“Um . . . how about Reverend Bob. We haven’t hit him in a while.”
“Good thinking. I’ll get him.” Frank grabbed a glass and a bottle, pouring himself a drink. “I take it you’re finally taking a day off your investigation? Getting frustrated Robbie?”
“The shoe thing is finally over with. Man, did that send me through a loop. Pissed me off more. Here I was thinking I narrowed it down to a size ten shoe and do you know what?”
“Over half the men in Beginnings where a size ten boot.”
“Why is that, Frank?” Robbie asked with annoyance. “Isn’t that odd?”
“No, not really. The last run I picked up a lot of size ten boots. So no matter what size they wear, ten and under, they wear a size ten. Unless their Beginnings made, or your Dean, then you wear tiny Converse High tops.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? I wasted so much time on it.”
“Nah,” Frank snickered and took a drink. “You were having fun. What’s next?”
“Finger prints. I dusted and sampled the entire lab and other mobile.”
“And where are you getting the comparison finger prints from?” Frank finished his drink and set down his glass.
Cautiously Robbie picked the glass up by the rim. “See ya Frank.” He took it with him to the stage.
“Hey!” Shaking his head, Frank reached over the bar for another glass.
^^^^
Elbows on knees, hands folded, Dean stared at the coffee table. He was able to let down the front he had placed on all night in front of the kids. He looked up when he felt the presence and smelled the coffee. “Hey.” He smiled at Ellen.
“Did you want some?” She showed him the cup.
“Nah. I’m going to bed soon.”
“Dean.” Ellen set down her mug and laid her hands over his. “Please listen to me. Maybe this isn’t it?”
“We’re kidding ourselves if we think it isn’t El.” Dean rubbed his eyes.
“But did you have any more episodes today? No,” Ellen said. “Maybe we’re just over reacting. What did the CT scan say?”
“You know as well as I do the injury is still fresh.”
“Exactly.” She gave a firm squeeze to his hand. “Blood pressure rises. You get an episode. But in reality, Dean, if this is it, we have to face it. Your eyes are not what is going to beat the virus. Your mind is. I can be your eyes. You have to control that mind. All right?”
Dean nodded , pulled his hands back, and slowly stood up. “I’m heading to bed.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I promise, we won’t waste another day tomorrow.” As he walked around the couch, there was a knock at the door. “Want me to get that?”
“No, you go up.” Ellen stood and walked around the couch. She watched Dean ascend the stairs and then opened the door. Frank stood there, leaning in the archway. “Frank.”
“Hey.” He lifted a bottle of Henry’s wine. “I thought if you guys wanted company, you may want to celebrate my publishing deal.”
Ellen giggled. “Want to rub the bet into Dean?”
“Absolutely. Can I come in?”
“Absolutely.” She opened the door wider. “I’ll get some glasses. One small one for me shouldn’t hurt.”
Frank stepped into the living room. “Where’s Dean?”
“He went to bed.” Ellen headed to the kitchen.
“Too bad. I have his autographed copy of my novel.” Frank pulled out rolled up pages from his back pocket. “I just need someone to do the art . . .” His words slowed down as he set the pages down on the sofa table and saw it. “Work. Oh, wow.” He whispered in awe, lifting a sketch of Ellen. It was a profile of her, her hair a bit longer in the sketch.
“Good huh?” Ellen returned with the glasses. She took the bottle and poured the wine. “Forrest did that. He sent it to me this afternoon when Denny brought them food to the quantum lab. A nice surprise.”
“It’s beautiful.” Frank took the wine she handed him. “Could I have this?”
“The sketch? I already told Dean . . . I told him he could . . .”
“Don’t worry about it.” Frank lifted the bottle. “Let’s sit down.” He took a long drink from his glass as he walked around the couch. He refreshed it from the bottle and sat.
Ellen fingers trailed in debate across the sketch. She looked at Frank who stared into his glass. “You know what? Forrest can make Dean another.”
“El, it’s O.K.”
