Until Time Stands Still

by Scott, Lona

  Until Time Stands Still

  By: Lona Scott

  Copyright © 2013

  Blue Ribbon Books

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact us at CustomerService@BlueRibbonBooks.com

  Prologue

  The General stared at the doctor from the CDC, utterly stunned and speechless at what he was just told. The silence stretched out for an uncomfortably long time. The doctor shifted his weight and glanced down at his hands, not meeting the Generals eyes.

  “Are you sure?” He finally croaked, hoarsely.

  “Yes, Sir. Your wife is sick just like the others. The epidemic has spread to almost every woman in the country, possibly around the world. Some kind of announcement will be made to let the public know. I’m so sorry, Sir.” The doctor said softly. “We did everything we could for her, but we couldn’t save both of them.”

  He closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “Is my wife ok?”

  “Physically, she’s extremely weak from the blood loss, but she will survive.” The doctor hesitated. “We were forced to give her a mild sedative. She was hysterical. She’s calmer now. Resting.” The doctor said.

  “I’m going in to see her now.” The General said, standing up.

  “Of course, Sir. But if she gets upset again, you’ll have to leave.” The doctor said firmly.

  He raised his eyebrow and gave the man a steely look. The doctor stood his ground. “My first priority is your wife…not your wishes, General.” He said firmly before opening the door to the private room.

  Jemma was lying in the hospital bed, with several IV’s of fluids and blood going into her arms. She was paler than he had ever seen her, her eyes closed, her hair messy. She looked like a ghost of a person. She was too thin and frail, like so many other women. He sat in the chair and held her hand. She briefly opened her eyes, and upon seeing him, began to cry silently. “I’m so sorry Alex.” She whispered.

  “Hush…don’t cry love.” He said, wiping away her tears gently. “I’m just glad you’re still here with me.” He said gently. He held her hand and gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

  “I killed our baby.” She sobbed.

  “It’s not your fault, Jemma.” He said. He leaned over and kissed her softly. “I promise you, I don’t blame you. There was nothing any of us could do.” He said, choking back tears of his own. He climbed into the bed with her and put his arms around her as carefully as he could. He held her until she drifted off to sleep again, her frail body protected by his large frame. He had never felt so helpless in his life, and he didn’t like the feeling. One of the nurses came in and scolded him for being in the bed with her, but he sent her out of the room with one withering glare.

  The next morning, while Jemma was still recovering, he gathered together the doctor he flew in for his wife, and a team of specialists, a geneticist, a fertility doctor and a biologist and several others, including Colonel Lukas Parker, Lt. Colonel Nathaniel Davis, Major Vince Ruiz and Captain Graham Winters. He shut the door and turned to the group.

  “What I’m about to say to you is all top secret, and if anyone outside this room finds out, before I’m authorized to release the information, I will personally shoot every one of you.” He said. “We have been tasked by the White House to spearhead a rather unusual program.”

  Chapter 1

  The musical sounds of laughter bubbled up and echoed through his head. There was always some sound that brought his consciousness back to him. He gritted his teeth and clamped his hands over his ears, writhing against the sounds vibrating through the floorboards of his tiny studio apartment and overloading his brain with waves of pain. His eyes felt like they were going to explode right out of his head. He moaned, long and low, waiting for the waves of nausea to pass and his trembling nerves to calm down. Eventually, the writhing stopped. The explosion in his brain became a dull ache and he relaxed his jaw. A door slammed, his neighbour Jackie, probably. He cursed as the sound sent a hot spike through his brain. He breathed through it, tears pooling in his eyes. Sounds were the worst of the backlash.

  He lay on the floor, waiting until he regained the use of his shaking muscles. His arms and legs always felt like heavy, limp noodles. The arrow embedded in his arm didn’t help. He chuckled, thinking of the look on the old Chinese warrior’s face when he watched Mykel disappear right in front of him.

  Slowly he sat up and opened his eyes. He had learned long ago to keep his apartment dark, just in case he was pulled out and sent back during daylight. Backlash was a thousand times worse than a hangover, and sunlight was killer for the first few days back. The blackout shades were pulled, and the only light filtering through his home came from the crack under the front door. Even that light seemed too bright and he closed his eyes against the glare.

  It was a few minutes more before he felt strong enough to move, and remembered the wound that needed tending to. Mykel sighed and cautiously pulled himself to his feet. If he stood too fast, his legs would buckle and he would hit the floor again. His legs began the excruciating pins and needles as he dragged himself over to his kitchen. He was bleeding all over the place, and he discovered long ago it’s easier to clean blood off of tile than hardwood.

