The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Read online

  5:15 p.m.

  All they could do was give the medication to the patients and help them find their peace, a peace for which they’d waited far too long. The quaint, quiet street in Ashtonville, once with its perfectly maintained lawns, became a war zone from hell and the workers were the soldiers. The front lines were the ill and their armament was morphine. There was no shield from injury for those who worked with diligence to aid the sick, because nothing could protect the hearts that hurt and broke with each person that passed away.

  Happy children’s music played loudly in Taylor’s room. Too loud for Maggie’s liking but she needed something to block out the noise that carried through from the outside, noise Taylor didn’t need to hear, or Johnny as he stayed in that room as well. There were sounds of pain and crying. The yelling for help by the workers. Maggie didn’t have to look out the window to know what was going on. By what she heard and what she knew in her heart, outside, it was without any uncertainty ... the end.

  Miguel never stopped blessing himself with the sign of the cross. Nor did he stop fumbling with each person he helped. It didn’t get easier for him, he knew it never would. Grabbing another vial, Miguel turned from a cot where a woman laid to the next one behind him. He briefly closed his eyes and shook as he tried to lift the syringe. He saw the child lying before him, shaking, convulsing and near his death. How much pain the little boy looked in and how much relief from that pain Miguel knew he could give. But he still had a hard time. Syringe filled, he took hold of the boy’s thigh but couldn’t bring himself to inject the needle.

  As she moved to another patient, Andrea witnessed Miguel’s struggles. Seeing the child and seeing Miguel, Andrea stepped toward that cot. She laid a gentle hand over Miguel’s trembling one, gave him a look of reassurance then took the syringe from his hand.

  Miguel stepped back and turned away. He didn’t have to look to know Andrea had completed the task. The child stopped screaming out.

  Another empty vial sailed down and crashed to the concrete, shattering at Ellen’s feet. She shook her head, grabbed another vial, lifted it high and plunged a syringe into it. She slipped the vial into her pocket and leaned her stomach on the cot before her. Syringe clenched tightly in her teeth, she readied to inject the man lying in front of her. He gripped the edges of the cot convulsing. Before Ellen could inject him, he kicked into high gear thrashing violently and out of control. The cot tipped from his body weight and it fell Ellen’s way. The grunting of her efforts to stop the man from falling to the ground was heard by Dean who worked behind her.

  Quickly Dean turned around, jumping to her aid, and bringing the cot upright and steady. He stayed there, holding the man for Ellen.

  She removed the syringe from her mouth and without hesitation injected the man. She too leaned her weight on him until seconds later he stopped moving. Ellen paused with her eyes closed.

  Dean had to move on. There was no hesitation for any of the workers. Backing up to return to the patients, he watched Ellen stand upright. “You ok?” he asked, laying his hand on her back.

  Ellen only nodded.

  Dean gave one more look to Ellen, and as he moved away, his hand slid across hers.

  Emptiness. Total emptiness was what Ellen felt.

  Whether it was warranted or not, she had to stop. How many did she inject, give peace to ... kill? She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat as she backed away from the scene with her heart beating strongly. She turned her body away and glanced back to her house which seemed so far in the distance. At least in her home there was a ray of light. She needed to see that before going on.

  Turning back to the horror from which she just wanted to run, Ellen slowly slid her hand across her dirty and sweaty face, smearing the evidence of her hard work as she finally took in the view before her. If it was even possible to breathe at that moment, Ellen lost her breath. Everybody worked fast and with desperation on someone. They moved about, trying to stay strong. There were more ill than workers. It was loud. So loud. Chaotic. And in the distance, over the hillside, Ellen saw the destiny of the world she loved and had watched die. The thick black smoke of burning bodies.

  Twelve Hours Later …

  The music finally stopped playing in Taylor’s room. Maggie may have stayed at Taylor’s bedside, but she’d stayed awake doing her part, wading though the nightmare with everyone else.

