State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Like you suggested. Four teams. Four men. Rationed two meals a day for a three day trip.”

  “Good. But let’s send scouting parties to the regions. Though I would say it’s safe to assume with the weather that the Indian wanna-be’s and the society soldiers are tucked away. Let’s take no chances. Send them out, scout, get back to us then we’ll send out for the supplies.”

  “Got it.” Joshua nodded and kept moving.

  The Captain moved on through the men that moved about the street in what seemed to be a rush of revitalization the town. He had things to do, and he wanted to head to the house where the women lived. It had been a while since he checked in and his mood was up enough that even Grace couldn’t bring him down.

  “Captain.” Danny Lewis called out and trotted his way.

  “Lewis,” the Captain said, “you’ve returned. Everything went safe?”

  “Perfect,” Lewis said. “We were fortunate that it was untouched. No attacks. Actually it was barren.”

  “Make sure you tell that to Owens. He’s getting scouting parties picked out.”

  Lewis nodded. “Sir, the supplies are here and the would be seamstresses are ready for orders.”

  “Tell them I will be with them in about two hours. But start organizing their area. Get them the supplies.” The Captain started to move again. “Tell them I want them to set up for measuring every single man.” Snapping his finger in revelation, the Captain stopped and headed back to Lewis. “I’m heading over to the house of women then I have a meeting with the men I chose for instructors. Can you handle the reigns?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The Captain moved on.

  Elliott watched.

  Bustle. That was the best word Elliott could think of to describe the activity on the street. A bustle similar to the last minute holiday rush. All of the sudden the remaining work on the town needed done, and not by Captain’s order, but by the wishes of the men themselves. They just wanted to do it. The old stores were being cleaned out, set up for being used as something else. Search parties that went out at dawn for supplies were returning. Fabric, shoes, clothing. An old garbage bin was being dictated for metal storage. Metal that would be melted down. Though they hadn’t a clue how to begin making swords, they were ready to embark on the production of them.

  It seemed to Elliott that with the snap of a finger, the rise of the sun, suddenly everything changed. Elliott knew the sudden motivation the men were experiencing couldn’t have been caused by the Captain’s speech. Yes, it was good. Yes the speech had some impact, but it wasn’t a mind blowing experience. It had to be the Captain himself. To Elliott, the Captain could be compared to the plague that wiped out the world. Everything about him was highly contagious, spreading fast, and before the men knew it, they had been completely taken by him and too far gone.

  Watching the Captain try to make it in his journey down a simple street block without being stopped, filled Elliott with a feeling he hadn’t has since he was young . . . jealousy. Elliott couldn’t recall in the whole entire time since the plague, even in a world so dead, ever feeling so isolated and alone.

  The Captain made a strange face to a man called Craig. Not wanting to show disapproval with a ‘put on’ fake impressed look, the Captain held up his index finger to the civil war style cap Craig wore. “Personally . ..” The Captain nodded. “I like it. But . . . it won’t work for when we fight. Perhaps we can instill that as a work look if you want.” He gave a swat to Craig’s arm. “Keep up the good work.” The Captain turned, stopped and froze. The smiled dropped from his face only briefly when Elliott stood there. “Elliott.” He said his name with a smile. “How are you?”

  “Good. Do you have a minute?” Elliott asked.

  “Can you walk?” The Captain asked as he started to move.

  “Sure.” Elliott placed his hands in his pockets. “Captain, I . . . I was looking at the postings. I wasn’t given an assignment. Was there a mistake?”

  His pace halted, and The Captain turned to face Elliott. “No. No mistake.”

  “Why? I told you I would help.”

  “I know,” the Captain said.

  “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re not giving me anything to do because you’re pissed off at me, Elliott stated. “You’re doing it to be a dick.”

  The corner of the Captain’s mouth raised in a snicker, “No, my friend. I am not doing it to be . . . a dick,.” he chuckled, “not at all.”

