Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  “Hello, Chris,” the familiar voice responded, and the man waved to the cameras he couldn’t see.

  “I see you’re back so soon. Did you get your people back in the shape you wanted?”

  “We did, yes.”

  The Road Runner said nothing further and stood in silence, staring at the steel barricade without any outward sign of emotion. He was again bundled up from head to toe, leaving them unable to make out a single detail aside from the man’s height.

  It’s a fucking negotiation tactic, Chris realized. Refusing to speak first was one of the oldest tricks in the book, putting the pressure on whoever decided to utter the first words.

  Chris muted his microphone and turned to Duane who had sat down across the desk. “I need you to round up everyone we have and make them wait at the front door. I think this guy is going to try and talk his way out of this, and we will not accept that.”

  Duane nodded and disappeared as effortlessly as he had arrived. Chris preferred having Duane at his side in this sort of situation, but he had to think ahead. This scum Road Runner was not going to walk away without giving Chris the promised information.

  The man remained silent, each passing second growing more awkward, before Chris decided he had to say something. “Is there something I can help you with today?”

  The question was vague enough to suggest the Road Runner had no negotiating power.

  The man turned, the fuzz on his jacket blowing in the wind, and stared directly into the camera from behind his ski goggles.

  “I’m ready to discuss the terms of our deal,” he said in monotone. Chris had no way of knowing, but assumed this Road Runner was on the verge of shitting his pants. This could have all been some far-reaching goal for him, not expecting Chris to actually turn over the prisoners. But here they were, face to face, and he now had to turn in their one and only leader. “I’d like to come inside to talk—I don’t want to say anything out here in the open.”

  Chris leaned back and thought. It was still possible this was all a big ploy to try and get into the mansion. There was no one visible in the distance, but that didn’t mean they weren’t nearby waiting for the barricade to drop.

  “I’ve come here in peace,” the Road Runner said, as if he could read Chris’s thoughts. “No weapons, no backup. Just here on my own to work this out.” He raised his hands in the air as if this proved all of his words as true.

  “Give me a minute,” Chris said, his arms crossed and head shaking. As much as he believed the Road Runner, it was still a Road Runner. One of the same lower species he’d been trying to exterminate for years like the filthy rats they were. “Wait right there, don’t move.”

  Chris removed the headset and leaned over his intercom microphone. “Duane, please cancel what you’re doing and return to the office immediately.”

  He planned to lower the barricade and let the Road Runner inside to discuss the next steps, but he didn’t want to just drop their steel shield and leave everyone vulnerable without a warning.

  Duane entered a minute later, calm and cool. “Why did you make me stop?”

  “Our friend outside would like to come in to discuss the details. Says he doesn’t want to say all of this outside where he can be heard. I’m going to let him in.”

  “Don’t do it, Chris.”

  “I have no choice. He’s not going to talk to us unless he comes inside. And we need Strike.”

  “You didn’t even know you needed Strike until a couple days ago.”

  “Are you kidding me? Just because an active effort to capture her was never discussed doesn’t mean we don’t need her. This is a gift from God.”

  “No, it’s a gift from the Road Runners, which is exactly why you should be suspicious of him acting so desperate to come inside.”

  Chris sighed and folded his hands on his desk. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to drop the barricade, and you’re going to send two of our soldiers outside to greet our friend. Have them check him for any weapons and bring him inside to this office. No tours of the house, just straight here. Then I want three of our soldiers here in the room, guns cocked and aimed at Mr. Road Runner in case he tries to make any moves. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great. Head downstairs and gather the soldiers needed. I’m going to disarm the barricade in two minutes.”

  Duane left and Chris placed the headset back over his head and looked at the monitor where the Road Runner had indeed not moved. “Okay, sorry about that, just working out some logistics before we let you in.”

  “Understood.”

  “It’ll be a couple minutes before we disarm the house, so hang tight. My team will meet you outside to pat you down before coming in.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The Road Runner said nothing further and stared blankly at the concealed mansion in front of him, small clouds of his breath slipping out through the ski mask stretched over his face.

  Chris took off the headset and drummed his fingers on the desk, anticipating the upcoming encounter. He’d never had a Road Runner come to the upper floor of the mansion, and certainly had never sat down to have a civil discussion with one. They were never worthy of so much. He thought back to the dozens he had personally killed, and the millions murdered under his watch throughout time, causing a smirk he couldn’t quite keep away.

  What would happen if I flipped the script on this guy and shot him dead in my office? There’s no better Road Runner than a dead Road Runner, right?

  As delicious as it sounded, Chris would have to resist. If anything happened while the man was in his office, he’d end up dead anyway. Because if this wasn’t some cheap setup, then the future became a lot brighter for his team and their goals.

  He opened the software and punched in the code to drop the barricade. The familiar hum carried throughout the house as the steel shields lowered. The Road Runner didn’t flinch.

