Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5)

by Andre Gonzalez

  I could do it. Bash him on the head, grab the bottle, and run.

  Chris shifted his weight and leaned toward the counter to block her view of the bottle behind his thin frame. “By tonight, we will have forty soldiers in this house, and each one will be ready for whatever Martin decides to bring. They’ll hide, and we’ll give the appearance that we don’t have a very big operation going on here. Who would think any differently in this little house? It will lax them just enough for us to pounce, wipe out their entire crew and snatch Martin like a little kid falling for the stranger in a van with a cute puppy. And you’re the puppy.” Chris snickered as he crossed his arms and waited for a response from Sonya.

  She said nothing, only shaking her head in disgust that her own father still insisted on using her as bait in his twisted games.

  “It will all be over soon, dear,” he said. “I just need you to trust me.”

  “Trusting you is nearly impossible.”

  “Say what you will, I’ve never harmed you and never will.” Chris walked away from the counter, daring Sonya to make an attempt on the bottle. Hell, she could even take a swig and will herself to one hundred years in the past. That would be more efficient than trying to run. Chris circled the room, taking slow, steady steps around the table. Sonya didn’t understand how exactly forty more people were going to fit in the house—let alone hide. It was like asking an elephant to hide in a fish tank.

  “There will soon be a day when this is all over,” Chris said. “The Road Runners will no longer exist and you can roam the world freely. My question to you, dear, is what do you want out of that future life? Do you even remember what it feels like to truly be free and not have to constantly watch over your shoulder?”

  “Gee, Dad, I don’t know, since you made my life this way.”

  Now she folded her arms, the Juice a distant memory for the time being. Here he was again trying to rattle her brains, but why? He had her in the house with no viable escape route until he handed over that bottle—

  —Or I take it—

  —and he still toyed with her conscience like an evil kid frying ants with a magnifying glass.

  “Sonya, if I never made you this way—created this bond with my blood—you’d have been dead a long time ago.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have, because if you never made me this way, the Road Runners would have no reason to want me dead.”

  “Ahh, but there it is, don’t you see? What happens to disloyal people who go running to the Road Runners?” Chris slashed his pointer finger across his throat, following the gesture with a cold wink.

  “I have no doubt you’d kill me, but you’d never be able to catch me in that scenario.”

  Chris threw his head back and howled, clutching his hands over his gut. “Catch you, dear? I can do that in my sleep.”

  “Then you need to prepare to let me go. For good. I’ll do whatever you ask for this sham trade you’re staging, but after that, I hope you can respect my wishes and let me live in peace.”

  “You know I can never truly let you wander the world on your own. You are my lifeline, and I need to at least know you’re alive and well. Unfortunately, the invincibility does not pass to you, so I can’t afford to not know if you’re alive.”

  Sonya nodded. “I can check in with you once a week. We can set a day of the week for me to call you to let you know everything is fine.”

  Chris let his smirk fall to the way side and scratched his chin. “We can maybe work something out like that. Honestly, it’s hard to know what our world is going to look like after this upcoming encounter.”

  But don’t you know already? Sonya wondered. Chris never made decisions without taking a peek into the future to see how it would all turn out. That method, however, wasn’t foolproof. Any tweaked action in the present time could alter the course of the future, much like a cruise liner adjusting their course by one degree could put them on an entirely different continent than originally planned.

  Chris surely had a sense how things would end up after Martin and his crew arrived to trade Duane. Was his reluctance to let Sonya live a truly free life a result of what was to come? Would it not end up being the victory parade that he had hoped for, but something much less? It certainly wasn’t going to make matters worse for the Revolution, or else he wouldn’t proceed with this plan.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Sonya asked her father, burning a gaze into his blue eyes.

  He met her stare—a skill he had mastered when facing off with anyone—and shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve told you everything that’s about to happen. What more do you want?”

  She squinted her eyes, holding that cold, unforgiving stare. “You just seem less organized with this. I don’t know why.”

