State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I have come so far to ensure that you do not die today. I cannot take the chance that you don’t listen to me. It is important. If you walk away from me, if you get into that car, that will be the last you see of this earth, pal. Understand? Now walk with me outside, show me where your car is, and then I will explain it all.”

  Forrest felt Joe’s tight grip on his arm. He clenched his suitcase tightly. Frightened, he listened to Joe while they walked.

  Like a toy, it’s high pitch motor sound scrambled its small ‘used to be a toy car’ body the thirty or so feet to directly under Forrest’s car. Joe squatted some, his back against his car door, watching. Watching as Forrest slid in to his driver’s side. The nervous little doctor tapped the steering wheel, his eyes peering to Joe, then ahead, then back to Joe. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t start that car.” Joe knew it. His gut told him Forrest was in debate. “Shit.” Turning his body, Joe opened the car door. “Dean, you are gonna have to do this. I have to get his ass.” Joe handed him the remote. “When you see us a good twenty feet from the car, you hit that red button. You hear?”

  “But Joe . . .”

  “Do it.” In a lowered stance, Joe crawled his way to Forrest’s car keeping an eye on his as he did. Forrest held the same apprehensive position. Reaching up as he reached the car, Joe opened the passenger’s door. “What the hell are you doing? Come on. You don’t think they’re watching?”

  Forrest only turned and looked to Joe with a scared expression, still holding on to the steering wheel.

  “Forrest! Don’t make me drag your ass out of there. Now get the hell out of the car. Get down low, or I swear I will shoot you myself. Now!”

  “All rut, all rut, all-ruddy” Forrest slid down, pushing out his briefcase and sliding from the car.

  “Stay low.” Joe held on to him. “Now, when you hear the explosion run, to our car. Got that?” Getting a nod, Joe placed a leading hand on Forrest back as they made their way back to Dean. As anticipated, at the right distance, Dean did not fail Joe. A swift hot wind smacked Joe and Forrest in their backs, knocking them to the trembling ground and causing them to cover their heads from the flying glass. “Run now!” Waiting for Forrest to get up some and dart in a wobbling way to the open back door of Joe’s car waiting for him, Joe turned back to check out the explosion. A huge flame shot straight in the air, forty or fifty feet from where the grey car was once parked. “Good job boys.” With a proud nod, Joe sped forward to his own car. He reached for the driver’s side door, peering to the back to see a sweaty and frantic Forrest. “Let’s go.”

  “Joe!” Dean’s eyes widened. “Watch . . .”

  Joe felt it. Dean’s words didn’t need to speak .He felt the hard cold metal pressing to the back of his head.

  “Give me the doctor.” The deep male voice spoke. “And you and your buddy here can just go. Otherwise, I kill you, old man.”

  Mouthing the words, ‘old man’ Joe closed the driver’s side door a little, clenched his weapon and assessed his assailant in the refection of the tinted glass.

  “Did you hear me!”

  Scoffing, Joe responded, “Yeah I hear you pal.” Using his revolver to heavy his fist, Joe clenched tight and spun around, nailing the man of his own height, center jaw. The hit sailed the man’s face to right and surprised him off his balance. With a grunt, all his strength, and an angry face that matched, Joe grabbed the man by the shirt and quickly charged him forth careening him face first down onto the hood of the car. Like a ball the man bounced up. He swayed some and fell backwards. Tossing his revolver in first, Joe slid in his car. And in one action motion, he shut the door and turned over the engine. “Let’s get out of here.” Pulling away quickly--but without a peel--Joe fled the parking lot of the hotel.

  ^^^^

  After paying cash for the rental car, Joe and Dean took Forrest on the motorcycle from Miles City. Forrest didn’t say much, not at all in the trip from Billings. Joe preferred it that way. A scholarly man like Forest surprised Joe with the heavy accent.

  Riding with Forrest on his motorcycle, Joe pulled on the dirt road off the highway, the dirt road that would take them to the back gate of Beginnings. It was then that Forrest began to scream. It was barely audible through the motorcycle noise, yet it was ringing in Joe’s ear as they rode through the tunnel and across the land of what was then the empty Garfield project. Picking up speed, so as to return in a haste, Joe was relieved to see Henry standing in the field. They stopped the bikes and turned off the engine. “You got it, Henry?” Joe said as he stepped from his motorcycle.