  “This is going to suck.” He grumbled, gathering his med kit. Thankfully, the arrow had gone completely through, so at least he didn’t have to shove the arrow head the rest of the way through the back of his arm. It took two tries to tie off the tourniquet above the wound to slow the bleeding. He shoved an elastic band in his mouth and broke off the feathered end of the arrow and let it drop to the floor. With a sharp scalpel he made a small cut above and below the wound, to enlarge it, making room to wiggle the arrow loose. Sweat poured off his face, and a wave of nausea hit. He gagged and leaned over the sink, spitting.

  When the room righted itself again, he took a few deep breaths and, as quickly as he could, shoved the piece of wood through his arm. He screamed, the waves of sharp burning pain shooting through his arm, shoulder and back. He bit into the rolled elastic and shoved again. The arrow end was flush with his skin. Slowly he lifted his arm, and grabbed the bloody pointed end. With a deep breath, he pulled the arrow the rest of the way out. He screamed again. Nausea hit again, and he leaned over the sink and vomited. Mykel rested his head against the cool surface of the counter top and waited for the shaking to stop. His arm hung limp. Hot blood poured down his arm and dripped onto his floor as his head swam.

  He was fast approaching unconsciousness, when he heard a knock at the door.

  “Aw, hell.” He groaned. There was no way he could make it to the door without passing out from the blood loss.

  “COME IN!” He hollered. The effort it took to yell did him in. He tried to stand, and slumped to the floor, sinking into blessed unconsciousness. He fell with a thud.

  “Get in there!” A raspy voice hissed. “We don’t have time to dawdle.”

  “You got it, Colonel.” Graham said shortly. He motioned to one of the men standing beside him. Bryant, their explosives expert, knelt and picked the simple lock. It would have been more fun to blow it, but they were pressed for time. Ten seconds later, the four-man team swarmed through the door, rifles at the shoulder, tracking the small apartment. It was sparse, just a bed, a small couch, the kitchen table, and two bookshelves. The only decorations on the wall were various swords and other weapons.


  “Nice toys!” Bryant whistled, low. “I like this guy already.”

  “I smell blood.” Jacob announced, inhaling deeply. “Over here.” They found their target splayed out on the floor, slowly bleeding to death.

  “Shit, his arms a mess.” Graham said, sighing. He keyed his mike. “He’s down, Colonel. We’ll need a medic to meet us. Looks like he tried to dig an arrow out of his arm by himself. He must have just come back from a jump.”

  “Conscious?”

  “Not anymore.” The Capitan said. “He told us to come in and must have passed out a few seconds later.”

  “Just keep him alive until you get him back here.”

  “Yes Sir.” Graham set his gun down. “You know the drill boys. Johnny, do your thing.” Their medic was already cleaning the wound and applying a pressure bandage.

  “He actually didn’t do that bad a job, Graham. He just nicked the artery pulling the arrow out.” He cut away the man’s shirt, to check for other wounds. “Holy Mother…He’s covered in scars. How long has he been doing this?”

  “Probably for as long as we have.” Graham said. “Maybe longer.”

  “Without the injection?” Bryant Hollister knelt down next to Johnny. “That’s brutal. Hell, I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Mad props to him.” Jacob said, grinning. “No wonder the General wants him on the team.”

  “Let’s just go.” Graham said gruffly. “He needs a real doctor. Enough chit chat.”

  The team carried him to the truck, ignoring the stares from the curious onlookers. Over the years, civilians had gotten used to seeing military personnel. No one got in their way anymore, not if they wanted food and water that week. They knew the drill and stayed back. They put Mykel in the back of the truck.

  The team drove as fast as they could back to the base, where a medical team was waiting to take Mykel into surgery. Colonel Parker met him at the decontamination room.

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yep. He should be fine.” Johnny said, helping the medical team put the man on a gurney.

  “He doesn’t look like much.” Colonel Parker said. “He’s scrawny.”

  “He doesn’t eat well enough…no one out there does.” Graham said. “He’ll bulk up when we start feeding him right. The man’s got guts. I’ve never seen anyone do the things this man can do with a sword. The way he saved our asses in England was a miracle. He’s got what it takes to be one of us, or the General wouldn’t have sent us after him.”

  *****************

  Mykel woke up to the annoying sounds of beeping. Someone was standing over him. His eyes snapped open, alarmed at the presence of someone he didn’t know that close to him.

  A young woman was staring down at him. “You’re awake.”

  “Where am I?” He croaked. His throat felt like sand paper. “Water.”

  She handed him paper cup. “I’ll get the doctor.” She said.

  Mykel looked around the room and cringed. He hated hospitals. He threw back the covers and stood up, holding the stupid gown closed in the back. He was a little woozy from the blood loss. Who had saved him anyway?

