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

  Once again . . . he was alone. Robbie was used to it. Occasionally he would join up with a band of people. But that never lasted long. He always clashed with someone in the group. And Robbie would move on.

  A part of him felt he was meant to live alone. Living in the wilderness suited him fine. He had trained for so long in the Special Forces, that being alone in unscathed lands was second nature to him. The world had become his real life training field. Cities which once stood tall and bright were dark and over grown with weeds. The concrete jungles of the previous world cracked as the wilderness that laid there thousands of years earlier, made its comeback. A newly unchartered world, offered little opportunities to the very few that survived the plague. A plague that ravaged out civilization so fast, it was over before it began. Robbie was grateful for all of the skills he acquired in his younger years. Those skills kept him alive. They kept him warm in the winter, fed when he was hungry and strong when others were weak. The only thing those skills did not teach him was the ability to remain sane throughout the horridness of what had happened. Yet he was not alone in his struggle for sanity. The ever balancing of wits seemed to be a constant with everyone he encountered.

  With a deep breath, Robbie rubbed his eyes. He secured in his mind that he was safe. No one was around. He hadn’t seen anyone in two days. He took his knife, along with his paranoia, and tucked them away for the night. He lay back down and tried to go back to sleep.

  The next day would be the same as always, he would continue on. His mind and his body would both wander as he traveled on the mission that he had been on for so long. A mission he knew he would never give up. His inner struggles would not let him quit. He had made it too far. Giving up was not an option.

  Beginnings, Montana

  The smell of cigarette smoke sent warning signals off to Ellen as she quietly slipped into her home. A part of her knew she couldn’t do it, but she gave it her best shot. Thinking that perhaps if she pretended she didn’t see him, nothing would be said, Ellen closed the door with barely a click. She innocently moved across the living room, beyond the back of the sofa where Joe sat reading and toward the freedom of the dining area. She strived for the ‘home free’ feeling she sought in the kitchen.

  “Ellen.”

  Ellen cringed, stopped and turned around with a fake smile. “Oh, uh, hey, Joe. What are you doing here?”

  Joe set down his book as he stood up. “Oh, uh, hey, Ellen. Babysitting.”

  “Thanks,” she said brightly. “You can go.” She turned to make her escape.

  “Just a second.”

  “Shit.”

  “Where have you been?” Joe walked to her.

  “Um . . .” Again Ellen faced him. “Out.”

  “Out? Out. This is Beginnings, where are you gonna go?” Joe asked with edge. “You weren’t at the social hall.”

  “Joe, look, don’t start. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

  “Really?” Joe placed his hands in his pockets. “Ask me if I care.”

  Ellen huffed out. “Fine.” She walked over to a chair and plopped down. “Go on. Get it over with. But keep in mind I am not a child.”

  “Then grow up.” Joe walked to her. “Ellen, in all these years I have never treated you less than one of my kids. But I swear, if you were one of my sons, I’d be kicking your ass.”

  Ellen stared out. A Joe lecture was something she was used to. She raised her eyes when he walked around the chair to in front of her.

  “I’ve kept my mouth shut.” Joe saw the glare Ellen gave him. “O.K., all right, I haven’t. But . . . it’s gone on long enough. A lot has happened in our lives. Losses we tried to overcome. So, I understood what happened to you and Frank when we were getting ready to come here. You both had a lot to deal with. I didn’t understand why you went to Dean to help you have a child. But you did, and when you did, you made a lifelong choice.”

  “No, Joe, you’re wrong.”

  “No, Ellen . . . you’re wrong. You are doing it again. You are doing the same thing to Dean that you did to Pete.”

  “It is hardly the same thing.” Ellen scoffed with a small amount of laughter as she stood up. “We are not married.”

  “And you think that makes a difference? My God, Ellen, you have children with the man. You live with him. You sleep in the same bed as him.”

  “This is really one of your business.” Ellen’s hands flew out as she backed up.

  “The hell it isn’t. You have been like my daughter, Frank is my son. This community is way too small for such an explosive situation.” Joe followed her toward the dining area. “Do you know Dean refuses to believe you were with Frank tonight?”

  “Then that’s his problem.”

  “You told him it was over last year when he busted you and Frank.”

  “I lied.”

  “Do you know how bad you hurt him?” Joe asked with fatherly anger.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care?” He stepped to her speaking with more passion. “You better start caring. The world we knew may have ended, Ellen, but the human race didn’t. For nearly twenty years you and Frank have been doing the same thing. Do you realize that most of the world is gone, and you two are still managing to find people to hurt?”

  “What do you want me to do Joe?” Ellen asked with emotions. “Huh?”

  “I want you to do things right. If you don’t care about your life in this house, then stop deceiving Dean and do things right with Frank.”

  “I can’t.” Ellen’s strong words brought silence. “I can’t. I don’t know how to be with Frank the right way. And Joe, I’m sorry, I don’t want to.” She stared at Joe for a moment following her cold words, then Ellen, saying no more, quietly and calmly walked away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  April 29th

  Miller County, Missouri

  How long had it been? Robbie thought to himself as he spread open his worn out map of the United States onto the damp grass. A picture of his Dad and Frank lay on the corner. The sun was starting to warm up everything, causing a dew to form. How long had it been since he first started his search? He had lost track of time, but he hadn’t lost track of hope. He looked at the photographs of his father and Frank. He knew they were alive somewhere. But where?

