State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6 Page 13

  “El, El, what happened. Ellen . . .” Then Frank caught a glimpse of Dean coming out. He, too, looked just as bad.

  With such helplessness, Dean walked up to Ellen. He searched for something to say, anything. But he couldn’t. Reaching out his hand, he pulled her away from the window.

  Frank watched as Ellen stood up, looked at Dean and then so emotionally, she fell into Dean’s arms. Frank had seen enough. He charged away from the window and to the door. “I’m going in there.”

  “No.” Joe followed him, pulling him back. “Stay put. You can’t go in there.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Frank asked his words cracking. “Just watch her through the window? Just watch and know there is nothing I can do?”

  “That’s all you can do right now.”

  With a close of his eyes, Frank swung his hand in the air as he turned his body and headed back to the window. As soon as his eyes looked in again, his feelings of helplessness increased when he saw the three of them.

  Henry sat on the floor, knees bent up, his head down, buried in his folded arms. Dean was holding Ellen with his whole body. His face looking so hurt, finally raised enough to make eye contact with Frank. Then Dean conveyed it all with a somber, slow shake of his head.

  Standing between Frank and Jason, Joe took in the vision. “Dear God.” He spoke in a gasp. “What did they see?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Former Quantico Marine Headquarters

  It hadn’t been all that long since he heard from his person in Beginnings, but to George it seemed like an eternity. Davidson, after several sentences of writing, assured George it could take a day or two to find out what they recovered from the future trip Beginnings made. Theorizing that it probably was kept under wraps from general population, George would have to wait to hear the remnants of gossip to get any lead at all.

  George accepted that explanation, though he didn’t like it. Things were going pretty smoothly. At first he thought he was just so wrapped up in the future trip that he didn’t notice, but Sgt. Doyle confirmed it for him. Nothing had been seen or heard from their defectors. None of the sweeps were interrupted. But George knew they hadn’t encountered the last of the bold rebellious men. His gut sang to him. What Sgt. Doyle had to say about it sounded so plausible, that George actually felt secure in counting on it. Basically, what Sgt. Doyle explained, was anymore interference would be few and far between until they were no longer heard from. History shows man’s traits. What starts as a chivalrous blast will end in a fizzle when the momentum is replaced with the reality that they have other things to do. Like survive.

  Sgt. Doyle had a point.

  George walked. Trucks from the sweeps weren’t expected in. Survivors had been moved out and the afternoon was clear. Even though George had walked through that small town of Quantico, he hadn’t really looked at it. Remains of the old world were still present. The shops that sold relics and military souvenirs still held merchandise. He wanted to take in and enjoy his recent achievement, watch for a while the hustle and bustle of his hardworking men as they refurbished the small town.

  He found a seat on a bench. The peripheral view was good, especially the word ‘Java’ that still remained hand painted on the front window of one of the shops. George smiled because the little coffee shop made him think of someone he hadn’t thought of in a long time…his wife.

  How Margaret loved her thick espresso. George used to call her a junkie over the way her moods would swing if she didn’t get it and sneaking out at all hours trying to find an open coffee shop, like a crack addict trying to find a dealer. It got to the point that the secret service men grew tired of the aggravation that entailed in taking the first lady out. George decided to put a miniature espresso store, complete with a java artist, in the White House.

  Margaret. What would have become of himself had Margaret survived the plague. Margaret was good. She would have put a stop to any and all of George’s society connections. Surely George would have still been living in Beginnings. Still second in control, drinking the bad coffee, and probably sharing Margaret with Joe in some sort of warped ‘understanding’ Beginnings ritual. He surely wouldn’t be sitting in Quantico. He wouldn’t be building giant forces that would secure the Untied States the way he wanted. He wouldn’t be a man of power. Exhaling in those long thoughts while watching one of his men work on a truck across from him, George realized how much he loved his wife. How much he missed her. And even though he was deeply saddened by her death, there were some positive points to Margaret’s passing.

