Then wobbling crunched along the sides of at least five parked cars. Chris had deliberately grazed the cars trying to slow the Limo down.
“Damn,” Chris growled as his brakes went spongy, then failed altogether.
Then the handbrake came away in his hand, as the Limo hurtled on, virtually out of control, leaving a trail of brake fluid behind it.
Then Micky, reaching over the front seat, turned off the ignition, and the car gradually slowed down, finally coming to a stop.
With the sheer weight and speed of the Limo having taken it to within a hundred yards of the killer’s wrecked car.
Although it had only been seconds, it felt like a lifetime.
Chris and Micky shakily exited the Limo, thankful that the doors weren’t jammed.
The killer was standing next to his wrecked car, its radio still running. Though he had sensed Micky’s presence, he was more concerned at the moment with listening to a ‘Breaking News’ bulletin.
“A few minutes ago, an explosion occurred at the Cebro International plant. One of the two high-security buildings was damaged. However, it has been confirmed that no radioactive material was present in the buildings at that time. There were no casualties. We’ll update this bulletin as soon as we receive more information.”
Hearing this, the killer yelled in rage. Then fired his weapon at the radio, smashing it to smithereens.
This was all this damn Micky’s fault.
He knew that he should have got rid of the other green crystal, then Micky wouldn’t have come after him.
Damn him and his interfering ways
Then he turned his weapon on Micky and Chris, who both dived for cover behind the Limo, just in time. As the purple beam flashed past them and hit the driver of the now fast approaching police car.
The police vehicle veered across the road, crashed into the back of another vehicle. It rolled twice and landed upside down on its roof, effectively blocking the road.
“Geeze,” Chris said checking to see if he was still in one piece. “What a roller-coaster.”
Both had now drawn their revolvers.
“Come on Chris, we can’t lose him now.”
They got up from behind the Limo. To see the killer, just standing there, watching them.
Rubbing his leg. Chris asked, “What’s he waiting for?”
“Are you able to run Chris?”
“Not sure, I think I’ve twisted my ankle.”
“Then stay with the Limo, I can’t look after you from here on. Just make sure you get my Laptop to Cedrick.”
“But.”
“No buts, Chris. Just do as I ask. And please, tell Charlie, that I loved her.”
“What do you mean, loved her?” Chris asked with a startled expression on his face.
Micky ignored his question, merely shaking Chris’s hand.
Then turned and ran towards a car that was parked about 25 yards closer to the killer’s car, his revolver held firmly in his hand.
Chris watched him go, then felt a tear trickle down his cheek. That hadn’t happened for a very long time.
Within seconds, two police cars arrived, then one of Cedrick’s pulled up on the other side of the wrecked police car that was blocking the road.
Chris recognised one of Cedrick’s men, Mace. Another of Cedrick’s hard men, he thought.
“Are you all right,” one of the policemen called out to Chris.
“Yes, I am,” Chris replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But I don’t think the man in that car is,” he added pointing at the wrecked police car.
“We’ll take a look.”
“I think the target is on foot now, and going towards Lester, or maybe somewhere else in that direction,” he told them.
Then called Cedrick on his personal phone.
“Sorry Cedrick. The Limo’s had it.”
“OK Chris, I’ll get a car to you. Where’s Micky?”
“Chasing the killer. Both of them are on foot.”
“Oh no! That’s bad, so dangerous,” he paused briefly.
“Well, at least Charlie’s safe with my men, so that part went well. Except for Dread’s bad behaviour.”
“Well, that’s good news anyway. What do you mean, Dread’s bad behaviour?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when you get back.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“The other car will be about 20 minutes, Chris. Just be patient.”
“Yep, that’s me. Oh, and I’ve got Micky’s Laptop. Micky said it was imperative that I get it to you. He said that you already have his password.”
“OK. We’ll make that a priority, and yes I do have the password. I’ll see you when you get back here.”
“OK, boss.”
“Put Mace on.”
“Mace,” Chris called out to the newly arrived man, who came over to him and took the handset from him.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Get after Micky. I want that murderer’s weapon. And any other things that don’t look as if they should be there, or look out of place or seem odd. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. So, a thorough clean up and everything back to you at the estate.”
“Correct. Don’t let me down Mace, all our lives might be in jeopardy. And I mean, all.”
“We won’t let you down, sir.”
“Good.”
“What do you want us to do with Chris?”
“He’s okay. I’ve sent another car for him, so concentrate on doing what I’ve asked you to do, please.”
“Understood, Boss.”
Mace gave the handset back to Chris then waved for his colleague to join him.
“Are we done Cedrick?” Chris asked.
“Yes, Chris. Just wait.”
“Ok,” Chris said as he watched Cedrick’s other two men as they prepared to follow Micky at a safe distance.
Micky looked to the side of the car he was hiding behind, but the killer had moved.
