State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6 Page 16

  “It does.” Joe nodded.

  “What!” Frank yelled.

  “Very smart,” Joe commented and handed the article to Jason. “What do you think?”

  Frank grumbled trying to see. “What?”

  Jason smiled as he read. “We have the time, we have the date, and we have the place.”

  Frank, totally frustrated, growled and snatched the article from Jason. Suddenly his eyes lit up as he peered to Joe. “I never knew this.” He gave it back to his father. “A car explosion?”

  “Neither did I,” Joe said, pleased. “And it makes sense. No one dies like this unless they know something. Only the government could pull off the cover-up. The government meaning the Society.” Joe held up the article. “Let’s put this together so it can be done perfectly. Let the car explode. Stop the death. No ripple.” Joe smiled. “Because we not only found the person with the answers, we found . . . the man.”

  ^^^^

  Former Quantico Marine Headquarters

  “Next,” George said as he moved a paper from a pile. He sat at the end of a long table before a group of men including his ambassadors and Sgt. Doyle. “Our virus.” He exhaled and sat back. “Nothing yet. No rumor from the mobile. Our so-called top virologist bio man, Dr. Radovich, has informed me that, yes, we do have other viruses and chemical weapons and such, but only one . . . one has a completed antidote sequence. We have the recipe and Beginnings has the sample. He says we need an antiserum slash antidote in order to make sure that whatever we work on does not get out of control. I agree. In order for us to use something other than what Beginnings has a potential cure to, we, in fact, would have to create a cure. Which could take as long as creating a whole new strain. Could be a month, could be years. So . . .” George tossed up his hands. “Any suggestions?”

  Steward lifted his hand slightly. “What about possibly taking the time? Make a new one or use an existing one. If it takes longer not only will Beginnings not be ready for it, they would think the risk has passed.”

  George shook his head. “Sort of on the opposite lines of what I said. I want to hit them early so they don’t expect it. You want to hit them late. Can’t be done. We can’t wait. We need Beginnings. Time is just as important to us. Any time we use now will be for recreating the antidote, testing it, and perfecting it before we even use that virus. My wife and a lot of people we needed died because of a bad vaccine we thought we perfected. The world ended once. We can’t let that happen again.” Moving into the table in a mode for next discussion, George peered to Sgt. Doyle. “Any word yet about what went down at the ‘Spoiling camp’.”

  “Just what Dr. Lynch said,” Sgt. Doyle answered. “One of our men went mad. We’re sure it’s one of our men because a few of the guards recognized him from base. Right now we’re trying to locate what he did with the seven women waiting in preparations.”

  “I’m sure if you look hard enough, you’ll find those women,” George said. “Seven bald women running around D.C. shouldn’t be hard to spot. All right moving . . .” George looked up when the phone rang. “Maybe not, Steward could you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Steward lifted from his chair at the table and walked across the room to the desk where the phone was.

  George continued, “Moving on. Down in Norfolk, Ambassador Lyons selected . . .”

  “Sir,” Steward interrupted as he held out the phone. “It’s your Beginnings person.”

  George stood up slowly and walked over to the phone. With his back to the meeting group, George placed the receiver to his ear. “Yes.” His head lifted. “You’re sure? Well how do you . . .” A long silence only bred the rubbing of his eyes. “Thank you.” George hung up the phone. His fingers tapped on the receiver before he turned around. Breathing out, he walked to his chair. “Seems Beginnings is suddenly thrown into an excited frenzy.”

  Steward was confused. “They found no virus in the future.”

  George winced. “No. Don’t jinx us. Geez. That was nothing about the virus. It was however about another past time trip.” He laid his hand on the table. “They’re calling it another information gathering so this one’s not a secret. This one is one the whole community is thrilled about and is preparing for . . . immediately.”

  Steward snickered. “They’re excited about just an information gathering?”

