The Inner Struggle: Beginnings Series Book 7 (17 page)

“No, it’s not O.K.. A couple days ago you said to me that I don’t know what it’s like to have someone you’ve known most of your life not want to be with you. Well you Frank, don’t know what it’s like when the person you’ve known most of your life chooses not to come to you when they’re down and unload on you.”

“I come to you. I come to you about everything.”

“No you don’t.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because Frank, and you might get mad at me for saying this, but you don’t let it out. You drink instead.”

“Ellen.” Frank covered his face. “Are we talking about my drinking again? I don’t have a problem.”

“Maybe not.”

“I have a few drinks at night, so what?”

“So what?” Ellen’s pitch of her voice rose. “Frank, are you gonna tell me you haven’t been drinking more lately? A lot more lately?” Frank was silent. “You have. I saw it the other night. You were upset. You had to have that drink. Hon, that’s not good.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Ellen was stunned.

“You’re right. I do drink more lately. And when I’m upset I have a drink to calm me. That’s it. I don’t have a problem. But . . .”

“Frank.”

“Hear me out. But . . .” He held up his hand. “If you think it could turn into a problem. I’ll cut back. How’s that? I love having a drink, El. But I won’t drink as much anymore.”

“Not every day?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ellen thought about it. “You can’t drink every day. You can drink like you used to, a few drinks a week. But not every day, a few times a day. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes.” Frank nodded his head at her.

“Why are you being so agreeable about this? I expected more of a fight.”

“Because you weren’t fighting with me on it.” Frank ran his hand down her face. “You came to me calmly, as my friend, and I heard you.” He kissed her quickly. “If someone that’s known you for over twenty years makes a serious suggestion, you have to put stock in it. I know the difference between Ellen bitching and Ellen concern and you aren’t bitching tonight.”

“Thank you Frank.” Ellen closed her eyes and smiled. “Thank you for this. You doing this means a lot to me. I was getting worried.”

“I know and just to show you it’s not a problem, I will follow your rules. O.K.?”

“Not rules Frank, requests.”

“Requests.” Frank gave a sneaky grin. “Besides, it’s the least I can do. If I can’t give up my drinking, how can I expect you to give up your dignity by hanging around Jenny Matoose?”

Ellen cringed some. “I would be doing that wouldn’t I? But hey! At least I’ll look really good when I’m standing next to her.” Ellen looked down at her watch. “All right, we have forty-five minutes left. What do you want to do?”

Frank raised his eyebrows a few times.

“Right.”

“You know, you could help me put your children’s laundry away.”

“I knew I’d get roped into that if I came upstairs.” Ellen slowly lifted herself from the bed and looked at the overflowing basket. “When’s the last time you did laundry, Frank?”

“A few days ago. They’re kids El. They get dirty.” He stood up and grabbed the top of the stack. “Help?”

“Yeah I’ll help. You put the kids’ stuff away, I’ll put yours away.”

“Deal.” Frank lifted the basket to the bed and removed the kids clothing. “Be right back.”

Ellen lifted Frank’s tee shirts. “Are your drawers still the same?”

“Sort of. I kind of spread things out since I have more room.” He walked to her laying his hand on her face. “But I’d gladly give it all up again.” He smiled and stepped back. “Thanks for tonight. I’ll be right back.”

Ellen waited until he left and grabbed his small stack of shirts. She took them to his dresser and opened the drawer she where she remembered them being. “Socks.” She moved to the next drawer. “Underwear. Man, Frank, you aren’t kidding you spread out.” Opening the next she saw it was the correct one, but she paused before laying in the shirts. There, staring up at her, was a half empty bottle of moonshine. Ellen laid the other shirts in there and took the bottle from the drawer. She closed the drawer with her knees, all while holding up the bottle and staring at it with concern. Nothing frightened her more about Frank’s drinking than finding that bottle. After shifting her eyes several times from the bedroom door to the moonshine, Ellen left the bedroom. She walked to the bathroom and without hesitating, dumped the moonshine in the sink, hoping the whole time that Frank’s new promise to her didn’t spin down that drain right along with it.

Robbie was filled with a sense of sadness, perhaps more emptiness as he watched the Beginning’s helicopter hover near, but not too near, the ground to drop off supplies. Robbie stood there while the three remaining healthy men, besides him, grabbed the two crates. He didn’t smile nor did he flinch from the whipping chopper blades. He stood tall, watching Frank. His brother hunched down some staring back at Robbie through the open side door of that helicopter. Frank’s back pressed tightly to the edge of the door to secure himself from falling when the helicopter began to lift.

