His skin immediately stung all over. Shards of metal wedged into his flesh, smoke filling the room that made him cough with each inhale. He felt so dazed that it took a few moments for him to realize the massive hole in his stomach, cratered like a meteor had struck it. His fingers flailed around, feeling the warmth of blood and the smooth, almost silky, surface of his body’s insides.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway and approached his room, the door already open from whoever had tossed the grenade.
“Sir, are you okay?” a man barked, and Chris couldn’t make out who it was through the thick cloud of black smoke consuming his entire room. “Sir, are you in here?”
Bulky arms swung through the air, clearing miniature lines of vision as the smoke grew thicker with each passing second, oozing out of the spent grenade, out of his gut.
“Oh my God!” the man gasped, and Chris briefly locked eyes with his head of building security, Dominic West, a meathead who dedicated his every free moment to lifting weights and shooting guns. “WE NEED HELP!” he screamed over his shoulder. “RIGHT NOW!”
His voice boomed, but sounded like a whisper to Chris, his head still ringing from the explosion. Dominic’s bearlike arms slid under Chris, hoisting his body into the air, and carried him out of the room like an oversized package.
“Mr. Speidel, can you hear me?!” Dominic shouted into his face once they reached the hallway where fresh air welcomed them both.
Chris stared blankly into Dominic’s panicked, brown eyes, reading his lips, but certainly not hearing him. Despite not needing sleep or food, Chris had never quite understood the functionality of the rest of his organs. Did his heart still beat? Sometimes he felt it drumming away in his ribcage. But other times, he’d hold his hand steady and feel nothing but cold flesh.
Dominic shook his body, jolting Chris’s head backward. Two other Revolters appeared at the far end of the hallway and broke into a mad sprint toward their leader.
“Is the building secure?” Dominic snarled. “Do we know who did this?”
“Footage shows it was Maxwell Hart, sir,” said one of the men, his face trembling with fear as he gawked at Chris falling in and out of consciousness.
“Hart?” Dominic asked. “Can’t be.”
“It was. We need to get him out of here.”
Dominic nodded. “Bring a gurney—I can’t carry him the whole way. Let’s go to the basement.”
“Is that the best—”
“To the basement!”
Chris had taken plenty of ventures into the future and decided to build underground fortresses for every new Revolution building. The New York offices were one of the first to have one, a requirement since Chris lived there full time.
The two men ran back in the direction they had come, leaving Dominic with Chris in his arms. Being a power lifter, Chris was by no means a burden for him to hold, but the length of time doing so started to cause a slight burn in his biceps. The smoke oozed into the hallway, where it finally dissipated for good.
“How are you doing, Mr. Speidel?” he asked, meeting the blue eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling.
Chris nodded, unable to speak. His body felt like it was being smashed by a hydraulic press machine, yet it somehow didn’t hurt. He flailed a weak hand toward his stomach and insisted the hole in his gut had already shrunk in size.
My body is healing itself, he thought. He hadn’t had so much as a paper cut since taking over as Keeper of Time, at least from what he could remember in this flustered moment. His body presumably had this ability to heal itself this whole time, but he’d never had a chance to put it to the test.
Until now.
“I think I’m okay,” he managed to say, his voice strong and practically its normal self.
The men returned at the end of the hall, one pushing the gurney toward Dominic and Chris.
“Put me down,” Chris said.
“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think that’s the best thing right now. We need to make sure you’re okay.”
“Dominic, I’m fine. Put me down—that’s an order.”
Chris spoke with a bit more authority, and Dominic lowered him as carefully as a toddler learning to swim into a pool.
Chris remained hunched over like he had a deformed spine, but that was simply caused by the hole in his stomach. The men reached Chris with the gurney and halted in their tracks.
“Won’t be needing that, gentlemen,” Chris said. “But thank you. This was Maxwell Hart, you said?”
