Survivor (Rewinder Series Book 3)

by Brett Battles

  Security lamps protrude from the side of the house facing the parking area. A light is shining through a second-story window. The rest of the house is dark.

  I shoot a few glances at the parking lot guard station, so as not to appear to give it too much attention. It’s ahead to our right, at the midpoint between the building we’re hiding next to and Shim’s place. Shadows move around inside but I can’t tell how many people are there.

  One is all I require.

  “Can you put us inside the first floor?” Dumont whispers. She’s been paying more attention to Shim’s place than the guard hut.

  I can, but I don’t want her to think it’s that easy. “Do you know the layout? We don’t want to end up on top of a desk, or knocking something over as soon as we arrive.”

  She frowns. “I’d just be guessing.”

  “If we can get close to a window and see what’s inside, I could jump us in after that.”

  She checks the building again. “That window along the front isn’t covered. We could travel to the tree in the yard and sneak up to it.”

  I make a show of studying her suggestion. “That’ll work.”

  She passes the chaser to me without looking, which is a good thing, because I’m sure she would be able to read my intentions otherwise.

  My fingertips tingle as I use the calculator to determine our arrival point. I glance at the professor. She’s still staring at the house.

  When I’m ready, I tap her on the shoulder, and hold the chaser toward her with one hand while grabbing her elbow, ready to travel, with my other. As I hoped, she grabs the other edge of the box but does not take the chaser from me.

  As she moves her finger toward the go button, I rock my shoulder away from her, and as we jump, I shoot it back toward her.

  Rule number who-knows-what of time travel: movement begun before a jump continues after arrival. The moment we materialize, my shoulder slams into hers and I yank the device from her grip, keeping a finger over the display screen to keep the lid from closing all the way.

  I have been very precise in choosing an arrival point—not next to the tree as Dumont expected, but right outside the guard hut. My shove sends her staggering in front of the door.

  Chaser in hand, I turn the other way and duck behind one of the parked vehicles.

  I hear surprised voices and running steps. The first come from the guards in the hut, while the second must be Dumont chasing me.

  Still in a crouch, I move around the back of a car right before she reaches a point where she’d be able to see me.

  “You! Stop!” a guard yells outside the hut.

  More footsteps. Several sets, racing after Dumont.

  I weave through the parking area until I reach a small, cargo-transportation vehicle and hunker down beside it.

  More shouts from the guards and footsteps pounding the pavement. They are no longer heading in my direction so it’s time for me to get out of here. I look around for my best route, and freeze.

  Flashlight beams announce the approach of reinforcements. They’re not in the parking area yet, but they will be soon. My escape routes are blocked. What I need now is somewhere better to hide, fast. I spot several armored military transport vehicles parked in a row. They’re like passenger vans, if the vans were squatter, painted black, and had long, thin openings for windows that someone could stick guns out of. The side door on each is propped all the way open, no doubt for quick access in case of emergency.

  As quietly as I can, I make my way to the nearest one and slip inside. I want to close the door, but since the others are all open, that would draw attention. So I focus on assessing my hideout.

  All the seats but the driver’s are folded against the walls so that they’re out of the way unless needed. There are three built-in cabinets and a large gun mount in back, currently without a weapon.

  I stand—best I can with the under-five-foot ceiling—and move to one of the slot windows. The reinforcements have reached the lot, and have spread out to search between vehicles. I switch to the other side and see two guards still in front of the hut, but a third has walked into the lot a dozen feet or so and is looking in the distance.

  I lean close to the window to get an angle on what he’s looking at.

  A few seconds later, four soldiers come into view, holding Dumont between them. Though she has blood on her face, her expression is impassive.

  I’m about to pull back when I hear a shouted command. The guards at the hut and the one who moved away snap to attention.

  Shim is walking from her quarters toward the guard hut.

  Get out of here.

  I move away from the slot and sit on one of the fold-down chairs. From the side of my shoe, I tease out the wire I hid there. I created a hook at one end, but it’s the straight end I need now. I drag it across my forearm deep enough to draw blood. The chaser requires a sample to rekey. Unfortunately, the blood needs to be dry. I squeeze my arm until there’s enough blood to spread around and then I blow on it, hoping that will speed up the process.

  I check the outside again.

  The men escorting Dumont are approaching the hut where Shim now waits. The other soldiers who rushed over to help are nearing Shim, too.

  When Dumont and her guards stop, Shim walks up to the professor. Her lips move but her voice is too low for me to hear, until she shouts, “Where is it?”

  Dumont remains silent.

  “Where?”

  My gut clenches. I’m sure the it she’s referring to is the chaser. If she only knew how close it is to her.

  When Dumont still doesn’t respond, Shim says, “Why did you come here? Who’s with you? Where are they?”

  No answer.

  Shim turns to her men. “She couldn’t have come alone! Get out there and find whoever she was with!”

  The men scatter into the parking area.

  I check the blood on my arm. It’s tacky now, but not dry.

  Hurry up, hurry up! I blow on it again.

  Another check outside reveals most of the soldiers are moving farther from me. Two, however, are heading in my general direction.