  “This is a little bit more than just an information gathering.” George grew serious. “And we have to determine how much information they actually can get from it. It seems gentleman, Beginnings is not only trying to figure out how to stop the death, but also how to bring from the past, into the present, our very own . . .” George looked around the room. “Dr. Forrest Caceres.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Flat Run, VA

  The feel and the sound of the cheering prisoners that had been freed were still fresh on Elliott’s mind. So was the silence that immediately followed the attack on the concentration style camp where they held over one hundred men awaiting their mind execution. Silence. How confused they had to be about the death and fighting that happened right outside the fence. The fast fierce attack started with a mimic of a savage scream by the Captain. An attack that ended with the society soldiers, though not many, defeated. And then the Captain, along with the small group of men selected, merely walked up to the gate, shot down the locks, and opened it.

  The Captain said nothing. Elliott knew he didn’t have to. After the brief hesitation and dismissal of a trap, the men held prisoner cheered.

  Through the late hours that crept up, Elliott and the Captain made their final sweep through the prison camp taking weapons, food, and such like scavengers. It was nothing they prided themselves on doing, but it was something that would hold them over until they headed west and to the new home. The mouths to feed and bodies to protect had multiplied in numbers. Fast provisions were needed.

  Everything that could be taken was. Those who chose to go moved onward toward the buses and the two society trucks they had acquired from the raid. Elliott and The Captain were the last to remain. From inside the camp, through the fence, they walked.

  Elliott stopped at the body of the lone guard just outside the entrance booth. His body was in a sitting position, back against the wall of the booth. Elliot stared at the wound that killed him. A single penetration wound, clean, three inches wide. So neatly done, the blood failed to flow forward, it drained through the rear of the tilted back neck, causing a thick puddle behind the soldier. With a deep breath, Elliott looked at the Captain. “I knew the second you swiped that sword from the mansion, you would find a way to use it.”

  “Jealous?” The Captain smiled.

  “Very. Marked kill. Thumbs up.” Elliott nodded but spoke with a little resentment.

  “Cheer up, Elliott.” The Captain gave a swat to Elliott’s back. “I couldn’t have made that precision slice had you not taught me to fence all those years ago. You were so good.”

  “Yes, well some people have parents who push baseball. I had a father who pushed fencing. But I loved it.” The tone of Elliott’s words slipped into almost a daze as he spoke and stared at the body. “Every competition. Every match. Every win. And the kids who fenced, the ones who were diehards, like me always had that dream of the day when it would be for real.”

  “Um, Elliott?”

  “Yes,” Elliott snapped out.

  “Never speak of my dementia when you as a kid fantasized of puncturing human flesh with a sword.”

  Elliott laughed. “You’re right. And we’d better get going. We want to get far enough west before sun up.”

  “Some good night driving hours. Hoping, Elliott, that the women will sleep?”

  With a grumbling, ‘hmm’. Elliott began to walk with the Captain.

  “Oh.” The Captain stopped. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small rolled up piece of paper no longer than four inches. A string tied around it kept it closed.

  “What’s that?”


  “I wrote a little note to the society, just our thoughts or rather my thoughts. Excuse me.” The Captain darted back to the gate, put the note on the body and hurried back to Elliott. “Something for them to read. A tease.”

  “Were you always so dramatic?” Elliott asked.

  “I was never without flare.” The Captain winked.

  “You do know they may not spot that little note.”

  Again the Captain stopped walking. “You’re right. They may never see it. Thank you Elliott. Your idea is much better.”

  “What idea?” Elliott asked. But before he received an answer, he received a blast of cold air against his bald head when the Captain swiped off his red bandana.

  Running back to the body, the Captain placed the note in the knot of the bandana and laid it on the soldier’s chest. He went back to Elliott. “Now they’ll see it.”

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  Ellen had to yawn first before she spoke. If she didn’t let the long sign of her tiredness out, her words would be hard to understand. “Dean.” She yawned again. “It’s two in the morning.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. We’re just doing quick reviews. Hand me the next slide.” He held his hand out.