  “I’m plenty organized, dear. Things feel hectic in this little shack we now live in, but I’m still very much in control.”

  Sonya broke her gaze and looked down to her plate, the remains of her scrambled eggs waiting to be devoured. She wondered if he really was in control. It was no secret that Chris was known for making erratic decisions and acting on impulse for revenge and violence instead of sound logic. Duane was the glue that held the Revolution together and prevented them from becoming an organized crime mob. Duane was the anchor who kept Chris grounded in reality, and also the compass that kept them on course for their long-term goals.

  Martin and the Road Runners may have not realized—nor Chris, for that matter—but Duane’s absence was directly contributing to a slow and steady unraveling of the Revolution and its leader, the Keeper of Time. Duane left and a Warm Soul became the leader of the Road Runners, followed by a resurgence in their once swayed confidence. With Duane gone, Chris dropped the protective fortress around his mansion in a cocky and reckless decision. Duane may have not been able to keep Martin out of power, but they would certainly be meeting in the Alaskan mansion right now had he never left.

  Who would have thought a sick, old woman 5,000 miles away from Alaska would lead to the downfall of the Revolution?

  Sonya smirked at the thought. She didn’t wish harm on any of those she had grown close to over her life, but it had always been clear that the Revolution contributed nothing substantial to the world besides pain and suffering for innocent people. Sonya wouldn’t aid in the end of the Revolution, but also had no plans to intervene with its pending collapse.

  Chris sat in the driver seat, a lunatic in control with no awareness of what was truly happening in the rest of the vehicle. Duane was the instructor in a student-driver vehicle, where he could take control of the wheel if the car started swerving out of control.

  Sonya wondered if Martin knew all of this. Had he put in the time to really extract information from Duane and realize that he was the one calling the shots? Would Duane even speak? He had his frustrations with Chris, sure—much like a babysitter grows irritable when a child refuses to listen—but he remained loyal. Sonya didn’t doubt that for one second. Duane would never betray the Revolution, even if his life was on the line. Without ever saying it aloud, Sonya knew Duane believed the Revolution could one day return to its roots as innocent time travelers only interested in making money and learning as much history as possible. There was only one person in the way, and he stood across from Sonya in the kitchen at this current moment.

  Chris studied Sonya as she stared down to her plate in deep thought. She felt his deceitful eyes on her, but refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. Ever since she was a young girl trying to piece life together with no mother, she had learned to tune out the world around her—particularly her father who had always been trying to rile a reaction from her.

  It’ll all be over soon. One way or another.

  She grinned as she picked up her fork and finished the rest of her breakfast, Chris leaving the kitchen without another word, clutching the Juice bottle in hand.

  29

  Chapter 29

  The jet touched down in Twin Falls
, Idaho, carrying Gerald, Duane, and six Road Runner soldiers armed and ready. They had scouted the area ahead of time with satellite imagery, and found the tiny house on the map.

  Gerald deemed the location too small for Chris to have a small army of soldiers like he did in Alaska. This was a remote area that suggested peaceful negotiations over blunt force, but Gerald knew better.

  Peace didn’t – and couldn’t – exist with Chris Speidel involved, and no matter how much he tried to give that appearance, the old man always had a trick up his sleeve. During the flight, Duane sat in the corner by himself, gazing out the window as if he were longing for his arrival to a tropical vacation. Gerald sat in the middle, his handpicked crew circled around him. The plans were already set after a heated discussion in Martin’s office.

  Gerald made his diligent attempt to persuade Martin into dropping a bomb on the little house. It could have been done by a helicopter, since there were no lay citizens anywhere near the property. But with Sonya inside the house, Martin refused. Gerald pushed the matter further, saying the war could end today if they did this, but Martin never budged.

