Elliott searched the area surrounding the site for nearly an hour before giving up. It was in his walk away that the flap of a birds wing made him turn and, in the distance he spotted it, a blackened spot. He rushed to it, hunching through the brush to a small pit where the ground surrounding it was burned.
Elliott peered into the pit three feet deep. Burnt remains of paper and other articles were in there. The rush of putting out the flames, or possibly a good rain, stopped some things from being totally destroyed. And seeing that, Elliott jumped in.
His hand carefully rummaged through, the touch of his fingers turned so much into ash. The more he looked, the more useless it became. Anything partially whole had nothing pertinent on it. He saw the corner of what looked like a manila folder and that filled Elliott with some hope. Reaching to it, he pulled it from the pile of ashes only to see most of it was destroyed. A single paper floated out at him, the top and entire left half burned away. Still, enough remained for Elliott to see it was a woman’s handwriting, Notes of sorts. Sketchy information he would have to piece together by the words that were barely visible, messages in part. One he would have to work on. Holding that find gently in his hand, Elliott turned to climb out of the pit and his boot clinked against it. He stopped. Leaving his foot stationary, he bent down and reached. It was metal, buried in debris. Elliott’s fingers pulled it free.
A watch. Grey from being scorched, but not destroyed. Elliott wiped the watch on his leg to clear some of the soot. Holding it at eye level, he turned the flexible band inside out and looked on the back of the watch. A name was engraved there. Elliott immediately looked to the paper he had just found. Just under the words ‘sixteenth floor’ the name, the only visible name on the paper was the same as on the watch. And with that Elliott headed back to the sixteenth floor. The person who owned the watch and the person on the notes had to be one in the same. The name ‘Miguel’ was just too unique for it not to be.
Two people. There had to have been at least two people the society had that the enemy wanted back. Miguel was one of them, the other, Elliott figured, a woman. Bit notes on that paper stated ‘she’ a few times. And the dates, along with the word ‘escaped’ clearly at the bottom of the page, coincided with the dates in Steward Lange’s log book. Miguel and the woman were the object of the mentioned rescue operation. And since Lange implied the rescue operation was successful enough to give the society’s enemy information, one of the two were saved. Since Miguel’s watch was found burned, Elliott knew it had to be the woman. Though he didn’t know her, Elliott felt a sense of relief that she had not become what he and the Captain witnessed of the women in the spoiling camp.
A broken down door and blood on the floor confirmed to Elliott the small room was the one that someone was freed from. Bits of what looked like rice cakes, and sunflower seeds sprawled about the floor. The beds were unmade and one of the pillow cases had blood on it. Not a lot, but enough to tell Elliott someone was injured.
He checked the closet, the bathroom, the only dresser. Everything was gone. Not expecting to find anything in the night stand, Elliott tried. He heard the crinkling of paper the moment he started opening the drawer. Carefully, Elliott pulled it out slowly from its hiding place, and folded, it fell out and to the floor. He could see the bloody finger prints on it, and Elliott bent down for it.
“There you are.” The Captain came into the room. “Man, are you behind. What do you have?”
Elliott lifted the paper. “A letter of sorts.” He started to unfold it.
“Save it for later. It’s getting dark. We need to make distance while it’s still light.”
Still in a squat on the floor, Elliott nodded. “I’m done with my search. I found a few things.”
“I did too, nothing very valuable though.” The Captain stepped back. “Ready?”
“Um, yeah. Let me give this room a once over again. I think this is the room that the society held the enemies people.”
“Excellent. I’ll look around once more on this floor to see if you missed anything.” The Captain stepped out then popped his head back in, “And Elliott, just take things you know are of some value. I know the type of pack rat you are.”
With a snicker Elliott nodded. He wanted to read the letter, but like the Captain suggested, it really could wait. He placed it in his pocket and started to get up. No sooner did his knees straighten than Elliott banged his head into the open drawer and dropped back down.
