by Keith Hughes
He angled his course to the nearest set of tracks, the rails the train ran on. He ran between the tracks, drawing a strident note of protest from the whistle. He could hear the rumble change, lessened by the engine’s deceleration. Another whistle blast confirmed what both he and the engineer knew: the engine would be unable to stop before hitting him.
Ness glanced at Glenn and saw the killer had redoubled his speed. Stumbling along between the tracks, Ness lost ground to Glenn, not to mention the train. The wooden railway ties were spaced at odd intervals, preventing him from landing his foot upon one with each step. Instead, about every other footfall landed in the gravel filling the space between, which threatened to shift and make him lose his footing altogether.
If I fall now, I am dead.
The screech of the train’s whistle came from immediately behind him, and the engine’s rumble shook his bones. Judging the right time, he jumped to the other set of tracks. The engine passed him, shielding him from Glenn. Ness continued to run on the rough earth between the twin sets of railway tracks, knowing there was no way he could keep alongside the train for much longer.
He could identify the train as an Amtrak, with several sleek passenger cars devoid of anything like a handhold. But behind the engine was a single luggage car, which had rungs mounted on the side allowing access to its roof.
Too tired to go any faster, Ness knew he had one opportunity for escape. If he failed, his death at Glenn’s hands would quickly follow. As the edge of the luggage car passed him, he glanced back to gauge the distance to the rungs on the back end. Using a mental calculus based not on numbers but on instinct and an estimation of the train’s speed matched against his ability, he timed his jump.
With the last of his legs’ strength, he leaped sideways toward the train. If he missed, he would be chop suey on the tracks. A surge of elation ran through him as his palms slapped against the rough metal of a rung. But it quickly changed to horror as his grasp slipped and he fell. He steadied himself, knowing if he gave in to fear, it would be his ultimate killer. He willed his hands to land on the next rung below. He closed his grip, and his weight wrenched sideways due to the increased speed of the train pulling him along.
The ache in his shoulder and the vibration of his toes dragging along the ground spurred him to ascend the ladder. He ignored the strain on his arms’ muscles and ligaments as he hauled his body upward rung after rung. Eventually, he got his feet on one as well, taking the weight off his protesting arms. He did a quick inventory and found he had the gun in his waistband and the PDA in a pocket, but the extra clip had fallen out. He would have to live without the extra ammunition, because he refused to go back for it.
He threaded his arm between two rungs, squeezing one between his upper arm and side. This allowed him to let go with his right hand and take out the PDA. He carefully turned it on, making sure to keep a firm grip. The tracking screen appeared, with the red dot signifying Glenn falling steadily behind. He had bought himself a little time, but he still had to decide what to do with it. Ness held an absolute conviction Glenn would do everything in his power to make his advantage as small as possible. He had to plan fast and move even quicker. Otherwise, Glenn would catch him and take everything. That would mean a failure the future could not live with.
CHAPTER TWENTY: Best-laid Plans
Wednesday, September 10, 2008 4:58 p.m.
Ness decided there were several valid reasons why most travelers rode inside the train instead of hanging on the outside. Having tried the alternate travel method, Ness would never recommend it. When the train finally approached its next station a few miles later, it slowed, and he gratefully pulled his arm from the ladder and jumped off. His decidedly ungraceful landing on shifting gravel threatened to pitch him face-forward. He took a few steps to get his momentum under control.
Ness hadn’t been so far into the northern suburbs in well over a year, and they had not improved in his absence. At one time, the city of Pontiac had been a major destination from Detroit. Woodward Avenue provided a direct route, stretching northwest from the city’s center to the heart of Pontiac before looping around to head back southeast along the same path.
Whatever it might have been in the past, in the uncompromising light of a summer’s day, the small city looked aged and emanated an aura of increasing decrepitude, like an old man taking his daily nap on a hammock in the back yard. The sparkling edifice of a recently rebuilt hospital building claimed the only bright spot. It looked as out of place as a brand-new gold earring in a withered lobe.