  “Then why are you leaving me out.”

  “If I recall…” The Captain pointed to his own temple. “…you said you didn’t want to do this.”

  “Yes. But I said I would help.”

  “We don’t need it.” The Captain saw Elliott look away. “No, listen to me. Take a look around Elliott. Look at these men. Do you see the motivation they have? It isn’t because they believe one hundred percent that we will achieve this, how did you put it, impossible dream. They are doing it because for the first time in six years they have direction. They aren’t wandering aimlessly, living day to day, no future in sight. They know if we faced the society today, we would face defeat. But they also know if we do this right. Take our time, learn, live and build it correctly, then we stand a hell of a chance of making this whole thing work. For these men, finally they have a goal. And finally they will be fighting for something else other than their day to day survival. Their fight Elliot. And as you so painfully put it . . . not yours.” The Captain turned and began to walk.

  “So what am I supposed to do?” Elliott called out tossing up his hands. “Stand around all day and watch.”

  “No.” the Captain spoke as he walked backwards. “You have a job Elliott. You’re the church organist. “

  Elliot shook his head when the Captain again, turned with nothing more said. “Church organist.” Elliott began to mumble sarcastically as he moved along. “Oh, no. He’s not doing this on purpose.”

  ^^^^

  Former Quantico Marine Headquarters

  “As you can see . . .” Steward said in explain mode, leaning over George’s shoulder. “…from everything I kept, it’s impossible.”

  Documents piled up on George’s desk as he reviewed them. He smiled when he lifted a tattered copy of a thick document entitled, The Caceres Project. “Where in the world did you get this from?”

  “That is so interesting,” Steward said. “It’s the original planned detailed by Dr. Forrest Caceres in 1970 for the presidential committee on post apocalypse survival. Actually, remember all those marine films on apocalyptic survival. Dr. Caceres was the co-creator.”

  “This is amazing.” George flipped through it.

  “And you can tell, we’ve enhanced the original plan. His plan structured around the Garfield land with eventual panning out in, he theorized, ten years.”

  In awe George read it. “How many times was he at the original Garfield Project?”

  “Um . . .” Steward leaned into the desk and grabbed the correct document. “…constantly during construction in 1972. Then biannually with the committee until 1984 when the original Garfield projected was aborted due to the seemingly end of the cold war.”

  “What made you keep all this?”

  “Fascination. I don’t know. It helps now. I picked up all this information when a group that named themselves the Caceres Society approached the government in 1985 to purchase or lease the Garfield Project land. I was finishing my internship back then, and the documentation came across my desk. They were a underground group that had been pretty much in operation under a different name since 1949. They happened upon the Caceres plan, which was what? Surviving the apocalypse. So they adopted his name.”

  “Even I didn’t know the extent of the history. Some of it, yeah.” George read as he spoke. “I was a young eager senator heading up the subcommittee on population control when they approached me. I joined and not much later they invited Dr. Caceres to join. Then . . . he died. It was years before I found out the reaso
n.”

  “And the reason was . . . they trusted him,” Steward stated. “They invited him to the conference, trusted him, told him everything, and he freaked. At least that’s what I remembered. He threatened to go public with the information, despite the fact that it could be decades before implemented.”

  George looked up. “Then he couldn’t possible know the extent of the project’s worth.”

  “I would say highly unlikely.” Steward said. “But, he could very well know when all that information would be accessible and available to Beginnings.”

  “What do you mean?” George asked.

  “Time, dates. When it was initialized, set up.”

  “So what. Who cares if . . .” George leaned back in his chair. “Shit. That goddamn time machine.”

  “Our person says they can only make three more trips.”

  “All it takes is one.” George swiped his hand across his face in thought. “As delightful as it would be, we can’t have Caceres killed. But . . . we can kill something else.”

  “What would that be?” Steward asked.

  “Any chance Beginnings has of…traveling to that information.” George leaned back in his chair. “Get a hold of our Beginnings person.”