  So quiet. The only sounds in the bedroom were Taylor and Johnny’s little huffs of sleepy breath. Maggie held off going to that window. She knew what she would witness. Slowly, arms folded close to her she walked to the tiny window that faced the side of the house. She stood tight against the wall to get a full view, parting the curtain as she did. The sun that began to shine with an orange cast lit up the truth.

  Maggie’s head dropped.

  The last of the moans of sickness had disappeared. No more coughing, gagging, choking, screaming. No more plague in Ashtonville. The small town fought from the silent beginning until the thunderous end four days later.

  They ran out of coverings, sheets, body bags and blankets. Whatever they could find they used to cover the bodies. Andrea flapped the last sheet she had over the three cots she had pushed together. She wiped the sweat from her brow, made sure they were covered completely and then, exhausted, she moved away. There would be no more illness for her to face, only the effects of a destructor that swept through civilization so fast that no one had time to think. Not even Andrea and that was fine with her. Because she knew in the aftermath of it all, all she would have time to do was think.

  The moment he witnessed the last person die, Joe went into the house to kiss Johnny and Taylor in parental gratefulness. But he returned outside. He passed Andrea on his way to find Ellen. He gave the woman he’d met less than a day before the peaceful look of a lifetime friend. And in a sense all of them, strangers twenty-four hours earlier, had united in a bond that no one could ever break. William looked exhausted, but he trudged on. Preparing for what he described as the worst part ... cleaning up. Henry, Miguel and Jonas helped. Joe saw Carl carrying bodies to a pile and Jenny crying as she made her way back to Ellen’s house. But where was Ellen?

  Out from the tent they had set up separately, Ellen emerged with Dean behind her. Joe walked right to her. Silently he placed his arm around her pulling Ellen tight to him. As she held Joe, she rested her head against his chest as they moved toward her home. Ellen lifted her head once and that was to look at Dean who walked quickly by her and Joe. Dean glanced at Ellen as he passed her, making eye contact in a saddened, defeated way before he continued on.

  Holding tight to Joe, Ellen stopped with him on the porch of her home. They turned once before going inside to look at all that had happened and how it formed a carpet that spread out everywhere for as far as they could see.

  They knew the sun would rise fully and another day would start. There was no stopping that. They knew that everything they walked away from in the dawn of the first day-after would still be there when they finished resting. To them, walking from the house and facing all that they fought and lost would not be the hardest part. The hardest part was yet to come and that was ... going on.

  THE GATHERING

  One person or two,

  How many will be?

  Will they all come together?

  Or alone choose to be.

  DAY SIX

  Wednesday, June 3rd

  Washington, DC

  George gathered the last of the small pile of belongings he had decided to take with him on his journey. He zipped up the green duffel bag and sat on his bed.

  “Sir.” John Matoose opened the bedroom door. “I gave it one more check. The signal is still there. So if you still want to go?”

  “I do, and you don’t call me ‘sir,’ I’ll call you ‘John,’ you call me ‘George,’ is that good?”

  “Yes, George.”

  “Do you have your gear all ready?”

  “Yes, I do.” John still stood in the do
orway.

  “Good, good, come on in, John, have a seat. I’d like to have a word with you.”

  Nervously, John pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. “What is it?”

  “Are you sure you want to join me? I mean, you don’t want to search for your family anymore?”

  John shook his head. “No. Both my folks are gone, so unless you don’t want me to come, I’m with you. But if I might ask, what is our plan? Are we just going to stop off at this town and move on, or what?”

  “John, you were monitoring the satellites. You watched the signs of life slowly disappear. Now we have in Connecticut what we think is a group of people, and these people are gonna try to go on with their lives. That’s what I want to do, and if they’ll have us, we’ll work with them and help them. I’m not the President anymore, John, I am merely one of the very few survivors. I want to join others.”

  “Me, too, my stuff is outside the door. I have a car downstairs. So, whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready,” George grabbed his duffel bag and began to leave the bedroom.