Ness had heard talk of a renaissance in the night life of the declining metropolis, and although the streets might have been lit with garish neon lights at night, no evidence of them existed in the day. Old cars and weary people were all he saw on the streets as he crossed the parking lot toward the small train station. He watched the train come to a stop at the platform.
Sliding doors parted at his approach as if they had been waiting all day for his arrival. Inside the station, he found a waiting area that looked like a portal back to the 1980s. Everything about the room, except for the people and the clothes they wore, had survived from that time. The temporal contrast made him consider his own apparel when he had returned to his past.
Did this clothing stand out as much in 1987 as these orange chairs do now?
No one had appeared to take particular notice of him as he moved through the city of Kalamazoo and the WMU campus, so he assumed the jeans-and-T-shirt look had remained largely the same during his lifetime. Still, he would be wise to consider his wardrobe before any future trips along the timeline.
A glance at the industrial wall clock brought his present situation back to mind. Being on the run from Glenn and his bully boys again caused his back muscles to knot ever tighter.
As long as I’m simply reacting to Glenn’s last move, I’ll never get ahead with only a small window of time to plan my next step. Ness snorted in amusement at himself. He had a time machine and could take a “time out” any time he wanted to pause the action and deliberate. He still hadn’t wholly internalized that aspect of time travel.
He did not doubt Glenn’s ability to follow the train’s route. One thing about railroad tracks was they tended to stay put. It stood to reason sooner or later his hunter would come here.
He approached the ticket counter, where the clerk had no doubt been sitting behind the window for most of the day. An extremely overweight woman with tightly curled dark hair, she gave him a most beautiful smile. Ness found himself responding in the same manner automatically.
“Hello, hon. How can I help you?”
“When is the next train leaving?”
“The Southern Zephyr is leaving for Detroit and all points south and departs in about five minutes.” Her delightful accent spoke of somewhere in the South, perhaps Georgia. Ness could have stood there a long time to simply listen to her.
“Is that the only one this afternoon?”
“Well, the northbound train leaves a minute or two after.”
“Perfect.” Ness gave her a large grin. “I’ll take a coach ticket for each train.”
“One for each? Honey, have you been out in the heat for too long?”
Her suspicious concern mixed with those delectable tonal qualities of a Southern accent compelled a laugh from him.
“Not at all. One for each, please.”
She processed his transaction, and the total cost remained under twenty dollars. He thanked her and headed for the platform exit. As he neared the trains, he heard a beeping from his pocket and smirked. He found a spot where he could watch the parking lot covertly, and he saw a Cadillac stop in front of the station doors. Glenn got out and moved briskly inside, leaving Thing Two waiting in the car.
After a couple of minutes, Glenn came back outside with a ticket in each hand and a vexed expression. Ness unsuccessfully tried to suppress a sense of satisfaction. The thug got out of the car, and Glenn handed him one of
the tickets.
There’s my cue. Ness moved toward the front of the northbound train. Under the pretense of examining the engine, he went beyond its silver nose. A quick glance back at the sparse assortment of people waiting near one of the passenger cars confirmed no one paid him any attention. The engineer had vacated the engine, so Ness took advantage of his absence to jump onto the track and tread along the opposite side of the train. Hidden between the two locomotives, he kept low to avoid any notice from the passengers inside. He stopped alongside the first passenger car and squatted out of sight. He pulled out his PDA to confirm Glenn’s proximity. His position indicated he could be on the southbound train. As long as Glenn boarded the train, Ness should be in good shape, assuming the goon was on the northbound line. If Glenn split his forces, trapping them both on the trains until the next stop, Ness would count it as a victory. It would only be temporary, but the distance provided some breathing room.
The whistle blew on the train heading south, and Ness followed its movement. As it built speed, he ran alongside to maintain the illusion of being on the train should Glenn look at his tracking app. When the engine outpaced him, Ness jogged to a stop. He looked behind to see the northbound train leaving the station as well. The platforms held no signs of his pursuers.
