The Inner Struggle: Beginnings Series Book 7 (41 page)

“See if you can get me some exacts on where he’s off to. It’s a simple metal run. One day right? We’ll set him up and if Robbie is well, you know for a fact he and a team will head out there immediately. We’ll grab him.”

“George, I have to say getting Robbie out of Beginnings is not going to make me sad one bit. But you do know he just might die and then you’re out of luck with this new plan.”

“I’ve got another,” George said so arrogantly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m disconnecting this call now. We’ve been on too long.”

“George, wait. What about the virus? You still aren’t using it, right?”

“Knock it off about the virus, John. I told you what I’m doing.”

John pulled the phone from his ear when he heard the abrupt disconnection. Shaking his head, he placed the phone away and to his surprise, just in time. The buzz of the door opened and Jenny walked in. John sprang up. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” She carried a small box with her.

“I’m working, filling in for Steve’s break. You?”

“John, you and I have to talk. It’s Friday. You know Mary and Forrest teach for me while I do supplies and replenishing.” She walked across the room. “Right now, I’m replenishing coffee supplies. You men sure drink it down here.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry I forgot that you do that. I don’t know where my mind is at.”

“How are the office supplies, pencils, and such?” Jenny lifted a clipboard from the box she set down.

“I don’t know.”

“Why? You’re always here filling in, John. Pay more attention.”

“Why do I need to pay attention to what’s here? I’m only down here for fifteen minutes at a time. Besides, they use no supplies so don’t worry about it.”

“All right. But if Joe yells at me… You know he won’t distribute supplies unless it’s an emergency.” Jenny pulled out a canister and removed the lid. It contained coffee and she poured the grinds into the communications room’s container that was nearly empty. She sniffed loudly. “These grinds smell bitter. Do they smell bitter to you?” She looked back to ask only to see John wiping his hand across his head. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“You seem nervous.”

“I’m just upset about Robbie.”

“We all are. I spoke to Joe a little bit ago and Robbie is not good. Speaking of Robbie, I need you to go to distribution this afternoon in our time slot. I need bread and cream. I’m going up to the mobile lab and I might not make it back. You know how far out of the way that is.”

“Why?” John asked.

“Boy, aren’t you absent minded today?” Jenny gathered her supplies. “I have a meeting at the house tonight. I need cream.”

“Not cream, Jenny!” John snapped. “The mobile! Why are you going to the mobile.”

“Apologize for that tone, John.”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you. You don’t want me to start calling you Frank now do you?” She heard her husband grunt and she giggled. “Anyway, I wanted to speak to Ellen. I want to go over . . .”

“No,” he said strongly.

“No?”

“Don’t go to the lab. I don’t want you going up there.”

“Sweet.” Jenny grabbed her box, walked to John, and laid her hand on his face. “Don’t worry, I won’t catch anything. I’m going to stand outside.” She tapped his face a couple times. “I’m off to the next place.” She kissed him quickly. “See you. Don’t forget . . . distribution.”

John let out a breath and placed his hand on his hip when Jenny walked out. He had hoped that sometime during the course of his day, he would have a conversation with someone where he was the one in control.

<><><><>

The slight fluttering movement of a rabbit’s paw twitching against the bottom of the cage where he laid was the only sound in the special lab at the mobile. Dean’s stared silently into a microscope, a notebook next to him, a pen in his hand. He was starting another journal on the virus. The same as the last, he had his hopes that this would be the last journal, that sometime during the course of all his note taking and work, the answer and cure would come.

He pulled back from the lens. He had to pause again rubbing his eyes and the blurriness. It was the third time since he started viewing slides that his eyes went blurry. He wanted to go get Ellen to help, but like Dean, her sleep was limited the night before with worry and care for Robbie. She slept now and Dean was certain that it was the first time during the whole night she had fallen asleep, so he let her rest.

