Martin stopped, peeking around the tree trunk, shoving the map back into his pocket, pulling the duffel bag in front of his stomach to pull out his pistol, and cocking it after confirming it was fully loaded.
The woods couldn’t have been any more silent, reminding Martin of the times he had gone into the empty church in Larkwood after hours, while his mother stopped by to help prepare and run after-hours events in the neighboring church hall.
He focused on the cabin, calculating the best route to remain behind the cover of the trees, seeing he’d need to hop around like a lost rabbit. If Chris decided to step outside, Martin would see him, and even take a shot.
That means he can shoot you, too, Martin reminded himself, his caution returning to the elevated level it had been before seeing Izzy. The thought of her still tried to force its way to the front of his mind, succeeding in random spurts, but having a line of vision to the cabin proved to be the better distraction.
“Oh, Commander,” a voice called out, seeming to come from the trees themselves. “Commander Martin Briar.”
There was no mistaking the cold voice as Chris, and Martin took a deep breath knowing their showdown waited moments away.
“Show yourself!” Martin howled, wanting to spin around and look for the source of the voice, but trusting that he needed to get closer to the cabin.
Chris laughed, the echo creating the sound of hundreds of lunatics giggling around Martin. For a moment, he thought it might drive him crazy, like nails on a chalkboard. “When you walked into my store two years ago, did you ever think this is where our relationship would take us? Life is quite romantic, wouldn’t you say?”
His voice seemed to grow louder, not necessarily closer, as if speakers had been set up nearby to broadcast Chris. “I know you’re all alone now,” Martin shouted toward the cabin, continuing to inch closer. “Come out and fight me like a man.”
Martin was now within fifty feet of the cabin, its wooden exterior clearly visible, but found he had approached from the rear, the front door nowhere in sight. He lunged toward the next tree trunk, a gunshot ringing out in unison, a fire seeming to ignite from his injured shoulder.
“Owwww!” Martin cried, one hand flying to the bullet wound, the other outstretched to catch himself as he fell to a patch of snow on the ground. He landed on the hidden bump of a root protruding from the earth, instantly numbing his torso. He was able to turn his head enough to see blood squirting from the wound, the bullet having lifted the crusty scab that had formed from getting shot earlier today. It made the injury appear much worse than it actually felt. He realized his gun was no longer in hand and felt around, grabbing nothing but powdery snow and mud.
Martin tried to sit up, desperate for a direct view of the cabin, but his back tightened, sending a sharp pain that made him stay down.
Today isn’t the day to try so hard, he recalled his mother’s words relayed through his daughter’s spirit. Always getting back on my feet after being knocked down. Not today.
If Martin stayed on the ground, Chris would have no choice but to come outside. If he rose to his feet, the gunfire would continue, leaving Martin on the defense as he ran for his life. Chris surely made his plans based on staying inside the safety of his cabin, ready for any move Martin might throw his way, but did he have backup plans for something like this? Possibly, but there were too many unknown factors at play. He debated going as far as playing dead, letting his head roll to the side, closing his eyes, but decided it was best to see Chris, even if only through his peripheral vision.
The best play, he decided in this hurried moment, was to give the appearance of a struggle, perhaps showing that he was on the verge of death. Chris would have to come out for what he’d believe was the final kill shot. Martin wiggled his arms and legs, making sure all limbs were still accounted for despite his numb back and shoulder. All was well, and he braced for the sound of approaching footsteps, grateful for the silence as he’d be able to hear a pin drop in the distance.
On cue, the sound of a creaky, wooden door swung open, followed by the clopping of two boots. Martin lifted his head to see the cabin, but still had no view of the front door, wondering if he’d ever get the chance. The footsteps crunched on the mixture of snow and twigs on the ground.
“Commander Briar!” Chris called out, a clear smile in his voice. “What an absolute honor it is to have you here. Welcome to my humble abode.”
The voice no longer boomed from the treetops, now direct from the source’s mouth, but still echoing around the abandoned woods. Martin closed his eyes, forcing his senses to focus exclusively on the sounds around him, projecting a mental map as Chris made his way from the cabin roughly forty-eight feet away. Assuming Chris walked with a typical stride, that translated to forty-eight steps until he’d reach Martin.
Just let him talk. Don’t engage or give him any reason to stay away.
“Did you really think you’d get the best of me?” Chris continued. “After all I’ve seen, all I’ve lived through, and you thought the battle for the soul of the Revolution would end in a fistfight with you? The Road Runners have always been smart, I’ll give you that, but you’re just as naïve. You’ve destroyed my buildings and eliminated those closest to me, but here I am, still standing, ready to put an end to another useless commander. Strike was sweet, but you’re no doubt going to be downright delicious.”
Chris cackled, Martin hearing the words but not listening, only counting the steps.
Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three. . .
“What do you suppose our little time travel world will look like after you’re dead? Do we get to go through all of this again? I need to make some plans to get myself back in shape. Not sure I can last much longer in this old man’s body. Maybe I’ll transfer my soul to a younger person and keep living forever.”
Forty-two, forty-one, forty. . .