On his PDA’s tracking screen, Glenn’s dot moved away rapidly, confirming his presence on the southbound train. Ness smirked with grim satisfaction as he imagined Glenn moving through the carriages, looking for him without success. Glenn would be stuck on the locomotive for several miles until it arrived at the minuscule Birmingham platform. Unfortunately for Glenn, his transportation options there would be severely limited.
That reminded him of the car Glenn had left behind, still illegally parked in front of the station. Ness approached the vehicle and found the doors unlocked. He quickly discovered the keys in the glove box. The rumble of the engine gave him an odd confidence, as his activities since returning from the past had gone well.
Getting cocky now is the best way to end with Glenn’s bullet in your head, a cautionary voice in his head proclaimed.
He couldn’t fault the logic. Glenn had the second time machine, and he remained in Intellisys’s crosshairs. Ness had no doubt this whole experience could turn disastrous in a plethora of ways if he were not careful. There had to be a way to thwart Intellisys and survive. Ness only had to find it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Timehunt
Wednesday, September 10, 2008 5:12 p.m.
Bitter impatience rose in Glenn as he waited for the train to slow. Relevont had played him. Glenn had never dealt with such troublesome prey, and the frustration of the prolonged chase made his head ache. Honestly, Relevont’s ability to elude him for so long had become an embarrassment. What ultimate effect this whole situation might have on his relationship with Robbins remained to be seen.
After Glenn suffered for an interminable time, the train finally pulled into the Birmingham station. Whoever had dubbed this minimal facility a “station” had apparently suffered from an excess of enthusiasm. The outdoor platform lacked any kind of shelter, consisting of a couple of benches and an automated ticket machine. It sat in the back yard of condominium buildings still under construction. All in all, it looked an odd place to have the train stop.
He could stay on the train and exit at Royal Oak, only a few more miles along the track, but it would further remind him of how Relevont had duped him. He had checked the tracking screen on Bertrand’s device, and at first it had appeared as though Relevont had boarded the train. Sending Williams along the northbound rails had been a bit of insurance in case Glenn had read the tracker incorrectly. When he rechecked the PDA after an unsuccessful search of the train, Glenn ground his teeth together, seeing the empty screen. The call from Williams reporting failure had been a tooth-grinding formality.
Between the frustration at his inability to get his hands on one photographer, along with the noise and rhythm of the train, Glenn found his headache once again pressing against the inside of his skull. For some reason whenever he ruminated on Relevont, his brain throbbed in response.
No one else left the train, and soon the train continued on its way, leaving Glenn behind. The train’s whistle screamed a farewell, and Glenn winced. Once the sounds of the locomotive faded, Glenn called Harrison. “Come get me. I’m at the Birmingham train station.”
He ended the call before the driver could offer anything more than an acknowledgment of the order. He took a seat on one of the benches and found his aspirin bottle. He swallowed two pills, wishing he had something stronger to fight the pounding in his head. A few seconds later, he followed those with a couple more tablets before putting away the bottle.
The reminder of the odd occurrence that had spawned the pain made his head hurt even more. Last week, he had gone to investigate an intruder in Bertrand’s lab. He had gotten a brief glimpse of this outsider before a blow to the head knocked him unconscious. He’d woken up much later. Finding a horrible mess calling for his particular expertise, he dealt with it in his usual careful and quiet manner. But he still had no real clue what had happened there, and the recurring headache was a nagging reminder.
Exactly as Relevont is a reminder of unfinished business, another pain to deal with.
In a flash, the entire situation became clear to Glenn, as his brain presented a snippet of a memory that ended in injury and blackness. It should have been no surprise Relevont had looked hauntingly familiar, as he had been there when someone cold-cocked Glenn.
Glenn knew exactly where and when to capture his troublesome prey. At last, Glenn had the information he needed to finish his manhunt.
More of a timehunt, really. Amused with himself, Glenn grinned, a rare event.
