Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “Why would you say that? Is there something you’re not telling me, Mr. Time Traveler?”

  Lucas didn’t think it was wise to tell her about the impending Krellian invasion. She would find out soon enough, assuming he wasn’t able to travel further back in time to keep this day and the invasion from happening.

  Time for a little spin control.

  “There’s always that possibility. After all, we’re only a tiny speck on the ass of the universe. Statistically speaking, there has to be life out there, somewhere. Odds are, some of them aren’t going to be friendly.”

  “Maybe so, but either way, guns will be obsolete eventually. My father prefers edged blade weapons and bows. You never run out of ammo and they don’t jam in a firefight. Plus, they’re silent.”

  “True.”

  “You can bet the NSA is tracking every single gun sale, every bullet, and every prepper’s food supply order. When the feds are hurting for money and resources, they’ll invade the homes of the people who have the ammo and supplies they need and take them without due process. That’s why it’s important to stay off the grid. They can’t take what they can’t find.”

  “That might be a little extreme,” he said, wanting to change the subject. She was obviously passionate about her beliefs and he didn’t want her getting too emotional.

  He stopped moving for a bit when his nose detected a familiar aroma—citrus. The scent was overpowering. “I take it you have a few crates of oranges in here somewhere?”

  “Oranges?”

  “Yeah. Can’t remember the last time I peeled one of those.”

  “Uh, sorry. No oranges in here.”

  “Are you sure? The smell is really strong.”

  “Trust me, no oranges. The closest orange tree is clear over by Mount Lemon. Remember that family who drove off the peak and landed in the trees of some huge commercial grove at its base?”

  “Sure. It was all over the news. One of the farm’s trap cameras recorded the fireball.”

  “That’s the closest source.”

  “Huh,” he said, scratching his head. “I must be hallucinating again. Sometimes I get these random whiffs of odors. And it’s usually oranges.”

  “And you think I’m weird?”

  At the far end of the supplies was an all-black, futuristic-looking off-road vehicle. When they got a little closer, Lucas noticed two ultra-wide tires up front and four sets of rubber mounted ones across the rear axle. He recognized the sleek, six-wheeler from the movie Batman Begins.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Sure is. The Tumbler. Father bought it from Warner Brothers, then beefed it up with a few gadgets of his own. Did you know they built these for the movies right here in Arizona? I think the guy lives in Chino Valley, up near Prescott.”

  “I’ve always wanted to drive the Tumbler,” he said, limping ahead of her. He stood next to the vehicle and looked inside, admiring the suite of controls and technology spanning the width of the dashboard.

  “I’ll be the one driving,” she said, nudging Lucas out of the way before jumping into the driver’s seat.

  “Then I guess I’ve got shotgun,” he said, hopping around to the other side. He tossed the backpack and makeshift crutch into the area behind the seat, then slid his butt inside the car. He buckled the seatbelt.

  “Why didn’t we use this before?”

  “It’s for emergency use only.”

  “I think this qualifies, don’t you?”

  “Most definitely,” she said. When she turned the key in the ignition, the motor roared, echoing off the walls of the magma cave. Each time she stepped on the gas to warm the engine, Lucas could feel the raw power of the impressive machine through its fiberglass and steel framework.

  He looked at Masago and considered her small stature: the top of her head was two inches below the headrest and her size-four feet barely touched the pedals, even with the seat pushed all the way forward.

  “Are you sure you can drive this beast?”

  “Been training for years.”

  “Inside or out?”

  “Inside; there’s no outside.”

  “So? What? You drove in circles?”

  “Yep. Once a month. I’m very proficient at turning left.”

  He rolled his eyes, suddenly fearing for his life. He looked at the area ahead—no exit. “How the hell do we get out of here?”

  She winked. “That’s the fun part.”

  “Huh?”

  She opened a gray-colored plastic compartment built into the area between the seats. Inside of it were three pairs of padded earmuffs and a touchscreen computer that turned on almost instantly. “Remember the exit signs in the tunnel?”