  “Sir, the Garfield manual?”

  George went back to the bed and retrieved it. “This will come in handy. This has a lot of vital information if they want it.”

  “You’re not gonna come right out and tell them?”

  “Nope, I’m not the President, and I don’t want these people thinking I’m acting like one either.” George stopped and checked himself out at his dressing mirror. He straightened his Buckeye State sweatshirt. “Oops, forgot one more thing.” He reached to the table and grabbed his green baseball cap and placed it on. “My lucky hat, wore it on Election Day.”

  “I remember.” John opened the door. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” George, carrying his own bags for the first time in a while, followed John as he led him out of the White House.

  Ashtonville, Connecticut

  A dump truck was parked half-filled with bodies three doors up from Ellen’s home. A second truck pulled up, brakes squealing loudly, right alongside the first one. Carl stepped out and immediately lifted his Vicks VapoRub-coated mask around his nose. For two hours they had been piling bodies, getting them positioned to place them in the truck and take them to where they would burn them.

  Like an assembly line, Henry and Jonas tossed a body in the truck and moved back to the pile. Behind them, Joe and Miguel hoisted one in.

  Joe had to take a breather. With his forearm he wiped his sweaty face. “We have to try to get this done, people.” Joe spoke loudly. “It’s gonna be a scorcher today.” He looked at Henry who walked by him. “And no comments about the weather, Henry.”

  Henry tossed his hands up clueless as to why Joe had said that. He couldn’t help it he was informed about meteorology.

  Joe adjusted his facemask and moved to the pile with Miguel. Just as he bent down to grab hold of the other end of the body, he saw Dean, clean, walking up the street with folders. “Must be nice.” Joe said sarcastically to Dean who was heading toward Ellen’s. “You know, being the brilliant scientist.”

  “Uh ...” Dean smiled. “Yeah, it is.”

  “So you don’t plan on lending us a hand?”

  “Um, not right now.” Dean held up his folders, smiled and kept on walking.

  Joe whistled, short and high pitched. “Hey!”

  Dean stopped and turned around to face Joe. “Yes?”

  “Don’t get too caught up. You said you’d lend a hand. I made an agenda. You’ve been assigned.”

  “You told me before we went to sleep,” Dean said.

  “Just reminding you. One hour. Got that? Be back. One … hour.”

  Dean lifted his hand in a wave and continued to walk.

  “Arrogant,” Joe complained as he lifted the body.

  Carl on his way to the body pile saw Joe grunt and grumble his comment about Dean. “He was an officer.” Carl motioned his head as he bent down for a body.

  Joe paused, bobbed his head in a ‘well, yeah, you have a point’ fashion and then with Miguel carried the body to the truck.

  With a raised fist, Dean paused before knocking on the archway to Taylor’s room. He shook his head when Joe barking out a gripe to Henry carried from outside. “Hey,” he called into the room as he knocked once. He smiled at Ellen who was fluffing Taylor’s pillows.

  “Hey.” Ellen smiled back.

  “Boy, Joe is ...” Dean shook his head. “Joe’s tough out there.”

  Ellen smiled. “Joe tends to take control of every situation. He does good.”

  “Speaking of good. How’s our girl today?” Dean smiled at Taylor who slept.

  “Our girl is doing fine.”

  “Excellent. I ran those tests. Let’s sit.” Dean extended his arm with a point to the mini table in the corner. He waited for Ellen to walk there and he joined her, sitting in the tiny chairs. He moved some of the tea party set, laid the folder on the table and scooted his chair closer to Ellen. “Ok, ready?” He waited for Ellen to nod. “The virus is definitely stalled.” Dean felt Ellen’s entire body release her breath of anticipation. She leaned some into him as she let out her relief when she heard that. “It’s no weaker. But ... it’s no stronger.” He made eye contact with her. “It’s idle right now. Which is good. Very good. Because we now have to try to kill it. My focus will be on that and bringing down her fever. We need her strong.”