The man clenching the gurney nodded, eyes fixated on Chris and his stomach, where the hole had already shrunk to half of its original size.
Chris plucked a shard of glass from his shoulder and flicked it away like an annoying bug.
“Sir,” Dominic said. “Is this normal?” He nodded toward the gut hole, that had reduced even more.
“Completely normal. Now, we have business to tend to. We’re under attack, and I won’t stand by while it happens. Find everything you can on Maxwell Hart. Let’s get eyes on him around the clock. I want to know every time he so much as sneezes. If he’s working with the Road Runners, then it’s an easy next move for us.”
Chris stood up straight for the first time since the explosion and patted his stomach, now solid again, no sign of an explosive device ever having detonated on his body. His flesh had pushed the shards of metal out, leaving him completely back to normal, aside from the debris that remained in his hair.
Not only was the wound sealed up, Chris felt his normal self. Apparently, the healing that his body went through put his mind in a sort of fog, a minor nuance considering what he had just survived. But now his brain was sharp again, ready to scheme and get revenge.
“Stop staring at me like I’m the second coming of Jesus,” he said to the three men gawking in amazement. “Meet me in my basement office in fifteen minutes. I want information and plans for next steps.”
He strolled away like he was on a leisurely walk through the park, whistling down the hallway where he disappeared into the darkness. Up until this point, Chris had been a humble, peaceful man. But his limits had been stretched, and not to his knowledge, a new Chris Speidel was born out of this tragedy. A Chris Speidel driven by paranoia and rage, desperate to rule the world.
28
Chapter 28
There had already been widespread panic throughout the Revolution, thanks to the sudden emergence of the Road Runners. No one knew who to trust. The monthly meetings around the country saw drastic dips in attendance, members both worried of being seen as a stronghold in the Revolution, others suspicious that undercover Road Runners attended with hopes of relaying the Revolution’s secrets back to their new organization.
Chris found himself at a crossroads for the first time since taking over as Keeper, and he leaned on a trusted resource, one who had promised to stay away and blend into the background of society unless called upon. The time had come, and Chris needed him.
He was surprised to learn that Chester had moved out of his Oregon mansion, heading south to Puerto Vallarta in a beachfront condo for the rest of his life. Chester agreed to meet in person, the matters too sensitive to discuss via any other means, but he was in failing health, and Chris would need to make the flight south of the border if he truly wanted his old leader’s wisdom.
So he did just that, clearing his schedule and hopping on his private jet to arrive in Mexico five hours later. Chris was surprised to find the condo smaller than imagined. Surely a former Keeper didn’t allow himself to live in a shack, but it appeared that’s exactly what Chester had opted to do. After an adventurous cab ride from the airport, complete with Spanish cursing, honking horns, and a definitive middle finger out the window, Chris arrived to Chester’s complex and immediately felt the cool ocean breeze brush across his face and ruffle his hair. The temperature flirted with ninety degrees, while the humidity made it feel like everything was sticking to Chris as he strolled down the stone pathway toward Chester’s unit.
When Chris heard the phrase ‘beachfront condo’, he imagined something that looked a bit more like a resort. Instead, he arrived to a complex with faded exterior walls, cracked windows, and clunky air conditioning units that whined as they attempted to cool off the residents. A small courtyard was to the side of the walkway, a group of ten little boys chasing around a soccer ball and trying to kick it through the goalposts they had created with two trash cans.
Chester’s unit was on ground level, and Chris approached the door with a slight shake in his fist as he knocked. He wasn’t nervous, but rather anxious as to why someone who had been so adored by the Revolution was living in a dump like this. Had he lost his powers? Run out of money with no way of getting it back?
Chris stood on the other side of the door, running through these thoughts, until Chester opened it and revealed what looked like a skeletal version of his former self. The old Keeper hunched over, his limbs nothing but a thin layer of skin stretched over the bones. Chester’s lips sunk inward, as if he forgot to put in dentures, and what hair remained was as white as a fresh blanket of snow.
