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

“Knock it off!” Joe blared out in his loudest voice. “Two days, Frank. Two goddamn days you’re back and you have to start a ...”

  “Dean!” Ellen’s screams franticly carried to them. “Oh, God, Dean! Please!”

  Dean was the first to rush from the room with everyone following behind him. He bolted up the steps and flew into Taylor’s room. His entire being shook when he saw Ellen holding up Taylor. White and pale, Taylor’s little body had swelled and her breathing was so labored that it could be heard.

  Ellen, panicked and lost, looked from her daughter to Dean. “What happened, Dean?”

  Dean’s head dropped.

  ^^^^

  The solemn atmosphere engulfed Taylor’s bedroom. The child was propped up at an angle. The generator outside the room hummed, and a respirator hissed and clicked with each breath it helped Taylor to take. Ellen felt torn, holding her daughter’s hand, laying her head on Taylor’s arm. Frank stood behind her, silently and giving her strength as Joe stood watch in the corner.

  They may have been engrossed in Taylor’s drama, but the second Dean slipped into the room they sensed him and all eyes went to him.

  Dean felt he was center on the most horrific stage of his life. “I’m ... I’m sorry. The virus ...” He had to stop and regain his composure. “The virus mutated to overcome the block.”

  Frank felt Ellen’s sadness as his hands lay on her shoulders. “Dean,” he spoke with a gravelly voice. “You’ve been working on this. There has to be something.”

  “I’ve tried everything I ...”

  “Try something else!” Frank blasted.

  Calmly, Joe raised his head with warning eyes. “Frank.”

  Frank shook his head and lowered it to Ellen’s back.

  Dean hesitated then walked to the other side of Taylor’s bed to face Ellen. He knelt down and placed his hand over hers. His eyes were red as he stared at her with all his heart. “Ellen, I’m so sorry.” It was difficult for Dean to even speak. “I am.”

  Ellen raised her head to him. “Please don’t tell me we’re out of options.” Ellen’s voice weakened as she grabbed on to Taylor’s hand. “Look at her, Dean. Help her ... please.”

  “Ellen, I ...” A click. A hiss. The respirator went silent. Dean’s throat swelled up as his eyes went to Taylor.

  Ellen looked in horror at the little hand she held. “No. No, Dean, do something. Oh my God.” She grabbed for her daughter. “No!” She cried out. “Oh God, not my baby!”

  Frank saw Ellen grip Taylor and try to lift her. He gave his best attempt to pull her back and Ellen swung out her hand hard hitting him away. “Ellen.”

  “No.” Ellen lifted Taylor. Lifelessly she dangled in her mother’s arms. “Joe.” She raised her sad eyes to Joe. “My baby.” Her shoulders bounced and she gripped Taylor to her chest. Burying her face to her daughter, Ellen began to sob. Her cries grew louder, deeper and from her soul. There was nothing no one could do. No way to calm her. Frank wrapped his arms around her from behind, trying to give Ellen some of his strength, but Ellen was hysterical. Louder she cried out, screaming her daughter’s name over and over in her agony. Ellen had battled and she had fought through the virus. But even with all of her prayers, all the hope and faith she’d somehow held in the midst of so much tragedy ... Ellen still lost.

  The ticking clock in the quiet bedroom woke Ellen. She lifted her head to the candle-lit room as she lay on the bed. Frank, holding her hand, sat in a chair by the bed. He moved closer to her and pressed his lips to her cheek.

  “El, lay back down. You passed out.”

  “Where am I?”

  “At my Dad’s.”

  Immediately Ellen sprang up from the bed. She had to catch her breath. “Taylor. Where’s Taylor?”

  “We had to move her down to ...”

  Ellen gasped an emotional scream. “You took her from her bed? Her home?”

  “We had to, El, she was ...”

  “That was her home, Frank.” Ellen emotionally charged him. “Her home!” She spun and bolted from the bedroom so quickly that it took Frank by surprise.

  Frank raced out after her, listening to her feet on the stairs. But Ellen ran straight from the house leaving the door open behind her.