  It was almost time to move on, perhaps head to that area George wanted to designate as a golf course. Standing up, he took one more glance to the soldier across the way. The brawny man who worked with so much diligence, he never stopped to notice anyone watching him. The soldier lifted a battery from the truck and placed it in a green sack. He then tossed the green sack over his shoulder, grabbed another from the ground, and shut the hood.

  George knew it was men like that soldier--the ones who insured that the smaller things ran--who never received any of the society’s appreciation. So because he was in that rare type of mood, and just to show the soldier he could be a cordial leader, George lifted his hand in a wave to the man.

  And just so not to be pegged, or suspected, the Captain returned the wave, and added a smile before toting his two batteries and walking off.

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  The pain medication not only seemed to soothe the pain of Ellen’s injury, but her nerves as well. The warm water of the shower helped her too. Ellen knew she took longer than needed. But Dean was working on the reviewing the disks and virus, so there was really nothing else to do but wait. Struggling through the splinted finger to fasten her pants, Ellen turned to the knock on her bedroom door. “Come in.”

  It creaked slowly, and Dean popped his head in. “Got a minute?”

  “Yes,” Ellen answered.

  Taking a breath, hands in pockets, Dean stepped inside. “Look. What we saw today . . . it shook us. And I . . . I kind of, without thinking, really turned to you.”

  Ellen nodded in understanding. “I did the same thing. Habit, huh?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to let you know. I’m sorry.”

  “Dean . . .”

  “No.” He held up his hand. “I crossed a line. I promise it won’t happen again.” Dean stepped back to the door. “I’m ready to review the data with you. So, whenever you are...” He walked out.

  Ellen stood stunned. She didn’t know what to say. In fact, she was so engrossed in thought, she never saw Henry walk in.

  “El?” He snapped his finger in front of her bringing her from the daze. “Are you all right?”

  “Um . . .” Ellen blinked a few times. “Yes. Fine.”

  “How’s the fingers.”

  “Finger,” Ellen corrected. “Dean said only one is broken. Look which one, Henry.” She held up her left hand exposing her splinted middle finger. “Now Dean can’t say anything to me if I flip him off accidentally.” She smiled slightly.

  Henry reached out his index finger and touched her top lip. “Keep the grin. I have a surprise to make you feel better.”

  “Really? What?”

  “Come with me.”

  Ellen followed Henry back into the CDC mobile. As soon as she stepped in she saw what he brought her to see. It did made Ellen smile, in fact it made her laugh. At first she heard it. Frank’s voice, made to sound so high pitch, saying ‘hi mommy, hi mommy’ and then she saw him. Brian, and Brian only at the window, dancing about like a puppet--Frank probably underneath him being the strings. She laughed hard as she stepped closer to the seven month old baby suspending himself magically in the air. “Oh, my God.” She hurried to the window, and picked up the radio. “Frank, you are such a goof.”

  From his work, Dean turned around on the computer to see. He too, smiled. The sight of Brian was needed more than Frank realized.

  From his hidden
stature, Frank emerged standing up with a grin. He held Brian speaking in that parent tone, “Look Bri, who is that? Is that Mommy? Do you see Mommy?” Brian smiled and Frank held him closer to the window. “El,” Frank spoke into his headset, “Talk to him.” He put his earpiece near Brian.

  “Hey Brian,” Ellen spoke wanting to just cry at the vision of Frank and her son. “What are you doing?” She watched Brian smile so wide then throw himself to the glass pressing his mouth against it as if he was trying to eat it. “Look Henry, he’s excited to see me. What’s he . . .” Ellen looked behind her, Dean was there. “O.K. so he’s happy to see Dean.”

  Dean tapped his index finger to Brian on the window and he waved.

  Henry pulled up a chair by the window for Ellen. “Take a moment.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, standing with her.

  Ellen grabbed the radio. “Frank. Thank you so much for doing this.”

  “Henry said you needed to see us both. Look how happy he is to see you, El.” Frank adjusted Brian. “So how are you?”

  “I’ve been better. But look . . .” Ellen held up her injured, splinted finger. “I broke it.”