  He nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

  “Buried in the wall behind each sign is a powerful explosive charge. Father wired them strategically throughout the tunnel to collapse the ceiling instantly. Those men won’t know what hit them.”

  “Good God. What about us?”

  “It’s a one-way trip from here,” she said, turning the headlights on. The solid wall of the cave ahead of them was now in full view.

  Lucas was correct—there was no exit. Instead, the wall was covered with explosives. Each brick was labeled with C4 and connected to the others by wire.

  “Wait a minute. Let’s talk about this.”

  “We’ll be fine. Those are shaped charges. First the tunnel, then our exit,” she said, giving one set of earmuffs to Lucas. “You’ll definitely want to wear these.” She put one of the other sets on her ears and touched the control screen with her fingers, swiping through three instrument-style screens until the display showed only a single red-colored button in the middle of the display. It was labeled Evacuation Sequence. She pressed the button, activating a ten-second, numerical countdown on the computer screen.

  Lucas gulped, grabbing the safety bar above his right shoulder with both hands. His seat began to shake when a powerful ground-based rumble penetrated the chamber and reached his ears. The sound was coming from behind.

  “Kiss the tunnel goodbye!” she yelled just before the wall ahead of them exploded outward in a cloud of dust and flying rubble. Sunlight beamed in, dancing across the vehicle’s windshield and into Lucas’s eyes. He put his hand up to shield his retinas.

  She removed the earmuffs, tossing them into the backseat. Lucas did the same.

  “Time for five hundred ponies,” she said with a mile-wide smile, jamming the clutch to the floorboard. She put the shifter into first gear and let the clutch slip as she hit the gas with a powerful thrust. The Tumbler reacted instantly, screaming forward with impressive acceleration.

  Lucas watched in horror as the vehicle’s speed continued to climb. A pile of dirt and rock was lying ahead of them, just outside the cave. Some of the debris chunks were too big to drive over. He pointed at the one directly in front of them.

  “Look out!”

  She swerved the vehicle left, then right to avoid the boulder, but never took her foot off the gas. The right side of the Tumbler bounced and lurched sideways when its wheels hurtled over a grouping of smaller rocks. She kept her foot on the gas, navigating the remaining rubble using sharp angles and sudden turns. A few seconds later, they were clear of the devastation. She stomped on the brake pedal while turning the steering wheel to the left, sending a hail of pebbles and dirt into the air when the Tumbler slid around to the right and stopped.

  “Elvis has left the building!” she yelled in a deep voice.

  He was speechless.

  “You okay?” she asked, like nothing unusual had just happened.

  He peeled his fingers from the grab bar above, flexing them to restore normal blood flow. “Yeah, but I think I may need to go clean my shorts.”

  “I told you I could drive.”

  “You call that driving?”

  “We’re in one piece, aren’t we?”

  “Barely.”

  “Pussy,” she said, turning her he
ad back toward the mountain bunker for a few seconds. Then she looked at Lucas and smiled, showing a mouthful of perfectly white teeth. “Only one thing left to do.”

  She swiped the computer screen a few more times with her finger until the screen displayed a single green-colored button labeled Collapse Chamber.

  She pressed it.

  “Wait!” he yelled, looking back at the opening. A fiery explosion detonated inside the chamber, sending columns of red and black-colored smoke billowing out from the entrance. The heat from the blast traveled quickly, warming Lucas’ forehead and cheeks as he watched the spectacular collapse of the chamber.

  “Hey, Captain Destructo, what if we need some of those supplies, like the fuel?”

  “I couldn’t take the chance any of your evil copies survived. Besides, this ATV is fully stocked with supplies and two tanks of diesel. It’ll take us anywhere you want to go within a six-hundred-mile radius. Just name it.”