  From the living room, Joe saw Frank getting ready to go after her. “Frank.” He called out, rushing to the door to stop him. “Let her go.”

  “But, Dad ...”

  “Let her go.”

  From the doorway of their home they watched Ellen as she kept running, straight to her house.

  The distance from Joe’s house to hers wasn’t far. Ellen’s breath huffed as she ran. Her emotions and heartache stole her breath away. There was no delaying going into Taylor’s room. It would have been completely dark had the moon not shone so brightly. Ellen let out a single sob as she neared the bed. She just wanted to crumple there, curl up and die. Her hands smoothed over the empty bed and grabbed for the covers and pillow. Crying, Ellen brought them to her nose and inhaled deeply the remaining scent of her daughter.

  Cradling them to her body, Ellen saw something she didn’t expect. Dean. He sat in the corner of the bedroom on the floor. His back was against the wall; his knees were pulled up and his head was down on his arms. “Dean?” Ellen laid down the covers and the pillow and walked over to the corner of the room “What are you doing?”

  Dean didn’t answer. He raised his head slowly then dropped it down.

  Ellen lowered herself to the floor, kneeling in front of him. Her heart ached again when she heard his sob. “Dean,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He shook his head as he lifted it.

  Ellen scooted closer to him, laying her hand on his arm.

  “I swear to you.” Dean’s words were heavy with pain. “I swear if I could have given my life to stop this I would have. I tried. I tried.” He felt her fingers slip through his hair. “No one has ever looked at me with as much trust as you did. I swore I wanted to keep that look in your eyes. I gave you false hope. I let you down. I’ll never forgive myself for doing that to you.”

  “You didn’t,” Ellen whispered. “You gave me real hope. And you also gave me something else.” Ellen wiped her hand across her face, smearing her tears. She drew closer to Dean. “You, Dean, you gave me time with my daughter that I would have lost otherwise. You gave me one more smile from her, the chance to hear her voice again. You gave me one more, ‘I love you, Mommy.’ I wouldn’t have had any of that if it wasn’t for you. I didn’t lose my trust in you, Dean. Look in my eyes. It’s still there.”

  Slowly Dean’s eyes connected with Ellen’s. He exhaled deeply and grabbed her pulling Ellen against him. Clinging tightly he pressed his lips hard against her cheek and held her. He wanted to thank her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even talk.

  Ellen pulled back, but only a little. She wiped her hand down his face and they returned to the embrace.

  On the floor, Ellen slipped between Dean’s legs, laid her head against his chest, and buried herself within his arms. In the somber room lit only by the moon, for the longest time, Dean and Ellen held on.

  THE SURVIVING

  If you had the single chance to start it all again.

  Would you start it all anew

  Or retrace the steps of pain.

  Would you reach back desperately to catch your yesterday gone wrong

  Or go forward not looking back to find a new way to belong.

  Thursday, June 11th

  ‘Things will only get worse.’

  Carl’s words right after he and Frank ran into a suspicious car fire on the highway.

  No occupants in the car. No one around.

  ‘This is fucked up,’ Frank said. “What happened?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Carl had replied. “Things will only get worse.’

  ‘That’s why we’re doing what we’re doing, right?’

  The close call with Ellen’s attack and the somber feeling left in the town after Taylor’s death co
mpelled Carl and Frank to put their minds elsewhere. All the talk about the apocalyptic training films and the possibility of more intruders invading Ashtonville gave them a reason to leave for the day. Their mission was simple. Hit the closest military base for more weapons, the means to secure Ashtonville, and, hopefully locate a copy of those M.C.I.T.F. Batch training films.

  They left at sunup, excited about their pre-Garfield Project salvage hunt. The stop at the electronics store didn’t give them the high quality that they sought, but it afforded them radios until they found better ones on the base. The red radios were cute, little, and Frank and Carl played with them a lot in the truck.

  A way to communicate with each other while they went their separate ways on the base.

  They didn’t think too much about it.

  They should have.

  Static.

  ‘What was that?” Frank shook the radio. “Fuckin’ piece of shit. Come back, Carl?’

