“Of course not. After I’ve seen them in action at Calvin’s store, and all the stories I’ve heard, why would anyone want to join them?”
Martin had a list of questions to ask about the Road Runners, but the quick burst of adrenaline had already worn off. His eyes felt like boulders in his face trying to pull his head down to a pillow.
He didn’t need a reminder about how dangerous the Road Runners were. The old liquor store in 1996 was probably still smoking. His old friend, Calvin, would have turned into a pile of ashes within minutes.
“I wanted to warn you about the severity of which they will be following you,” Chris continued. “I have my own people around town keeping an eye on you, as well. For security. If they notice any Road Runners tailing you, they’ll be quick to interject. These encounters can turn violent quickly. But we have to do whatever we need to defend ourselves and what we stand for.”
“And what exactly is it that you stand for?” Martin asked, his body refusing interest, but his mind demanding answers.
Chris stood and paced around the room, stopping to stare at the bathroom door where the steady sound of running water continued.
“We encourage a free world where people can roam through history and make the world a better place.”
“And making those same people sell you their souls in exchange?” Martin hadn’t expected to be quick on the draw with a snarky comment.
“There’s a price to pay for everything,” Chris said calmly, as if he’d heard this hundreds of times. “Even those who wish to do good in the world have to pay. Nothing comes free.”
Martin could have continued his argument with the old man about the morality of his “fees”, but had no energy to do so.
“You always come here and tell me to be aware of these people, but you never seem to give me any advice on what to do if I encounter one,” Martin said. The room started to spin and he wanted to go to bed. Why couldn’t have Chris come in the morning?
“There’s not much you can do besides run,” Chris said. “Keep in mind these people don’t have any special powers—aside from the Juice, if you consider it a power. If you hide, they have to find you like anyone else would.”
“So I can fight them off?”
Chris waved a hand at Martin. “I wouldn’t take any chances. The ones they send out to hunt people are highly skilled in combat and stealth. Ninjas, essentially.”
“Why do they exist?” Martin was finally getting answers. If Chris wanted to talk, then why send him away? He’d been waiting forever to learn this information. “If you’re the keeper of time, then how did these people end up with the power?”
Chris nodded. “I gave them the same Juice as you. There was a time when they were good and wanted to make the world a better place. Sometimes power corrupts people. A handful of them revolted, upset by the price they had to pay to obtain the Juice. They made it their number one goal to get revenge on me.”
“They want to kill you?”
“Kill me?” Chris chuckled. “That would be nice. They’d love to torture me. Pick me apart limb by limb. The funny thing is they’ll never catch me. I have people all over watching. I know where the Road Runners are in different parts of the world and in different eras of time. They’ve grown into quite the organization, I must say. There are thousands of them, all trying to recruit people to join their angry cause. But I have an army. They’re no match for me.”
“If you have so much manpower, why not just wipe them out?”
Chris chuckled, a sound that sent chills down Martin’s spine as the clock ticked away on the wall, approaching midnight. “Despite what you think about me, I don’t just go around killing people. I’d like to capture the Road Runners and speak with them, try to get them to see things the way they did before their brain was corrupted by their bitter counterparts. We’ve only killed when pushed to those limits.”
Martin took two steps forward and stood directly in front of Chris, staring into his deep blue eyes, wanting to see his soul, if there was one. The old man reeked of stale cologne that nearly made Martin gag.
“Is there a problem?” Chris asked, his familiar grin returning.
Maybe it was the irritability, but Martin had an urge to choke the old man and save the Road Runners some time. He’d had enough of the random visits and vague explanations. Why did I ever accept this bullshit? he wondered. Why didn’t I just say no and continue on with my shitty life? I would’ve pulled the trigger eventually and ended it all so easily.
He thought back to his mother, sitting in their new house in 2018, her mind slowly fading into the darkness of dementia. It was her idea to go into the antique store—she would never pass one up. That one decision led to all of this. If Martin would have just waited in the car that day, would he be in this current mess? Sure, he had Sonya now, the brightest light in his life since Izzy, but was it worth it if they both ended up dead in an unknown place, far away from their current lives?
“What will they do if they catch us?” Martin asked, his last question.
“They’ll try to convince you to join their group, that’s always their main objective. They’ll give you some time, too. They’ll work hard to convince you. You could call them the world’s best salesmen, because they sure do convert many.”
Chris paused and cleared his throat.
“And if you don’t agree to join their pact, they’ll kill you.”
Martin chuckled, slap-happy by this point in the night. “I suppose that’s a bold strategy.”
“You won’t be laughing when they catch you. You need to take this seriously.”
“I need to go to bed.”
Chris sighed. “Very well. Just know that if you think you’re being followed, it’s because you are. We’ll have our eyes on you, for protection. Carry on with your business and stay alert. Even though we’re close, we may not necessarily be fast enough.”
“Gee, your guys must have trained under JFK’s Secret Service detail.”