Robbie watched Frank smile, and give a closed fighting fist to his brother that rang out ‘proud’, a look only a big brother could give. It made Robbie’s stomach twitch, and he kept eye contact with Frank as the chopper raised up. Then Frank did something he didn’t expect. How long had it been? Certainly Frank had never done that to Robbie ever and certainly not since the onset of the plague but in essence it made a sort of sense to Robbie. Robbie and his men were the warriors battling a war they so desperately wanted to keep far from Beginnings. Did it still mean anything? It was always a form of respect but to Robbie it meant more at that moment than any words Frank could ever say to him. The firm salute that Frank gave him went right through him. With a shaking hand, Robbie returned it, keeping the fear from his face as he did. Fear that his last moments with his family would be spent watching them in a distance, if he saw them at all.

The helicopter left, and Robbie breathed deeply turning around to the men unpacking the crates. “Keep the medical supplies separate. Marty is down now and Dean was supposed to leave directions,” he mumbled as he moved passed the food and supply crate, “or something like that.”

“Robbie,” One of the men called to him, “is this it? The directions?”

Robbie retracted his steps, moving to the man who held out an envelope. A part of him shook when he saw the handwriting across the front. “No. It should be in there though.” He took the letter holding it and closing his eyes briefly before walking away with it. Why was it there? It wasn’t something he thought would arrive, but it was something he needed.

“Robbie, this is for Greg. Can you give it to him?”

“Sure.” Robbie took the second envelop chuckling at the badly written word ‘Dad’ on it. He walked with the envelopes to be alone and far from the others. He stopped at Greg who sat up on a blanket drinking a cup of water. “How’s it going Greg?”

“I told you I would beat this, didn’t I?” Greg’s words were breathy.

“Yep, you did. Glad you’re feeling better, Greg. This is for you.”

Greg smiled as he took the letter from his son. “Thanks Robbie. I see you got one too.”

“Yeah.” Robbie grinned. “Ellen.” He tapped the envelope on his lips. “I’m gonna uh, go over there to read it. Maybe she wrote something dirty in here. Keep getting better,” Robbie spoke in a mock order to him and started to walk again.

“I will,” Greg said and then he coughed.

The cough made Robbie stop walking. When did that start? He was so in tune with what was happening to his men. The cough didn’t sound like the typical summer cough people get. It was deep, rumbling and thick, and lasted longer than it should have. Catching himself looking back at Greg, who was red from his coughing spell, Robbie gave Greg one more smile and moved more away.

He took a seat on the grass, leaning against what used to be a park bench but now was turned on its side, completely grown over and part of the ground itself. He leaned against its firmness and opened the envelope. Reaching into his pocket, Robbie grabbed a cigarette and lit it. Taking in a long first hit, Robbie read Ellen’s letter. ‘Robbie, I just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you. Please be careful out there and come home to us. I need you. I know right now you’re probably scared. So am I. But know something, no matter what, no matter what you think, you will not be alone. I will not let you be alone out there. I promise you with everything I am. My little mind is already working. Take care of yourself. I will see you soon. I miss you and I love you. Ellen.’

Robbie lowered the letter then he lowered his head letting her words sink in, believing her when she said he wouldn’t be alone. Even if that was an impossibility, Robbie believed her, because at that moment, it gave him something to believe in. Flicking the ash from his burning cigarette, Robbie brought the letter back up and he read it again.

ROBBIE’S REPORT

Date: JULY 7

Patients Name: GREG HENSON

Date of first symptoms: July 2nd Time of Onset: 12:15 p.m.

Body Temp: 98 Headache: No Swollen Glands: No

Appearance of skin: norm Touch of skin: Norm

Is patient conscious? Yes Is patient alert? Yes

Any discoloring of skin? None Describe: Na

Blistering of skin? No Body cavity bleeding: No

Convulsions: No Nausea: No Congestion: None

Vomiting: No Dizziness: No Can patient talk: yes

NOTES:

Dean, what were you thinking? I can’t write it all here. See attached.

ROBBIE’S LETTER

July 7

Dean,

Greg and the other first wave two seem as if they are getting better. Is this the remission you mentioned in the last letter? Yesterday they felt better while seven others fell sick. There are four of us who aren’t sick but I watched everyone and it won’t be long before the other three go. They are showing signs of fatigue. (You might want to write that down.) The other seven were like that the day before they became fevered. I’ve been careful, almost too careful. But I guess that can’t happen in a situation like this. These guys are suffering Dean. Is there anything you can do?