  Standing without moving, Henry reached a pouch to Joe. He was stumbling in his words and demeanor. “Is that him?”

  “Yep,” Joe answered, taking off his helmet and laying it on the motorcycle. “Henry, you’re all wet.”

  “I’ve been sitting in the rain Joe.” Henry complained still staring at Dr. Caceres. “Sir, I’m Henry, I’m very . . .”

  “New, new! Woot have I dune? You huff brit me here to dis plus! New!” He shuddered and sputtered as Henry reached for him.

  “Shut up!” Joe pulled off the helmet from Forrest, jerking the little man’s head around as he did. “What, are you stupid? Christ, you are going to fit right in at Beginnings. Cause that’s where we’re taking you. . . . Dean.” Joe handed out the pouch to him. “Hit him.”

  Dean looked horrified. “Oh no Joe, I can’t hit him. He’s old. Why would I . . .”

  “Dean!” Joe’s hands shook as he brought himself to a calmer level. “The anti-virus, hit him with that you moron, it’s in the pouch. Christ. No wonder I feel a migraine coming.” Joe took an annoyance breath as he saw Forrest back up from Dean. He grabbed the good doctor, bracing him while Dean injected him. “Hold still pal, this is for your own good.” He felt Forrest shake some in fear then hold on to his newly injected arm. “You cry now, but in about ten seconds you’re gonna see that book of yours be a reality.” He led Forrest to Henry. “You hold him Henry when we go through, I have my bike. Ready?”

  Henry grabbed hold of Forrest, and lifted the pendant. “Ready.” He looked back to make sure Dean was close enough. “Joe, I really hope you guys didn’t mess around with anything.”

  “Just open the goddamn archway.” Joe had reached his end.

  Punching in his birthday of January ninth, the archway illuminated and Henry pulled a reluctant Forrest through. The moment they stepped through, all of them, the moment they were greeted with a smiling and cigarette smoking Jason, Forrest, with a spinning head, swayed and fell face first to the floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Beginnings, Montana

  “Back.” Dean exhaled and dropped his shoulders in a dramatic exhaustion.

  Ellen turned from the counter with a smile. “Hey, how was the past.”

  “El.” Dean walked in. “Weird. The woman at the car rental. Ready? She had a perm.”

  Ellen gasped. “Oh, my God. Big hair?”

  Dean shrugged. “It was in that ‘I wanna be big but fashion is saying no’ phase.”

  Johnny snickered. “Big hair? Too funny. How’s the time machine memory loss?”

  “Hasn’t hit me yet. In fact we’ve been back a couple hours. I feel fine. Henry too, for that matter he’s bitching about Robbie not fixing something,”

  Johnny nodded his understanding. “The bakery circuit box. Geez, Henry’s complained to everyone about it. Oh . . . I take it by the mob sneak in, you guys got Forrest. How is he?”

  “Exhibiting signs of the virus,” Dean said. “Good thing we hit him with the antidote before he breathed in our air. Other than that…scared really scared.”

  “Talk about scared,” Johnny stated, “I had kid-blood duty. Man was that tough except for Joey. He’s so much like my Dad. Didn’t flinch.”

  Dean stopped in his tracks. “You don’t say.” he said more in a daze, then continued to walk. “I’ll start separating it tonight. El, want to help?”

  “Sure I can . . .” E
llen saw the look Johnny gave her. “Dean.” She softened her voice. “I can’t tonight. I . . . I promised Frank we’d spend the evening at . . . at home.”

  Dean swallowed. “Oh, I forgot.” He shook his head as he walked to the counter with the racks of blood. “How is Frank? Still sick?”

  “No.” Ellen answered. “He feels a little off today. But . . . Dean, check this out. Frank, he’s writing a novel.”

  Dean was grateful his grip on the blood was so good or else when it toppled the tubes would have rolled out of control. “Frank is writing a novel?”

  Johnny burst into laughter. “My dad’s writing a novel? Oh, my God.”

  “Hey,” Ellen said defensively, “I am so proud of him. He wrote three pages already. And that’s a lot. Can you write three pages of fiction off the top of your head, Dean? No. He’s quite the literary guy.”