  Static.

  “Three guys. Fuck. They hit …ree.”

  “Come again.”

  “No. More than that. They must … live … base.”

  Static.

  Frank shook his head as he blasted from a warehouse on base, pulling forward an M-16. “Carl? Come in. Where are you?”

  “I’m taking watch … fuck!”

  Shots. Lot of them firing quickly.

  Frank stopped for only a second to gather his bearings and home in on where the shots came from. With another shot, Frank pivoted and Frank bolted. The empty base was like a megaphone for noise and his boots slammed loudly on the ground as he ran. Just as he turned the corner, he heard another shot and dove fast to his left as a bullet seared by him. Rolling to a safe stand behind the metal building, Frank raised his weapon and slowly peered round the corner.

  Four men stood outside an open door. Frank checked his clip.

  “This your guy!” one of the men shouted out.

  Frank didn’t answer. He looked around the building and saw it. Metal rungs. He tossed his weapon over his shoulder, grabbed the first rung then quickly and quietly began to climb up.

  “Hey! I know you’re there. We heard you. Saw you.”

  Frank arrived on the roof. In a squatting run, he made it to the edge then sat and prepped his weapon.

  “Take a look at your friend!” the man shouted.

  Frank lifted up slightly and the tops of his eyes peered over the lip of the roof. Two more men were dragging Carl’s bloody lifeless body into the open air.

  At first he winced in pain then a knot of anger formed in Frank’s gut.

  The man shouted again. “Let this be your warning. You’re next when we find you. You’re stealing from us. This is our home now. Our property.”

  “Are you United States soldiers?” Frank shouted.

  “What?”

  “You heard me? Are you United States soldiers?”

  The guy laughed. “The military’s dead! No! We aren’t soldiers.”

  “Well, I am!” Frank stood with a firm stance and aimed. “So actually, you’re standing on my property, motherfucker!” Before they could focus on where he was or even had time to raise their guns properly, Frank opened fire.

  All six dropped quickly into a blood bath on the ground.

  What was it that made Frank sink deeply into the memory of what happened two days earlier? He didn’t know. A comment maybe, made by Johnny. Whatever the cause, Frank slipped deep into thought in the middle of tucking Johnny into bed. By the time he came out of his daze, Johnny was fast asleep. Leaning forward Frank kissed Johnny then stood up. He inhaled heavily and paced across the room, stopping at the window. He parted the blinds and smiled slightly. Ellen. She sat alone outside at one of the many picnic tables they had set up on Elks Drive. Not only was she just what he needed to see, she was just what he needed.

  A lantern afforded Ellen enough light to see the pages of her notebook. Though she didn’t write much, she thought about what she would jot down. It was something Joe asked of everyone. Make a list of items that would they would need to stockpile for the future. Ellen believed the list was a therapy to keep people’s minds focused.

  She was just about to write down an item when it caught her attention. Something she hadn’t seen since before the plague. A coffee house paper cup, complete with lid and cardboard insulator sleeve. Her eyes rose as it was set before her. Dean sat down across from her.

  “For me?” she asked.

  “For you.”

  She gave a quirky smile, lowered her nose, and sniffed. “It smells like cappuccino.”

  “Actually, latte. I couldn’t get the foam right enough to be a cappuccino.”

  She chuckled in an airy way. “Oh, my God. You made me a latte.”

  “You struck me as a latte girl.”

  “I am.” She grabbed it. “Thank you. This is very sweet.”

  “Wait.” He stopped her. “I give the disclaimer on taste. It’s made with one of those mini espresso machines and since all milk is bad, I had to use canned.”

  “It’ll be perfect. I can’t believe you did this.” She stared at the cup.

  “Well, I was walking through town, saw the coffee shop and thought of you.”

  Ellen smiled “Really?” She sipped the beverage. “Oh, Dean. Dean, this is great.” She took another sip. “Can I ask why?”

  “Honestly? Peace offering.”

  She glanced at him curiously. “I didn’t think we were fighting.”

