It Begins With the End by L A Warren

Author:L A Warren [Warren, L A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JEM Publishing
Published: 2019-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Saturday morning, February 5, 2035:

Dawn broke the morning sky when she returned home. All she wanted was to sleep off her hangover, however, an all too familiar white van parked in front of the mansion gave her pause.

Men in white biohazard garb walked out the front door. She flew out of the car and staggered to the men carrying a body bag between them. Her heart lurched as the ground tilted beneath her feet. A shaking began in her chest, turning to tremors as it reached her fingertips.

Another man encased in a protective suit tried to hold her back.

Tears flowed down her cheeks. Memories of Elenor crashed in her mind.

"Gramps!"

The men sidestepped with the body bag. Respirators on their backs stressed their heavy breathing. The bag bowed between them, crinkling as it bent. Her stomach heaved as she fought down a wave of nausea.

The stranger held her when she lunged for the bag. "Miss, you can't be here."

"Just try to stop me." Her fingers clawed at the zipper of the bag. "Gramps!" Please, don't be in there. Don't be in there.

Familiar footsteps. A hand squeaking over a banister. A cough. A sneeze.

Those sounds drew her attention through the doorway and had her spinning out of the stranger's grip. Her gaze flew to where her grandfather leaned against the entry hall column for support. Pink tinged tears stained his cheeks.

She ran up the broad marble stairs, her legs strong and steady. "Gramps!" Well, mostly steady.

He held out his arms and folded her into a hug. "Hush."

"What happened?"

There was no doubt who lay inside that body bag. Five more men encased in white biohazard suits stood in the foyer. Canisters hung on their backs. Each had a small black case in their hands. The small red biohazard sign unmistakable.

"Sir, I'm sorry," the man said who had restrained her. "I tried to keep her away."

Her grandfather looked with bleary eyes. "Doesn't matter. This is my granddaughter. She's already exposed."

She took a shuddering breath. Exposed? She'd kissed all those men last night.

His body trembled and his shoulders slumped. "Come, let's go into the parlor." He started down the hall leaving her questions unanswered.

She followed, feeling deflated and very sober.

Three of the five men joined them while the others headed upstairs.

"Miss," one man said, his voice distorted by the respirator. "Please, I need to take a blood sample and a swab of your mouth." He gestured for them to sit.

She collapsed onto an ottoman, too numb to take the extra five steps to the overstuffed leather chair. "Tell me what's going on."

"Director Comwell, I need to ask a few questions." The man spoke with deference, shifting back and forth on his feet while adjusting the respirator over his face through the fabric of his hood.

"Go ahead." Her grandfather rolled up his sleeve as one man opened his case and rubbed alcohol on her grandfather's arm.

"Sir, I need a list of everyone you've come in contact with since Wednesday night."

He sighed. "Everyone at the banquet, Director Armstrong, and his wife, Elenor.

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