  Dean exhaled with a roll of his eyes. “That’s it. That’s the reason. All right. I get it.”

  Oddly Ellen looked a Dean. “What? You don’t think Frank’s literary? He is. He even used big words today.” She saw the disbelieving looks she got. “He did.” She paused. “OK, maybe to you and me they weren’t big words, but to Frank they were.”

  Dean chuckled as he fixed the blood. “Just what the world needed a new version of ‘see spot run’.” After shaking his head once more at the thought of Frank writing a book, Dean returned to work.

  ^^^^

  Henry slammed down his tool box with a thunderous force. It rattled as he dropped it less than gently to the ground in utter annoyance. He stood before the main circuit box of the bakery building, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not like I don’t have other things to do today.” Henry pulled out his list from his back pocket, looked it over and placed it in his mouth. “Asshole.” He popped open the cover to the circuit box peering in. Pulling the list from his mouth, he replaced it in his back pocket. His index finger fanned about in a circular motion as he looked over the inside of the circuit box. “If you want things done right . . . or in Robbie’s case, at all . . .” Henry bent down, flipping the lid to his tool box open with a vengeance. He retrieved what he needed and stood back up.

  “Hey!” Robbie’s voice yelled.

  Henry closed his eyes. “Now he shows up.” Lowering the tool he had just started to raise, Henry turned to Robbie. “What?”

  “I’ll do that.” Robbie set his stuff down. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well it’s been on your list of things to do for three days, Robbie.” Henry scolded. “Three days. I told you this morning it absolutely cannot be blown off again. It’s a simple task. Tie in a spare breaker. And you couldn’t find the few minutes to do it?”

  “Henry I was busy. I have things to take care of.” Robbie remained calm. “Now step away and I’ll handle it.”

  “I’ll handle it. Go do your other things. This is just another prime example of how you don’t do things and it makes me look like the prick for getting in your shit.” Clenching his jaws, Henry merely stared at him. “You seem to forget I have other things to do.”

  “You seem to forget the same. I work in three other divisions, Hank. You aren’t the only one who is busy around here.”

  “No I’m not Robbie,” Henry spoke resentfully, “but when I have a list of things to do, I do them and I don’t quit until I complete my tasks for the day. Maybe you should learn that.”

  “What? And kill myself. Fuck that. A spare breaker isn’t important. Now move.”

  “I’ll do it,” Henry insisted.

  “Fine Henry. Be female.” Robbie leaned downward to retrieve his stuff. As he did he saw it, his eyes widened and like a lightning bolt, a surge of fear hit him, especially when he peered up to see Henry bringing his screw driver into the box. “Henry!” Quickly, Robbie raised his hand, clasping Henry by the wrist and pulling his arm back. Three deep breaths came from him as he stared at Henry, still holding onto his arm. Robbie swallowed. “Look.” He shifted his eyes down then led Henry with him as he drew close to the ground. “Look.” Robbie pointed and released Henry.

  “Shit.” Henry dropped his tool and nearly lost his balance. He looked closely to the grounding. The copper had been severed so slightly that from a top view it would not have been seen. “It’s not grounded.”

  “Nope.” Robbie let out another breath, standing and running his hand through his hand. “I thought you were a dead man.”

  “I would have been. Thanks Robbie.” Henry shocked, stood to his feet.

  Robbie looked down at it again. “You know, it’s possible it was accidental, weather worn. But, someone did this on purpose. It’s too neat and clean.”

  “Who?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know. But think about this. My task, my reputation. You anal tendencies, your reputation. Seeing how everyone knows how we are . . . seeing how this needed done, it leaves me to question.” Robbie lifted his list from his chest pocket and held it up to Henry, pointing to breaker box task. “Which one of us two, was this meant for?”

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  Many books were stacked before Elliott on top of the long table. But none caught his attention visually and physically as did the huge oversized hard book the Captain dropped before him.

  A cloud of dust caused Elliott to cough. When the smoke cleared, he was faced with a grinning Captain. “No.” Elliott shook his head as he swept the dust from the title. “I knew it. I knew this was where you were going.”

  “Isn’t it brilliant?” The Captain asked.

  “No.” Elliott was adamant. “This is not right. Why?”

  “We have to stand out.”

  “And fighting the society won’t do that?” Elliott stated. “If you need a gimmick, what about riding motorcycles instead of horses?”

