Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  Here we go, Julian thought as he cocked the pistol.

  With the next bang, the door burst open, revealing a desk they had used as a battering ram. At least twenty Road Runners stood behind it, all peering into Julian’s office, shouting in such disarray that it was impossible to know what anyone said.

  Six rounds of ammunition had no chance at holding off two dozen pissed-off Road Runners. As the first of them lunged into the room, Julian slipped the pistol into his mouth and squeezed the trigger.

  120

  Chapter 27

  Martin didn’t speak much on the ride home with Gerald, his encounter with Sonya gnawing at his conscience like a rabid goat. Gerald filled in Martin with everything he had learned about Commander Strike’s disappearance and the ensuing catastrophe with Julian.

  “It’s complete turmoil for us right now,” Gerald said. “We have no leader. The next in the chain of command is the head of security, I think, until we have a special election.”

  “I can’t believe all of this has happened since we left. We haven’t even been here a full 24 hours.”

  “This is poor judgment on Strike’s behalf. Julian should have never been her lieutenant commander. He was too young to be in such a position, and already lacked respect from others. Bill would’ve been the better choice, even if most saw him as too soft; we wouldn’t be in this mess right now, that’s for sure.”

  They pulled into their hotel parking lot, a tall lamp post flickering to provide the dimmest of light.

  “I need to tell you something,” Martin said when Gerald turned the van off. “Something happened downtown today.”

  “Something is always happening downtown.” Gerald chuckled.

  “No, not like that. I met some people. Some Road Runners.”

  The grin on Gerald’s face vanished immediately. “How do you know they were Road Runners?”

  “They told me.”

  “Martin, you’re lucky to be sitting here. That’s a common line for Revolters to use to sniff out the real Road Runners.” Gerald bolted upright, raising his voice like a disappointed parent. “If that had been a Revolter, you’d be dead—I warned you about this.”

  “Well, then it must have really been a Road Runner. It was one man who came over to me in a restaurant and we spoke privately at my table. I didn’t think anything of it. He told me he was one of the undercover Road Runners living in this year, and wanted to wish me the best.”

  “How did he know?”

  “No idea. All he said was that he could tell I wasn’t from here.”

  Gerald shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. There were others?”

  “Yes, I met one other. Someone who said they can help me get the medicine. In fact, said we can get it tomorrow morning.”

  “Why does someone inside the city know about the medicine?” Martin sensed that Gerald would stand up if physically possible, but they remained trapped in the vehicle. “They said you were smart, but it sounds like you made nothing but horrible decisions today. Are you trying to end up next to Strike? Or worse?”

  Martin recalled being somewhat of a prisoner in Chris’s mansion, and imagined there weren’t many things worse. Even death was more attractive than becoming a robotic soldier for Chris.

  “It was an old friend, quite a coincidence that I ran into her.”

  “Her? Don’t tell me—”

  “Yes, it’s her. She’s hiding inside the city, and just happened to be in the same bar as me tonight.”

  Gerald sat quietly, his thick fingers rubbing his lips in discomfort. “You know we have to kill her. That’s our order.”

  “Order from who? We don’t have to kill her. She made a promise to help me, and she will. I’m not going to be involved in killing her. I’m going to get this medicine that I came for, and go back home. She already knows she’s being hunted.”

  Gerald shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of this. She betrayed the Road Runners and now lives in the city. She’s clearly in contact with Chris and can’t be trusted.”

  “I can trust her.”

  “Oh, so you’re an expert now? You can tell when she’s telling the truth and leading you on for six months of your life?”

  “That’s low.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “She feels guilty. She knows my mom, and doesn’t like what Chris did; that’s why she offered to help.”

  “As the leader of this mission, I’m telling you this is a bad idea. It smells like a setup, especially with how valuable you are. I strongly advise you do not move forward this. However, as a human being, I understand you trying to save your mother, and I know you need to take some risks to do so. If you feel you need to do this, then I won’t get in your way, but just know you’ll be meeting her alone.”

  “Thank you, Gerald.”

  Gerald nodded, staring out the windshield into the darkness. “You can still reject her offer and I’ll go in with you as planned. We can get this medicine without her.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but she told me she can get it without any trouble. Why put all of us at risk if we don’t need to?”

  “If you trust her—which you shouldn’t—then I can’t stop you. I’ll look the other way, and if anything bad happens, I’ll tell them you went off on your own.”

  “There is no them right now.”

  Gerald nodded calmly. “Ain’t that the truth? Well, best of luck to you. I’ll give you a ride in the morning and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Thanks again, I don’t know how to ever repay you.”

  “Just don’t get killed, and we’ll call it even.”

  Gerald pushed open the van’s door and stepped out into the cool night. A man sat in a lawn chair in the patch of dirt in front of the complex, puffing a cigarette and blowing smoke to the sky. Martin joined Gerald and walked by his side into the hotel.

  They strolled down the main hallway, its peeling carpet and chipped walls welcoming them home. The odor of cigarette smoke filled the halls as if it were once a smoking lounge.

  Gerald jolted to a stop when they reached their door, his hand swinging up to tell Martin to stay put.

