He took his seat along a window, head resting on the glass pane. There was no denying the success they had just achieved and what it meant as they readied to fly back across the country, but his chest remained a hollow pit. He looked around to perhaps the greatest crew ever assembled for a mission in the history of the Road Runners, and Martin envied them all.
Every single person on this mission had been driven by such a strong force to end the war. And while Martin could relate, he didn’t have a lifetime of boiling rage pushing him like many others. Several of the younger members had grown up as Road Runners, their parents having become members several years prior to their birth. They had an acute focus on their roles. From day one, they were programmed to hate the Revolution and dedicate their lives to bringing them down.
What they had collectively achieved this morning was nothing short of a glass ceiling being shattered. They had grown used to the notion that the Revolution wielded all the power and that little could be done to stop it. Today, however, a wave of new change brewed on the horizon, one that would soon become a hurricane.
Once the flight took off and reached its cruising elevation, the party started as nearly everyone on board grabbed a drink from the bar and chatted in small huddles around the jet. Conversation and laughter filled the air, bringing a small grin to Martin’s lips.
He watched as Alina mingled for a few minutes, sipping her glass of wine until she locked eyes with him and came over, sitting in the lounge chair across from him.
“Enjoying the festivities?” Martin asked, growing thirsty for a glass of scotch.
“I am. How are you holding up?” Aline took another sip and leaned back to relax.
“Lots of reflection since we left the apartment building. You know, they don’t give us leaders a lot of time for that.”
Alina chuckled. “Oh, I know. We are superheroes who just have to power through our days like everything is fine. Have you checked your cell phone since we arrived back in 2020?”
Martin shook his head. “I haven’t turned it on yet. It’s been a nice couple of weeks being mostly out of the loop.”
“Well, just so you know, there is a situation, but we have to keep focused on this mission—it’s almost done.”
Martin dropped his head back. “Please tell me it’s not as bad as I think.”
“It’s not—it’s actually about us. The Council voted for a blackout across the continent until they hear back from anyone on our team. I’ve already informed the entire team to handover any communication devices they have.”
“Why? That seems like an overreaction.”
“Thaddeus Hamilton has been killed by Chris, along with three other Liberation leaders. He killed them all in Thad’s house. We’re not sure what exactly unfolded to make that happen—maybe Chris has fully lost his mind. But it all led to some serious panic by our members and they started flooding the offices around North America, demanding action. When Uribe wouldn’t tell the people where you were, they stormed out of the offices and are now marching in the streets.”
Martin leaned forward, scratching his head and rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “I’m going down as the worst commander in history, aren’t I?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Look at where we’re flying right now. On our way to Nevada to admire the destruction of Wealth of Time, then to make the final move on Chris. Sure, you’ve dealt with a carousel of external issues, but no commander has ever been in this position. And keep in mind, we have always been at war—that’s literally why our organization exists. It may not feel like it, but you’re on the verge of becoming the greatest commander of all time.”
Martin stared blankly and forced a half smile from the corner of his mouth. “Are we sure this is the right thing to do—not communicating with the Council?”
“It’s not that big of a deal, in my opinion. They might be overreacting right now, but if we show up tonight with Chris Speidel’s dead body, then no one will even remember the last twenty-four hours of this mess. These marches will turn into dancing in the streets.”
“I understand—I just don’t want anything reflected badly upon us. It seems almost childish to intentionally not check in with our own organization.”
“Last I looked, our job descriptions aren’t to check in with people. It’s to protect this organization to the best of our abilities. And that’s exactly what we’re doing. Now is not the time to dwell and question every decision we’ve made. It’s time to meet our fate and look it square in the eye, especially you. This entire mission falls into your hands once time is frozen. Martin and Chris, good versus evil—not another soul to interrupt.”
“Gee, thanks for the added pressure.” Martin laughed and turned to look at the team still celebrating, oblivious to the dark road ahead for their commander. “Must be nice to feel that sense of accomplishment like they are. I’ve been chasing that my whole life.”
“You’ll find it soon enough. On that note, are you ready to discuss the next steps?”
Martin had a rough idea how the rest of the night would play out, but many of the details remained within Alina’s plans. He had wanted to make sure they actually reached this point before occupying his mind with more worry. With Sonya dead, he could no longer avoid the pending task that fell squarely upon his shoulders.
“Okay, what do we have?” he asked, begrudgingly pulling out a small bottle of water from the side flap on his seat. He had made a personal vow to not drink in front of other Road Runners, except for Alina. Too many eyes were present and he had a reputation to uphold.
“I have confirmation that Chris returned to Idaho after killing Thaddeus. Now, it’s expected to be heavily guarded, so we have to plan exactly when we want Steffan to freeze time. We expect some serious backlash from Commander Blair for not being told that this is happening, so the less time the better. There are still some unknown factors. Once time is frozen, we don’t know how Chris will react. Will he stay put and fight from his house? Get in the car and drive away? Does he know how to fly a plane? Because that can make things complicated.”