Rubbing his head while laughing at his own stupidity, Elliott’s eyes froze. The light from the hall reflected off of it and the only reason it probably remained was because the blood from the center of the floor had flowed onto it, gluing it to the floor like an adhesive. It was an instant photograph under the bed. Blood had destroyed part of it. On his hands and knees, Elliott moved the bed some, lifted the picture, and tore what he could salvage from the linoleum.
Elliott stared amazed. Was it her, the woman who was rescued? Careful when he stood, Elliott’s focus stayed on the woman in the picture. Her long blonde hair fell forward, a man’s hand laid on her shoulder. And even though she smiled, her eyes were sad as they stared at the camera. Elliott locked into them. The wording ‘me and Henry’ was above a date that indicated the picture was less than a year old. It looked like a lab of sorts behind the woman. So natural she was, and to Elliott, not only was she more beautiful, but she just looked so different than any woman he had encountered since the plague.
“Elliott!” The Captain’s voice called from the hall. “I’m ready.”
“I’m coming,” Elliott responded. He imagined the ridicule he would receive from the Captain over his ‘awe’ of the picture. But he didn’t want to leave it. Not knowing if it was considered an item of value or not, Elliot slipped the picture into his pocket. He’d make mention of the photo to the Captain later on. If the Captain showed an interest, Elliott would share it. If not, Elliott would save himself the harassment and just keep that picture tucked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Beginnings, Montana
Chuckling at himself and shaking his head, Frank set his empty glass on the coffee table. He ran his forefinger and thumb over the corner of his mouth and smiled again just before he brought his hands together in a single clap. “So . . .” Another short chuckle. “That is how it was our sophomore year in college.” He looked at Ellen, who looked amused, then at Robbie. “Shall I move on to the summer before our junior year?”
Robbie shook his head. “See this is what I don’t get.” He held his hands out. “You went to college. Why were you never an officer?”
“I never finished college.”
“Still, you were in the service for how many years? You obviously expressed interest in being an officer when you were younger.”
“That was Hal,” Frank corrected.
“No, you too. You were in the ROTC. Why didn’t you go for officer.”
“I made Master Sergeant.”
“Yeah I know Frank, but you aren’t answering my question,” Robbie said with frustration.
“I’ll answer that,” Ellen said as she stood up. “Look at your brother Robbie. Is he officer material?” She slid her hand over Frank’s shoulder as she walked to the steps. “I’ll be right back.”
Robbie watched her leave. “Where is she going?”
“She’s pregnant.” Frank reached for his glass. “The bathroom is her best friend when she is.” He stared at the empty glass. “And where did you put that bottle?”
“I’m not telling,” Robbie told him.
“Funny. Where is it?” Frank stood up.
“I told you, I’m not telling you.” Robbie stood up also. “Why are you drinking so much lately Frank?”
“Excuse me?” Frank seemed stunned by that question, almost amused. “Where is this coming from?”
“Probably the same place the drinking is coming from. I’m not understanding it. You’re always drinking.”
“So what. I’ve been drinking more.
Am I getting drunk?”
“No.” Robbie followed Frank as he searched for the hidden bottle. “But just because you don’t get drunk, doesn’t make it all right to drink more or more often.”
“Robbie, knock it off.” Frank opened the cabinet in the kitchen above the refrigerator. “Found it.”
“That makes your third drink.”
“Oh you’re counting?” Frank shook his head and poured some moonshine in a glass.
“If you’re doing it because you feel bad about Ellen, you should sit down and . . .”
“Oh listen to you sounding like the poster boy for AA. Robbie, I drink when I socialize. I’m socializing now. Social drinking is a Slagel family trait.”
“Yeah but how is this really socializing? We’re hanging out bull shitting. I think . . .”