  “Maybe peace offering is a bad word. But … but after Taylor’s funeral, you and I, both of us, kind of…” he stammered for the word.

  “Hid?” she asked.

  Dean snapped his fingers. “Yes. Hid. Thank you. I stopped working. You stopped working. We both kind of stayed away from each other. I was afraid that you hated me.”

  Ellen’s eyes closed. “Oh, my God. No.”

  “I know. Joe … Joe set me straight.” Dean winked. “We both have been wrapped up in sadness and, for you, rightfully so. I have been giving it some thought. It isn’t good. Especially not for you.”

  “I have … I have the notebook.”

  “May I?” Dean reached for it and lifted the book when Ellen nodded her approval. “Just as I thought. You have about as much written in yours as I do.”

  Ellen shrugged. “I stare at blank pages. I did …” She blushed. “I did write a poem.”

  “You wrote a poem? Really?”

  Ellen nodded.

  “Can I read it?”

  “It’s bad.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “Really, Dean. It’s bad. I’m not a poet.”

  “Poetry consists of thought and emotions. How can it be wrong or bad?”

  Ellen smiled peacefully. “Thank you. That’s true. Huh?” She paused. “It’s in there, you have to flip through. You can read it.”

  “Thank you.” Dean started to search.

  “Thank you for the latte.”

  Dean paused in his search. “I also have another reason for bothering you tonight.”

  “That is?”

  “Like I said, hiding, staying away, it isn’t good. I’d like to … I’d like you and I do to some things. You know, research-related. Work together. We were doing that pretty well. I think that it will help keep your mind occupied. I think that you need that.”

  “Hate to agree, I do.” Ellen said.

  “Good.” Dean smiled. “Then can I? Can I focus you elsewhere? Can I help you?”

  Frank answered that one. “No. That’s what she has me for.”

  Dean, surprised, turned around.

  “Frank.” Ellen looked up. “I thought you were staying in tonight.”

  “I was, but I needed to speak to you …” Frank walked to the picnic table. “Alone …” He paused, tilted his head, and looked at the cup. “Why do you have a takeout coffee?”

  “Latté.” Ellen corrected. “Dean made it for me.”

  “Dean made you a latte?” Frank asked. “Why?”

/>   “To be sweet.” Ellen replied.

  “Actually,” Dean said. “I wanted to warm her up to an idea.”

  The corner of Ellen’s mouth raised in a smile. “Warm me up? Hey, double entendre. How witty.”

  Before Dean could respond, Frank, being childish, whispered in a mocking whine, “How witty.”

  Ellen gasped a scolding. “Frank.”

  Dean stood up. “I’m gonna go.”

  “No, don’t.” Ellen said.

  “Yes, please.” Frank added.

  “Frank.” Ellen snapped.

  “I’m … going.” Dean closed Ellen’s notebook and slid it to her, focusing only on Ellen. “I’d like to read that. Maybe tomorrow?”

  Ellen nodded.

  “Goodnight, Ellen.”

  “Goodnight, Dean,” she whispered peacefully.

  “Bye, Dean.” Frank said with edge.

  Dean, hands in pockets, lifted a sloppy wave and walked away.

  When Dean was a short distance away, Frank huffed and sat down. “Why are you sharing your notebook?” he reached for it.

  Ellen snatched it away. “What is your problem?’

  “Him.”

  “You have no reason to have a problem with him.” Ellen protected her book.

  Sarcastically, Frank responded, “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Right.”

  “Frank.”

  “Sorry.” Frank shook his head. After a moment of silence, his demeanor changed. “I’m having a bad day, you know, with Carl and all. And … I just really miss you.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

  “You see me all the time.”

  “Yeah, I know but …”

  Ellen slipped her hand from him. “We agreed. You and I both. Us? It has to wait. At least some time has to go by; it’s too soon for Johnny. He won’t understand how you can forget his mother so quickly and go straight to me. So for now, you and I, for appearance sake, are friends.”

  “For appearances.” Frank said. “What about behind closed doors?”

  Ellen laughed. “You can’t be serious, can you?”