“No it’s not.” Ellen lifted the sketch. “I look much too young in this picture. Dean didn’t know me when I looked this young. Don’t forget to take this when you leave.” She returned a smile when Frank gave her one. “Oh, I have a surprise for you.” She hurried into the dining room, talking as she did. “I was getting things ready for my move with Robbie, which I haven’t a clue when that will be, and I found this.” She walked back into the living room. “I showed Alex this morning.” She held a card in front of him. “The first Valentine’s Day Card you ever gave me.”
Excitedly, Frank grabbed it. “You still have it? Wow.”
Ellen sat next to him. “I have everything you ever gave me. Letters, notes, cards.”
Frank laughed as he read the card. “My handwriting was better.” He opened the card then closed it, shaking his head. “This was nice seeing this. It means a lot.”
“No Frank. All the years we had mean a lot to me. We had more years as friends than we did as anything else. I just want that in my life, and I think you need that too.”
Frank looked once more at the card then laid it down on the coffee table, as he brought his hand back he rested it on her leg. “Let me tell you something El. All those years we have behind us, no one can touch them, no one. Not Dean, not . . . “He stopped and stood up. “I’m sorry.”
“No Frank, that’s all right. Talk to me.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’d rather not ruin a pretty good night.” His back faced her as he looked about the living room filled with all her home decorations and pictures. Things that were once in his home.
“Frank.” She ran her hand up his back. She didn’t know what to do or say for him. She sensed so much how badly he really was feeling.
“How come you’re so happy without me?”
“No Frank, how can you say that?”
“You don’t miss any of it. Not the marriage, not the closeness.” Frank turned and faced her. “Not even this.” He grabbed her face pulling Ellen into him. Parting her lips with his, Frank moved his mouth across Ellen’s and he released his emotions into that kiss. He kissed her firmly and deeply, extending his fingers to the back of her head, keeping her to him. As he pulled from the kiss, he let his thumbs slowly brush against her cheeks then run down her still parted mouth as he whispered close to her. “Or do you?”
“Frank . . .”
“Don’t answer that.” He released her completely, stepped back, stopped, stepped forward to her, and kissed her quickly. “Downer moment over.” He spun from her, spotted his glass of wine, and picked it up. “You have to give those to me once in a while.” He laid his finger over her lips and shook his head when he saw her about to talk. “Now . . . do you know what I would like? I’d like to see, if you’ll let me, all those letters and stuff you have. Could I?”
“I’ll be right back.” Smiling, Ellen raced over to the steps. “Have a seat Frank. We’ll be looking through the box for a while.”
Smiling back at Ellen the best he could, Frank slowly made his way back to the couch. And he sat there, head down, rolling the glass between his hands waiting for her return.
^^^^
“Robert,” Joe called out.
Robbie winced as he placed his bass away. “Why does he call me that?” he asked Paul as if Paul knew.
“Robert,” Joe called again.
Robbie looked down at his watch. “Hey Dad. It’s, like, late. Why are you up.?”
“I’ve been working.”
Though Robbie thought it was n
ice of his father to share the events of the day, he lacked enthusiasm over it. “Gee. Wow. Swell. Working on what?”
“What did you give me to work on?” Joe placed his hands on his hips.
“Oh shit.” Robbie, acting like it was a big secret, took hold of Joe’s arm and pulled him aside. “And?”
“And . . . I’ve gone through about eighty percent of those two hundred prints.”
“Very good, Dad,” Robbie smiled. “How many were different. Five, six?”
“Thirty-two. There were thirty-two different forefingers.”
“No way. Thirty-two? You have to be wrong. Maybe some of those are middle fingers and some are pinkies. You made a mistake.”
“Robbie, I did this for how many years?” Joe scolded. “I don’t make mistakes on prints. Thirty-two so far.”
“Shit. Why in the world are there so many?”
“Um . . .” Joe grew sarcastic. “Maybe because the goddamn mobile was outside of Beginnings for so long? Maybe because it took ten men to settle it in one place. Start collecting your prints and I’ll match them.”