What had happened? What caused Robbie to take such a critical turn for the worse? Dean reviewed his notes over and over. Did he make a mistake by giving Robbie that antiserum? His preliminary tests showed that the antidote fought the virus, so why didn’t it fight it in Robbie? In every blood sample he took from Robbie, the virus increased, not decreased like it should have. Robbie had shot from a second day victim to a tenth day victim in less than ten hours. Had Robbie been anyone else, Dean was sure he wouldn’t had made it through the night. He shouldn’t have made it through the night. Not with his vital signs as low as they were. Not with his heart rate barely beating enough to circulate blood to the brain in order to function. His lungs were so bad, Dean was ready for when they collapsed but they didn’t. Since he gave Robbie the antidote, everything Robbie experienced was now different than any future notes or any notes Robbie sent him during it all. Such a fighter Robbie had to be to hold on through all that.

Because of the differences, Dean wanted to be uncertain on what would happen next, but he wasn’t. Making a notation into his journal before turning back to his microscope, Dean wrote down his views of Robbie’s next stage, adding a last sentence to a paragraph entry already written. After he finished, he dropped his pen, plopped his elbows to the counter, and covered his face with his hands. He prayed that the words he just wrote, the words he hesitated to write all night, were wrong.

July 17 - 7:45 a.m.- After viewing the samples of Robbie’s blood again, a specimen taken at 1:00 a.m., it is apparent that the virus has grown even stronger. At this point, with the rate of deterioration that Robbie Slagel has achieved, it is no longer relevant to do any further samples. We have done all that we could and we gave it our best shot. Sadly, Robbie is not responding and it is becoming more evident that he isn’t going to make it.

“Next on the agenda . . .” Joe, who was leaning forward onto his desk, raised his eyes to a loud Henry yawn. “Henry, what the hell?”

“Sorry, Joe.” Henry held up his hand. “It’s not you.”

“It better not be.”

“The baby was up all night.”

“Like father like son.” Joe sat back and pulled out a cigarette. “Now you know how we used to feel, before you had anyone in your life, with the way you’d wake us all up.”

“Oh I was not that bad.” Henry waved his hand at him then quickly turned his head to Andrea who gave a ‘hmm’. “I wasn’t. Not like the baby.”

“Wouldn’t he go back to sleep for you at all, Henry?” Joe asked.

“Frank. He wouldn’t go back to sleep for Frank. Frank, he plays with him. I told him if he would ignore the baby then the baby . . .”

“Henry,” Joe interrupted him, “why were both you and Frank up with that kid?”

“Frank made me get up. He said if he was going to get up with him, so was I,” Henry sulked.

“Then why didn’t you just let Frank go back to sleep if you have to be up anyhow?” Joe continued in is questioning.

“Oh no, Joe. Not me. I don’t do the baby thing well.” Henry shook his head. “I’m learning.”

Joe grunted and looked back down at his notes. “Back to our council meeting. Let’s finish off old business. Recycling. So, let me get this straight. We’re telling Stuart that he can only burn trash twice a month every other month?” He saw he had their agreement. “He wanted to switch it to twice a month every month. But . . . survivor smoke signals. I’ll tell him in the winter we’ll do it twice a month.” Joe made a notation. “We’re all in agreement that the seven in containment will work fields until we have divisions that they can be trained properly in. None of our division head want to train new people until this crisis is over.” Joe said. “Let’s face it, most of them can be called to security at any time. We’ll grant them that.” He shifted the sheet of paper. “New business. Andrea, did all the women register their menstrual cycles with you yet?”

Andrea nodded. “Well, all except for Ellen. She . . .” Andrea’s eyes went mean when she heard Henry snickering. “Mr. Kusakari, may I ask what is so funny?”

“Sorry.” Henry held up his hand. “I just keep picturing Joe trying to be serious when Jenny brought him this request. He probably just agreed to shut her up.”

Joe grunted. “Tell the women tonight at your meeting that council approved the request. Yes, Henry?” Joe acknowledged his waving hand.

“I didn’t vote on it, Joe. I don’t remember. Did I?”

“No,” Joe told him.