  I blow more air over my arm. Still not dry enough.

  One of the soldiers is three or four vehicles away.

  So that everything will be ready, I use the hooked end of the wire to open the tray where the sample needs to go.

  The footsteps are closer now. Knowing I won’t get it rekeyed before someone looks in, I open one of the cabinets. It’s filled with containers. The second cabinet is smaller but it’s empty so it will have to do.

  I check my blood again. Drier. I’m just not sure if it’s dry enough.

  A footstep. Near the back of the transport.

  I’ll have to risk it.

  Using the wire, I scrape some of the blood off my arm and into the tray.

  “Please work,” I whisper as I put the wire on the floor and push the tray closed.

  The display lights up with the message:

  INVALID USER

  That is quickly replaced by:

  PROCESSING

  I’m not sure if that means it’s rekeying to me or something else entirely. The steps coming up the side of the vehicle means I’m almost out of time.

  I climb into the cabinet and pull the door shut. Since there’s no way to latch the door closed from the inside—probably because there’s no need for one—I have to hold on to the chaser with one hand and the lip of the door with the other.

  The vehicle sways with the weight of someone climbing inside.

  I glance at the chaser’s display.

  PROCESSING

  Every time I’ve seen a chaser rekeyed, whether when I did it before or when Lidia did it in 1952, the process has gone much faster. My blood must not be dry enough. Does that mean it won’t work at all?

  The soldier takes a few steps farther inside, and I hear nothing for several seconds. It’s like he’s decided to take a break. Finally he heads back outside.

  He
didn’t find me.

  I’m okay.

  I hear a muffled voice from who I assume is the same guy. In the pauses I hear some static, so I’m guessing he’s talking on a radio.

  I look at the chaser again.

  PROCESSING

  I’m starting to hope it will display REKEYING FAILURE so I can try again. The remaining blood on my arm is dry enough now. I reach into my pocket to grab the wire but it’s not there.

  I check my other pocket. Empty.

  Did it fall onto the cabinet floor? I reach down but then stop as I remember.

  I set it on the cabin floor right after using it.

  Did the soldier see it?

  I start to ease open the cabinet door to check, but I hear someone by the main door again. I shut myself back in as the truck rocks even more than it did last time.

  The soldier has not returned alone.

  A glance at the chaser.

  PROCESSING

  Footsteps moving down the vehicle toward my cabinet.

  The display:

  PROCESSING

  A moment of silence outside, and then the cabinet door tugs against my fingers. As quickly as it started, the pulling stops.

  I’m starting to think I’ve tricked them into believing the cabinet is locked when the door jerks out of my grasp and I find myself looking at Shim herself, flanked by a pair of gun-wielding soldiers.

  This is the first time I’ve seen her smile. “Denny Younger. This is a pleasant surprise.” Her gaze drops to the box in my hand. “And you’ve brought me a present. Thank you so much.”

  When she holds out her hand for the box, I notice a slight change in the light coming from the display screen. I raise the chaser, but as I do, my fingers move to the keys that activate the emergency escape combination.

  Shim must realize something’s up, because her hand darts out as I push the buttons.

  Everything winks out for a second, and then the world comes back.

  I’ve jumped ten feet to the side and fifteen minutes earlier, putting me outside the transport at around the same time Dumont and I are dealing with Langer on the roof of the building across the street.

  The only problem is, I haven’t hopped alone. Shim apparently got her hand on my chaser before the jump activated.

  She staggers a few feet away from me. “What did you—”

  I push the emergency escape combination again, moving me another ten feet and fifteen minutes further into the past where I am now alone and unseen.

  To be safe, I drop behind the nearest vehicle and give myself a second to catch my breath.

  I’ve done it.

  I have the chaser.

  It’s keyed to me.

  I can make everything right again.

  I select a locator from the recent-jumps list and input a time only a minute different from right now.

  __________

  I ARRIVE IN the rain forest, just outside the walls of the Trinity research facility. Since I can’t easily figure out the exact locator number for where I want to go, I make a series of smaller jumps that eventually put me inside Jovan’s and my cell.

  He and yet another earlier me are sound asleep. I move up to my friend’s bed and shake his shoulder. It takes a moment, but he finally blinks his eyes open. “Wha—”

  I hold up a finger to my mouth.

  He looks confused.

  “I promised I’d take you with me,” I whisper. “It’s time.”

  He sits up, eyes widening. “Really? You…you…did it? We can leave?”

  “Yes, but we have to go now. Don’t worry about getting dressed. Just grab your clothes and stay quiet.”

  From the look on his face, I know he doesn’t understand why until he catches sight of the body on the other bed.

  “I’d rather not wake myself up,” I say before he can speak. It’d be best if this earlier me is unaware he’s being erased.

  Jovan eases out of his bed, grabs some clothes, and slips on his shoes.

  “Ready?” I slip an arm through his and grab the chaser with both hands.

  “I…I think so. Do I need to know anything?”

  “Just don’t let go.”

