat in the chair right across from Tigger. “Sort of. Who the hell are you?”

  “I told you. Tigger. Tigger Manis.”

  “Okay, Tigger Manis what …” George nodded with an ‘ah’. “Manis. Any relation to the Chief?”

&
nbsp; “That’s my dad.”

  George spoke sarcastically, “I see the family resemblance.”

  Tigger slapped his own knee in a dramatic silent laugh, “Ah, like haven’t heard that one before.”

  “You’re an odd one.”

  “Is that a dig about my size?”

  “What? Huh?” George was literally stunned by the upfront little man.

  “Guess not.”

  “Why are you here? To spy?”

  Tigger laughed. “Hardly. No.” He shook his head. “See, I wanted to meet you but I knew my father would tell me to stay away from you. It’s not because you’re dangerous. I don’t believe that personally you are dangerous, but because of who you are which …” Tigger held up a finger as he rambled. “Which is why I’m here and wanted to meet you. You’re George Hadley. I learned about you in school when there was a world. My mother loved you. Loved you. She even had a George Hadley mug and cardboard stand up of you.”

  “You’re shitting me,” George said.

  “Nope. She loved you so I wanted to meet you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tigger snickered and scooted closer to the edge of the chair. “I even thought about coming in here and assassinating you. Yeah. Really, if you think about it, all this Beginnings stuff, Lodi stuff, Society war ….” Tigger fluttered his lips. “I take you out. It’s done. Let’s face it, your people are sheep and would just wander off if they didn’t have you to lead them.”

  George nodded. “True.”

  “Yeah, so I figure come in here, shoot you, be the big hero, end it all, and save the world.”

  “Like Charlton Heston.”

  Tigger smiled excitedly, “I love him. I could do that, be the hero, you know.”

  Pacifying George spoke, “I’m sure you could.”

  “Yep, see.” Tigger whipped out a revolver from under his jacket and before George could even react, it was pointed barrel flush against George’s forehead. Tigger smiled. With serious eyes focused, Tigger pulled back the hammer. “Call me Chuck.”

  In the silence of the room with his finger ready to depress, another sound rang out.

  The shifting of a gun chamber.

  Tigger’s eyes rose when a gun was pressed to the back of his head.

  “I don’t think so, little man,” Bertha said. “Put it down.”

  ***

  It had to be the biggest winter-grown watermelon Hector had ever seen produced in his greenhouse. Usually, if they luck out and even succeed in having a watermelon, it rarely, if ever, is longer than eight inches, but Hector watched with pride as the watermelon grew and grew. He had a purpose for it. Surely it couldn't be put in distribution. It was too big for one family and too many would fight over it. So with ‘Social Hall and spiked fruit’ in mind, Hector was excited on picking day. He went extra early to get that watermelon and wanted to haul it down to Josephine so she could start spiking it and cutting it right away. He had told Josephine earlier about it and her excitement matched Hector’s. It was as if the watermelon was the apocalyptic equivalent of the old world lottery jackpot.

  Arms full, Hector carried the melon to the truck parked in the rear of the Greenhouse. He laid the large object down and reached to shut the gate. It was stuck. He bumped it with his hip but by doing so, he jolted the truck. The movement caused the melon to stir and out of the truck it fell. It didn’t stop.

  Whispering ‘fuck’, Hector watched the watermelon begin its rolling journey down the long grade.

  Beckoning, ‘please do crush, please don’t crush,’ Hector followed the sound. He could hear it move against the leaves and then he heard it stop. The watermelon’s landing cause alarm in Hector when not only did he hear a thump but a moan as well.

  Racing down the hill, Hector saw the reason for the vocal arrival of the fruit. As he skidded to a stop, leaves flew up in the air as and he picked up his radio. “Security. We have problems.”

  ***

  “You hesitated,” George said to Tigger as they sat in the same chairs. “That was your problem.”

  “I didn’t think I did.” Tigger replied then glanced his eyes up to Bertha who stood right next to him, her arms folded in guard stance.

  “Yes, you did when you called yourself Chuck.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I could have had you.”

  “Yes, you could have. How old are you?” George asked.

  “I just turned eighteen. Why? I look older, huh?”

  George laughed.

  “People say …” Again Tigger’s eyes lifted to Bertha.

  “If that mind of yours is plotting an escape …”

  “No, no.” Tigger said then motioned his head to Bertha. “She’s a big one. She has to be at least six one, six two.”

  “She’s solid too.”

  Tigger extended his little hand and reached slyly upward to Bertha and gave a squeeze.

  Bertha gasped. “Sir.”

  Tigger winked at George. “That’s a firm butt.”