  When the humming stopped, Chris watched the monitor as the front door swung open and two of his soldiers stepped into the cold night, approaching the Road Runner with their guns drawn. The man returned his hands to the air and rotated to give his back to the Revolters.

  One soldier kept his rifle fixed on the Road Runner while the other stepped up and began patting down his legs, working his way up to the neck. He nodded to the other soldier, and turned the Road Runner to lead him inside.

  Chris could have changed the camera view to follow them through the entryway and up the stairs, but didn’t bother. He’d be in his office within a minute anyway. A handful of soldiers stepped outside, rifles cocked and aimed into the distance, anticipating anything that might come from the woods. Duane must have given this order, clearly forgetting about the last time they had soldiers outside like sitting ducks.

  The rumble of multiple footsteps coming up the stairs sent small vibrations into Chris’s office, churning his stomach at the thought of an upcoming meeting with his enemy. He closed the software on his computer and pulled open a drawer to make sure his loaded revolver was still there, waiting to protect him from any attack.

  The stomping grew louder and stopped outside the office door before a rapid knock banged on it.

  “Come in,” Chris shouted, hands trembling with excitement.

  The door swung open with Duane leading the way, the masked Road Runner behind him, followed by three Revolters, each with a rifle pointed at the man’s back.

  “Hello, Chris,” the Road Runner said, muffled through his mask.

  “Please, have a seat.” Chris gestured to the open seat where Duane normally sat during their sessions together. “Shall we begin?”

  The man nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  108

  Chapter 15

  The four men loaded into the van after wishing Ralph farewell. Ralph assured them he’d be in the same place should they need to come back for anything, although he hoped they wouldn’t need to. They filled the trunk with six firearms, ten smoke bombs, one grena
de, and a half dozen cases of ammunition, all at Gerald’s instruction.

  Gerald whistled once they reached the freeway toward downtown, leaving Martin to wonder how he could be so chipper. It was a few minutes past noon as they coasted down the empty road, and Martin couldn’t recall the last time I-70 was free of any traffic.

  “I want you guys to know you don’t need to live in fear,” Gerald said. “Stay alert, be aware of your surroundings, but no one will bother you unless you bother them. It’s not as bad as you think.”

  “You said they gun down Road Runners for fun,” Brigham snapped. “How am I supposed to not live in fear?”

  Gerald chuckled a morbid sound. “We’re covered. That’s why I had us change to long sleeves and baggy pants. The only way anyone will see the glow from your skin is if they get right in your face. And the only reason they’ll get in your face is if you bother them. Besides, where we’re going there won’t be many Revolters, if any. They don’t exactly hang out in the slums looking for people to shoot. They stay in their area and protect their turf from outsiders.”

  “So it’s like segregation is back?” Martin asked.

  “One hundred years after it was abolished, yes, it’s back. People have always been ignorant to the fact that history actually does repeat itself, and it’s only become worse now that the Revolters have taken control of the education system and erased any details from the history lessons that paints what they’re doing as a negative thing.”

  “What’s the rest of the world like?” Martin asked. “Or is this just happening in America?”

  “Well, I’m sure Brigham can tell you about Europe,” Gerald replied. “They haven’t been fully infiltrated yet, but they’re on shaky ground.”

  “We’re fighting,” Brigham added nonchalantly.

  “But as for Asia, Africa, and South America, they’ve all been taken over by the Revolters and are going through the same things we are here. Their plan is to rule the world in unison, which would be the end of civilization as we know it.”

  Martin shook his head. “What about Australia? You forgot them.”

  “Ah, the Aussies. Yeah, that’s the one place they’re having an incredibly difficult time taking control of. The Road Runners have a strong presence there, but I’d say ninety percent of the population has zero interest in picking a side between the two of us. They view us all as outsiders and want us to get the hell off their enormous island. They really are our last hope, and even though they reject the Road Runners, they’re helping our cause by being as equally turned off by the Revolters. It’s actually quite funny to watch the Revolters’ leaders try to offer people the Juice down there. They usually return a blank stare and tell them to fuck off, mate.”

  They all laughed at this, picturing someone like Chris being told to fuck off by a pissed off Australian.

  “Won’t they eventually just start executing people?” Martin asked. “Like if it comes down to them being the final country to take over, can’t they just force their will at that point?”

  “They could, but it wouldn’t be wise. They’d be going up against two groups instead of one: the Road Runners and the Aussies. The people down there are already suspicious of any outsiders, and they have no issue unifying to protect their country. See, they actually read history books and take the lessons seriously. They would never allow something to happen to their people the way it did when the Europeans came to the Americas to rape and kill all the natives. The Revolters thrive on dividing and conquering populations of people, but the Aussies have proven resistant against such a threat.”

  The open fields gave way to city buildings, and Martin saw the skyscrapers of downtown in the distance, through a dark smog that hung over the city.

  “We’re about five minutes out,” Gerald announced, shifting the mood immediately to the seriousness of the task at hand. Martin understood why Gerald was thought so highly of. He had a knack for calming the mood, making them forget where they were or why they were there.