“I have one already.” Robbie walked over to the stage and handed Joe a cloth covered glass. “Here’s Frank’s. Got it tonight so you can eliminate him once you match his.”
“Thanks.” Joe held up the glass. “This will bring you down to thirty-one.” He stared to leave but stopped. “Robbie?”
“Yeah.” Robbie hesitated in his return to his bass.
“Was Frank drinking much when he was here?”
“I couldn’t tell you. He left after a while to see Ellen, but I was busy. Sorry. Why?”
“No reason. It’s just . . . does he seem to you to be drinking a bit more than usual?”
“Yeah, but Frank’s just hit a rough spot. He’ll get past it.”
“I guess you’re right. Night Robbie.” Joe looked once more to the cloth covered glass. He clutched it with fatherly concern and walked from the social hall.
^^^^
Bowman, North Dakota
Against the Captain’s better judgment, he had to admit he like Chai tea. It didn’t hold the same soothing effects as alcohol, but it did warm the chest some, and knowing Elliott would stop by, it wouldn’t get him yelled at.
He rubbed his tried eyes, sipped his mug of Chai tea and closed the book. Staring off, sitting in his chair, he heard the knock on the door. “Come in.”
“Hey.” Elliott covered in the dust of snow walked in. He took off his coat. “I have good news.” He held up the log book and walked further into the living room. “Is that Chai tea?”
“Yes. Do you want some?”
“Right,” Elliott snickered and sat down. “How was the Caceres novel?”
“Stupid. O.K., well, not stupid.” The Captain said. “It was a good novel, but I’m afraid, Elliott, the society merely borrowed his name. I don’t think this Caceres has anything to do with it.”
“Why? What’s the novel about?”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty good vision of our post-apocalyptic world. However the story is about survivors and how they make this one community a starting point to rebuild the world. I thought at first that was it, but . . .” the Captain tossed up his hands. “A small community starting with fifty is hardly our society. Plus, the people in the story had no desire to do lobotomies or make mommy zombies. They wanted to live. That’s it.” He clapped once. “Nothing that could even give us a clue to the Garfield Project weapon. Now . . . what good news do you have?”
Dropping the log book, Elliott smiled. “I believe the Colorado site, even if it breeds nothing about the society, I’m pretty sure it can tell us about the Garfield project.”
“How do you know?”
“Seventeenth entry.” Elliot opened the log book. “Steward states, and this is straight from the book . . . our inside person tells us, that after the successful rescue from the Colorado site, enough info was gained to go back.” Elliott held up a finger and turned a page. “Three days later. Simply says, and there is pencil dots all around this meaning he sat in thought.” Elliott winked then read. “Colorado versus the Garfield Project. Colorado is ill prepared. I wish they had communication so I could warn them of their pending attack. I hope they have moved out by now.” Elliott closed the book. “Hostage situation must have entailed. Perhaps a few of their people for the weapon, only the enemy of the society, got their people and returned. I believe they used the weapon on the Colorado site.”
“So the site is gone?”
Elliott tilted his head. “Not really, entry, one week later . . .The president informs me that a return trip to Colorado could be made. But he feels that nothing vital remains at the site.”
“Nothing vital to the society, but could be very vital to us.” The Captain snapped his finger. “This is Beautiful, Elliott. We skimmed those early entries because they didn’t give us inside information to the society. They still don’t, however . . . even just to go to Colorado to see what this Garfield weapon did would give us a clue to what we’re looking for.”
“Plus, the society cleaned out, but they wouldn’t clean up evidence of their enemy.”
The Captain smiled. “The people with the Garfield project. We need to know about them.”
“Now all we need is to find it.”
“I have a good guess.” The Captain sprang up and moved to a desk. He opened the drawer and flipped through several maps pull-in one out. “Colorado may be a big state . . .” He spread it on the coffee table. “But by the size of the site, knowing the government had something to do with it, and the security of the site . . .there’s only one facility big enough that fits that description,” his finger landed. “Mountain Springs Colorado.”