  “Robbie, you’re gonna be getting busy, I can’t say why . . .” His father’s voice spoke on his answering machine.

  Robbie played that message over and over. What did his father mean? Robbie recalled trying to telephone his Dad several times, there was never any answer. Little did he know, within ten hours of hearing that message, he would be stationed at a check-point post not far from his base in Seattle Washington.

  The virus. Robbie realized his father knew of it, and was trying to warn him. Stating in his last telephone message to remember their contingency plan. Robbie did. He only wished that he had tried to follow the contingency plan sooner. But why would he? He hadn’t spoken to his father. The inability to contact his Dad led him to believe that his father merely fell victim to the plague, as well.

  Robbie stayed behind in Washington, he had to. That’s where he met Marissa during the plague. They became friends. She needed him. But he should have known. Marissa didn’t want to live, having lost her two sons, the only thing in the world that mattered to her. She barely spoke, nor ate. For months she’d curl up at night in a ball and cry herself to sleep. He couldn’t help her. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. He never knew anyone could die of a broken heart. Marissa did. It was she, that made him believe that he had to search for his family. Search until he had the answers.

  “If I had family out there,” she spoke to him that last night. “Even with the slightest possibility that they were alive. I’d find them. I’d look until I had proof they weren’t around.”

  Marissa never woke up.

  How many years ago was that? Robbie looked down at his map, and at the markings he placed upon it to show everywhere he had gone. He placed the
photographs of his father and Frank back into his chest pocket. He knew he would pull them out again, as he always did, anytime he met up with survivors.

  Robbie would pull out that picture and show it to anyone who would look. Anyone who was still alive. He’d ask, “Have you seen them? Have you seen these two men? They are my family. I know they’re alive. Have you seen them?”

  Never in all the time had he ever heard the answer his heart longed to hear. The hope of waiting for that answer kept him going. One day he would get that answer, and his life would change. He needed it. He needed to hear that one simple word, yes.

  Beginnings, Montana

  Joe adjusted his small walkie-talkie on his belt as he waltzed into the hanger not far from the fields. He had just finished speaking to Miguel. Miguel who had been working and running the fields was worn out. His brawny body had begun to thin out from the stress and work, and he begged Joe for more help. But what could Joe do? His hands were tied. If he had the help to give him, he would. Miguel’s request was one of the reasons he had to speak to George in the hanger that morning. The other one was Denny.

  Denny was having his very first flight lesson. Though only thirteen, he was big, strong and old enough to start pulling some of his weight in the community. Johnny, his grandson did at his age. And as Joe saw it, Denny would too.

  An uneasy feeling hit Joe the second he flung open the hanger door and heard the echoing sound of mouth-motor noises. Wondering what kind of odd teaching exercise George had embarked on, Joe walked to the chopper and opened the pilot side door. “What’s going on?”

  Denny lifted his shoulders. “Sorry, Mr. Slagel, just having fun.”

  “Fun?” Joe looked past Denny to George, who sat holding onto his head while he leaned it against the window, hardly looking like a man who once was president of the United States. “George, what’s going on? You look like you had a stroke.”

  George huffed and opened his door. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He stepped out and walked around to Joe. “Forget it, Joe. He’s not ready for this. It’s all a big game to him. He’s a kid, plain and simple.”

  “He’s thirteen. Johnny started at thirteen.”

  “He’s not Johnny.” George proceeded to flatten his hair, the same grey hair he pulled upon while trying to show Denny the instruments. “It’s useless.”

  “That bad?”

  “I wouldn’t trust him to take me for a ride in a Big Wheel, let alone in a chopper thousands of feet above the ground.”

  “I have to do something with him.” Joe turned back to look at Denny who had jumped from the chopper. “Look at the size of him. I need that.”

  “Yes, Denny may be big, but he’s a little boy in a man’s body. You have to remember that.”

  Again Joe peered back at Denny who was screaming softly in his playful simulation of decapitation by chopper blade. “Is he normal?”

  George only shrugged.

  Rolling his eyes, Joe tried to ignore Denny. “All right. The other reason why I’m here. Men. I need men and I need you to make a survivor run . . . or two this week.”

  “You said you were holding off for a while.”

  “I know. I know.” Joe rubbed his eyes in frustration. “But we need bodies. If we could pick up five, five healthy strong men, we’d be good.”

  George whistled long. “It’s not going to be easy. Finding just men is one thing, hell there are no women. But finding men that meet your criteria. Joe, it’s gonna be like . . .”

  “Can you try?”

  George released an argumentative grumble and scratched his head. “I’ll try. I’ll get a hold of Johnny and make some sweeps of the south and eastern regions we haven’t hit in a while.”

  “Appreciate it.” Joe swatted George’s arm. “I’m heading out.”