  He momentarily wondered if Martin was somehow working with Chris and Sonya, but dismissed the thought after remembering what Chris had done to Martin’s mother. There was simply no forgiving that sort of action. Even if promised a lifetime of invincibility? he thought. Could Martin Briar actually set his personal grievances aside to the most evil man known, for a promise of never dying? Such an offer was impossible to completely eliminate, but Gerald still doubted any of it to be true.

  By the time they arrived in Idaho and packed into a van for the hour-long drive south, Gerald was already playing through the exchange in his mind. They had all expected it to be straightforward. Gerald releases Duane, Chris releases Sonya, and everyone goes their separate ways. That was the agreement Martin and Chris had come to over the phone.

  Only Chris didn’t know Martin wasn’t coming, a move suggested by Gerald in this evolving chess match of the minds. No matter what Chris said, Gerald didn’t want their new commander so much as in the same state as the Keeper of Time. He’d seen it plenty of times in the future: it only took five seconds for your life to change. Five seconds of Martin on the same property as Chris was five too many.

  The old bastard was surely angling to snag Martin, and would have no choice but to make a peaceful transaction with Gerald. If Gerald went missing on this mission, Martin had plans in place to rip the house apart until he was found.

  The car ride, much like the flight, was mostly silent. No one wanted to discuss plans in front of Duane, in case he decided to blurt something aloud when facing Chris. They had discussed taping his mouth, but Martin didn’t want them to seem too criminal in their handling of Duane.

  In a private meeting Gerald held between just him and his crew, they all griped about why they couldn’t at least make an attempt on Sonya’s life. She would be right there for the taking. A couple of well-timed shots and the Revolution, as they knew it, would be done for good.

  “There is unfortunately no scenario where I can defend any of you in front of the commander if Sonya Griffiths dies at your hands. She was once an integral part of the Road Runners until Commander Strike made an attempt on her life. Commander Briar would like to see her return to her role. He believes that if we can get Sonya back on our team, she can help us devise a way to kill Chris. I can’t stop you from killing Sonya, but know if you do, your punishment will be harsh.”

  Gerald offered this explanation, knowing the truth was merely a ridiculous love story gone awry. Some had nodded, while others shook their head. All that mattered now, a few minutes away from Chris’s new dwelling, was that they were all on the same page. Bringing Sonya home was the ultimate goal, aside from surviving, of course. They also understood there was virtually no chance of Sonya agreeing to return with them, and they were not to use force to make her do so. Gerald was the skilled negotiator in the group and would do everything in his power to persuade her to join them on the trip back to Denver.

  The van started to slow as they pulled off the highway and onto a dirt road. Gerald had grown painfully bored with the scenic route of dirt and desert as far as they could see, an occasional tumbleweed dragging itself across the road, begging to be squashed by a tire.

  “We’re here,” the driver announced, coming to a complete stop fifty yards away from a lone house. It had white adobe exterior, a couple of dead bushes scattered along the side of the home, while a cactus stood tall in the background.

  Gerald stepped out of the van first, kicking the dirt under his boots into little clouds as he patted the pistol tucked into his belt. He remained beside the van, not wanting to venture too far onto Chris’s turf without his highly skilled crew beside him.

  “Let’s roll,” Gerald commanded over his shoulder.

  The rest of the van doors slid open, everyone piling out. Duane was last, one of the soldiers escorting him as his hands were cuffed behind his back. Gerald wondered if Duane realized he could now make a run for the house. They would gain nothing by shooting him dead, likely signing their own death certificates on the spot.

  Duane made no such move, content with letting this exchange take place as planned. Chris barged out of the house, the creaky screen door slamming back with a jolting smack.

  “Good afternoon, Road Runners. How are we all doing today?” Chris sneered as he marched toward their group, three soldiers appearing from the side of the house with guns drawn as they joined their leader by his side.

  Gerald and the rest of his crew all immediately whipped their guns out and held them toward the Revolters.