  Lucas spun forward and let his head fall back against the headrest. He figured she just wanted to blow some crap up. Not that he could blame her. Demolition was a total rush, just not when it’s your only safe haven. He exhaled but still didn’t answer her, needing to let his heartbeat calm a bit. It did.

  “Lucas?”

  He wondered why every woman he met seemed to be carrying around a giant bag of crazy. Just once, he’d like to meet a normal girl. Someone he could hang out with and not fear for his life every second they were together. Someone with a good head on her shoulders, and someone who wasn’t buried with so much of life’s baggage that she couldn’t move or think straight. Was that too much to ask?

  “Lucas? Where do you want to go?” she asked, revving the engine three times in succession. “Come on, we’re burning daylight.”

  He looked at her, wanting to yank the keys from the ignition, but didn’t. “To the spot where you found me in the desert. We need to find my glasses.”

  She put an arm into the backseat and pulled out a red motorcycle helmet with a visor. She gave it to him.

  “What’s this for?” Lucas asked, worrying he might actually need to wear it.

  “Safety first,” she quipped, grabbing another helmet and slipping it on. A second later, her chin strap was snugly in place.

  “Hang on a sec,” he said, hoping he could put the helmet on before she took off. He cinched the strap under his jaw, then wrapped both hands around the safety bar.

  A microsecond later, she hit the gas. The tires spun with a powerful whirl, sending dirt and rock into the air behind them. The back end of the ATV sank into the loose surface until the knobby rubber gripped the hard deck below, sending the Tumbler forward at breakneck speed.

  9

  Randol Larson kept an eye on the main entrance of the state’s capitol building from the park bench he was sitting on twenty yards away. He felt fortunate to have found a spot in the shade with the bustle of citizens enjoying the bright Arizona sunshine around him. Everywhere he looked, someone was coming or going, while a few had stopped to have a snack or read the newspaper.

  He spun his head to the left when a rattle caught his attention. A tattoo-covered custodian was walking toward him with a trash cart and dirty coveralls. Larson slid over to make room, allowing the janitor to pop the lid of a waste bin open and drag it next to a plastic tub on his cart. The man strained to lift the overflowing container but managed to dump the garbage into the central bin.

  A cloud of stench drifted Larson’s way along with a flurry of flies, making him reconsider agreeing to sit outside and wait for his brother-in-law to arrive. For a moment he thought about getting up to leave but decided to stay put. General Alvarez had been specific about where he wanted them to meet, and Larson didn’t want to disappoint.

  The university attorney pinched his nostrils closed, then turned away to watch a pair of mimes performing in black-and-white-colored tuxedos on his right. Two members of the pantomimes’ crowd were holding smartphones in front of their bodies while the remainder of the audience laughed on cue, as if their reactions had been choreographed with every nuance of the street show.

  Larson wasn’t sure why Alvarez wanted to meet in Phoenix instead of picking a location somewhere in their hometown of Tucson, but he didn’t care. The National Guard commander said it was “top secret, level-one classified.” Larson didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped everything to get in his car and drive to Phoenix. Luckily, it was only a short two-hour trip from Tucson and his Lexus was very fuel efficient, so it didn’t cost him much in time or gas.

  He checked the time on his cell phone—Alvarez was ten minutes late. He couldn’t remember the last time the general was tardy for anything. The career military man ran his life like he ran his men—with the precision of an atomic clock. Larson figured an urgent state-wide crisis must have taken priority, given the location of their meeting.

  Must be with the governor. Or perhaps the legislature.

  Either way, his mind bubbled with anticipation. He changed screens on his phone and found the audio recorder app. It wasn’t as easy to operate as his standalone data recorder, but the phone’s extra storage space and longer battery life made it a better choice. He decided to turn it on now since he probably wouldn’t have a chance to covertly activate it once his brother-in-law made his appearance. A few minutes of silence would be easy to erase before he cataloged and filed the recording in his cloud storage archive.