  “Can I quit now?” She handed it to him. “Hey . . .” A slight smile crept on Ellen’s face. “Jenny Matoose’s sample.”

  “Knock it off.” Dean took the slide. “Mark her name down. We’ll need blood from her when we get out of quarantine.” Pencil in hand, Dean put the slide under the microscope, looked quickly, took it out, and started to write. Mid word, Dean stopped and put the slide back in. “This can’t be right?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “El? What did the ‘future me’ have marked down as Jenny’s strain?”

  Ellen lifted the clipboard. “Strain two.”

  Dean shook his head. “This is mutated differently. In fact it looks nothing like strain two. Why did I mark this strain two?” He spoke more to himself than Ellen as he stood up.

  “Dean, what are you doing?”

  “I’m getting the virus mutations we have. I want to do a comparison.”

  “Right now? At two in the morning? Maybe, Dean, you’ve been staring so long at the different mutations that everything is looking weird. You may be tired. Stop for the night. Refresh and do it in the morning with a clearer mind and less tired eyes.”

  Dean lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Maybe stopping for the night isn’t a bad . . .” He saw Ellen had moved across the lab. “What are you doing?”

  “Shutting down, you said to stop for the night.”

  “Barely. But, we might as well.” He placed Jenny’s slide in the slide rack and lifted it. “I’ll put these in the fridge.”

  “O.K.” Ellen stepped to the sink and began to wash her hands and arms. She shook them dry and grabbed a towel. Leaving the water running for Dean who approached the sink, Ellen left the special lab.

  After he had finished washing up also, Dean too left the lab expecting Ellen to be in the trailer. He didn’t expect her to be leaning against the wall by the big window, staring out into the darkness. “El?” He walked up behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching Reverend Thomas. Look, isn’t he nice praying for us like that out there.”

  Dean’s eyes lifted and he swallowed when he saw the tall Reverend lingering in the shadow. “How . . . how do you know he’s praying?”

  “What else would he be doing out there? He was there last night too.”

  “Ellen.” Dean raised his head. “Could you tell Henry, I need to speak to him?”

  “About Reverend Thomas?”

  “No, no. About that power strip he was supposed to fix. It made a noise when I turned it off.”

  “Oh.” Ellen stepped away. “I’ll get him.” She spoke apprehensively walking to the side door while watching Dean just stare out. As she stepped into the trailer, she saw Henry. He came from the bathroom, still wet from a late shower. A towel wrapped around his waist.

  Henry jumped in surprise. “El, I thought you guys were still working.”

  “Obviously if you’re running around half naked. Dean needs to speak to you.” She pointed back with her thumb. “I asked him if it had anything to do with Reverend Thomas praying outside but he said it didn’t. It had to do with . .” She saw Henry take off, still wearing the towel, to the mobile. “Henry, he’s gonna make you play with wires. Should you be wet?” Henry was gone. “Oh well.” Shrugging and feeling hungry, Ellen headed to the kitchen.

  “Dean.” Henry raced into the mobile. “What’s going on?”

  “Look.” Dean pointed outside. “He’s just standing there watching. Ellen said he was there last night too.”

  “He is such trouble. He’s up to something.”

  “No shit, Henry. What do we do? Should we radio Frank?”

  “It’s too late. We’ll let him know in the morning.” Henry, holding his towel, walked over to the cabinet which set in the corner. He opened it up and pulled out a revolver.

  “Do you think we need that?” Dean asked.

  “Do you want to chance we don’t? Let’s shut the lights out in here. Everything is locked.” Henry began to head to the side door. “Dean, you know we can really solve the whole Moses problem. All we have to do is invite him in here and serve him some . . . rabbit stew?” He gave a pointing twitch of his head to the lab, before smiling and walking out.

