State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6 Page 32

  “Only two hours.”

  “I have that test. Maybe if you . . .”

  There was a soft bang, then a dragging noise, almost like metal being scratched. It came from outside.

  “What the hell?” Dean peered out the window. “Maybe Jason is letting out his frustration a . . .” Dean let out a jumping shriek when he turned back to the window and saw the mean face of Moses staring back at him. “Shit.” Dean grabbed his chest.

  Moses raised his fist and pounded on the glass. “I need to speak with you.” He pointed to Dean.

  Dean thought about ignoring him but changed his mind. Perhaps it would add the touch of humor his day needed. “What?” Dean opened the door. “We are busy.”

  Moses raised his lip. “The Lord has sent you a message for this work you do on the death air!”

  “Well tell Him to leave it on my desk. I’m too busy right now.” He started to close the door but Moses held out his hand stopping him.

  “You do not take me serious Doctor. It is against God’s will that you work on this death. And God says you shall fall before him. You the anti-Christ and your disciples. Starting with the weakest one first. You all shall fall!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dean closed the door, locked it and turned around facing a expressionless Johnny.

  “What do you suppose he means by that?” Johnny asked. “Is he just rambling?”

  “I don’t know. I have to head down to that test.” Dean started to walk to the door. “And I haven’t a clue what he meant by . . .” He stopped in his leaving when Ellen walked in. “Shit.”

  “What?” Ellen looked shocked. “What did I do? I did the dishes this morning. What?”

  Dean’s mouth moved a little. “The weakest one first.”

  Johnny immediately looked up and his eyes met Dean’s.

  Ellen let out a pity moan. “Did Lester die?” She saw the puzzled looks she got .”Lester the little rabbit. You said the weakest one first.”

  “Um . . .” Dean stammered some in his words. “Yeah. And I have to go. Johnny . . .” When he knew Ellen was looking away, Dean mouthed the words, ‘watch her’ before he left.

  The lab door closed at the same time Ellen opened the door to the special lab. “Hey.” She said then walked back out. “Is Dean stressed? Lester’s not dead.”

  “Really?” Johnny mustered up a look of fake surprise. “Maybe he confused them.” He started to return to his work. “He wants us to work on . . .” He peered up. “El? Speaking of dead rabbits? Have you talked to Jason yet?”

  Saying nothing, Ellen made a quick escape back into the special lab.

  ^^^^

  The sizzle, the puff of smoke, the rattle and bang was wound up by a finale ‘goddamn it’ of disgust by Jason.

  “No luck?” Joe asked, stepping into the quantum lab knowing full well it was stupid question.

  “No luck.” Jason shook his head. “The computer runs now, it accepts the program, but I feel like I’m back at square seven hundred and forty-three.”

  “You mean square one.”

  “No.” Jason shook his head. “If I was back at square one, surely I won’t even have the three computers linked up. I’m correct at which step in my process I have reverted back to.” Jason scratched his hand then walked across the room with a broom.

  Joe watched. “How uh, many today?”

  “Only six.” After sweeping up the still smoldering black heap into a dust pan, Jason lifted it and carried the remains to a special trash can dumping them in. “I liked that rabbit too.”

  “So what now?” Joe asked. “Should we postpone these time trip tests?”

  “No, no.” Jason shook his head with certainty. “I’ll get it.”

  “Good.”

  “Just one problem though.”

  “What’s that?” Joe questioned.

  “We need this to work now if not yesterday, right?” Jason looked humbled. “Put it this way. Originally from step seven hundred and forty-three until the quantum Regressionator actually worked, it took cheating from the future along with three years.”

  “That could be a problem.” Joe exhaled.

  ^^^^

  Washington, DC

  It was pathetic, and George could honestly say it made him sick. His gut turned as he stood next to Dr. Walker peering through a long glass window. He wished it were sound proof. That may have helped.