  “I understand that. What’s the plan of action today?”

  Dean glanced at his watch. “Fever reduction. I want to head to the clinic before you and I do our town duty.”

  Ellen cringed. “Body cleanup. Can’t we get out of it?”

  Joe’s “Christ no, you can’t get out of it,” rang in the room.

  Ellen jolted. “Joe.”

  Dean looked at his watch again. “You said we had an hour. It’s only been seven minutes.”

  “I know what I said. But I need one of you, because the rest of us are taking off and I want to explain what you two are doing.”

  At the same time, Ellen and Dean both stood from their too small seats.

  There was no doubt in Ellen’s mind which would go. She walked toward Joe. “You stay here, Dean. I’ll go. You work on the virus.”

  “You sure?” Dean bent down to the table and closed the folder.

  “Positive.” She replied.

  Joe cleared his throat and pointed down. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Mind if I snatch up that bag of pork rinds you bought me? I’m hungry. I want to get something in my stomach.”

  “No, not at all.” Ellen replied. “Go on. I’ll be right there. Oh! There’s also some microwave burgers in the fridge. Might as well eat them up. We’ll pack ’em up for the guys.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.” Joe winked and started to leave.

  “Whoa. Wait.” Dean called out. “It’s nine in the morning. Burgers. Pork rinds?”

  “And your point?” Joe asked. “That’s nothing compared to some of the stuff I eat.”

  Dean shook his head. “Burgers and pork rinds. You smoke. Joe, God … your cholesterol alone …”

  “Don’t care. I beat the virus, didn’t I? See you downstairs, Ellen.” Joe walked away.

  Ellen chuckled. “Joe. He’s funny. Ok, I’m heading out. Good luck. I’ll …”

  “Ellen,” Dean called her as he lifted the folder. “Before you go, there are some things I’d like to try and give to Taylor. Would you like me to explain them so you feel comfortable about me working with her?”

  “No.” Ellen shook her head slowly. “No, you do what you need to do to save my daughter.” She glanced at Taylor then back to Dean. “She’s made it this far because of you. Believe me when I say I trust you.”

  With a peaceful look, Dean smiled at Ellen as she and Joe left. He turned back around to Taylor, knowing Ellen hadn’t a clue how much of a charge her words gave to him.

  Andrew’s Air Force Base - Washington, DC

  In the open side door of the helicopter, George,
sunglasses perched on top of his head, peered into his briefcase, checking through the papers he had. He stepped over when John loaded another bag in.

  “Sir.”

  “Yes.” George readied to close the briefcase.

  “Are you absolutely sure you know how to fly this thing?”

  “You know, comments like that really tell me you weren’t old enough to vote when I first got elected.” George, in a huff, slammed his briefcase. “Finish loading this bird; we have a small town to find.” He started to walk away and he stopped to look back at John. “If I don’t crash and cause us to burn on the way there.” He raised his eyebrow to a panicked-looking John, grunted, then, briefcase in hand, moved to the pilot’s door.

  Dairy, Ohio

  They had argued all night and seeped into Frank’s dreams, but the three folks from the small farming town did something else. They helped him get his strength back. By insisting he didn’t leave, Frank got the rest he needed--and breakfast.

  He sat around Thelma’s table, a huge plate of eggs before him. Frank gobbled them down, shoveling them into his mouth. “Thank you so much, ma’am.” Frank said as he wiped his mouth and prepared to eat more. “I swear I haven’t eaten since Saturday.”

  “No wonder you keep passing out,” Thelma replied.

  Stan, who was stirring his coffee, pointed his spoon at Frank. “He’s got one of them concussions, that’s why he keeps passing out. Then again, if he don’t slow down that eating, he’ll vomit. Right Dirk?”

  “Right.” Dirk replied. “Don’t want to be vomiting. Got yourself a long ways to go. Be an awful shame if you vomited the whole way.” He turned his head to Stan. “Seen enough of that vomiting yesterday.”