“We need to keep eyes on him the entire time,” Martin added. “I don’t know how he’s done it in the past, but he’s been able to somehow enter my mind and see where I am. Would hate for him to start running before we even arrive.”
“I wouldn’t count on that happening. We’ve done our homework on the Keeper of Time ability and how it works—it’s all in the blood. Chris is growing weaker by the minute. See, the Keeper blood isn’t meant to last forever. Past Keepers have died at a normal age after stepping down from their role. The blood itself is not what makes them invincible; contrary to public belief, it’s the presence of that blood in another living being that keeps the Keeper from dying. So even if Sonya hadn’t died today, she’d just keep aging and eventually pass away, deeming that injection of Keeper blood in her system useless.”
Martin nodded, drinking his water as he grew entranced by the lesson.
“What’s happening right now has never happened before, at least from the Keeper history we’ve been able to research. Chris’s body had always been aging, even as the Keeper, but his invincibility and other abilities have not. Our team of hematologists believe that his body is going through a sort of catch-up period. Think of Sonya as a dam holding everything together: invincibility, special powers, natural time travel abilities to name a few. Her death is the breaking of that dam and now everything is ‘catching up’ or regressing to match Chris’s current age—which we believe is right around 100 years old. The very blood in his system is now eroding to match that age, just like it would a regular human man. With that erosion goes his powers. If nothing changes by the time we arrive to Idaho, it’s very possible that Chris won’t even be able to travel through time by sheer will like he used to.”
“Well, that would make this all a lot easier,” Martin said with a laugh.
“It would. He won’t be able to enter your mind, won’t be able
to jump through time. He’ll just be a fragile old man you have to hunt down and put the final nail in his coffin.” Alina grinned as she said this last part.
“There is no way it’s that simple.”
“But it is—that’s why there’s been the sudden push for Sonya’s life. These findings have been gradually coming along for the past five years. Combine that with Chris’s age, and the window has opened for this opportunity. Getting Sonya was the hard part, but she threw us a bone. I wonder if she knew all of this?”
Martin didn’t want to discuss or speculate about Sonya. Not yet. “If I know Chris, he has plans in place for this exact scenario already. The guy plans every single detail and prepares for all possibilities, even the ones we might consider impossible.”
“You’re probably right. And he’s in amazing shape despite his appearance. He moves around just fine and will likely make a run to save his life.”
“Do we know what weapons he has access to? I’m ready for a shootout, but who knows with him.”
“We don’t know for sure, but suspect there are fewer unique weapons at his disposal in his new house. Destroying his mansion was so crucial to all of this, too. We got him out of his safe space and away from what was certainly a bunker full of weapons from the past and future. And keep in mind, this reality is going to hit Chris at some point—it may already have. Once he realizes he’s mortal, expect rushed decisions and scrambling. He may inject the nearest person he finds with his blood as a desperate attempt to save himself, but that process typically takes a few hours until it actually works. This is why you’re going to kill every Revolter on his property, even while they’re frozen. We can’t afford any gambles.”
“You want me to shoot frozen statues?”
“Think of it as target practice and you’ll be fine. Hey, if they weren’t frozen they’d be shooting at you, so it’s all justified.”
“You amaze me.”
“I know. Once you kill them, it’s a matter of hide-and-seek. Make sure you’re not in a position to get shot while you work through his house. He’s in the middle of absolutely nothing—not even trees to hide behind—so we don’t expect him to run on foot. Slash the tires of any vehicles on the property and guarantee he doesn’t leave.”
“And what if he has just enough power left to slip away?”
“That won’t happen. We have eyes on him. A team is set up about five miles away from his house. They have drones, cars, a helicopter, and a single-engine airplane. We are ready for anything. We also have people planted in every year covering a 500-year period. Keep in mind, we are counting on a rushed decision, so none of this guarantees anything.”
“And all of these people know to not make any contact with the Council?”
“None at all. This entire team is on the same page. Chris dies tonight, and nothing will stop that from happening. They all understand the gravity of the moment and everyone is committed to seeing it through the finish line.”
“I feel better about letting the phone ring off the hook.”
“Yeah, and we should be fine with the blackout, too—I’d say that actually works in our favor. I was worried they’d send people once they saw our tracking devices moving together, but they can’t unlock the buildings to let people out, so now they’re working with a limited pool of soldiers to deploy our way, less if they need them to contain the mess on the streets. And if they try to call off the blackout earlier than planned, the membership will know something is going on and will add more fuel to the fire. The Council just handcuffed themselves.”
“Okay, let’s get this done. How much longer until we reach Nevada?”
“About another hour.”
Martin nodded and returned his attention to the window, looking down to the world passing below, praying he’d be able to make it the peaceful place it deserved to be.
Chapter 13
Chris shot up from the couch, his head cloudy and spinning, his stomach feeling hollowed out. The sensations were familiar; that they were happening, told Chris all he needed to know. His sense of surrounding had evaporated during the nap—
—a fucking nap?! Right now?!—
—and he squandered around his office until holding his balance on the grandfather clock showing an entire hour had passed.