  “There you go with the bikers from hell again. Elliott, get out of that teenage fantasy of yours.”

  “Why? You haven’t,” Elliott said. “What is to gain by doing this? How . . . how will dressing like this make us any better fighters?”

  “Don’t you think the whole persona of it all will enforce a sense of patriotic pride?”

  “This is crazy.” Elliott pushed the book forward. “You want to transform everyone. Not only by the way they dress, but act as well. You, Captain, will never be able to get these men to agree. For as good as you are, you won’t. They’ll fight. But this…” Elliott pointed to the books. “…is pushing it.”

  A little dejected, the Captain swiped up the large dusty book. “We’ll see. We’ll let the men determine. What they decide, we do.”

  Elliott nodded his agreement to that. The meeting would be the final determination.

  ^^^^

  His combat boots clunked with a deadened sound on the gymnasium floor. Crowded and packed with everyone but the women, the Captain found his spot before them. He allowed enough room to encircle himself so he could pace. And he did, hands behind his back, walking as he talked. Elliott was a mere couple feet from his side as he approached the men of the town.

  “One meal,” the Captain said. “One meal. I can promise you fresh water, and I can promise you at least one meal a day that you do not have to scavenge, fight, or search for. Rations will dictate any more. There is a lot of growth this little town can make,” the Captain spoke deeply, “but is this the place where I want to grow old? Though I’d like that, I also would like to be able to grow old and move about this land of ours. Move about without fear of running into militant soldiers, or people turned animal. Move about without fear for my life. I know each one of you would like that as well. The forty-eight of us who envisioned this town, never once envisioned the horror that builds on the eastern side of this country. Realistically, what is happening in the east will eventually make it to the west, and with that, to us in this town. I know we as a group are far from strong enough to hit the head base of Quantico. So we have to defend and eliminate this threat, not by might, but by strategy, skill, and heart. This is why I asked
you here.” A few more paces and the Captain stopped. “We, the forty-eight who founded this town would like to invite you all to officially be a part of us. But I must tell you, we are structuring. We all were in the United States Service. And we decided that regiment of living is what we want to reinstate amongst us. It breeds a sense of organization along with strength and camaraderie. Yes, yes,” The Captain nodded his head. “I’m slipping back into that mode I was in years before the plague, the recruiter. And I wish to recruit you. But this is different. In the old world I recruited for numbers. Yes I recruited men who wanted nothing but to earn a paycheck in their lives . . . Like Elliott Ryder.” The Captain pointed to Elliott.

  Elliott cringed.

  “Men who wanted to work for their father and spend the rest of their life in Cleveland . . . . like Elliott Ryder. Men who dreamed of being rock stars, like . . . Elliott Ryder. However these same young men, who joined the ranks of the United States service, became through the service, the type of man who could stand proud and the type of man who would, in a heartbeat, give up his life for you . . . like . . . Elliott Ryder.”

  Elliott lowered his head with a slight shake to it.

  “But we want to do it differently,” The Captain stated. “I would like to take it one step further. I have a plan in this structuring of a new military power. I would like us to stick out. Be different than society soldiers or anything else out there. Different in the way we dress, walk, act, think, talk, and mostly, the way we fight. The skill I want us to acquire will be of skills that the society will not know how to defend, skills long forgotten. Why do I want this difference? Knowing why goes hand in hand with the purpose for doing so. History. History continues. It will be documented somewhere, somehow. I want when a page is turned in the history books, immediately upon sight and without hesitation, I want that reader of history to look at our picture and know exactly who we were. Who I want us to be is not a band of survivors, not the great defectors, but rather the great defenders, the Freedom Fighters.” Soft went the Captain’s voice. “We gentlemen may not be fortunate enough to have a child in our lifetime. But does that mean we cannot fight for the child of the future? Children should be born free, born of parents who loved and planned for them. Not of shelled out women whose wombs are the value. I want these children to be able to open the history books, able to walk in the sun, across this great nation of ours, do all this because we were the ones who fought for that. When we joined the service, we pledged to fight for three things. Our God, our families, and our country. I know there is a God. We’re alive. We no longer have our families . . . all that is left to fight for is our country, and by God, it is time to defend it, protect it, and take it back.”