  There was supposed to be ten, but George only counted eight. They were supposed to be infants, but instead, they were monstrosities of scientifically manifested nature. Still covered in the slimy residue of their mother’s womb, they moaned and whimpered a saddened, hungry cry. Fresh blood was splattered about the near globs of malformed flesh, the human body turned inside out. Partial limbs protruded from some of the infants, if they even had any. Their eyes bulged from their sockets, no lids to allow them to blink a protection from the elements. Helplessly they squirmed, mouths pressed against the floor gnawing in a hungry search for food.

  “We thought it went smoothly,” Dr. Walker explained. “Ultra sound did not show this. We followed the specifications for prenatal care of the mother. Rotation, hydro emergence therapy. So the mothers are fine now, they’ll be ready for re-implantation in two months.”

  George swallowed. “When were they born?”

  “We did the caesarean sections early last night.”

  “And you haven’t cleaned them up? Fed them?”

  “We thought they would have died. We placed them in here last night. They barely moved or breathed. I . . .” Dr. Walked shook his head. “…didn’t expect this.”

  “Then how did they live this long? You haven’t fed them.”

  “They’re . . . they’re feeding off each other.”

  A grunt of nausea made George turn from the window. “This is not what was produced in Beginnings. I’ve seen their baby. The genetic altering works. Their baby Marcus is what is intended to protect, and also withstand the elements. Not . . . not this.” George couldn’t even look in the window again.

  “They have the old world produced embryos. We need those to copy the gene sequence. If not the embryos, we definitely the original gene splicing program.”

  “What about the one from Colorado?” George asked

  Dr. Walker pointed backwards into the pen. “This is the sequence from Colorado. The original and working sequence is in Beginnings.”

  George huffed out, “Along with everything else.” He started to walk away.

  “Sir, what should I do with them?”

  George paused and shook his head. “Get rid of them. Just . . . get rid of them.” Wanting to be subjected no more, George kept leaving. The embryos, genetic sequence, time machine, and other items were part of the things Beginnings had that the society didn’t just want, they needed. George would have never thought one small community could hold so much in the palm of their hand over the huge and still growing Society’s head. They were a growing pain. George was just so grateful that at least he didn’t have the pesky defectors to deal with anymore.

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  It was reminiscent of Elliott’s childhood, the way his father would stand out on the porch continuously calling his name loudly to get him to come home. But it wasn’t reminiscent in a good way. Those memories were being relived by the Captain. Only the Captain stood on the town hall rooftop, six blocks away with a megaphone.

  “Elliott!” The Captain shouted through the megaphone. “Elliott Ryder. Sgt. Elliott Ryder we have a meeting. Elliott!”

  Elliott winced. “We must devise a new means of communication.” Horror befell Elliott and his mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God did I just talk like that. He’s brainwashing us all.”

  Despite the annoying bellowing of his name in the distant, Elliott finished what he was taking so long to do. He dreaded it. Prior to no one partook, no one was allowed. All at the same time, the same day, with the same style. Everyone had three and more were being sought or made . . . unif
orms. It was being implemented. The way they talked, walked, and dressed. It was the first full official day of the new order.

  Choking, Elliott placed his two fingers in the tightly buttoned high collar shirt. He twisted his neck and cringed at the buttons that weren’t center. Grey in color the uniform was definitely something from the civil war, from the shirt to the pants along with the belt and boots. The only added touches were the sword Elliott would wear in battle, and the fingerless gloves that matched the bandana. Elliott, the Captain, and ten other men wore red. The rest, gold. Elliott recalled wearing the bandana to keep his head warm. He never meant to be a trend setter.

  He was ready, uncomfortable, and prepared to leave his house. Walking fast toward town, hunching in a hide, Elliott could feel the stares upon him for being dressed as he was. A part of him was certain that it was a big practical joke the Captain was playing and no one would be wearing their uniforms for another week.

  Turning the bend that led to town, Ellen’s stride slowed down. His eyes widened as eight horse trotted passed him. A mesmerized look happened upon his face and then something else. The moment he saw every single man dressed as he was, the second he received his first salute, a sense of unity fell upon Elliott, and the rest of the way to the town hall, Elliott walked tall.