“Imagine that beautiful world where the Road Runners no longer exist and I live forever, calling the shots, shaping the world into the image I’ve always envisioned.”
Thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven. . .
“No more poor people with no direction. They’ll either join us or be eliminated. There will be the upper class and no one else.”
Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four. . .
“One class of humanity, flawless. Everyone has what they need. No one looks down on others because there will be no one to look down upon.”
Thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty. . .
A gun clicked from Chris’s direction. Martin noted it, but did not panic.
Twenty-nine. . .
Chris was close enough that Martin could now feel the old man’s eyes on him. Martin rolled his head from side to side, letting out a moan to continue his appearance of a deep struggle.
Twenty-eight, twenty-seven. . .
“We’ve seen so many scenarios play out to lead us to the dream future we seek, and not one ever suggested an encounter like ours. It’s funny, you can study a specific event thousands of different times, and never find a similar path. Time has a way of working itself out.”
Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three…
“You see, the mistake many people make in this time travel business is that they think they can alter time, or change the course of history.”
Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…
“Time is in charge, and while we might think we can make changes, time always finds a way to get what it wants.”
Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen. . .
Chris chuckled. “You tried to stop Columbine, and time let you think you got away with it . . . until it roared back and killed everyone. Only time decides how we go, I suppose. The X-factor in nature that no one ever accounts for.”
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
Martin sensed his presence, knowing he had approximately six more steps until Chris would be standing at his feet. Stay calm, trust the plan. He wore a jacket thick enough to let h
im flex his back without Chris noticing, relieved to feel it working its way back from the stinger he had endured. Chris’s voice grew louder thanks to the reduced distance.
“You didn’t kill Sonya—time did—and for that I can’t even blame you. She was going to die one way or another. The fact that you were involved, however, is still unforgivable.”
Twelve, eleven, ten…
The footsteps stopped, the two men ten feet apart as silence swirled around, the only two people in the country with any clue what was happening. Martin cracked open his eyes just enough to see a blurry Chris, his white hair the most prominent feature standing out against the dark backdrop of the trees. Chris held a pistol in his right hand, but didn’t have it pointed toward Martin yet.
He took one more step, clearly taking caution. Martin could only rely on Chris’s greed to spare his life. Had the roles been reversed, six bullets would already be in the old man’s head and chest, but Chris couldn’t resist the theatrics of a heated moment. He wanted the last word, and wouldn’t rest until he got it. Martin groaned, rolling his head as if he were coming back to consciousness.
Chris took one more step closer, his figure casting a shadow from the moonlight that glowed high above. Martin had a moment to make his next move, knowing it was only a matter of time until Chris realized the shoulder injury wasn’t anywhere near as serious as Martin had sold it. He opened his eyes, locking with the dark pit of shadows that had formed around Chris’s face, and caught a final glance at the pistol still hanging by his side.
Now.
In one swift motion, Martin planted his elbows into the ground and nudged his body a few more inches toward Chris, shooting up his left foot that connected squarely with the pistol, sending it sailing toward the darkness that would make it nearly impossible to find.
Martin grunted as he sat up, his back still offering plenty of protest, but he powered through the pain, jumping to his feet and swinging a fist for Chris’s face that failed to connect, sending Martin off-balance as he tumbled away.
“This ends now!” Chris snarled, his lips parted like a dog ready to attack.
Martin regained his footing and planted himself in place, ready to absorb the old man charging in his direction. Chris stomped two steps before lunging, his thin arms flailing in the air like sticks in a windstorm. He landed on Martin’s shoulder, taking both men to the ground where they rolled in the snow, clamoring for an advantageous position.
A sharp pain tore through Martin’s forearm, as he realized Chris had bitten him, tearing a small chunk of flesh away, spitting it behind him.
“Fuck!” Martin howled, grabbing his arm and rolling away, the duffel bag’s strap getting tangled around his neck and throat. Chris leapt toward him once more, but this time Martin met him with a sturdy kick that connected perfectly on his ribcage, sending Chris sprawling to the side where he landed face-down in the snow, gasping for breath.
Martin flailed for the duffel bag, unzipping it and reaching inside for the first thing his fingers landed on. They found the handle to a hunting knife, a late addition to the bag that had been added after plenty of discussion on how to best equip Martin for the mission. His lieutenant had insisted on the knife, claiming that as long as the bag didn’t leave Martin’s side, he’d have every accessible weapon. The arguments against it were the risk it could put Martin in should he fall on the bag.
Martin had the final say, and agreed to carry the knife, now grateful for the decision as he watched Chris stumble back to his feet, gearing up like a bull ready to flatten him.
He has no idea, Martin thought, tightening his grip, knowing that if Chris still had any ability to read his mind, he wouldn’t glare at him with rage-filled eyes.
Martin shouted, a maniac howl that filled the night, echoing through the woods that would have been heard in town had the residents not been frozen in place. He angled the knife toward the Keeper of Time, keeping it within the bag, and dashed forward, grunting as he watched Chris jump toward him.