  Martin followed Gerald’s gaze to the ground, where three droplets of blood splashed on the floor.

  “Were those there this whole time?” Gerald whispered, his other hand whipping a pistol out of his waistband.

  Martin froze in his tracks and shrugged.

  Gerald studied the door, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He lowered his hand and slid it quietly onto the doorknob. “Stay out here.”

  Martin reached into his waistband, forgetting that he had left his gun inside the room, advised by Gerald to do so. The insecurity of having no protection besides his fists sent instant panic through his core.

  Gerald turned the knob as gently as possible, the sounds of old springs creaking before he thrust open the door and immediately raised his gun in the air. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted as the door banged against the inside wall. “Stay here!”

  Martin watched Gerald disappear inside, leaving him paranoid and clueless in the hallway. Not sensing any immediate danger, Martin took a soft step toward the door frame and craned his neck for a view inside.

  Web sat on the couch, facing the door, a hole in the middle of his forehead, blood splattered behind him like a bucket of red paint had been thrown on the wall. Web’s eyes remained open, glossy as they stared at Martin. His arms splayed by his side as his head hung slightly to the left, held upright by the couch.

  “Should I call someone?” Martin asked.

  Gerald whipped around, snarling. “I said to stay outside. I need to make sure the suite is clear.”

  Martin backed away, subconsciously raising his hands in the air. He waited in the hallway, feeling like a sitting duck for any attacker willing to swoop by and take him out. The rest of the hotel was eerily quiet, too quiet considering it was barely nine o’clock. He wondered if their neighbors had also been attacked. But wouldn’t the m
an smoking in front of the building have mentioned something about people barging in with guns?

  “Come in, Martin!” Gerald called out.

  Martin shuffled back to the door, fighting to keep his eyes off the dead body on their couch, but failing miserably.

  Gerald stood in the kitchen, joined by a shivering Brigham.

  “I found Brigham hiding in his closet,” Gerald said, putting an arm over the traumatized scientist’s shoulder. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

  Martin watched Brigham’s hands tremble like he had uncontrollable Parkinson’s disorder.

  “I’m not ready, but I need to talk about it,” Brigham said, his voice matching his hands.

  “Take your time, start from the beginning and go slow. We’re safe right now.”

  Martin noticed the choice of the words right now, leading him to believe that they weren’t necessarily safe moving forward.

  “I was in my room,” Brigham said. “Wrapping up a couple of things for research and about to lie down. Web was in the living room, working on his laptop. I heard a loud bang and two men yelling at Web. He yelled back, and that’s when the gun went off. I panicked and went into my closet, praying they wouldn’t open it. I heard their footsteps moving through every room, even mine, but they didn’t touch anything from what I could tell.”

  Brigham’s voice teetered off as he broke into heavy sobs, burying his face in open palms. Gerald rubbed his back to try and console him, shaking his head as he studied the ground.

  “We need to get Web’s body out of here,” Gerald said. “If you can help me load him into the van, I’ll drive and take him back to 2019.” He spoke to Martin, who nodded.

  “Are we safe here?” Martin asked.

  “Yes. Assuming these were Revolters, they don’t ever come back to a place for a second time unless a few months have passed.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police? Or check on the others in the building?”

  “There are no police outside of the city. It’s everyone for themselves. If they came in and did this to Web, then it’s probably too late to help anyone else. All we can do is clean up, and make sure we complete our mission this week, so we can get out of here.”

  “How do you want to do this?”

  Gerald released Brigham, who had started to slow down with the water works. “Let’s wrap his body and lay him in the back seat. I’ll drive to Ralph’s place and will take Web back to 2019 where they can proceed with getting him back to Europe.” He shook his head, unable to hide the disgust plaguing him.

  “Don’t beat yourself up over this,” Martin said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s always my fault when someone on my crew dies. Especially when it’s someone who has never gone through field training. My only job is to keep them safe, and I failed. You’ll understand one day when you have to lead a crew of your own.”

  Martin felt guilt creep into his thoughts. These men were all here because he wanted medicine for his mother. If not for him, Web would be alive and Brigham wouldn’t be traumatized. All of this had happened and he hadn’t even seen the medicine yet. Would the Road Runners have sent this group on a mission together if Martin had never asked about medicine? He didn’t know for sure, but assumed not. Brigham and Web had volunteered to come along, and now one of them was dead. While Martin didn’t believe he’d ever lead a crew on a future mission, he assumed responsibility on this trip.

  “Let’s do it,” Martin said. “I’ll help you, and I’ll stay here with Brigham to make sure nothing else happens. And tomorrow I’m getting that medicine so we can leave.” He spoke in his most authoritative voice. He had been warned of how dangerous the future was, and now seeing it firsthand, the reality sparked a new urgency. There was no time to waste.

  “Grab a couple of sheets from your bedroom closet,” Gerald said. “We’ll wrap him in that.”

  Martin retrieved the sheets and returned within a minute. Gerald had made his way to the couch to lay Web on his side, tipping him over like a lifeless stuffed animal. He took a sheet from Martin and draped it over Web’s face, stretching it down to cover the entirety of his body.