  “It’s about time.” The Captain shut the meeting room door behind Elliott. “My God, Elliott do you look . . . dashing.” The Captain grinned.

  Elliott grumbled a ‘hmm.’

  “What about me? Look I have bars.” The Captain pointed to his own lapel.

  “I’d have bars too,” Elliott said when he sat down, “but I’m only a sergeant.”

  “Highest ranking sergeant though,” the Captain indicated. “You’ll get there to the lieutenant spot.”

  “And what will that take?” Elliott asked.

  “Certainly better polishing of these buttons, I can tell you. “the Captain smiled. “Did you see Dawson?” He looked around the group of men, “Did you all see Dawson. That man shines. Anyhow . . .” The Captain leaned back. “We started the meeting without you, Elliot, since you took too long. I’ll fill you in later. Classes start in an hour. Corporal Lewis, you were saying about food.”

  “Yes,” Danny Lewis sat up some. “Dehydration is going very well. We are utilizing everything we can. Rations should be good. However I am stockpiling for our scouts, so when spring comes and we send them out to look for society bases, there will be no reason to touch community rations.”

  “Good. Are we doing well enough to seek out a few more to join us?” the Captain asked.

  “Yes,” Lewis answered. “I even estimate with the greenhouse we should be in good shape.”

  “Excellent.” The Captain tapped his pencil. “I want to be an open invitation if we can. Food, warmth, protection. Anything on our medical end.”

  Elliott raised his hand. “Blue, you know the elderly gentleman, He was a corpsman in the navy. He is doing good brushing up on his skills. He needs stocked though.”

  The Captain nodded. “We’ll do that when we send out winter scouts. I know we discussed not doing that, but I just want to be sure no society activity is moving closer than it should. Sgt. Owens, how is the scout training coming.”

  “Very well,” Sgt. Owens answered. “I’ve done numerous trips into the field. They need more training but are doing good. And from what I can tell, our indoor training sessions are going good as well. And, sir, I wanted to mention, the extra homes were completed some time ago. Still no go on the women moving into them.”

  “Grace has stated she, like us, wants the women to have unity,” the Captain said. “So if they want to live all together as the Waltons, let them. Let’s just be grateful their maintenance and pampering is minimal with the exception of us having to clear the streets for their safety when they want to take a walk.” He held up his hand to stop any complaints. “Gentlemen, when I fibbed to them of the unsafe conditions, it was only so we could work in peace. Never did I expect it to backfire. Let’s move on. Elliott.” The Captain pointed to him. “How are all those training classes you are handling? And I haven’t seen you as often up at the stables for riding lessons. We picked up nine more horses.”

  “I’ll get there” Elliott said. “As far as my classes, they’re fine. Not too much to handle. Keeps me busy and . . . I have a complaint about our little order we have going.” Elliott careened off course. “Can I voice it?”

  “Absolutely,” the Captain responded. “Keep in mind. I’m prepared. Just tell me, are you going to shatter me with your words and proceed to rip my heart out with one of those Elliott monologues?”

  Elliott rolled his eyes. “I’m never living that down. No, this is minor. Today is our first official day, and I don’t like our name. It’s like, stupid.”

  Holding back his sarcastic tone, the Captain couldn’t hold back his half smile. “It’s like stupid. Elliott. Is this the proper form of speaking coming from our main communications instructor?”

  “Captain.”

  “No try again. Come on, we’re all doing it.”

  After a grunt, Elliott exhaled. “Captain, pertaining to our name, I am not quite sure that I am comfortable with it.”

  “A ha!” The Captain laughed. “Excellent. Ok, what’s wrong with it?”

  “It sucks.”

  “Sucks?”

  “Stop it. Yeah, it sucks,” Elliott stated. “You have us wearing these uniforms, speaking like something from Gone with the Wind, and we call ourselves the freedom fighters.” He shook his head.

  “What do you suggest?” the Captain asked.