“I’m on council. I should vote on it.” He heard Andrea huff then saw her slide down in her chair. “Don’t breathe at me, Andrea. It’s not fair. I think my opinion should be heard about this.”

.Joe raised his hand and lowered it with a slap. “All right, Henry. Do we let the women have a day off their first day or not?”

“Oh I don’t see a problem with
it, Joe, sure,” Henry said.

Another grunt from Joe. “Duly noted.” He shook his head and continued. “I spoke to Clothing and Shoes and they are trying to come up with a way to make the new shoes for the women. Ben said he has a great new color, they may all be blue at first, but we should have the first pair of . . .” Joe cleared his throat, “flats in about three weeks.”

Henry snickered loudly again. “Sorry. Flats? Why are we making the women flats? Seems like a waste of materials if you ask me.”

Andrea tsked, “You would think that, Henry. You men get whatever you want around here. We women have to . . .”

Joe held up his hand, stopping her. “Andrea, let me explain it to him.” Joe folded his hands and faced Henry. “Son, the women are tired of wearing those little tennis shoes we make them. They want a choice.”

“They have a choice, Joe,” Henry stated. “They could wear boots.”

“Boots?” Joe tilted his head. “Combat boots? Christ, Henry, I don’t know about you, but if the women in this community want to stay feminine, I’m for it. They want to feel good about themselves and why not? Just because your . . . whatever she is to you now . . . isn’t feminine, doesn’t mean the rest of the women shouldn’t be. Combat boots.”

“Joe, that is totally untrue,” Henry argued. “Ellen is very feminine and I’m telling her you said that.”

Joe rolled his eyes slightly. “You think she’s feminine. Female maybe. Yeah, I’ll admit she’s very female about things. But feminine? Henry, how many other women in this community have been shot more than once if at all? Stabbed? Beat up on a regular basis? Not to mention the fact that everything she wears hangs off of her.”

“In Ellen’s defense,” Henry held one finger up, “everything is too big on her.”

“Yeah Henry,” Joe snapped, “but Ben from fabrics has told her over and over he’d take them in for her. Does she take him up on it? No. Sometimes I think my daughter leaves her clothes loose and baggy so they’re more easily removed.”

Henry gasped. “I cannot believe you’re speaking about your daughter like that.” He turned his head to Andrea. “Can you believe he’s talking about Ellen like that?”

“Yes,” Andrea answered. “Next line of business Joe.”

Joe couldn’t agree with that suggestion more. He shifted his paper. “Finally, trivial stuff.” A flutter of lips came from Henry. “What now?”

“Trivial stuff?” Henry smirked. “Like flat shoes and days off for periods isn’t trivial.”

“To some people isn’t, Henry. Now shut up,” Joe ordered. “Get some sleep, goddamn it. You’re getting on my nerves and you look bad too.”

“I look bad?” Henry was surprised. “No I don’t. Do I?”

“Yes,” Joe answered, “and you’re having a bad hair day too.”

“My hair is bad? Oh my God.” Henry ran his hand through his hair. “Better?”

“No.” Joe shook his head. “Want it to look neat? Shave it.”

“Oh no Joe, I couldn’t do that. I like my hair.”

“Henry!” Joe had enough. “Moving on to the trivial stuff.” He pointed at him. “And not another word. You’ve been hanging around my daughter too much.” Joe shifted his eyes down. “Something for you two to think about. The guys want to use the extra spot lights to set up at the field for night games when they start playing softball again. Blake, our soap guy, wants to have a theatrical performance every other week on Sundays instead of once a month. I think we can let him do it. What else do we have to entertain us around here? Speaking of entertaining. Andrea, what happened last night at the social hall and why did they bother you?”

“They bothered me, Joe, because you have a lot on your mind,” she told him. “What happened was...it was karaoke night. Stew got mad because Edwin sang the song he wanted to sing and they started fighting. Dan broke it up and tossed them both in holding for three hours to cool down. It worked. All is fine.”

“Joe?” Henry interjected. “I want to say, I like the idea of holding being used for cool down purposes. It works.”