  Frank dramatically gasped and dropped open his mouth with a wide smile and looked at Brian. “Look Bri.” He spoke to the baby. “Mommy’s flipping Dean off for us. How nice of her.”

  Dean rolled his eyes slightly. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, Frank’s corny sense of humor was so needed. He took in just another moment of it then stood up. “I’ll get everything ready,” He told Ellen then returned to the computer.

  Ellen scooted as close to the window as she could. “Frank, you know the baby can’t be out here too long. It’s too cold.”

  “I know.” Frank adjusted Brian. “But he’s tough, huh, Bri. You’re tough. You won’t get sick.”

  Immediately Ellen’s mind flashed to what she saw. She didn’t realize how much her face conveyed it.

  “El?” Frank called her. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” She answered softly. “But I don’t want to talk about it. I really don’t.”

  “Then we won’t. But I should get him back. I’ll stop by later?” Frank asked. He smiled at Ellen’s nod. “Good. See ya then.” He lifted Brian’s hand for a wave, then before he stepped away. He laid his fingers on the glass. “Be good. I love you.”

  Ellen’s fingers lay upon her side of glass. In a silent move of her lips, she mouthed the words, “I love you.’ and then sadly smiled. She stayed at that window until she saw them leave completely, watching Frank and Brian get into the jeep and drive further away until they were mere specks. Regaining her composure she turned around. “We would have the perfect marriage wouldn’t we, if there was a constant glass wall between us.” She sighed out then stood. “O.K., I’m ready. Give it to us Dean.”

  Dean faced them and waited for Ellen and Henry to sit down. Reaching semi behind him, he swept a small pile of papers up and read from them. “In case you’re wondering, no.” Dean shook his head. “None of my notes indicate that the three of us took a future trip. I spoke to Jason, because I thought theoretically there would be indications.”

  “And what did Jason say?” Henry asked.

  “My theories suck.” Dean nodded. “Let me see if I can say it word for word. He said, in order for us to go to a future where we have gone to the future, we have to go to the future first.”

  Ellen’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell was that? Frank pretended he was Jason, didn’t he?”

  Dean chuckled. “No. What it means is, we made the future trip, right? Well, if we go to the future tomorrow then everything we find will indicate the future trip of today.” Dean scratched his head. “Confusing. All right . . . my first order of business was to find mention of the antidote in the notes. I did. Anything else I can tell you is just from my quick review and from that . . . groundwork.” He lifted the papers. “We got a lot of groundwork done. Because that was all we had time to do. From first symptom to finish . . . one week.”

  Henry’s eyes briefly closed and his heart sunk. “Oh my God. History repeats.”

  “Hopefully not,” Dean said. “I believe the time we so desperately needed in the future, we are giving ourselves now. We have a base to start from. Like I said, I still have to really read. We brought back four vials. Blindly, I injected some rabbits. I want to see if what we get coincides from what the notes say about the incubation periods.”

  Ellen quickly looked up. “Periods?”

  “Yep.” Dean replied. “From what I gathered, we couldn’t pinpoint it. From one day until at least five, because when I stopped writing we had rabbits still asymptomatic. Which means . . .”

  “Multiple mutated strains,” Ellen interjected. “Did the ‘future you’ find the host.”

  “Don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “I have a lot of data to read. As far as the antidote goes I read what I wrote on that. Here’s an interesting tidbit. Guess how we found the antidote.”

  “We blew up the cryo-lab.” Ellen said.

  After a quick confused shift of his eyes, Dean looked at Ellen. “How . .. how did you know?”

  “Wild guess,” Ellen answered. “I can see us running blind. Everyone sick, so fast. It isn’t airborne. It came from somewhere. Somewhere meaning, the enemy. The society. The case.”

  “You’re right,” Dean spoke in awe. “That’s what we thought. So we opened the password protected files. Printed the vial information and let the cryo-lab blow up. Only check this out. Four and one half doses are in that vial. I have noted that we had used so much of the antiserum testing it, that it only left us with two doses.”

  Ellen looked oddly. “Two? Who didn’t get the antiserum?”

  Dean swallowed then looked at her then Henry. “You two.”

