by D. S Mac
Chapter 46 - Showdown
When Drake heard the door shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stood up, brushing off his knees. His brain was running in overtime. He could not figure out how Brendan was there, a younger Brendan at that. But that was a problem for later. First, he had to destroy the machine. He could not let it run ever again.
Reaching down, he grabbed handfuls of wires from the back of the computer and tore them out. He was expecting sparks or alarms or something. Nothing happened. The computer screen was blank and unresponsive. Perfect.
Drake left the desk and made his way to the machine.
“How do I sabotage this?” He began searching. The machine had three main structures. A blocky end that looked like it might house some of the essential bits, a central chamber where the magic happened, and then the proton pulser. Encased partially into the main section and partially protruding was an enormous cannon-like device.
Logic told him that to stop this, he would need to destroy both the inner workings themselves and the proton pulser. So he started with the pulser. He ran his hands around the cannon, searching for a removable panel or some way to get inside. As his hand slid underneath, he felt it. A piece that had a gap between each edge and a more significant gap on one end. He pushed his finger in and yanked the panel off, revealing a mess of wires and circuitry unlike anything he had ever seen. As you would expect from a technically challenged brute, he shoved his hand in, latched onto as much as he could and tore them from the casing. His hand came out clutching a vast array of wiring and components.
“That’ll do it.” He made his way back around to the housing on the end. Again searching for a panel. He didn’t have to search for long, as the entire end sheet could be removed. But it was a mammoth chunk of metal. Bracing his knees against the machine, he reached his hand around the panel and heaved it up, almost instantly feeling a twinge in his back. With care, he slid the sheet down and went to place it on the floor. Centimetres away, his hands lost grip. It slipped. A loud clang echoed through the barn as the sheet connected with the floor. Drake heard voices from outside.
“What was that?”
“Dave, Mark, you guys check it out. Probably just something falling over.”
“Shit!” Drake just realised he was unarmed. He spun on his heels. Searching for something. Anything. Unlike ordinary barns, this one had no tools stacked to the sides or on hooks. He needed to think of something fast. He tiptoed to the side of the machine as the door creaked open, cowering back as light almost revealed him to the men.
“Dave, you go that way. I’ll go down there.”
“Understood.”
Drake crouched. This was good. One at a time, hopefully, he could get the jump on them both. With his knees shaking, heart pounding, hands sweating, he waited. A raised gun on the end of an arm came round the corner first. Drake had to stifle a laugh. Amateur. He launched, wrapped a hand around the barrel, twisted and pushed the gun out of range. He brought his other hand underneath and into a fast uppercut that was so swift the man was knocked out cold before he even reacted to Drake grabbing the gun. Drake held onto the man and eased him down slowly. He retrieved the gun and made his way around the machine. Still crouched, doing everything he could to avoid noise.
He turned the corner to see the other man just heading back to the side he came from.
“Shit.” The last thing Drake needed was for him to find his friend already. As fast as he could without making noise, he crouched, ran to the end, peeked around the corner and rapped on the machine’s metal surface. The metallic clangs echoed. Drake saw the man spin in position, gun raised. He retreated to the shadows and waited. The man came around the corner in the same fashion as the first guy. Drake repeated the process. But this guy was faster. As Drake grabbed the barrel, the man’s fist came round in a wide arc. Drake dropped to the floor, breaking the man’s balance. He staggered forward. Drake put up a knee and flung the man over. He crashed into the floor and cried out.
“I’ll fucking kill you.”
Drake was too fast and straddled the man before he could move. In one swift move, he spun the gun around and brought the handle down on his face. Crack. A wet pop as his eye sank. Another crack followed by a squelch as the handle buried itself in the man’s socket. Eye fluids and blood leaked out as the man released his final breath. Leaning on the body, Drake gave him a quick pat-down, searching for magazines. He found two. He pocketed them and walked with pure determination to the barn door.