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  It was time to face the music again. Evening had fallen and Ellen couldn’t recall putting in such a long day at containment. Not that she had much work to do there, but it was the only place for her to be. She waded through the ‘not yets’ given to her by Joe. But after so many subtle warnings not to venture there, Ellen had bite the bullet and to go home.

  It felt quiet before she even opened the door, yet, Ellen heard voices, male voices conversing in sorts. Glad someone was there, she opened the door and apprehensively walked in.

  Frank stood up from the couch.

  “Hey, Frank I . . .” Ellen’s eyes shifted to Rev. Bob who sat on the sofa. “What’s going on?”

  Frank said nothing, drink in his hand, he turned and walked to the corner of the living room.

  Rev. Bob stood slowly. “Ellen. A lot has transpired today. Revelations. Decisions have been made.”

  Eyes still glued to Frank, Ellen spoke to Rev. Bob. “Decisions? Such as?”

  “You and Frank have been great friends for over half your life. Sometimes things happen that can hinder that friendship. You’ve taken steps to right a wrong. But today’s there’s been a stumble in those steps. Frank . . . he wants to just go ahead and finish the annulment process.”

  Sunk.

  Ellen felt it hit her. “Finish the annulment? Frank? I just moved back in to work on this marriage. I just moved in to give it my all with you.”

  Frank said nothing.

  “Frank.” Ellen stepped to him. “Look at me,” she laughed emotionally. “You can’t be serious. What is it? You have Rev. Bob do you dirty work.”

  “No. He’s here to make sure I keep my cool.”

  “Right. You’re too much of a coward to admit you’re ending this marriage for a stupid reason.”

  “Stupid?” Frank glared at her. “You juggled the paternity tests of my son. You . . .”

  “You didn’t even know that son!” Ellen screamed. “How can you end this marriage based on that!”

  “I’m not!” Frank stepped close. “I am ending this marriage because I know where you’re priorities lie. You’d rather deny me a child than hurt Dean by our affair. It’s not the act El.” Frank dropped his voice. “It’s not the act at all. It was the reasoning behind it. I believe with all of my heart you and I will always remain friends. Always. But we failed as a couple. We kept hurting each other and hurting each other. And despite the fact that we lived apart here recently, we were still a couple. That hung over our heads. That . . . allowed us to hurt each other. Without that, without the marriage, we can just . . .just stop the hurt. Just be what we used to be.”

  “You don’t want this,” Ellen whispered in a mean way. “You’re striking out. You’re getting defensive. You’re making threats Frank. Don’t threaten me.”

  Rev. Bob intervened. “Ellen, listen. Frank is not . . .”

  “Stay out of this!” Ellen blasted, “Is this what you want Frank? Is it?”

  “No.” Frank shook his head. “It’s what has to be done.”

  “Fine.” Ellen stormed back to the door. “But keep this in mind. There will come a time that you will change your mind. I know you Frank better than anyone. You’ll want me back, and if it is the last thing I do, whether it hurts you or not, friend or not, you will never ever get me back.” After flinging open the door, Ellen stormed out.

  Frank barged toward the still swinging door.

  Rev. Bob stopped him. “Let her go. Let her calm down. While she does that, you better think one more time about this.”

  Frank moved to the door to close it. He could see Ellen walking away, at a slow pace. And Frank just stood there watching.

  ^^^^

  Dean didn’t have a clue what exactly it was that led him to jump from his relaxing state in bed, get dress, run next for Denny to watch the kids while he found an adult who could stay longer. Maybe it was the virus notes he was reading, or the fact he kept thinking about his impending blindness. Either of those thoughts involved Ellen in some way, they could have spring boarded him to do it. But Dean wanted it to believe that it was concern.