‘Where the devil is he now?’ Micky wondered, trying to get him to reveal his location by mentally sending him a question.
‘That won’t work with me, Micky,’ the killer’s reply came back.
He knows my name then, Micky realised. Then looking around saw that the area seemed familiar. He had been here before, but he had no idea when.
‘Got you finally thinking Micky, haven’t I? Have you noticed the connection between us is getting stronger?’
Micky knew this was true. He couldn’t hear the killer’s actual words, but there was a change in the emotional content that he was sensing, which seemed closer to speech.
And yes, this area was important somehow.
I can read you like a book Micky. I know Cebro’s safe for now, but I can still kill you and derail the project. You know I can.
No, you’re losing it, whatever your name is, he thought back.
It’s Axon, Micky. You know me.
Never heard of you, he thought, sending the message back to the killer.
Yet something nagged at Micky’s mind. It was almost as if he really should know this name.
The killer started to run, away from Micky and up the now almost deserted North Governor Boulevard.
Micky stopped, then taking aim, emptied his revolver into him. Thankful that the few people that were along this part of the road had already taken cover.
He hoped that even at a distance of 75 yards or so, some of his shots would have hit the running man.
He was sure that the man was still wearing a bulletproof vest. Even so, some areas of his body would be unprotected.
‘That’s where his weakness lies,’ he thought.
He quickly reloaded his revolver, while on the run. Then saw the killer turn off North Governor Printz Boulevard, onto 3rd Avenue, about 130 yards ahead of him now.
Micky finally reached the junction, exhausted and panting. He stopped and quickly took another dose of Doctor Henning’s tablets. Then felt an almost instant energy boost.
> Micky turned into the avenue. The killer was nowhere to be seen. He started walking slowly down 3rd Avenue. Most of the houses looked occupied.
By the time he reached the junction with Powhatton Avenue, he was exhausted again. He had no stamina and was unsteady on his feet.
He stopped, to look down Powhatton Avenue. And there, a short distance down, and over on the left side, he could see a large sign in front of an old building. The sign read.
‘APPROVED FOR DEMOLITION.’
This invigorated him. He started walking as fast as he could towards the building.
When he was within about a hundred yards from the building, he realised that he could ‘feel’ the killer again. But now, his emotional flavour was much stronger.
Micky felt energised. He was sure that the killer had to be holed up in that building.
Then suddenly the killer’s thoughts mentally stabbed into his mind.
You’re dying you fool. Go away.
Chapter 38.
Conditions.
Charlie felt sick. She was sure that Micky was dying. She’d felt it before, but this was different. In her heart, she knew it would happen this time.
“Marc. Turn the car around. Now,” she urgently ordered him.
“Sorry Miss, we really can’t.”
“Turn it around. Damn you,” she almost yelled in frustration.
“Sorry Miss, It’s too dangerous to go back now.”
“Why? Tell me?”
“It’s something to do with a message Micky left Cedrick.”
“Thunder? Do you know about this?”
“No, Miss.”
“Marc?”
“All I know Miss is that we’ve got to get you back to Cedrick, unharmed. No matter what,” he replied.
“There was something about putting you to sleep for the journey, as well,” Thunder added. “But I don’t know any more than that.”
“Come on Marc, you obviously know more than you’re letting on. Just tell me,” she pleaded.
“All right,” he agreed, sighing as he spoke. “But only if you promise me you won’t tell Cedrick. OK?”
“Everyone seems to be working on promises,” she said sharply. “But yes. I won’t tell him, I promise.”
“OK. Thunder, is it alright with you if I tell her?” He asked, and Thunder nodded his head in resignation.
“Alright, Charlie. Cedrick said that you and your baby are even more important than a delay to Project Acarea.”
“What?” Charlie asked. Then looked at him in astonishment.
“That’s unbelievable,” she added.
“That’s his own words, Miss.”
“Why?” She muttered.
But neither of them could bring themselves to continue arguing with Charlie, and they all remained silent for the rest of the journey.
Charlie sat thinking about what had been said. Then she remembered hearing Micky’s words when she was supposed to go down to reception to collect some fictitious letter.
But what was it exactly that he said she asked herself, trying to remember.
Yes, that’s it,’ she excitedly thought. He’d said. “Somehow, she’s more ‘important’ than me. I don’t know why, but I know she is.”
Then thought, but there was something else he said, what was it? She sat thinking hard, then got it. “She may be pregnant with my child.”
Charlie was now sure that she knew the answer. Or at least, part of why, she and the baby, were so critical, for humanity itself.
Chapter 39.
Dead Man's Hand.
By the time Micky reached the building, he was panting and gasping for air.
‘This is the only building he could have gone into,’ he thought, trying to get his breath back.
After a while, he’d recovered, and felt ready to enter the building, but he knew he was now at a disadvantage.