  They’re all here because of me, Martin reminded himself, no longer sure if that was entirely true. Would they still have come on this mission without Martin? All across the spectrum of time, Revolters and Road Runners alike were working toward their lofty goals of ruling the world and protecting the world, respectively. Would the Road Runners really have granted a newcomer their own mission out of a simple gesture of appreciation for risking his life?

  With the expanded knowledge he had gained about the Road Runners and their worldwide mission, it seemed less likely. He presumed this mission was already planned, and they took advantage of the situation to both please Martin and also add another foot soldier.

  Regardless of whatever the truth might be, they trusted him enough to go into the future, something their very own leader refused to do. The group was there for both a common goal, but also their own individual reasons. If a choice came down to saving one of these men’s lives or grabbing his mom’s medicine, Martin wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do. On the flip side, could he trust these men to save his life should a situation arise?

  There were too many unknowns as they pulled into the city, but Martin pushed them aside and focused on one step at a time. And right now was all about exploring the city and knowing the best way to stay alive in it.

  The van exited to I-25 southbound from I-70, the city now towering in front of them. The skyscrapers looked the same as Martin had known them from 2019, and there were even a handful more added to the skyline that overlapped the blue Rocky Mountains in the backdrop. A thick, gray haze clouded their vision.

  “What’s with the smog?” Martin asked. Being the only person in the vehicle who was a Denver native, he realized his responsibility to compare the city’s 2064 version to the 2019 one he had left behind.

  “Poe’s biggest donors were from the coal industry. Once the Revolters had full control over Congress, they passed all sorts of tax breaks for companies who remained powered by coal. Such ridiculous incentives that clean energy has damn near disappeared.”

  “No one fought it?”

  “Of course they tried. But any sort of environmental protection group run through the government had been terminated. And all the Earth-loving hippies were obviously seen as anti-Revolution and were executed. The government actually hires fake scientists to explain why coal is better for the world—and these morons believe every word of it.”

  They turned again off the interstate, this time taking the exit ramp for Park Avenue, and Martin’s eyes bulged at the sight of a somewhat familiar building in front of them.

  “Is that Coors Field?” Martin asked.

  “Is that what it used to be called?” Gerald replied. “Today it’s called Denver Energy Ballpark, named by the state’s largest coal company, and owners of the team.”

  Gerald rolled his eyes as they pulled up to a stop light in front of the stadium. Martin looked out his window at the building that had undergone a transformation. Gone was its brick exterior and purple neon lighting, replaced with gold-tinted glass that shielded the view inside the stadium, a similar effect as Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas.

  “Let me get this straight,” Martin said. “While the rest of the country is going to shit, baseball stadiums got an upgrade?”

  “All sports got an upgrade,” Gerald said. “Two things happened: with the Revolters came a bunch of new billionaires, and President Poe openly admitted that sports were important to keep around so that the poor and middle class can remain distracted from what’s actually going on in the government. Since the Revolters came from all eras of time to join the big takeover, these billionaires were essentially playing with fake money, as far as they were concerned. They bid against each other for ownership of all these sports franchises, and since they’re playing with fake money, they simply paid athletes more while dropping the prices of the cheap seats for the general public to get in. As a group, they bought into the idea of controlling the poor and middle classes, and it worked.”

  �
�Of course it worked. All those people had a new opportunity to go catch a game; something they probably never thought possible.”

  “You got it. And inside you can register to vote, but only if you plan on voting for the Revolution. Poe praised himself for making it possible. He called it his gift to those less fortunate. It gets bad when Poe starts talking about himself in the third person. ‘Thank President Poe. Enjoy all of the games, his treat!’ he’d say. So fucked up, but people eat it up every season.”

  They drove away from the ballpark, and Martin thought it looked more like a palace than a baseball stadium. I wonder what the inside looks like.

  As the luxurious, golden ballpark faded into the distance behind them, it became suddenly clear where they were. The skyscrapers stood tall and mighty a few blocks away, but the other buildings—the restaurants, stores, and small apartment complexes—were all decorated with graffiti and deteriorating from the inside out. Most of the buildings were constructed from brick, as they had always been, but now bricks had fallen out of place and were never repaired. Windows were shattered behind the iron bars that kept the thieves out. And the biggest surprise of all was the amount of homeless people crowding the sidewalks.

  “Why do all of the homeless seem so organized?” Martin asked after they drove down a block where sleeping bags and tents filled the entire sidewalks on both sides of the street.

  “They’re restricted to camp out on certain blocks. Some of the businesses down here can pay the government extra tax money to ensure the homeless won’t park themselves in front of their stores.”

  “How do they enforce that?”

  “Quite simple. The business owner calls the police if they find a homeless person outside their store. The police department confirms that the business has paid its annual fee for this special privilege. Then they come out and shoot the homeless person, and take the body off to who knows where.”