  “Let’s settle down,” Chris said in a soft voice, patting the air downward with his hands. “No gunfire needs to happen today—this is just a clean transaction, right?”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” Gerald demanded.

  Chris stopped a few feet away and studied the group in front of him, a natural grin spreading across his face when his eyes met those of his closest friend. “Duane, good sir, I’m sorry you fell into this predicament. We’ll have you back on our side and things can return to normal in no time.”

  Duane said nothing, letting his gaze fall to the ground.

  “Where is Martin?” Chris asked, looking around as if he had somehow missed him in the group.

  “We would never bring our leader to join a fist fight with you,” Gerald said, stepping forward, no more than two feet between him and the lunatic known as Chris Speidel.

  “Well, that was not part of the agreement,” Chris snapped. “I specifically asked for Martin Briar to be part of this.” He crossed his arms and frowned.

  “We don’t care about your demands, Chris,” Gerald said. “We have Duane, you have Sonya. This is an easy exchange that doesn’t require anyone else to be present.”

  “I wanted to speak with Martin in person. I hate when people don’t keep their word.”

  “Keep their word?” Gerald replied, tightening his grip on the pistol. “Where’s Sonya? Is she even here, or was that all a bunch of bullshit to try and trap Martin?”

  Chris giggled like a child, his shoulders bouncing wildly. “So now you think I’m the liar?! Sonya is right inside. She’s actually here, unlike your coward of a leader.”

  “Stop the sham, Chris,” Gerald said. “We all know you wanted Martin here to take him. He blew your pathetic mansion to pieces and you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him roam the world another day. I’ve been around a long time, and I’m from the future where you sick pigs rule the world—”

  “Quite the beautiful world, don’t you think?” Chris asked with a cheesy grin. “A place to raise a family . . . or lose one.”

  Gerald fought every nerve in his body from reaching out and strangling this old shitbag with his bare hands. That would surely land a dozen bullets throughout his torso. “So what are we doing?” he asked instead, teeth gritted. “Martin’s not here, so is the deal off? We’re glad to take Duane bac
k with us and squeeze all the info we can out of him.”

  “Duane would never talk to you people—that much I know. If Martin can’t be here, then we have nothing further to discuss. You can leave Duane, and I’ll let Sonya free.”

  “Show her to me first.”

  “Certainly.” Chris half-bowed before turning around and starting toward the house. His goons remained in position. “Take them out, boys!”

  Gerald had half a second to react, jerking his pistol toward the three Revolters and firing in sync with them also shooting at him and the crew. A dozen gunshots cracked the silent air within seconds of each other. The three Revolters collapsed to the ground, while one of Gerald’s soldiers did the same, blood spreading from their chest like an oil spill. Just as he had crouched down to tend to his injured Road Runner, the slightest of rumbles came from the ground, as if a stampede of wild rhinos were trampling down the nearby highway.

  Everyone kept their weapons cocked and ready, heads spinning around as it wasn’t quite clear where the rumbling was coming from. Chris had completely vanished inside, where Gerald would never see him again.

  “Holy shit!” one of his soldiers screamed, flailing as he tried to run back into the van. What sounded like an entire case of fireworks exploding was actually a shower of bullets coming from the nearly three dozen Revolters running from the backyard and around the house.

  Gerald fired his pistol, but knew this was it. They were grossly outnumbered and had zero chance of escaping. Out of all the tragedy he had managed to survive in the future, his life would end in a gunfight with the Revolters in the year 2020, well before the continent took its final turn to the point of no return. He only wished he had more time to process a thought. If he did, he would have thought back to his family and how lucky he was for finally getting the chance to see them again in the afterlife. He might have reflected on the outstanding success he had of surviving for so long in this ugly war. With even a split second to think, he would have made a wish that his own death wouldn’t pass in vain, and that Martin would finally bring a swift end to this without him. The journey had been a fun, interesting ride, and he had often wondered what his life would have looked like had he never joined the Road Runners in the first place.