  Gerald worked with the ease of a hotel maid, and Martin wondered if this was something he had done in the past. He lifted the dead body, tucking the loose sheet underneath, starting from the head and working down to the feet, until Web was wrapped in what looked like a cocoon. He repeated the same process with the second sheet, covering the red splotch that had seeped through the first layer.

  Gerald stepped back to ensure his work was complete. Just like that, Web had become a mummy on the couch, lifeless under wraps, another casualty of the never-ending war between good and evil.

  “May I?” Brigham asked, stepping toward his old colleague. He placed a hand softly on top of the white lump, shaking his head. “We weren’t the best of friends, but we worked together on many projects. You were always easy to work with and kept the mood light. You’ll be missed. Rest easy.”

  His words were brief, but meaningful, and he sniffled away more tears as he turned to join Gerald and Martin.

  “You ready?” Gerald asked.

  “Yes,” Martin said, taking the first step toward Web.

  “You take him by the legs, I’ll take him by his shoulders.”

  They positioned themselves and hoisted Web upward, the sheets’ tight wrapping undisturbed. Martin had never understood the term “dead weight” until this moment. Sure, he had carried Izzy from room to room when she fell asleep on the couch, but that paled in comparison to lifting an actual dead body. If he had never been whipped into shape, poor Web would be splayed across the floor, but Martin’s new muscles bulged as they started out the door and down the hallway.

  “Brigham, you’ll need to come open the van door for us,” Gerald said through gritted teeth.

  They made their way toward the building’s exit, Martin and Gerald thudding down the hall like they were moving a heavy couch. Martin broke a sweat during that short time, the outside air cooling him immediately. The smoker from earlier was gone, leaving just the three of them as they crossed the walkway to the van.

  Brigham ran ahead and opened the door to the back seat, looking away from the sight as they lowered Web inside.

  Gerald lowered the head in first, pushing it as far in as he could reach. He pulled himself out, leaving Martin to hold the legs like a wheelbarrow, as he rounded the van to open the door on the other side and continue pulling Web in all the way. Martin bent Web’s knees to allow both doors to shut without slamming into the corpse.

  “You guys head back inside,” Gerald instructed. “Order some dinner, try to take your mind off things. I’ll be back in about 90 minutes.”

  Gerald hopped in and sped off like a man on a mission.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Martin said to Brigham as they started back inside.

  “Me too. I still can’t believe any of this happened.”

  “I’ve got some things in place where we can hopefully leave tomorrow morning.”

  They walked in silence back into the hotel, the tension of their mission feeling like the least important thing as they cleaned the blood splatters off the walls and floor.

  121

  Chapter 28

  Strike woke to the sensation of a stake rammed through her head. She lay on a couch in Chris’s office, her eyes shifting in and out of focus as they peered around the empty room.

  Would Chris actually leave me unattended? she wondered, knowing damn well he’d never let her escape. Perhaps he was laying a trap.

  None of it mattered, as her arms and legs throbbed in excruciating pain. Her muscles had tensed unlike anything before, and she was happy to simply wiggle her toes and know she hadn’t been paralyzed. She lay as limp as a sloth on a Sunday afternoon, attempting to lift her head, but unable to, new waves of pain shooting down her spine. She tried moving her legs, but couldn’t. He may have not paralyzed her, but Chris made sure she wouldn’t move fr
om the couch.

  The office looked as if it had been suddenly abandoned. Chris’s chair faced the open door, computer monitors glowed, and a fireplace crackled in the distance. Surely they wouldn’t have left her alone without the intent of coming right back. Strike was, after all, the most prized possession according to Chris.

  Muffled voices and heavy thuds came from the other side of the wall, in the hallway. It sounded like a group of men chattering, moving something heavy down the hall by the sounds of their slow approaching footsteps.

  “Right in here,” Chris called out before appearing in the doorway. “Ah, Commander Strike, good morning.”

  She hated when he called her Commander, but there wasn’t much she could do about it while she was a useless pile of flesh on the couch. She tried pulling herself up through her abdomen, again failing. Even though she wasn’t constrained, she was still a prisoner.

  Chris entered with a giddy smile and extra hop in his step. Four men followed behind him, grunting as they held a body between them, one holding each limb.

  “This way, gentlemen – go ahead and drop him in front of the Commander.” Chris clapped his hands and skipped toward Strike.

  She watched the men haul the body over. It was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, snow frosting the top of black hair. The men lowered the body to the ground directly in front of Strike, and her eyes bulged at the sight of the cold, dead face.

  “Ahh, so you do know this person,” Chris said. “Your people dropped him in front of the house like a sacrifice. They left a note.” Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, unfolded it, and began reading. “Mr. Speidel, please accept our sincerest apologies. This is the body of the traitor who decided to drop bombs on your mansion. He did this without any approval. We don’t want any trouble, just to have Commander Strike returned safely. Thank you.”

  Chris giggled madly while he folded the note and returned it to his pocket. “So, tell me, Commander. What was his name?”