  Larson jumped when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, expecting it to be the janitor. It wasn’t. It was his brother-in-law, General Rafael Alvarez in full uniform with three of his sharply dressed guardsmen.

  “Enjoying the show?” the general asked.

  “What? The mimes?” Larson answered, wondering if the general had noticed his use of the audio software. He slipped the phone into the front pocket of his suit with the microphone facing up, toward his chin.

  “Personally, I think their kind should be lined up before a firing squad and shot.”

  Larson laughed. “Put us all out of our misery.”

  “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I would’ve been here sooner, but the governor was running behind schedule.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Walk with me,” Alvarez said.

  Larson stood and joined Alvarez and the three men as they made their way along the sidewalk toward the afternoon traffic, flying past on Washington Street.

  “I just met with the governor and her chief of staff regarding a classified operation that took place yesterday in the Tucson area. There were a number of casualties, but the threat was neutralized.”

  “Threat? Terrorists?”

  “The details of the operation are classified and strictly on a need-to-know basis.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  Alvarez waved a hand signal to his three military escorts. The men remained behind as Larson and Alvarez continued walking. Two minutes later, Alvarez stopped, turning his back to his troops.

  “An hour from now, I have a video call with the chiefs of staff at the Pentagon regarding the incident. But before I go take care of it, I need to ask a favor.”

  “Sure. Name it.”

  “This is strictly off-book.”

  “Not a problem. My lips are sealed.”

  Alvarez pulled two pieces of black cloth from his pocket. The material was covered with a maze of symmetrical gold lines.

  “I need you to run this by one of your lab geeks. I need to know its composition and capabilities.”

  “I think I know just the man for the job,” Larson said, thinking of his scientist friend, Griffith. He took one of the stretchy swatches in hand. Its smooth surface tingled the tips of his fingers. “Is this from the attack?”

  “I can’t reveal any more details. Like I said, it’s classified. Let’s just say the threat isn’t over.”

  “Well, I might be able to pull a few strings,” he said using
a coy voice, knowing the general was desperate. “But it won’t be easy.”

  The man leaned in close, grabbing Larson by the shirt collar. The power of his grip cinched the material tight, restricting the flow of air into Larson’s lungs.

  Alvarez stuck his jaw out. “Look, you arrogant prick. Don’t think for a second I don’t know when someone’s shaking me down. What the hell do you want? Money?”

  “No. Just a favor,” Larson said in a weak voice, feeling his legs starting to go numb.

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I need someone to disappear.”

  “Disappear?” Alvarez said, letting go of Larson’s clothes with a shove.

  Larson gasped a full breath. “Just for a while.”

  Alvarez glanced back at his men for a moment.

  Larson did, too. The guards were still a good two hundred feet away.

  The general’s lips grew stiff and his tone intensified. “Just because you’re married to my sister doesn’t mean I’m willing to conduct an unsanctioned rendition for you.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Don’t test me, Randol.”

  “Look, I wasn’t born yesterday. Analyzing this material is obviously very important to you, otherwise you wouldn’t be asking me to do it off-book. Besides, who else do you know that has the means and the resources to do what you ask? And keep it quiet?”

  “You are one manipulating asshole,” Alvarez snapped.

  “Hey, you came to me, remember? Quid pro quo, Rafael.”

  “It’s General to you.”

  “My mistake,” Larson said, hoping he could salvage the conversation. “So? What’s it going to be, General? Do you want my help or not?”

  “Fine. Who’s the target?”

  “His name is Lucas Ramsay. I need him out of the way for a couple weeks.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Alvarez didn’t respond.

  “Look, I’m not asking you to take him out. Just remove him from the equation for a bit. That’s all I need. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Do you have a photo and last known location?”

  “Here’s a photo of him from his security badge,” Larson said, showing the man a portrait of Lucas on his cell phone. “This is from his freshman year, so he’s several years older now. He works in the science lab. He’s one of Dr. Kleezebee’s crew.”