Chris shook his head. “It’s your funeral. I’ll see you around.”
The old man pivoted and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Martin lay on the bed, the water still running in the bathroom. As he dozed, he imagined the world as it must have truly been: thousands of people all with a special ability to travel through time, jumping from century to century as effortlessly as boarding a bus.
There was a war of sorts between Chris’s people and the Road Runners. A war that had gone on for how long? A few months? Years? Thousands of years? Martin could have asked questions for the next six hours if he had the energy. Was everyone who got sucked into the world of time travel forced to pick a side in this war, or were some neutral and allowed to carry on with their business? He wanted to stay neutral and not involved. If they wanted to protect him, then that was their choice. He was here to help Sonya quickly so he could plan a trip to the future to save his mother’s ailing brain.
72
Chapter 17
They woke at noon, groggy and needing more sleep. Yesterday was filled with an insane amount of exercise and stress. Martin faintly remembered hosting Chris in the room a few hours ago, the encounter feeling more like several weeks in the past. Part of him wondered if it was a dream. Even if it was, everything Chris had told him was still true.
“I think we missed breakfast,” Sonya said with a loud moan and stretch.
They stayed under the sheets, their bodies aching everywhere.
“I’ve never been so tired in my life,” Sonya said.
“Chris was here last night when you were in the shower.”
Sonya bolted upright, forgetting all about her sore abdomen. “What the fuck? He knows where we’re staying? What the hell did he say?” Her words flew out her mouth at supersonic speed.
“Oh, not much. Just that we’re being followed everywhere we go,” Martin replied casually.
“What! And you didn’t think it was a good idea to stay up and tell me this
. How did you roll over and fall asleep? I need to know these things, Martin.”
Martin ran a hand along her bare legs. “I know, and I’m sorry. I physically could not keep myself awake. I’m sure you understand. He said the Road Runners are after us.”
“What the hell for?”
“Sounds like they’re more interested in recruiting us than trying to do anything to us. Chris said they’ll try to lure us in, so be careful of people you speak with or invitations you accept from strangers. We have to scrutinize everything so we don’t get caught up in a mess, even something as innocent as a dinner invitation.”
“So we’re the ones running like outlaws? Perfect!”
Sonya’s voice elevated to a rare pitch that Martin recognized as true disgust.
“It’s not as bad as you think. It doesn’t sound like it’s the Road Runners following us, but rather Chris’s people keeping an eye on us in case they do show up. It’s like we have our own security team ready to pounce if anything happens.”
“How comforting,” Sonya said, unamused. “What are we supposed to do, then? Hide in the room all day?”
Martin shook his head. “It’s not that bad. Like I said, just avoid talking to people in general.”
“But we need to talk to people. That’s literally the main part of our planning until my grandparents arrive.”
“Talk to them about what, exactly?”
“About my grandparents. Where they might go. If they’ve heard of them. There’s no way to find people without asking around town.”
“Well, we can’t. At least not so soon. We’ll have to do our own snooping around. What did you find in your research?”
“Not much. Looks like they were in Kansas before coming to Denver. They should be getting here within the next two weeks.”
“Then why don’t we go to Kansas and find them?”
Martin wanted to get as far away from Denver as possible after Chris’s warning, but knew better than to come out and say it.
“We’re not going to Kansas. Why would we put ourselves in the line of danger? They had guns, and they used them.”
Martin felt sick. A long journey awaited trying to find someone by sheer luck, wandering around town until they either bumped into them, or met someone who knew them. How easy it must have been for criminals to stay on the run in these olden days.
“Then what should we do today?” Martin asked, ready to concede.
Sonya shrugged. “I think we should walk around town and learn our surroundings. We also need to find a place to stay, unless we’re staying here the whole time?”
Martin had forgotten about his encounter with the man at the check-in desk the night before. That felt like five years ago, not twelve hours.
“For now, I think it’s best if we move locations every few days. We can stay here a couple more days then move to another hotel. I don’t think a permanent place of residence is a good idea anymore.”
They had discussed buying property in downtown, and selling it when they returned to 2018 for ten times the price. Martin supposed they still could, but his bigger concern was dodging the Road Runners, not adding to the millions of dollars that awaited him in 2018.
“We still need clothes, toiletries, food,” Sonya said. “There’s a lot to get done.”
“Then let me wash off and get ready.”
Their dirty clothes piled on the ground at the foot of the bed, covered in dust and sweat from their prior day’s journey. Yes, they definitely needed a new wardrobe, especially in a time where everyone left their home dressed up. The last thing they needed was to look like hobos as they explored the city. Although, wouldn’t that be an even better disguise?
“I’ll call down for some breakfast,” Sonya said. “Or lunch. Whatever they’re serving now. Go get in the shower.”
Martin rose from the bed, undressed, and disappeared into the bathroom.
* * *
Two hours and two gourmet chicken sandwiches later they stood outside the hotel.
“It really doesn’t look much different,” Martin said of the area. “Just no tall buildings.”