Elliott grinned. “Three day trip, we could do that ourselves.”
“And I trust no one’s eyes but our own. We have to do this. So . . . just when the weather breaks, before winter’s end, while the world still slumbers, we seize our safety frame . . .” The Captain rolled up the map. “. . . and we go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
March 1
Beginnings, Montana
Joe could smell it through the slightly open window of his office, the smell of creeping spring as it made its early approach into Beginnings. A short, painless winter was rearing its last hurrah and this pleased Joe. Spring usually pleased Joe, but its sooner-than-anticipated arrival not only brought the prospect of hard work that would begin in the fields, but the scary thought that the battle against the SUT army could be approaching as fast as the new leaves on the trees.
The fact that they sat in a stalemate bothered Joe. He had an alternate plan, preparing to send Robbie and a small crew out for military trucks and supplies that they would use for assassin squads to clear out and secure a circumference around Beginnings from any and all society soldiers. He had to come up with some sort of physical protection. The hopes of advancing through information learned in the time machine, faded as the second month of the stagnate Regressionator hit.
Sifting through the imminent work load, the refreshing breeze that came through the window changed. It carried instead of pre-spring, a light stench that made Joe twitch his head. And then . . . he knew why.
“Josef?” Forrest popped his head through the office door following a simple knock.
“Holy mother of God.” Joe lifted his head. “I thought for sure you were dead.” Joe watched Jason walk in also. “And you too.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Ah.” Forrest waved his finger about. “Boot we are note.” He smiled. “May we sit?”
Feeling them approach along with smelling them, Joe held his hand up. “No. Stay by the door and Jason . . . open it will ya?”
“Sure thing Joe.” Jason, whose hair had grown and beard now extended straggly past his chin, opened the door. “We’re ready. Do you want to witness it?”
“You’re kidding?” Joe asked. “The machine is working?”
Fanning his hand, Jason shook his head. “
We don’t know. It has taken us two months to channel the power supply. We did channel it, however, and now we are ready to test it to see if it actually will work and not sizzle our timer travelers.”
“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Joe nodded. “So do you think you have it?” He watched Jason shake his head ‘no’ while Forrest nodded with certainty.
“Josef. We wooed luck you to come to de lab and witness de weaning off ma butt. And I wooed luck An-ray to be deer as well.”
Joe chuckled, “O.K., sure. We’ll come up. Um . . .” He looked at his watch. “Can you give us an hour or so?”
Jason nodded. “Sure, it’ll give us a chance to clean up some.”
Forrest disagreed, “No Jay-soon. We must use de time ta prepare foe de bug demon-stray-shun.”
“You’re right.” Jason pointed to Joe. “We’ll meet you up there. We have test subject to get.”
Shooing his hand at them and instructing them to keep the door open after they left., Joe felt a little better. Perhaps they did it. Though Jason didn’t believe that they had done it, a part of Joe did. He stood up from behind his desk, grabbing his paper work and began to head out also. He paused before he left to open his window all the way, hoping that mother nature would blow some of her fresh breath in while dissipating the old stench left by Forrest and Jason.
^^^^
Mountain Springs, Colorado
The steady clank was the only sound in the dead wilderness. Clank-clank-clank, as the front opening gate, knocked off the hinges, swung in the spring breeze.
The Captain’s hand reached for the blackened and burned out circuit box of the gate. What looked like a charcoal thin stick protrude from it.
“Careful, there’s still power in the region,” Elliott warned.
The Captain nodded, then with his gloved hand, yanked the stick out. A simple, tiny spark emerged from the box. “An arrow.”
“Indian wanna-be’s?” Elliott asked.
“We really need to come up with a better name for them. No.” The Captain wiped the arrow head on his pants. “Metal. They don’t use military issued metal arrows. This came from a crossbow. It . . .” He paused and looked at the head. “Odd.”
State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6 Page 40