Being careful not to make a sound, he placed a hand in the crack and slid it open, revealing a thin line of light. Peering through with one eye, he counted thirteen more armed men. It was damning, but he had the element of surprise, which would work in his favour. One last glance, and he noticed a stack of gas canisters piled a meter away from the barn. Drake’s eyes lit up.
Tentatively he eased the door open a fraction more and placed a foot in to stop it from closing. He raised his gun, aimed with precision at the gas canister and drew in a breath. He released three-quarters. He fired. The explosion erupted instantly. A phosphorous fireball shot to the sky. Three of the closest men were launched from their feet by the shock wave. A chorus of screams and panic set it.
In a matter of seconds, the land outside became a hive of activity. The men had no idea what was going on. Several of them dropped their guards to help the others, which was when Drake seized the opportunity. He burst out from the barn, gun raised. Time slowed down. A song of gunfire erupted as he performed like John Wick. Bodies dropped in sprays of blood.
Four men retreated to the house. Drake aimed as they ran with their tails between their legs. He fired. Two of them dropped like a sack of potatoes. While reloading his gun, Drake walked towards the house, casual and not a care in the world. He was ending this once and for all. A sense of power coursed through his veins.
At the front door, he leant against the frame. Using the muzzle, he pushed the door open a crack. Clear. Placing his heels first, he slipped into the kitchen. The place was beautiful, Victorian. But he didn’t have time to admire the historical aspect. He was here to kill. Then he had an idea. With a grin on his face, he examined the cooker. A modern appliance, just what he needed. Gripping either side, he heaved it out of its cubby. He reached around the back, grabbed hold of the bayonet hose and unscrewed the fixing, being instantly met with the hiss of gas.
Using his training tactically, Drake checked every door on the ground floor, glancing over his shoulder intermittently. A thud rumbled through the ceiling. They were all upstairs. Two men and Brendan. Easy. Drake made his way up the wide wood turned staircase, his muddy shoes leaving a trail of filth.
Upon reaching the landing, which was eerily silent, he made his way to the grand double door at the other end. He wasn’t sure how, but he just knew Brendan was there. He gave three sharp knocks.
“I know you’re in there, Brendan. Come on out.”
The door opened unexpectedly. Drake raised his gun. In the room, Brendan sat on the edge of a gorgeous mahogany four-poster bed that had been hand-carved with angels around the entire frame. Either side of Brendan stood more men than Drake had realised—four one side, three the other, all aiming straight at him.
“Shit!”
“I did not expect to see you, Mr Osborn. I must admit I am pleasantly surprised by your resourcefulness.” Even though he was a different younger Brendan, he still exuded the same psychopathic vibe.
“Two things.” Drake made a point of holding up two fingers. “One, how the fuck have you done this? Two, it’s over; tell them to stand down.”
Brendan burst into laughter. A few of the men awkwardly sniggered.
“Mr Osborn, come on now. Have you not realised?”
“Realised what?”
“I am the same Brendan, you fool! I travelled back in time and transferred my consciousness to my younger self.” His trademark malevolent sneer spread across his face. “I had to fulfil my plan earlier, kn
owing you were getting too close. What do you know, my contingency has worked.”
Drake couldn’t hold in a laugh, it burst out, and Brendan’s sneer dropped to a look of surprise.
“I have destroyed your machine, and I will kill you. After all, I’ve done it once before.”
Brendan growled. “Hmm, no bother, I can make another. That is just a… minor setback.” He motioned his hands towards all the armed men. “I don’t know if you noticed, but you will be the one dying today.” His sneer returned. “Oh, and how is that lovely piece of yours? Hannah, was it?”
Drake lunged. It was a foolish mistake. But he wouldn’t have Brendan saying her name. He made it all of one step when a burning fire burst through his shoulder. His momentum threw him back. He landed on his knees, hunched over. Blood already caked his arm and was dripping to the floor. Drake stood back up, face red with rage. Heart pounding. Pain searing.