  Bertha raised her eyebrows at Tigger. “Keep your little hands to yourself!”

  “Ouch.” Tigger snickered. “It’s just a compliment. Are you all muscle?”

  Bertha only scolded a glance at Tigger.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Tigger returned to George. “How old is she?”

  George shrugged. “Thirties, I guess.”

  “I’d hate to be on the floor below her and my dad if they ever hooked up.” Tigger nodded then cocked his head when the two blasting knocks occurred at the door. “Judgment day.”

  George gave a twitch of his head. “Bertha, could you?”

  She smiled “With absolute pleasure, sir.” She walked to the door and brightly opened it. “Ah, Chief, yes, we have your …”

  Before she could finish speaking, Mike blasted by her and directly to the chair. He paused and looked at George. “Forgive me for one second, okay? I need to be a father before a leader.”

  George held out his hand. “I understand. Go right ahead.”

  Glaring, Mike stormed above Tigger. “What the fuck were you thinking? Huh?”

  The laugh never really came out of Tigger’s mouth. It just sort of rolled around in the back of his throat. “I think it was pretty obvious what I was thinking. Really, Dad, this whole meeting between you and him would be moot if I did it.”

  Mike’s eyes widened. “You little shit.” He lifted a hand to Tigger and faced George. “I did not order this or have any knowledge of this.”

  “I know,” George said. “We’ve been talking. This is not a problem, Chief Manis. It would be if your son was not so charming and amusing.”

  “Yeah, he’s real amusing. As a leader, I will apologize. As a father, excuse me while I kill my son.” Mike took a step toward Tigger.

  “Chief, before you do.” George stood up. “When will we begin our meeting?”

  Mike exhaled. “I’ll return with my right hand man after I deal with him.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” George sat back down. “Proceed.”

  “Thank you,” Not saying anything further, Mike walked to the chair, lifted Tigger, and tossed him over his shoulder. “Give me a half an hour,” he said as he walked to the door.

  George held his finger over his top lip to hold back the snicker as Tigger bitched the entire way out and down the hall. He looked up at Callahan. “I want that kid.”

  ***

  Jenny Matoose sniffled some. It was more so from being cold than emotional, but she was shaken. She stood before Joe’s desk where Danny read a typed letter that she had received under her door.

  ‘Go on and bask in your daughter. You will end up regretting it. It is unfair that you have your child.’

  Danny shook his head and folded the letter. His eyes glanced to Jason Godrichson, then back to Jenny. “It’s unfortunate that someone has this attitude.”

  “It’s frightening. I didn’t ask for this,” she said. “I didn’t. Am I so bad for getting a second chance with my daughter?
”

  “No, but someone who has lost a loved one might see it that way though their grief,” Danny stated. “Not that I’m defending whoever wrote this.”

  “I didn’t think you were,” Jenny said and looked at Jason. “What do you think, Jason?”

  “Obviously, like Danny, whoever wrote that letter was someone that suffered a close loss during the new plague. That narrows it down.”

  “You’ll look into it?” Jenny asked.

  “Absolutely,” Danny told her. “This is important.”

  “Thank you.” Jenny nodded. “I’ll leave that with you. Good luck today in Jordan.”

  “Thanks,” Danny replied as she left. He paused. “How does she know about us going to Jordan?”

  “It’s Beginnings,” Jason said. “Nothing is sacred or secret. That is why we should have no problem finding out who wrote that letter.”

  “Then what?” Danny asked.

  “Well, we have two options,” Jason explained. “We could handle it and let Joe know or we could wait and let Joe handle it.”

  Danny grumbled. “Either way, Joe has to know.”

  Jason nodded once. “Joe has to know.”

  Whining, Danny pulled out the Joe List. “It’s so clean too.” Shaking his head, he put the list in the drawer and pulled out a notebook instead.

  “What are you doing? I thought you were writing it down.”

  “I will,” Danny said. “But I want to list it here first. That way, maybe by some godsend, what I actually end up writing down on the Joe list won’t be that bad.”

  “It’s not disastrous.”

  “True.” Danny made his notation. “Let’s hope this is the only thing.”

  “Hopefully, no more problems.” Jason stood up. “Let’s head to Bowman.”

  Just as Danny began to stand, a single knock rang out at his door and Henry, without waiting for permission to enter, bolted in.

  “Danny,” Henry rushed out. “Hurry. We have a problem. It’s a big one too.”

  ***

  “Sweet Jesus!” Andrea exclaimed. “What is this world coming too?” Shaking her head in dismay, Andrea close her eyes and said a short prayer when two security men rushed a patient cart passed her down the hall of the clinic. Lying on the cart, moaning, was Forrest Caceres.