  Dean knew it would be particularly hard to find Ellen. He knew exactly where she was. A search for her wasn’t out of concerned that she had wandered off, but out of concern for her mental state. The last he had spoken to her at containment she was down and dreading going home, and with every right. The last time Frank and Ellen had a blowout was when Frank found out about the affair. And remembering Frank’s reaction, made Dean want to find Ellen. Even if it was for a minute, he just needed to see if she was all right. He needed to.

  ^^^^

  The social hall was half filled when Ellen walked in. She looked at her watch then around for Robbie. She hoped he would be there. Wishful thinking under the premises that misery loves company, Ellen knew that news traveled fast. How fast it did, did not sink in until the moment the door closed behind her. She wasn’t standing there long when John Matoose approached her.

  “How can you even show your face?” John snarled the question.

  Ellen closed her eyes. She was not in the mood to argue.

  “Ellen? Aren’t you embarrassed to show your face around here? No one will ever trust you again. I know I won’t.” He began to encircle her speaking so soft, so cold, so bitter. “If anyone else pulled the shit you did, they’d be out of here. Maybe that’s what you should do. Maybe you should leave Beginnings Ellen. Do us all a favor. What a better place this would be, without a little bitch like you running around and starting trouble.”

  He flew, John did, as if he had wings, three feet up and six feet through the air crashing back first into two joining tables. Robbie dove forward, leaping on him, lifting him by his collar, and slamming him to the bar. But that wasn’t enough. Catching John as he spun around in confusion, Robbie grabbed him by the throat, and punched him in the face. He punched him once, then again, and as his fist reared back again he heard Ellen scream.

  “Robbie no! He’s not worth it.” She grabbed his arm. “He isn’t worth it.” She pulled at Robbie.

  Robbie dropped John to the floor. “You’re right.” Grabbing a bottle from the bar Robbie grabbed Ellen’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Ellen brought her knees to her chest, leaning on them as she faced Robbie sitting on the floor of the garage. “It’s cold.”

  “I know.” Robbie showed her the bottle, but Ellen shook her head. “I lost it on him.” He took a drink.

  “I hate him Robbie,” she spoke with sadness. “But is there truth in what he’s saying? Maybe we should leave for a while. Maybe I should leave.”

  “If you go, I go.” He ran his hand down his face. “California. Let’s go to California. When’s the
last time you saw the ocean El?”

  “Six and a half years ago, with Dean.” She rested her chin on her knees.

  “God. And we talked about this. What would happen if anyone found out?” Robbie took another drink. “I just never thought they would.”

  “Me either. We knew it would be bad.”

  “I’m sorry this is happening, El. Everything about it.”

  “Me too, Robbie.” Ellen lowered her head further, this time placing her forehead on her knees. “Me, too.” She drew silent

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  The cigarette was rolled with old cigarette paper that was pretty much beat. But even though it barely stayed rolled, and the tobacco wasn’t the best, it still tasted good to the Captain.

  The smoke form the cigarette flowed out the partially open window of his home. In a chair, by the window, the Captain sat. The cool winter air mixed with occasional flakes, seeped in, moving the curtains slightly along with flapping the papers in his hand.

  But the Captain didn’t sit before the open window out of some ludicrous desire to be cold. He sat there for the music. As if the huge hollowness of the church were a PA system of its own, it channeled out Elliott’s piano playing into the night. The air of Bowman was the speaker that allowed for the songs to carry though the town.

  It was just music but it was a part of Elliott. The Captain couldn’t recall an evening in the entire six years since the plague and even a while before hand that he and Elliott didn’t sit and talk. It became a routine. Talk, drink, talk. It bothered the Captain that even though in the same town, there was distance between them.

  The Captain couldn’t say what song was playing, but he certainly knew when the music stopped. Deadness took over the night and that was the Captain’s clue to get away from the window and sink into his notes as well as into his warm sofa.

  Setting the papers and such aside, the Captain stood up. His hand rested upon the window preparing to lower it. Just as he went to shut it, he heard the bang of the church doors. From where he lived, the Captain could see the church, and he also saw Elliott step from it.