“It is over for you, Mr Osborn. You have lost.”
There was only one thing left for it. Drake bowed his head. Defeated. When he had been shot, his momentum had taken him back into the landing. He took a deep breath.
“Fuck you.” With his gun at his side, he repeatedly pulled the trigger, hip firing blindly. Time slowed down; gunfire echoed through his skull, rattling his brain. He spun on his heel and ran. The whistle of bullets whizzed past; fragments of plaster and wood kicked up all around him. As he ran, he could physically see the air breaking around the flying bullets.
Zigzagging the entire way down the corridor, he made it to the balcony overlooking the lobby unscathed. Without even thinking, he launched himself over it. The wind was forced from his lungs as he landed back first on a table, shattering it to pieces. His arm was throbbing now. Back bruised beyond belief. He looked up. Several of the men had made it to the balcony. They leant over with their guns. Drake rolled off the broken table just as several cracks rang out. The sound of splintering wood set his skin to gooseflesh.
Out of sight now, he had maybe ten seconds before they made it downstairs. Drake barged through the kitchen door, instantly regretting it as a wave of pain shot through his shoulder. He cried out and stumbled for the back door. Fumbling with his gun, he tried to reload it with a floppy right arm. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t see the body. His foot caught. He fell, crashing into the floor. Searing pain snaked through him.
Sweating profusely from the exertion, the panic and the wound, he finally managed to slide the magazine in and aimed at the kitchen. He emptied the magazine. A magnesium white glow erupted as the gas caught fire. It bellowed out, bursting windows as it roared through the house, igniting every surface. The house itself was crackling. Within seconds it was ablaze. A shimmering death beacon of what Drake had achieved. Never had he seen fire as beautiful as he saw it today.
Epilogue - Destiny
When you lose the most important thing in your life, what do you have left? Well, for most people, they have to live with it. They have to move on. They have to accept what happened and bury it beneath fresh memories.
However, Drake had unique plans. Determined as he was and with his ability, suppose he could find a way. He would traverse every single moment in time until he found Erica and Hannah. Drake would not stop. He would not live with it. He would not move on.
Lightning crackled above. Its luminescent blue intermittently shrouded the orange wasteland in something beautiful. After ending Brendan, Drake had discovered something. While searching in the temporal zone, he found the end repeatedly. Stopping Brendan several times over had not changed humanity’s fate. The Earth still became a barren wasteland of fractures and fractured.
His power seemed to have improved. It worked anywhere. He could traverse and control it faster and with ease, which was how he could see that every prism’s future ended with the same result. The end.
He still didn’t know what the range of fractures meant. But that was one thing he was working towards. After destroying Brendan’s machine and killing the psychopath himself, Drake retreated to the wasteland. He took several trips. Building up a hidden armoury. One that only he could find.
He strapped a rocket launcher to his back, loaded up an assault rifle with a magazine, and slung the strap over his shoulder, still sore from having a bullet rip through his shoulder. He’d removed the bullet himself after the fire. He’d found a quiet B&B to patch himself up. Once he was happy with his equipment, he took a walk. Something he did every evening, or at least what he thought was evening.
As usual, the walk was quiet. One or two fractured needed killing, but otherwise it was uneventful. That was until loud booms sounded not too far away. With each one, the ground shook. Debris loosened from the destroyed buildings, and showers of dust fell.
Drake ran up the street. The rocket launcher was swinging out and hitting his back with every stride. Another boom shook the ground, forcing Drake to stop in his tracks and listen. Another boom, coming from his left. Gravel kicked up as he broke into a sprint. The road ahead seemed to be blocked. However, after a quick examination, it looked climbable. He searched for some decent handholds and footholds and began his ascent. Boom, the mountain of rubble vibrated with such force that several chunks broke away. Including the part, Drake’s left hand was on. It broke free. He swung back. He planted a foot firmer into the rock and found a new place to put his hand. Sticky and sweating, he reached the top. In the distance was one of the gargantuan fractured’s bounding down the road. Two tiny figures were sprinting in front of it.