The two men crashed into each other, Martin getting the wind knocked out of him in midair as Chris landed a fist squarely in his gut. Martin managed to hold control on the knife and pressed forward as hard as he could upon clashing with Chris, moments before both came crashing to the ground, rolling away from each other.
Martin tumbled as he tried to make his way back on his feet, slipping on a patch of ice, but gaining his footing, adrenaline bursting at full speed as he waited for Chris to do the same.
But the old man made no effort to stand, instead lying on his back much like Martin had earlier.
Don’t fall for it, Martin assured himself. He would take none of the chances that Chris had, no desire for the vanity of an up close look at his enemy. He untangled the duffel bag strap and pulled it off, dropping it to the ground as he squatted to look through it—more like feel through it, amid the darkness. An extra gun had been packed, a small pistol to be used if his original one had gone missing.
Martin stood up, gun in hand as he shuffled toward Chris, writhing on the ground, hands clenched over his stomach, dark red spreading out from his sides and seeping into the white snow like spilled ink. He stayed six feet back, close enough to see exactly what was happening, but keeping a safe distance to leave time to react should Chris try to pull any final tricks out of his sleeves.
“Martin?” Chris whispered, his voice broken, defeated.
Martin gulped, taking one more step and planting his feet to not be tempted any closer. He also didn’t gamble with his pistol, aiming it directly at Chris’s head. “It’s over. You have no more ways out of this.”
Chris shivered as a stream of blood spilled from his lips. “It’s over,” he muttered. “Congratulations, you did it.”
Martin’s arms trembled, his mind running in overdrive as it attempted to process the reality in front of him.
“For all the powers you get as the Keeper of Time,” Chris continued, forced strength clinging to each word, “You have no way of knowing how your life will end. You can jump into the future, free-falling through darkness like a stray astronaut, but we don’t know if that means life or the world has ended. All I know is that my people will always put up a fight.”
“You’re wrong,” Martin said. “Time travelers are good people. You’re the one who has corrupted them. We will all live in a world of peace and collaboration, just like it was intended to be. There is no more room for your grim vision of the future; it’s dying with you.”
Chris tried to laugh, but it came out more like a choking sound. “Humans will always gravitate toward power, Martin… don’t you know? Power is everything, and without it, you are nothing.”
“Only for you. Humans are decent. They may fall into traps, but they can always find the right path. Your death will forever be viewed as the end of a dark era, one where everyone will rise from the ashes.”
“Was this all worth it, Martin? Losing your mother, your daughter, Sonya… your life? All that just to kill me.”
Martin pulled the trigger, blasting a slug through the center of Chris’s forehead. “Yes, it was worth it,” he said to the dead body. Chris’s eyes gazed at the stars above, glossed over with death, his lips parted to deliver one final remark that would now remain trapped in his throat forever.
Martin emptied the rest of the bullets into Chris’s head and torso, the dead body twitching as it absorbed each hit. After the echoes of gunshots faded away, the world returned to its blissful silence, Martin collapsing next to Chris as he broke into heavy sobs.
He had just saved the world from itself, but all he wanted was his old life back.
Chapter 29
Martin had to sit next to Chris’s dead body for the next hour. He tried his cell phone, but as expected, it had no service to place a call to Steffan, leaving him to wait out the clock. He didn’t touch Chris, watching as his face turned a light shade of gray, eyes still gazing lifelessly to the sky above, lips parted half an inch. He sat on the ground, back again
st a tree trunk, unable to help but grin at the sight of Chris Speidel’s body lying in the snow three feet in front of him, pride brimming at the fact that the deed had been done by him.
While the world remained frozen, oblivious to what had just happened, Martin Briar was the only person to cherish this special moment, witnessing and participating in a historic moment that would forever live as one of the most important days for the Road Runners.
When time finally resumed, the cold weather rushed over Martin in the form of a whipping breeze. Frozen time had caused wind to stop, making his journey through the woods much more bearable, the air still and not quite feeling like the ten-degree temperature when they had arrived. He looked up to see a lone cloud swimming across the sky and wondered what the team was up to. They had no way of knowing when time was frozen, and would be resuming their conversations they hadn’t realized stopped. Arielle would be on her way from the car, hopefully arriving within thirty minutes, as he had done.
A weight had been lifted, knowing the only person who wanted not just Martin, but all Road Runners dead, lay on the ground, now a frozen popsicle. Plenty of work remained, both in the immediate future of handling this corpse, but also long-term, as they needed to lay out what a peaceful world for the Road Runners looked like now that they no longer had a threat hovering above them.
Martin laughed, a combination of exhaustion and giddiness, still trying to comprehend the entire mission that had finally reached its conclusion. A smile remained stuck on his face, a sense of relief blanketing over him thanks to the closure he had received with Izzy. Even if it was only her spirit, she helped save his life. And the world.
He passed the time thinking back on the long ride it had been to arrive to this point, still in awe at how every event that happened within the Road Runners had been a gentle shove in this direction. His escaping the mansion in Barrow had started a chain of events that spun well out of his control. He had only been running for his life, aware of who Chris truly was, and needing to get as far away as possible.
Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) Page 18