“Chris Speidel,” Chester said, his voice still healthy and strong. “I never thought we’d meet again. How are you, my friend?”
Chris had to make a conscious effort to not let his jaw hang open, his eyes glued to Chester’s body as he looked up and down, refusing to believe what his eyes saw.
“Uhhhh, hi, Chester.”
Chester grinned, revealing a handful of teeth. “This is what you have to look forward to. You might be immortal, but that doesn’t stop your body from aging. Live long enough, and this is what will happen.”
“I’m sorry, Chester,” Chris said in a tone he might have used when offering condolences to someone who lost a loved one.
“It’s funny you called when you did. I was in the middle of planning my death, but figured I should at least wait until after we met. Your call has kept me alive a few more days.”
“Death?! How? Why?”
That old grin returned, more gums than teeth behind those parted lips. “Look, Chris, what do you think happens to us old Keepers? You don’t actually think we still have men living from hundreds of years ago.”
“Well, no. I guess I don’t know what to think. I’ve never heard of a Keeper dying. I guess I figured you all lived somewhere far away from civilization.”
“That we do, as you can tell by my humble abode here. But no, we don’t live forever. My blood’s host actually passed away three months ago, and ever since then I’ve figured it’s time to pull the plug on my own life. See, our souls can live forever, but our bodies cannot. My body is 106 years old. My mind may be sharp, and I still feel no pain, but I can’t move around like I used to—my body doesn’t react to the same speed as my mind.”
“So how do you plan your death? Can’t you just wait until your heart stops beating? Surely it can’t last much longer after your host died.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? See, there is still much power flowing in my blood. Even though I’m mortal again, my body won’t die of any natural causes. I have to force it.”
106 years old? Chris thought, still stuck on that number. He knew his body kept aging throughout his life as a Revolter, but never once considered that the end of the road looked like this sad sight in front of him.
“I’m so rude,” Chester said, taking a step back into his condo and holding his bone of an arm out. “Please, come in.”
Chris obliged and entered the room that smelled like stale cigar smoke. To his surprise, the inside was much nicer than the exterior, well-kept with clean countertops and no clutter or messes. The backside of the condo had a walkout balcony that housed two seats facing the ocean. Chester had the balcony door open, allowing the breeze to blow through his living quarters.
“You like living here?” Chris asked, unable to imagine that he’d ever move out of the country to live in a tiny place like this.
“I know it seems a bit crazy, especially considering the resources available. But after two decades of the constant hustle and bustle, the flashy events, gaudy tuxedos and dinners, this suits me just fine. You’ll find that after being Keeper, all you want to do is nothing. I wake up without a single care in the world. I still don’t need to eat or sleep, but I do just to have some sort of routine. After breakfast I’ll grab a book and head out to the beach. I read for a couple hours then I head back in for a quick lunch when I’ll usually watch TV. Then I go back to the beach and spend the day there until the sun goes down.”
“That actually sounds like a marvelous life. So do you keep up with the Revolution at all? Do you know what’s going on?”
“There is a local chapter here that meets every month, but I haven’t been in at least six months. People treat me like a celebrity and it’s too much. I understand their excitement, but I’d rather stay home and have no worries. So that’s what I do.”
“You’ve never heard the term ‘Road Runner’, then?”
Chester frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. I know what a road runner is, both the animal and the cartoon.”
Chris grinned. “Well, it means something else quite different within the Revolution. We have people leaving us to join this other group of time travelers called the Road Runners. All of their members are Revolters who have decided to defect because they’re upset about one thing or another.”
“Ahhh, the war,” Chester said. “This must be who it’s with.”
“Excuse me?” Chris asked. He didn’t mention anything about a war, and hoped this old man wasn’t losing whatever remained of his brains.