  Jump.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THERE IS MUCH I need to do before I can start the process of unraveling Lidia’s mess, so our first stop is only a bit more than a year in the past.

  We are northeast of Saint Jakup, in what I now know is a kind of no man’s buffer between civilization and the forbidden zone. The trip was more than enough of a shock for Jovan, so I have him wait in a ravine where he should be safe if anything unexpected happens to me.

  I hike south about a quarter of a mile, reaching the point—with fifteen minutes to spare—where my chaser indicates I need to be. After finding a good hiding spot, I settle in.

  Precisely on time, two shapes materialize in the small depression in front of me. Lidia and the me she yanked with her through time. This is the moment we first arrived in Jovan’s world.

  As the paralysis of the jump releases them, Earlier Me hits Lidia in the hand, knocking free the knife she was holding. They tumble to the ground, though it’s not because I hit her. The jump they just finished was long and painful.

  Lidia is sprawled on the grass, and Earlier Me lies beside her.

  I feel the urge to yell “watch out!” as Earlier Me struggles through his daze and crawls toward the chaser. But I keep my mouth shut, and watch as his hand comes down on the discarded knife, which slices his palm. I rub the scar on my hand, remembering the sting.

  Earlier Me takes the knife and cuts Lidia’s bag free from her shoulder. Seconds later he has the chaser inside the bag and is staggering away.

  I wait where I am.

  With a jerk, Lidia pulls out of her daze and pushes unsteadily to her feet. She spots Earlier Me and heads after him.

  I follow.

  I could stop Earlier Me from plunging the knife into Lidia’s heart, but it’s an unnecessary risk. In his confusion, he could stab me or, worse, my actions could somehow allow Lidia to retain control of the chaser and jump away before I can get it.

  I need to let things play out. Besides, stopping Earlier Me from doing it won’t erase that act from my life’s history. I did kill Lidia. That memory will be with me always.

  Everything plays out as I recall. Lidia shoves Earlier Me in the back and he falls to the ground, but turns as he does to avoid damaging the chaser.

  “Where do you…think…you’re going?” she says.

  “Go away, Lidia,” he tells her. “Leave me alone.”

  A second later, she dives on top of him and begins pulling and punching whatever she can.

  With a “get off!” he knocks her to the side, scrambles to his feet, and holds out the knife. “Go, Lidia. You’re done. Go and enjoy what you’ve created while you can.”

  “What? Are you going to cut me?”

  “I said go.”

  “Or what?”

  “Just go!”

  She moves right up to him. “Go on, Denny. The first slice is free.”

  Both Lidia and I can see the hesitation on Earlier Me’s face.

  She laughs. “I knew you didn’t have it in you. You caste dregs are all the same.”

  In the brief pause that follows, I know his mind is a whirlwind of memories and anger. With a sudden thrust, he drives the knife into Lidia’s chest.

  She staggers backward and lowers herself to the ground. Kneeling beside her, he takes her hand and watches the life drain out of her. When he’s sure the monster is gone, he lies beside her and soon loses consciousness.

  This is the moment I have been waiting for.

  I approach them. If not for Lidia’s blood-covered shirt, they look like a couple having a peaceful sleep in a meadow.

  I pick up the bag and look inside. Next to the chaser are the two other things I’ve come for: RJ’s prototype charger and the textbook titled An Overview of World History, Vol. II: Anno Domini.

  Though
my chaser—actually both chasers—contains a complete log of the stops Lidia and I made on her tour of destruction, I seldom witnessed her deeds. The book is the source she used to plot her actions, and it will help me figure out exactly what she did.

  The second chaser is a bonus. I can key it to Jovan and slave the device to mine. That way we won’t have to be in physical contact every time we jump.

  I tuck the bag under my arm and glance down at Earlier Me. The moment I leave here on my journey to repair history, this world will vanish, and him with it. At least I’m saving him from the months in prison and the broken leg and the trek through the desert and Shim and Dumont.

  I guess that’s something.

  I head back to Jovan. It’s time for us to go.

  __________

  I AM A highly trained rewinder, drilled by my instructor Marie to know research is the bedrock of what I do. So it would be foolhardy to attempt to dismantle Lidia’s changes without doing my homework first.

  After consulting with Jovan, I take us back seventy-five years to 1943. The coming world war is still decades away, and my friend tells me this is a simpler time. The only thing important to me is that we can get what we need here without trouble.

  As we walk the predawn streets of West Odessa, a city that in 2019 is a wasteland, I note a stark contrast to what I’ve come to know of this world. In every place I was before, soldiers were always around, even at night. But here, I see none. The few people who are out seem untroubled by our presence. Whatever fear exists here in 1943 does not come close to matching what is to come.

  “There,” Jovan says, nodding across the street. “Food market.”

  We stop for me to note its position on the chaser, and then continue our walk. Two streets over, we find a pharmacy-type store, which I also mark. There’s a clothing store nearby that might also have what we need but I keep us moving, hoping we’ll find someplace better.

  I’m glad I did, because a block farther on we come across the equivalent of an outdoorsman shop, which is exactly what I have been hoping for.