Thanks,

Robbie

George’s face was pressed so firmly to the thick plastic wall, it was deformed and he looked like a child peering through window. “Where the hell is he? I don’t see him?” He looked into the observing room.

“Please.” Dr. Colter Stevens pulled George back. “You’re smudging.” He reached to the table by the window, picked up a spray bottle, damped the area George pressed against, and then wiped it clean with a rag. “Now we can talk. He’ll be out shortly.”

“Will he be safe to talk to?”

“Now, yes, seven days ago. No.”

“So the new program was a success?”

“Yes.” Colter nodded. “Speaking of programs, I’m going to assume, because I have heard, that you did too, about the Seattle lab.”

“I know, I know we lost it.”

“Our scouting crews didn’t find it.”

“I know, I know. That arrogant Slagel probably has it.” George folded his arms. “No threat. Why are you worried about it? Which cyborg-genic program did they get? Obviously not the new one. You just created it. Seattle was creating old CMEs. You, Dr. Stevens, are creating the better ones. So what if Beginnings gets their hands on the program? What are they gonna do about it? They only have two microchips. The best they can do is reprogram the CME they have. That CME will still be an idiot. Though Henry is a smart man, he’s not smart enough to rebuild another microchip and recreate the same program. He’s not you. Christ I hope not. If Henry does do it, I’ll be pissed.” George’s expression changed. “Is that him? What’s he got? A book?”

“Yes, he still reads. He probably was using the restroom. Anyhow, Evan, as he likes to call himself, was a strong willed survivor we picked up in Tucson. He ran with the savages, as you call them. We brought Evan in and operated on him, tampering with the section of the brain that controls mobility. We hindered the
signals, so to speak, so his brain couldn’t tell his arms and legs to move, similar to a stroke victim. I have to tell you, Evan was not happy. He had a fit. Fortunately for us, he couldn’t move. The only thing he could do was complain loudly and toss his head back and forth.”

George began to laugh. “When are you people reinventing video? Now that I would have liked to see.”

“I don't want to ask why so I’ll continue,” Dr. Stevens went on. “After allowing him to heal for two weeks, we went in yesterday with the new chip and new program. Not only is Evan moving now, but he’s happy as well. Through the program we increased the pounds per pressure his grip delivers.”

“Can you do that?” George asked. “Isn’t strength contingent on the person?”

“Ever hear the phrase, mind over matter. We have a female we’re going to implant next.”

“Whoa, wait a second. A female? They are few and far between. You can’t waste a female.”

“She’s far surpassed the fertile years and she is frail and unattractive. We can spare her.”

“Oh. All right,” George shrugged.

Dr. Stevens opened the observation room door. “This way, President Hadley.”

“Thank you.” George walked in and stood back some from Evan.

“Evan.” Dr. Stevens called him forward. “Evan, pick up a demonstration brick and show President Hadley what you can do.”

Evan smiled and walked over to a table where a stack of red bricks lay. Some of them were broken, all of them dirty. He picked one up, clenched it in the palm of his hand, and flashed his broken and missing tooth smile at George. Evan squeezed the brick causing it to shatter, crumble, and fall to the floor like dust.

“Holy shit,” George said with enthusiasm. “That’s . . . wait a second.” He walked over to Evan and reached for his hand. “Give me your hand.”

Evan handed it out.

“Dr. Stevens, this man is bleeding.” George held onto the hand. “Badly too. What good is the strength if it hurts the CME in the process? Truthful, Evan, does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Evan said but didn’t show pain.

George released the hand. “Problem with the program. You can’t have an indestructible army if they are as easy to destroy as the average man.”

“Biology is working on that,” Dr. Stevens explained. “They’re coming up with a protein that Evan has agreed to try. What they hope to accomplish with treatment is to get the same skin effect as we get with the accelerated creations.”

“I see.” George backed up. “Get this man a towel or something.” He walked to the door and left the observation room. He stood outside, watching for a while, and feeling pretty good about what he just saw. The experiments are not only working but getting better as time went on. George was confident that no matter what Beginnings got their hands on, he was one step ahead of them. He knew this for sure. He knew Beginnings wasn’t as bright as they thought they were because they had inadvertently helped George to get where he was at that point in his technology. According to his inside source, John, Beginnings had yet to ponder the question on where all the scientists were coming from, an important question they should have been asking.