“Oh my God,” Frank laughed at him. “Knock it off.” He turned his head to the sound of Ellen’s voice calling out for him and Robbie. With that he finished the little bit of moonshine he poured himself and placed the glass in the sink. “I really ought to get going anyhow.” He walked into the living room, Robbie behind him. “Hey El? You wanna go home? I’ll walk you.”
Ellen paused before sitting on the couch. “Frank?” She giggled. “I am home. You came to see me and Robbie, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. O.K.” Frank walked to the door.
“You know what? Wait.” Ellen grabbed her coat and followed him. “I want to go to the lab and help Dean. Give me a lift?”
“Absolutely.” Frank opened the door for Ellen. “Night Robbie.”
Ellen waved as she followed Frank out. “Night.”
Robbie sat down as soon as the door closed. “Ah.” He gasped out comfortable on his sofa. “My own place. All by myself. Finally.” In the silence, he tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa. After a few seconds he sprang up. “I’m going to the hall.”
^^^^
Limon, Colorado
“If, or when ,or how . . .” Elliott read from the letter as he sat with the Captain by the fire. “I just need you to know I am trying. Know that Miguel did everything he could to get me home. I only wish I could watch you grow up. If I am not . . .” Elliot lowered the letter. “And that’s as far as she wrote. She must have been injured. There are small bloody fingerprints on the letter.”
“She obviously got rescued though. Good.” The Captain chomped on an equivalent of beef jerky.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see the picture?” Elliott asked then reached into his pocket.
“Nope,” the Captain said adamantly.
“She’s different than the women we have encountered.” Elliott tried to show the picture.
“Nope. It’s yours.”
“Why?” Elliott tried to extend it. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Exactly.” The Captain pointed his beef jerky at Elliott. “Years, Elliott. years I have resolved myself to a woman-less life. You as well. You can’t show me a picture of a beautiful woman, let alone one that is alive running about this country. I’ve trained myself to live without it and suppress what I need. That picture will just toss it to hell, and I refuse to become like a dog in heat.”
Elliott looked horrified. “Are you implying I’m acting like that?”
“Whose staring at that damn picture for hours.” The Captain reached for his duffle bag.
“I’m not staring at it with that in mind,” Elliott said offended. “I’m just . . . I like the picture. There’s something about her.”
“She’s a woman Elliott. And where the hell is my goddamn bottle? Yes.” The Captain pulled out this whiskey. “Better. And . . .” He uncapped the bottle. “We’re training for battle Elliott. You have to have that on your mind. I don’t want to have to keep tracking you down in your bathroom.”
“Oh, my God.” Elliott put the picture in his pocket again. “And this is coming from a man who is preaching respect.”
“Yes, and this is also coming from a man who knows you.” He showed Elliott the bottle then took a drink. “All right,” the Captain gasped in his after drink and recapped the bottle. “What did we get today? Let’s review again.”
Elliott, legs stretched out, pulled forth his notes. “Definite Society location. Finished off approximately five, six months ago.”
“Wiped out by the Garfield Project, none the less.” The Captain pointed a pencil. “But, we found evidence, not only through Lange’s book, but notes, they started packing up weeks before they were finally wiped out.”
“Cryogenics, fertilization, agriculture labs. All of these, starting points?” Elliott questioned.
“One of many,” the Captain said, “then when they got started, they moved East. And shall we stay rooted. Sort of like constructing a home. Wood from here, siding from there, all items come together to make a complete picture. But what did we know of the society that we didn’t when we went there?”
“Nothing,” Elliott replied.
“We may have to wait until we are strong enough and start raiding the society camps to get all the information pieced together like a puzzle,” the Captain said. “Hating to admit it, Elliott. We may have a direction, but today we received no more answers.”
“Not true,” Elliott corrected. “We received a very valuable answer. We confirmed that the society has an enemy, an enemy with a very powerful weapon that the society wants. The Garfield project. Whether this enemy is friend or foe of ours, there is definitely a war of sorts between them and the society. They are focused on each other. But Captain, here’s some food for thought. When we emerge with our freedom fight battle, we may very well dangerously become the new focus of both.”