  “What are our plans? We want to defend this area, circle out, and eliminate all society threats. You yourself, Captain, said that the society is building on the east first. What are we doing building and protecting the west? So why not have that be our name? We want to be the USA, so while we strive for that, let’s call ourselves what we are. The UWA.”

  The Captain had to snicker. “I like the initials Elliott, But the United Western America.”

  “No,” Elliott stated calmly amongst the chuckling at the table. “The United Western Alliance. Because that . . . is what we are.”

  The room went quiet. The Captain jokingly prepared to have his heart ripped out by Elliott but he wasn’t prepared to have his heart stopped. He liked the name suggestion. He really liked it.

  ^^^^

  Former Quantico Marine Headquarters

  The sealed room of solitaire was so dark for so long, that the dim light that crept in with the opening door burned Jess Boyens’ eyes. On the single metal bed, hands folded, Jess didn’t move. He merely raised his eyes to Sgt. Doyle.

  The double click of the combat boots against the concrete floor brought Sgt. Doyle in. “I have a proposition for you. You want out of the society. I will let you out . . . sort of.”

  Jess turned away.

  “I know this solitaire is not for you. And I know your skills qualify you for more than the farming area. Wouldn’t you want a job within the society that utilizes those skills? A job that takes you away from it all?”

  “What kind of job?” Jess asked his voice cracking from dry throat.

  “There is a community that needs secretly infiltrated. They have a lot that the society needs. We need someone in there as a backup. You’ll live there, work there, and be a part of there.”

  “A spy,” Jess nodded.

  “Of sorts. We may or may not call upon you. But before you go in, you’ll have to be trained. You’ll have a lot to learn especially how to use and play these people.”

  “And if I don’t take this job?” Jess asked.

  “Cyborg enhancement lever 23. Full frontal lobotomy replacement.”

  Jess sighed out heavily. “Or death.”

  “No. You’re a body. No death for you.” Sgt. Doyle replied. “You have one more day to think about it.” Sgt. Doyle moved to the door.

  “What if . . . what if I agree? How do you know I just won’t tu
rn on you?” Jess asked. “Are you going to implant me or what?”

  “Don’t need to,” Sgt. Doyle answered. “You still have two brothers working within the society. Do you know where they are?” Sgt. Doyle smiled. “We do.”

  Jess eyes closed at the same time the door did and solitaire, once again, went black.

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  It was exhilarating, a moment in a sunny, not-too-cold January day, for Frank, Robbie, and Greg. Joe, standing with his stop watch outside of the quantum lab, yelling ‘go’ was the start of it. Speeding the quarter of a mile low and in a hunching position, the three of them hit the tunnels. Climbing down without a sound. Prepared. Rifles, loaded belts and pre-arranged hand signals.

  They moved with swiftness and silence, backs against the walls of the tunnels for the four and one third mile hike to the cryo-lab. Hesitating, stopping, placing their backs in the crevice of the wall twenty-feet from the lab. Catching their breath, they waited.

  Frank assessed his brother and Greg, assessed them visually for strength and fatigue. He saw all signals clear. Holding up his hand, he whispered. “Now.” The three of them responded, placing on gas masks, lifting a small can from their belts, joining in a line formation across the tunnel and tossing the cans outward at the same time.

  “Clink,” Frank spoke. “Robbie, sound effect.”

  Robbie began making a hissing sound with his mouth.

  Frank watched his watch. “Ready and . . .”

  Greg tried to stop him. “Frank it’s not . . .”

  Frank grinned. “Now!” Charging forward, rifles held outward, they stormed in such perfect synch, their footsteps sounded as one. “In here!” Frank motioned his head to the cryo-lab door, kicking it open and seeing Dean, and about eight others. “Uh-oh, Trouble gentlemen. Shoot to kill.”

  With a popping and firing sound, Frank, Robbie and Greg unloaded on Dean and the others, bombarding them with red pellet paint. “Time,” Frank called out. “Check for info.”