  “Oh my God.” Henry fell back. “We died. You let us die?”

  “No.” Dean shook his head. “You didn’t need it. You two, were naturally immune to it.”

  Ellen was filled with surprise. “How can that be, Dean? O.K., were we immune really, or were we exposed to the virus at some point and built up immunities?”

  “Immune,” Dean read. “One percent will be immune. You two were the one percent. And that was a scary thought. But I’m going to double check anyhow. So I need some blood. If you are immune, then I’ll give myself the antidote and we’ll go from there.” Dean collected his things and stood. “I’m going to suit up. Ellen, could you draw some blood from Henry?”

  “Sure. Then . . .” Ellen waited. “Dean? Then what?”

  “Just draw his blood,” Dean said with a snap to his tone.

  “Well how about while you test it I review some of this data we brought . . .”

  “Ellen.” It was so sharp, Dean’s call of her name could have cut her. “They are my notes. You said yourself, you can’t decipher my notes. So my notes. My project and you are my assistant. I’ll tell you when and what I need you to do. O.K.?”

  An offended loud, nostril breath exuded from Ellen. She waited until Dean was just about to slip from sight. “Dean?”

  Dean turned around.

  “My finger feels better.” Holding up her splinted finger, Ellen smiled.

  Before he could hear the childish snickers he knew would come from Ellen and Henry, Dean went into the back.

  ^^^^

  The Plains, VA

  The band of pain around Elliott’s head tightened as if someone where pulling on his bandana. He worked outside, and the frigid air hit his bones. It was bad enough his migraine was aggravated by the dim light while he worked on the map, but the nasty stench that carried in the form of hot steam from the nearby horse’s mouth, made him gag.

  From the map Elliott raised his eyes slightly when he felt the nudge to his temple.

  “Hello.” The deep voice spoke. “I’m Mr. Ed. How are you, Elliott?”

  Slowly Elliott lifted his head all the way. He turned to his right to see the Captain grinning as he held the reigns of the horse, petting the animal’s
head. “Captain.”

  “Had you fooled, huh?” The Captain winked.

  “No, you didn’t have me . . .” It was a chain reaction, the flutter sound from the horse, the blast of steam outward, and the undeniable, throaty gag that came from Elliott. He turned his head and tried to stop himself from up-heaving.

  The Captain laughed, “Not feeling well.”

  Elliott turned his back to the animal. “Can we please finish this?”

  “Sure.” The Captain looked over Elliott’s shoulder. “Go on.”

  “If you’re right about this zombie soldier camp,” Elliott lifted a map.

  “I am.” The Captain nodded.

  “Good. Then you should have no problem doing surveillance. From the maps, this region was originally a wooded area, so imagine it still is now. I marked what I thought would be good spots.” He handed the Captain the map.

  “You’re swell, Elliott.” The Captain rolled up the map. “You and John will be back by dawn?”

  “Hopefully before,” Elliott responded. “We just want to check out this building that you say is the spoiling camp. See what they have as guards.” Elliott turned back around fearing another blast of bad horse breath. “Be careful out there Captain.

  “You, too.” The Captain reached out and extended his hand to Elliott.

  “And remember what Lange’s log book said. They are watching for us ‘defectors’. Low profile.”

  “Don’t I always.” Grinning, the Captain stepped back. “Lewis!” he called out. “Let’s go!” He mounted his horse.

  The sound of galloping brought Danny Lewis on horse. A thinner man, who wore a black bandana, bounced slightly in his trot forward on the animal. “Ready.” He struggled just a little to keep his horse steady.

  “See you in the morning, Elliott.”

  Elliott folded his arms with a smile as he watched the Captain give a half wave before yanking on the reigns of the horse, causing the animal to lift its front legs. And it finally dawned on Elliott that the horses were tame, unlike the others they had encountered. And just as he was about to question where the Captain found the mammal means of transportation, Elliott got his answer and he laughed. Watching the Captain and Lewis ride away, even in the darkening sky, Elliott could see, the branded ‘CS’ on the backside of the animal.