  “Sit down.” A male voice came from behind him. He turned, a little too quickly. The room spun sideways. There was a doctor standing there with a clipboard, but what shocked him more was the dark haired soldier standing tall behind the doctor. He had a long knife wound down one side of his face. Mykel knew the wound well. Someone had slashed at the man with a sword. He had several similar scars on his chest and back and legs from all the skirmishes he had been forced into over the years.

  “Who are you?” Mykel demanded.

  “My name is Capitan Graham Winters. You’re at a military base.”

  “Obviously. Where?”

  “Outside the city.” The man said. “Sit, before you fall down.”

  Mykel sat. He was dizzy, and didn’t want to face plant in front of the soldier.

  “We’ve been watching you for a while Mykel.” The man said. The doctor went over to some machines and pushed some buttons, and readjusted some wires hooked up to Mykel, who ignored the man and studied the soldier standing in front of him. He was obviously a leader. His very presence was authoritative. He was used to having his orders followed.

  “Why?” Mykel frowned, “I’m nobody. I haven’t done anything illegal.”

  “You know why.” Graham snorted. “You’re a natural time shifter.”

  Mykel gaped at the man. “A what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I don’t have time for it.” Graham said. “Did you seriously think you were the only one?” He turned to the doctor and gestured. The man quickly left. “What the General wants to know is, how you can do it without the nanites.”

  “Huh?”

  “We can’t go through time without the injections. People have died trying. We scanned you. You’ve never had them. How can you do it without the side effects?”

  “There’s a way to go through time without the backlash?” Mykel breathed, excited. “Give me the damn nano thing. Now.” He held out his arm.

  Graham chuckled. “You really have no idea what you’re getting into, do you?”

  “I don’t care.” Mykel said. “I’m sick of the fucking headaches and nosebleeds.”

  “You will.” The man left the room, laughing.

  An hour later, they were scanning his brain in a big machine and took dozens of vials of blood. They injected him with the nano things in the back of his neck. It gave him a wicked headache and he spent the next day taking more tests. Eventually they took him to a small room with a cot and a tiny bathroom in it. There was a desk with folder sitting on it. The small shelf above the desk held a big thick binder. Someone had placed military fatigues at the foot of his bed, along with boots. He spent the morning in ancient China, and by dinnertime, he was in the military. His life was seriously screwed up.

  He sat at the desk and began to read the folder. It was all about him. His early life on the farm, his parents’ deaths, and his uncle and aunt, his transcripts from high school, even the names of girlfriends he had long forgotten. They knew everything about him. Including more than half of the places he had been in the past. How did they know?

  There was a sharp rap on the door before it opened. A stocky, huge man stepped through the door. Immediately, Mykel knew it was someone important. He recognized authority when he saw it.

  “Mykel. Good to meet you. I’m General Alexander Palmer. Mind if I sit?” The man’s voice was raspy. Gruff.

  “I can’t really stop you.” He said, moving to the bed and letting the large man sink into the metal chair. It creaked under his weight.

  “This must all seem very odd to you, being here.”

  “Why have you been watching me?” Mykel asked. “I want a straight answer, General, or I walk out of here right now.”

  “You messed up one of our operations in England. The second time it happened, in Spain, we realized that you had to be a time shifter.”

  “What operations?” Mykel frowned.

  “We observe history, most of the time. To find out what really happened. The things the history books never recorded, because no one was there to see it happen, or there was never any documents found. We try not to be noticed. ”

  “You do more than that.” Mykel snorted. “I’m not a stupid man, General. I’m smart enough to know that the government doesn’t do anything without some kind of profit. Especially now.”

  “True enough.” The General admitted. “I won’t lie to you boy. We do collect artifacts from history. We take gold, gems, paintings, weapons, clothing, and jewelry. Coins mostly. It’s what keeps us funded. Anything we can use. Anything we can trade.”

  Mykel nodded. “I believe that.” After the fourth World War, the world’s economy suffered to the point that it crippled every country. Between the bombings, diseases and starvation, well over half the world’s population had died off. Chaos ruled, until the government declared Martial Law. They had gone almost exclusively back
to the barter system after the economic collapse. Every boarder between countries was closed to civilians. No one traveled or did business; except for sanctioned trades through government channels. “What exactly do you want with me?”

  “We need you.” The General said, simply. “There are very, very few people whose genetic structure allows them to handle doing what you can do. We recently lost an entire team, on a mission that went sideways in Africa. So, in essence, I want to recruit you. To do what you have always done, without side effects, and serve your country.”

  “I’m not a solider.” Mykel said.

  “We can train you.” The General said. “You just need to go through Basics really, at least for now. We can give you the specialized training in between missions. You’d be paid very well. You will own a home, fully furnished, here on base. You won’t have to live in that dinky rat hole of an apartment. Free food rations, water. Even coffee. Real medical and dental expenses all paid for. You won’t get a better offer anywhere else.”