  “Whoa.” George snatched Joe back and motioned his head to Denny who appeared to be in his own world. “Do something with the kid.”

  Placing two fingers in his mouth, Joe whistled loudly to get Denny’s attention. “Den! Let’s go. You have new work. The fields await.”

  “No.” Denny whined as he approached Joe. “Can’t I help my mom at the clinic?”

  “Andrea doesn’t need your help. Miguel does. Besides, he likes you. Thinks you’re swell.”

  “He hates me.” Denny moped. “I live with him remember, I should know. Please, no fields.”

  “Tell ya’ what. Because I’m a fair guy.” Joe said. “I’ll make you a deal. If you make it to the field house on foot before I get there in my jeep, you never have to do field work again in your life. But . . .” Joe held up a finger. “If I beat you. You, Denny, have the nickname, Farm Boy.”

  “O.K.!” Denny smiled brightly at the ‘sucker’ bet he thought Joe just made with him. “Thanks, Mr. Slagel. See you aren’t as bad as everyone says.” Not wanting to take a chance that Joe would change his mind, Denny took off running from the hanger.

  “Joe, that’s terrible.” George contained his snicker. “It’s nearly two miles to the field house. Thought you were fair.”

  “I am.” Joe tossed up his hands. “But I need field workers.”

  George shook his head. Though he thought Joe’s joke a little mean, he was grateful for it. His headache started to dissipate. Denny was out of his hair.

  Miller County, Missouri

  Robbie stopped walking on the weed overgrown road. It was time for his daily reminder. The reminder that always made him go on. He placed his backpack down and pulled from the side pocket, the note. The note he took from his father’s front door all those years ago. Went to Ashtonville 5/30, Love, Dad. He remembered the heart pounding relief he felt when he found it. He needed to have that message. And though four months had passed since his father had written it, to him it was a sense of hope.

  Hope.

  Robbie was filled with the hope of finding his family. It wasn’t the message or even the date. It was the place his father went. Ashtonville. Ashtonville meant Frank. They had to be there, it had only been four months. Robbie couldn’t have been more wrong.

  At dawn he had pulled up in Ashtonville all those years earlier. He chalked up the quietness to the early morning. Frank’s house was his first stop and he ran in without knocking. Empty. Dusty. Quiet. Dark. The smell of death lingered along with bloodstains that told him more than he wanted to know. Searching Frank’s house and piecing together what had happened, explained to Robbie why Frank didn’t stay in the house.

  Robbie’s next thought went to Ellen. That had to be where Frank or his father were at. Again, carrying an abundance of hope, and caring less if he woke anyone, Robbie darted to Elks street calling out in his charging run. “Frank! Ellen! Dad! Frank!” He made it the two streets over. Picnic tables joined together, sat on Ellen’s lawn. Papers flew about in the early morning breeze. Robbie remembered grinning at the sight. Chairs, tables . . . people. “Frank! Dad!”

  Nothing.

  No one answered. No one was around. They were all gone.

  The pity he felt that day, years before, when he dropped to his knees on Ellen’s lawn and cried was long forgotten. It had been replaced with the knowledge that he had to find his family. Robbie knew they were alive. The scribbled notes and survival lists in his father’s and Frank’s handwriting confirmed that. Robbie just had to find where they went. He would search until he could search no more.

  Replacing his father’s note back into his pack, Robbie grabbed his gear and moved on. Though the roads, towns, and places that turned up empty filled him with pain, they kept him going. He vowed always to view his travels not as failures, but as factors he eliminated in his strive to reach his goal.

  Beginnings, Montana

  Ellen likened Joe’s fatherly lectures to tetanus shots. Initially irritating and easy to take. Yet, like a tetanus shot, Joe’s lectures became abundantly clear the next day to Ellen that she had received one. They sank in and she felt them.

  Carrying not only a cup of coffee, Ellen carried some
guilt as she stepped into a place that, nearly a year earlier, she vowed never to return. Dean’s laboratory.

  “Morning,” she spoke, walking in as if she did it every day.

  “Ellen?” Dean nearly spun off his stool in surprise. “What . . . what are you doing in here?”

  “I brought you coffee.” She set it down before him.

  Dean suspiciously looked at the cup then at her. “You’re either killing me or you want something.”

  “Neither.” Ellen leaned across the counter from him. “I’m here to work.”

  “You don’t work here. In fact, didn’t you record into my Dictaphone, ‘Dean you suck. I’ll never work with you again’?” Dean started to stand. “I think I still have that tape . . .”

  “Dean.” Ellen grabbed his wrist. “Look, I know you’re busy with your new experiments. Andrea told me. I’m also getting survivor whacked out at containment. I know you can use me. And . . . enough time has passed since our blow out over my little incident.”

  Dean mouthed the words ‘little incident’ as Ellen rummaged through his notes. “Ellen.”

  “What is this, P.C.R.S.?” She held up a sheet of paper.

  Dean looked up at her. “Poly-Cardiac-Rhythmic-Synthesis.”

  “What is that?”

  “Something I’ve been working on for a year.”