“Arrrgghhh!” he bellowed, grabbing the clock from the top and hurling it sideways, the clatter of metal echoing in the room as the pendulum, weights, and chains all collided with one another. “This isn’t happening,” he whimpered, dragging himself to his desk and fishing his pistol out of the top drawer, only to find that he already had it tucked into his belt. “What is wrong with me?” he asked the empty room, grabbing the sides of his head.
So much could have happened in the last hour, but his cell phone showed no alerts. He checked the Road Runner network and found it offline, creating a slow drip of paranoia that wouldn’t go away for the rest of the night. He dialed Mario Webster, only to have the call go straight to voicemail. He tried Sonya again with the same result, rage and fear boiling within, the sensation similar to nausea for regular human beings, considering he fed off the two emotions.
Chris looked out the window to see his team of soldiers in their positions, scattered about the property just as he had instructed. If no one was going to answer his calls then he’d need to visit them in person. The closest place was the Wealth of Time store only 100 miles southwest.
He trudged out of the office and stepped outside, barking his next commands. “We need to get on the jet right now!”
The soldiers moved without a word, all of them rotating to different positions to ensure coverage on the grounds, the three soldiers who accompanied Chris on trips quickly loading their weapons into the van, one holding a door open for the Keeper of Time as he made his way to join them.
“Colin, we’re landing the jet back here at the house on our way back, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the stony-faced man, waiting for Chris to get in the van.
“I’m done with this ridiculous hour-long drive to the hangar. We may not have much time tonight in case we need to run.”
“Yes, sir.”
They piled into the van and hit the road, the jet an hour away, Wealth of Time only a thirty-minute flight from there.
* * *
Chris wrestled reality as they flew to northern Nevada, even though it stared him square in the face. His stomach growled, mouth turning into cotton. If he ate food and drank water—something he’d never done in front of his soldiers—would that display of weakness affect their ability to work for him? He debated this with much ferocity, perhaps overthinking the matter. Perhaps not. His mind wasn’t right and he could only assume it was because of his body’s demands. All of this only meant one thing, too.
There’s no way Sonya is dead, he thought. His stomach groaned in protest. Why? How? I should have never let her leave. This is life and death, and I let my only insurance policy walk away.
He had no time to dwell on the past. Martin would make his move tonight, guaranteed. Chris wanted to rush to Wealth of Time, not to see Mario and inquire why none of his calls were being answered, but to inject his blood into his longtime confidant and trusted advisor. It might not guarantee anything, but if Chris could stay off the grid for at least twenty-four hours he’d have the chance to recuperate his abilities and truly ready himself for a fight with the Road Runners.
He needed answers on Sonya, the whereabouts of Martin Briar, why the Road Runners were offline, and why the hell no one was answering their phones.
The jet prepared for its descent not much longer after it had taken off. It rumbled as they dropped, and Chris felt what might have been fear for the first time in almost half of a century.
The store had been deliberately located to allow for flights in and out directly next to it, a landing strip stretching a mile into the distance, surrounded by a decorative row of cacti. The landing was smooth and they eased to a complete stop.
�
�Sir, we have a situation,” Colin’s voice crackled through the speakers.
Chris felt his gut drop, another sign that things were definitely far from normal. He wasn’t ever supposed to be nervous, in full control over his life and fate. There was no time for surprises, but this day continued to unravel before his eyes.
He pushed his way to the cockpit, glancing out the window to a pile of charred wood and ash. His chest tightened at the sight, and for a moment he thought he might be having a heart attack, until he realized his entire body had tensed up. His lips parted, but no words came out. For perhaps the first time in his life, Chris Speidel had no idea what to say.
A body lay on the ground, roughly thirty feet away from the rubble that was once the entrance to Wealth of Time.
“Let’s get out there!” Chris howled, his team whipping into shape and marching down the stairs that folded out from the jet. Chris followed, his legs wavering as they grew tired with each step.
The jet had stopped roughly 100 feet away, a distance that seemed an eternity as Chris dragged himself toward the body on the ground. When he approached, he found Mario still conscious, blood oozing from his abdomen in a silent stream. His eyes locked on Chris, and the faintest of smiles touched his lips.
“Mario?” Chris asked, kneeling down and placing a hand on his friend’s chest.
“They found us,” Mario wheezed, his voice much stronger than Chris expected, as the man appeared minutes from death.
“The Road Runners did this?”
Mario nodded in a slow, painful motion. He hadn’t moved so much as a finger, his body becoming a vegetable in the middle of the desert.
“They killed us all,” Mario said. “Twenty of them showed up and started shooting. Then they set the place on fire. C-can you help me, Chris?”
Desperation dripped from every word that left Mario’s lips, and Chris once more encountered the human emotions brewing within his chest. This time he felt sorrow. Mario had managed to survive a mass murder and arson attack, crawling for the slimmest chance of living beyond sunset.
Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) Page 8