“Well, then . . .” The Captain cleared his throat and grabbed his bottle. “Won’t they be surprised, not to mention a little embarrassed, when we the UWA . . .” He grinned arrogantly, “kick both their asses.” He took a drink and showed Elliott the bottle.
With a shake of his head and a snicker, Elliott grabbed the bottle and obliged.
^^^^
Beginnings, Montana
Leaning against the bar, eyes raised, as Joe sipped his drink, he gave a disgruntled look to ‘Sam’ the bartender. He lowered his lips to the rim of the glass and grumbled, “Quit that.” He tried to sip again. “Quit that.” He shook his head and jolted. “I said . . .” he slammed down his drink, spun around, looked down and pointed to eighty-eight year old Josephine, “quit that. Leave my butt alone. Go home, you’re drunk.”
No bigger than five feet tall, Josephine’s fragile hand ran up Joe’s button down shirt. “Joey. We can have fun.”
Joe removed her hand. “I don’t have fun. Go bother Jason. He just said to me this afternoon he likes you.”
“All right.” Josephine with a loud hiccup focally sought out Jason. When she spotted him playing darts with Forrest, she finished off her drink with a gulp, wiped the back of her hand, licked her lip,s and staggered in a slant his way.
Joe smiled and returned to his drink.
“Joe.” Henry tapped him on the shoulder. “I really need to talk to you.”
Joe turned to face him. “Sure Henry, what’s the . . .” He back up when he felt the wind of a running Jason.
“Help me, Joe.” Jason beckoned in his race to barrel out the door. In hot pursuit, Josephine flew out behind him, keeping up well.
So disgusted, Henry shook his head. “I hate when it’s that time of the month for her.” Waiting for Joe to stop choking Henry continued, “About tomorrow and this time trip, Joe. I . . I don’t want to go. I don’t.”
“Henry, you’re the logisticalizer. You have to go.”
“No, Joe. I don’t want to,” Henry said with an almost pleading look. “Don’t make me go. What if something goes wrong? What if everything changes? I can’t put myself through that. I can’t not with my baby coming and all.”
“Frank’s baby.”
A mummer from Greg having a drink, interjected, “Dean’s baby.”
“Who asked you?” Joe s
napped. “Henry, this is important.”
“So is this baby, Joe. It’s the closest thing I have to having my own. It means a lot.”
“Henry, you ran around all day showing off a goddamn picture of Ellen’s left ovary.”
“Oh that wasn’t very nice. I didn’t know. And that was mean to Frank. See. See how he is. And you trust him to go back in time again. I can’t. I can’t. I’ll do anything. Don’t make me . . .”
“Henry.” Joe held up his hand. “All right. I’ll get Jason to fill in for you.”
Henry’s shoulder first dripped in relief with a sigh then he reached out and embraced Joe. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Joe gave a pat to Henry’s back and stepped from the embrace. “Relax, will ya.” Grabbing his own drink, Joe watched Henry reach across the bar for one. Through the corner of his eye, Joe looked at Henry. And at that moment Joe was grateful that Henry didn’t have a history of having psychic premonitions come true. Because if he did, with the way that Henry acted and looked, Joe would have been really worried that the next day’s time trip was headed for disaster.
^^^^
Former Quantico Marine Headquarters
The official eight by ten portrait of the first family sat on the corner of George’s desk. He stared at it, his wife, and daughter as he waited for news from Steward. The single knock made George’s heart drop. “Come in.”
After a slow open of the door, Steward walked in. “Breath in relief,” he said. “I just spoke to our Beginnings person. It’s a go. They’ll take care of it. They said it would be easy.”
Hands first to his desk, George’s head dropped. “Thank God.” He shook his head as he lifted it. “It doesn’t seem right, does it Stew?”
State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6 Page 42