  Dean chuckled at Henry’s suggestion. It gave him certain pleasant thoughts as he stared out to the big rubicund man who looked more like a stalker in the night rather than a preacher. And even though Dean put stock in the fact they were locked up, safe and secure, his mind still worried, not about Rev. Thomas getting in, but rather what he was doing and what he was planning. It couldn’t be good if it warranted the reverend running about at such late hours.

  ^^^^

  As quiet as he tried to be, Sarge’s heavy boots made a crunching sound against the hard ground and the semi-frozen leaves up by perimeter seven. He didn’t carry a flashlight to light the way around the dark area. He let his eyes adjust and used the moon as the slight illumination for his vision.

  It wasn’t his shift, not a scheduled one that was. It was his every other day, two hour watch, something Frank had asked him to do. Keep hidden, and keep an eye on that perimeter between the hours of two and four a.m.. The security team would down the beams between those hours just in case Sarge saw someone outside of the perimeter. He could chase them, grab them and find out if anyone was touching that beam without having to waste time radioing in for the perimeter to be downed. No radio contact was ever needed unless the watch was to yield something. Automatically, the monitor team downed it at two and put it back at four.

  Sarge didn’t expect to see anything so that’s why it surprised him…a shadow up by the beam. It was hard for Sarge to determine in the darkness which side of the invisible wall the figure stood behind. But, even though it was a shadow, it was definitely a figure. Someone was bending down, using an object, without a doubt, moving that beam. Sarge was fast and he knew it. Charging up from beneath his bushy hiding space, he ran full speed ahead tackling the figure to the ground. Sarge hit him with such blunt force of his body that he and the figure rolled outside of the sanctity of Beginnings. Feeling the weight of the person beneath him, Sarge raised up some, fully planning to render this person unconscious. As soon as Sarge’s back arched up and his knees dug firmly into the hard ground, he heard the slight whistle. It was soft, high pitch and it grew louder. Before he could turn to the sound, before he could turn his head, a searing burning pain shot through his throat, from the back to the front, shaking Sarge’s huge body, choking him, inhibiting any air to get into his system. Gasping, Sarge wobbled to his feet. He could feel the warm blood seep from his neck and down his chest. He could see the steam of its body temperature as it mixed in with the cold air. Feeling his legs grew weak, Sarge s
hifted his eyes down to see what had got him. Looking down, his view could not get past the arrow head that protruded so far out from his throat. Reaching for it, trying to break it, to free it, Sarge’s arms fell. He watched the darkness around him grow even darker. His pain stopped and Sarge fell, without his life, to the ground by perimeter seven.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  December 7

  Beginnings, Montana

  Ellen not only amazed herself on how good her coffee ended up tasting, but also amazed herself on how wide awake she was after only a few hours’ sleep. Proud of her brew and anxious to get started for the day, Ellen savored her energy because she knew in a few hours she would be dying for a nap.

  Carrying, not only her mug of coffee but also one for Dean, Ellen stopped at the bedroom where he and Henry slept. She knew Dean was up. She had heard the shower running. Though she didn’t see specifically who it was, Dean or Henry, she figured it was Dean. No one showered as fast as he did. She supposed it was because his body was so small.

  Hands full--despite her injury--Ellen used her foot to knock on the closed door. It opened slightly, and she stepped inside. “Morning,” She said to the two men. Dean sat on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes. Henry, staggering about in grogginess, was putting on a shirt.

  “Morning, El,” Henry said as he walked by her.

  Dean, hair wet, looked up surprised. “Why are you up?”

  “Ready to work. And I must tell you, if I didn’t know better, things would look pretty suspicious right now between the two of you.” She winked. “Here Dean, I brought you coffee. And no, I’m not flipping you off.”

  Dean shook his head with a smile then glanced at her splinted finger. “You’ve been up for a while, haven’t you?”

  “Yep. And I feel good. So let’s take advantage of it before I want to go back to sleep.” She stepped into the hall, nearly bumping into Henry who was returning. “Coming to the lab?”