He settled in to wait for his ride. Glenn would no longer chase Relevont blindly, and he found he could finally relax. And maybe he would even find out why the mess had been left behind for him to deal with. Yes, this whole situation would end perfectly. Using the time machine in his pocket would deliver everything he desired.
* * *
Being in danger of losing his life had an odd way of making the small things much more enjoyable. As Ness drove on Woodward back toward Bloomfield Hills, the crisp bite of the air conditioning invigorated him. His sore muscles appreciated the firm yet comfortable embrace of the premium leather seat; his back was especially happy with the lumbar support. His stomach remained the one part not pleased with the situation. It gurgled angrily in protest of its empty state.
Ness tried to remember the last time he had eaten something during this prolonged day, but with all the jumping back and forth in time, he found it hard to remember. He had eaten a hamburger on the way to the campus, back in Kalamazoo, but that had been hours ago. Given how much time had passed, his body needed more than the single sandwich.
The diner had pie. I should have gotten a piece. I drank two cups of tea there, and I missed an opportunity for pie. Another rumble from his abdomen chided him. Apparently, he needed to get his priorities in order.
Despite those physical demands, his mind kept churning over how he could find a way to get the device from Glenn. The answer to this conundrum consistently eluded him, which caused an ever-increasing vexation.
Of course, if I wasn’t running on fumes without sleep and food, perhaps I could think more clearly.
Putting aside those considerations for the time being, he navigated the automobile to the doctor’s neighborhood. Instead of being so bold as to park in his friend’s driveway, he left the car in a school parking lot a half mile away. He went back on foot and entered Dr. Bertrand’s yard from the side. He paused to search for evidence of another guard before moving away from the few trees along the border of the property. Several were scattered across the yard, letting the sun shine through in small patches. It gave the house a slightly elusive air, which Ness deemed fitting given the circumstances.
No lights were visible in any of the windows, adding t
o the feeling of abandonment. Even with a wide swath of shadow across the porch, something looked off with the front door. Taking care to not make any unnecessary noise, Ness climbed the front steps of the porch. When he was close enough he realized the front door stood ajar, a thin slice of the darkened interior visible from outside. Glenn apparently had not bothered to shut it.
I don’t like the feeling of this.
Steeling himself for what he expected to see inside, Ness pushed the door open and followed it into the house. Frowning, he closed it behind him and peered along the hallway. Thing One’s legs and feet protruded into the hall as they had when he had left almost an hour ago.
Approaching the body, he noticed for the first time how big those feet were. It gave him a greater appreciation for how large Thing One was. Standing at the man’s feet, Ness looked at the man’s ruined head. The welts Ness had inflicted on this man were nothing compared to the wound the bullet had made. He could only shake his head at the inevitable price of failure for someone in Glenn’s employ. Though he’d only heard the gunshot shortly before Glenn chased him down the hill, Ness was certain the murder was the gray-haired man’s handiwork. A part of him knew he should be glad to have one of his pursuers off the board, but Thing One’s fate saddened him anyway.
A small part of Ness’s subconscious tried to assign him some guilt. If Ness hadn’t prevented the man from doing his job, Thing One would be alive right now.
Yeah, but I wouldn’t be. Ness rejected the guilt with a firm shake of his head.
The building had transitioned from a residence to a crime scene, and Ness knew he had left traces of himself all over Dr. Bertrand’s house. He couldn’t prevent the authorities from knowing he had been in the house in the past, but he could at least make it hard for them to pinpoint when. In the kitchen, he grabbed a dish towel, then he returned to the doctor’s office. He stepped carefully around the body, keeping out of the large puddle of sticky, half-dried blood. After putting the trapdoor back in place, he locked it then removed the key. He pressed the plastic plate back into position. He slid the key in his pocket before swinging the picture shut, covering the hole. At each step in the process, he wiped all the surfaces he touched, remembered touching, or might have touched, including the desk and drawer handles.