The building was narrow and looked old. It was obviously uninhabited, at least officially. And he could see that some of the windows were boarded up, so it would be dark inside. Looking at it again, he decided it also ‘felt’ unfriendly.
He went towards the front door, walking slowly and holding his revolver ready.
His mind, all the time searching for that tell-tale emotional leap, indicating the killer was close and was going to attack.
He reached the entrance door and saw that it was partly open. Then he saw that it had at some time been broken open.
He bent over, and keeping as low as he could, eased himself in holding onto the door frame by one hand. Then felt something sticky on his fingers. He held his hand up so he could see it in the dim, eerie light. It was blood.
He stood upright. Opened the door a bit further then saw some blood on the frame and a spot on the floor.
‘At least I winged him.’
The entrance opened into a small hallway, with stairs to one side, and a corridor straight ahead, leading off the hall.
He ignored the stairs, feeling sure that the killer was on the ground floor.
The only illumination seemed to come through glass windows that were broken. Off to one side, and under the stairwell, he could just see an electrical distribution panel. But the fuses seemed to be missing so he assumed the building had no electrical power.
Suddenly, he sensed the killer. Then felt a rise in the killer’s emotional level. He couldn’t mistake his make-up, or ‘flavour.’ He knew it was him and could feel that he wasn’t far away.
‘He’s listening out for me.’
He moved forward swiftly and silently into the corridor, keeping close to the wall. With his revolver held tight in his right hand, his finger on the trigger.
Then he sensed that the killer’s emotional level had dropped again.
‘Two can play at that game.’
Although there were rooms on each side of the corridor, Micky nevertheless sensed that the killer was in the facing room at the far end.
He edged slowly along until he was close enough to see that the door was slightly ajar and seeming to invite him in.
Then, he paused, something was wrong with him. He was getting physically weaker as he edged along the corridor.
But, seeing a few drops of blood on the floor encouraged him onward.
His heart was pounding as he reached the door.
A mental stab suddenly hit him, causing him to stagger. But somehow he mustered enough strength to kick the door violently, causing it to swing hard back against the wall.
“Ouch!” the killer squealed as the door smashed into him, sending him sinking to the floor in pain.
Micky had sensed that the killer was waiting for him just slightly behind the door so he had done the only thing possible. He was pleased, it had worked in his favour.
Stepping inside the room, he kept his revolver trained on the man lying on his back further inside the room. It looked as if the man had staggered away from the wall before falling flat on his back, trapping his left hand beneath him.
Micky mentally scanned the area, but there was no one else around.
Then his eyes rested on an old looking box that sat on a small table just beyond the killer.
“Don’t you remember what that is Micky,” the killer asked as he wriggled around to take the weight off his trapped arm.
“Shut up,” Micky snapped. His attention now firmly set on the killer.
“So, you think it’s all over then, Micky?”
Micky felt drained, but he knew that he had to finish the job.
“Yes. But it’s you that’s finished,” he answered.
“You’re not going to shoot me, Micky, we’re related.”
“Rubbish. We’re nothing alike,” Micky snapped.
“Of course we are. You’re my older brother.”
“No. That’s impossible,” Micky stuttered, horrified at the thought.
But then wondered, ‘Was it possible?’ He knew he wasn’t feeling sure of anything about himself anymore.
“Then let me tell you what
brought us both to this.”
“Go on then. You’d better be quick. You’re already dying,” Micky snapped.
“Yes. But so are you.”
Micky knew that was true. He could feel the difference in him, from how he was five years ago when he had been fit and healthy, and certainly didn’t have any grey hairs.
Now, he definitely looked and felt older.
But why was he aging so rapidly now? He wondered.
“Our mother had two sons, you and me. I came through just over six years ago to change the course of humanity.”
“What do you mean? You came through? Through from where?” Mickey angrily asked him.
“From our time, Micky,” he snapped back.
“I knew that if I could delay the Acarea project by even just a few months, the Earth people wouldn’t have gone to Zeta Reticuli and Delta Pavonis when they did.
Then our father would have been there to see us grow up, and the Crillon race would have remained supreme.”
Suddenly, an image of a Crillon face flashed into Micky’s mind for a moment, confusing him.
“Don’t be a fool,” Micky snapped. “If I go along with what you’re saying, then we would never have been born because our father would not have met our mother. So that negates what you’re saying.”
“No, you’re wrong.”
Micky didn’t really know what the killer, or rather Axon his brother he now realised, was talking about.
But, when he thought about it, the words, Zeta, Pavonis, and even the reference to ‘our time’ triggered something in his mind.
“But, we both appear more human than this Crillon race you’re talking about. You can see that yourself?”
“So, you already accept the concept that we could have Crillon blood in us?” Axon replied, then said. “Just looks, Micky. I’ve always thought of myself as Crillon.”
Death of Time (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 4) 2nd Edition.: A thrilling, psychological, Mystery and Suspense, sci-fi detective thriller. (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy) Page 24