“Holy shit. No way.” Drake was dumbfounded. He knew this moment. He had lived this moment. One runner was gaining space on the other. Drake smiled. He knew that the past version of himself would go back to help. He waited another minute. Then the beast was in range. He pulled the rocket launcher over his back and planted it on his shoulder.
“DUCK NOW!”
Past Drake and Fergus threw themselves to the ground; then he pulled the trigger. The rocket hurtled from the barrel with a hissing whoosh. Leaving a trail of smoke behind it, the projectile hurtled toward the creature. A blinding flash. It exploded on impact, and the beast was torn into countless pieces. The familiar rain of obliterated limbs and organs showered the street.
“That was a close one, wasn’t it, lads.” Drake had made his way to his past self and past Fergus. He almost broke into tears at seeing his original friend. Looking at his past self he couldn’t believe how fresh, how different he looked. The strain of the past week had taken its toll on his features. HIs hair thick, long and ragged blended in to his thick unkempt beard.
“Thanks for the save.” Past Drake struggled to stand up, and the current Drake grabbed his arm to help. Fergus was retching from the awful copper taste of blood in the air. Then he helped him too.
“Don’t mention it. Follow me. I’ve got a place you can clean up.”
Drake led them back to his hideout, allowed them resources, but told them nothing. He couldn’t risk changing something from the past. After everything he had done, he couldn’t risk undoing it. Or would that be better? Could he change it enough? Drake shook his head. It wasn’t worth the risk.
When the past Drake and Fergus were ready, Drake guided them to the focal point of the fracture storm. He had learnt that they popped up at least once every couple of days and always in the same place. Parliament. On their way there, an army of fractured ambushed them. Drake created a distraction so they could escape.
“You go! Get to the storm, find a blue fracture, and bloody jump. I’ll buy you some time.”
“You’ll die. Why are you helping like this?” Fergus said as he hesitated before running off.
“It’s more important you both live. Now GO!” With that, he pulled the RPG from his shoulder strap and shoved in a rocket. He looked around for Drake and Fergus, who had made it a suitable distance away. “Better not fucking kill us, Drake.” He turned back, aimed down the iron sight, and with a hiss of smoke, he let loose a rocket.
It disin
tegrated the wall of fractured bodies instantly. The sky turned red from the bloody mist. Out of rockets, Drake swung around his SA80, flicked off the safety and began tactically taking out fractured beings, swivelling on the spot. Crack. Bodies were dropping all around him. They kept coming. He kept shooting until there was nothing left.
The fractured, broken bodies littered the ground. Blood soaked the ground beneath. Drake collapsed to his knees. Knackered, his arms aching, legs aching. Did the version of himself he’d met before get out of this?
He released a deep sigh and forced himself to his feet. While clambering over bodies, his arm erupted with an electric tingle.
“What the?” He froze and stared at his arm. Meters away, a fracture burst into life. The azure blue crack appeared first, then widened, revealing the shattered floating mirror. Then a man fell through. Drake jumped back, almost falling over the bodies.
The strange man looked up. When he saw Drake, his eyes widened, his face soaked in fresh blood. A gaping wound split from the corner of his eye to his ear. He reached out. His mouth was moving, but no sound.
“Shit, you need help.” Drake jumped over the bodies and slid to his knees by the man. After bracing his head, he looked at him. “What are you trying to say?”
“Don’t…” His eyes glazed over; his legs shook. This man was dying.
“Don’t go… through… the…” He bucked and coughed up an extensive amount of blood that congealed between his teeth. As his last breath escaped his lungs, the final word whispered out, “Spectrum.”
That was when Drake realised two things. The fracture that took his family had been multicoloured, an array of every colour that makes up white, a spectrum. Then through the blood and the gaping wound, he suddenly realised who the man was. He gasped and fell back. The dead eyes of himself staring right through him.