The Brown Palace was one of the taller buildings at the moment, a few years before skyscrapers would start to go up and take over every corner of the city.
Men in suits filled the sidewalks and crossed the streets. Cars motored by at a snail’s pace. It was definitely the middle of a workday in Denver, and the sensation made Martin nostalgic for 1996 when he had worked downtown every day, right before life went down the shitter.
They crossed the street to the next block of buildings, passing everything from restaurants, butcher shops, clothing, and grocery stores. Everything they needed was within a one block radius.
The best part was how few people there were. Traffic was scarce compared to what they were used to, but the narrow roads and slow vehicles caused more jams. That and the lack of traffic lights. Every intersection had stop signs to control the flow of traffic.
“Well, I know my way around the area,” Martin said with a proud grin. “Everything is the same, just smaller, or different businesses in the buildings.”
“Alright, smart one, but we need to buy things and find where we’re going to move next. What other hotels are around here?”
“The only other old hotels I can think of are on the other end of Sixteenth Street—maybe a 20-minute walk from here. There might be others closer that I don’t know about.”
Martin led the way, heading south two blocks to reach Sixteenth Street—still decades away from becoming an outdoor shopping mall—and soaking in the area once they arrived. To the east stood the state capitol, appearing the exact same with the exception of its once golden dome appearing more bronze. To the west the street ran a mile into the distance, lined with more shops and office buildings.
A man dressed in raggedy clothes hobbled toward them. Dirt and grime covered his skin and he revealed yellowing teeth as he grinned; only it wasn’t a friendly grin.
“You people don’t belong here,” he barked. “Go back where you came from!”
Martin looked down to the hunchbacked man, and immediately clenched his fist, ready to swing if the hobo tried to make a move.
Sonya took a step back and grabbed Martin’s arm.
“We’re just out for the day. Carry on,” Martin said, remaining frozen. He had encountered plenty of the homeless population when he had worked downtown. They always asked for money or food, or stared awkwardly as he passed by, but never did one approach him directly with their seemingly random blurting of words.
“If you knew what was good for you, you’d turn around and never come back,” the man said, not breaking his intense stare toward Martin.
He pivoted and limped down the sidewalk, mumbling to himself, “If I could leave I would. This idiot has no idea.”
Martin and Sonya sighed in relief. “Looks like the bums haven’t changed much,” he said, getting a nervous chuckle from her.
“Shall we?” she asked, taking back her spot at his side, keeping her arm intertwined with his.
They walked down Sixteenth Street and Martin pointed out all of the buildings that he knew still existed in 2018. The 1919 version had a much homier feel with the classic setup of the business on the ground level, and living quarters on the second floor. The entire mile-long walk was filled with these small businesses. It felt more like a small town instead of the capital city of the Centennial State. All of the structures were built from bricks or stones, no suggestions of the glass skyscrapers that would become the norm in the next century.
After 20 minutes of walking and window shopping, they reached Wynkoop Street where the local Union Station welcomed floods of travelers. In 1919 traveling by train was still common enough to make the station a bustling area. It stood in all its glory with a couple stores across the street and dirt lots along its sides.
They turned north onto Wynkoop and walked one more block to the Oxford Hotel, Denver’s other famous landmark hotel. It lacke
d the glamour of the Brown Palace with less golden decorations and virtually zero curb appeal, but when they entered, they found an upscale world of fine chandeliers, polished oak floors, and more suited men pacing around frantically on their day’s mission.
“What do you think?” Martin asked.
“It looks nice,” Sonya replied hesitantly.
Martin knew she still had reservations that came along with their new wealth. Spending large amounts of money on silly things like a hotel room made her anxious, but Martin had assured her it was okay. People lived like this every day. Money doesn’t make you an asshole for staying at lavish hotels or buying the newest things, it simply affords new opportunities, further expanding one’s view of the world.
He crossed the lobby that had a U-shape of couches facing a fireplace in the wall, and met a tall man at the check-in counter, again dressed in a three-piece suit and white gloves.
“How may I assist you, sir?” the man asked in a faint European accent.
“Just curious about your room rates for a stay of about a week. Possibly checking in tomorrow.”
The man flipped open a notebook and ran a thin finger down the page.
“One night’s stay is thirty dollars. We’re currently having a special, though. You can get two nights free if you take a free tour of the hotel and recommend us as a place to stay to your friends and family.”
“A tour?” Martin asked. “What exactly do we see on the tour?”
Martin had only toured the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, but that place was infested with ghosts. He didn’t realize regular hotels had special tours.
“We like to show you all of the hotel so you can speak of it with more detail. We meet here in the lobby at 4 P.M., then go down to the basement and work our way up to the Presidential Suite.”
The man spoke in an uninterested voice, as if he had made this same pitch 54 times already today. Perhaps this was the past’s version of sitting through a timeshare presentation. No one actually wanted to buy anything, just give us the free shit already!
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 40