“One thing every Keeper has to do before finalizing their successor is take a peek into the future and make sure the world hasn’t gone to shit under your reign. I made a few stops for you, checking the 1980’s, 1990’s, and late 2000’s. Three different decades and the world is still the same—perhaps a little crazier, but the same. I did come across the fact that the Revolution was at war during all three of these decades. It sounds like it escalates into quite the battle. The struggles you face today will only get worse.”
“Well, that’s why I came to meet you. I don’t know what to do, and was hoping you might have some guidance.”
Chester crossed his skeletal arms while his lips pursed together in thought. “I can’t say I have any direct advice regarding this matter. I oversaw a time of peace, and thinking back, we’ve always been at peace.”
“So this is all my fault.”
“No. These are called growing pains. Like I mentioned way back when, no Keeper has ever taken a chance on anything. The ones who ever thought of shaking things up always consulted with the future, and ended up not liking what they saw. That’s where you came in and made a difference. You didn’t make a trip to the future to see how your decisions affect the world, you just went for it. And honestly, that’s the way it should be done. I’ve always thought the whole peeking into the future was a bunch of nonsense. There are millions of factors that can change on a whim that alter the future, many well out of your control. Don’t beat yourself up over this—learn how to make it a positive for you and the organization.”
“But you saw a war in the future. Surely something like that has multiple ways of coming to fruition.”
Chester nodded. “Sure, but you can make a decision today that ends any chance of a war. Maybe you do nothing and it goes away on its own. Or maybe you make a bold announcement to shake up these Road Runners. You obviously have more knowledge on the matter, so you’ll need to decide what’s best. If it were me, I’d seek common ground and kill any chance of a war from actually breaking out. No matter how people feel, we can’t afford to let our secret slip into the general public—that’s bad news for all of us.”
Chris considered this. “I’ll have to get with my team and consult on what the numbers look like. I’ve authorized them to take a deep look and see what we can find out. Our initial reports suggest that the Road Runners are nothing but a fraction of a
ngry Revolters. They have no numbers compared to us.”
“Then why did you come here?” Chester asked. “Sorry to be so blunt—and I’m glad to see you—but if this isn’t that big of a deal, then what triggered you feeling that we needed to speak?”
“They tried to kill me,” Chris said sharply. “Tossed a grenade on my lap while I was sleeping at night—don’t think I’ll be sleeping any time soon.”
Chester raised his eyebrows. “Wow. I definitely haven’t heard of an attempted murder on a Keeper—threats, sure, but never anything concrete. I take it your body absorbed this grenade?”
“Yes. I had a hole in my stomach, and it healed within thirty minutes. It was mind-blowing and overwhelming while it happened.”
“Well, that’s why we do everything we do before you officially step into the role. Glad to see it all pay off for someone.”
“Look, I know I’m safe from harm, but I’m not trying to deal with people wanting to kill me for the rest of my life. I want this attack to stop right where it did. How can I get these people off my back? Surely you dealt with some clingy opponents in the past.”
“More than you know. The best approach, Chris, is to show your muscle. I don’t advise making the first move, but if someone throws a grenade at you, then you should throw two right back to them. You are the leader of the most powerful organization in the world – don’t be afraid to remind anyone of that fact.”
“Well, I certainly plan on getting them back, but to what extent? Do I just eliminate all of these people? Or give them a chance to return? I like to think these Road Runners are just lost and need to find their way home.”
“That’s a nice thought, and perhaps it’s true for some people, but I wouldn’t bet any money on that. I’d say that entire group became traitors the second that grenade was tossed in your room. You can’t trust any of them, unfortunately.”
“You said you looked into the future… did you ever see an end of this war?”
Chester looked down before meeting Chris’s intense gaze. Chris could see the truth swimming behind the old man’s eyes, that he had indeed seen the end results. “I can’t say for sure if it was a definitive end, but it was an end. You need to take care of this before it spirals out of control.”
Keeper of Time (Wealth of Time Series, Book 4) Page 17