He loved teasing them with this line, watching all hope flee from their eyes.
The lighting in the basement was as bright as a movie theater. The prisoners could all see each other, but not well enough to know who was who. With plenty of vacant spaces, Chris had the prisoners kept at least three squares apart to avoid any sort of plotting, not that there was a way to escape the shackles.
Road Runners were still a smart bunch—loyal, too—and he couldn’t afford to have them brainstorming with each other.
When Chris emerged from the darkness all fifty prisoners stood up and started howling and screaming at him, making him feel like an infamous athlete stepping onto the field. He loved being hated by his enemies. Loved having them trapped as his prisoners. Sometimes when they screamed, he’d get an erection, about the only thing that aroused him any more at his ripe old age.
Not today, though. Today was a matter of business, not pleasure, in his visit to the basement.
I really should take away their ability to speak, he thought as the screaming grew louder.
Chris waved his hands in a shushing gesture. “Good evening, everybody,” he shouted so the prisoners in the back could hear him. “Does anyone have information on Martin Briar?”
The prisoners looked around the room at each other, shrugging their shoulders.
“He is possibly one of you. I may grant a release for anyone who can provide information on Mr. Briar.”
“I know some things,” a voice shouted from the middle of the room. The voice came from square number 37, Terry Brooks, a short, thin man in his late 40’s.
“Ah, Mr. Brooks. Perhaps today is your lucky day,” Chris said with a grin. “I’ll see to it that a guard brings you to a conference room so we can have a little talk about Mr. Briar. Our new arrival is sleeping, so plan to be moved in the next five minutes. As for the rest of you, have a pleasant night.”
Chris bowed his head before turning back for the hidden elevator. The screams erupted again as he strolled away, and this time a slight amount of blood rushed to his crotch.
You’re all mine. Forever.
He disappeared into the shadows to return to his office.
77
Chapter 22
Terry Brooks had lived a luxurious life as a Road Runner. He had millions in the bank and a huge Victorian house for him and his wife, settling comfortably in the year 2030. He had worked as a recruiter for the Road Runners before getting captured by Chris’s people, and every day sitting in that shithole basement reminded him of the bad decision that had landed him there.
He knew better than to pursue new arrivals right away. They were always fresh arrivals from the University of Bullshit, taught exclusively by the crazy old man. The Road Runners may have passed the old man in terms of a long-term strategy, but Chris grew wiser by the day. They needed to be careful to not lose any of the valuable ground they had gained. This was still Chris’s world, and they were only living in it until he one day croaked.
Terry had climbed high in the ranks, attending quarterly meetings with the Forerunners, the leadership group who overlooked the entirety of the Road Runners. He had received heavy pressure to increase recruits, and Terry promised to deliver. He had worked with Sonya on the plan to land Martin Briar, a prized target for the organization to acquire.
Martin still didn’t know it, but he just might hold the key to taking down Chris. Terry wondered if Chris knew this, but if so, why have a discussion about the matter with another Road Runner? Why not just throw Martin in the basement and toss his key into the Arctic Ocean?
Yes, Terry knew where he was on the map, and yes, the Road Runners knew about the headquarters. Infiltrating the headquarters was another story. Guards covered the premises in a blanket of force and intimidation. Chris deserved credit for having an army of savage men ready to kill anything or anyone who posed a threat.
Bombing the mansion had been briefly discussed and promptly dismissed, no one wanting to take responsibility for the blood of 50 Road Runners, even if it was for the greater good.
“Brooks!” a voice barked from one of the mindless guards who hovered over the prisoners like a hawk. “On your knees, hands behind your head!”
Terry did as ordered, knowing any single disobeyed command could result in a bullet in the skull. He had seen a handful of friends go out this way, and it was never a pleasant sight.
A rifle jammed against his spine as he knelt with his trembling hands on the back of his head.
Just remember, you’re more important than Briar. The Forerunners need you, not Briar.
“On your feet!” the voice shouted.
Terry couldn’t see them, but knew at least two other guards hid in the shadows, guns pointed directly at his head. The shackles around his ankles jingled as someone worked their way around the ground with a set of keys clanging with every movement. Within seconds, the pressure around his ankles released, and he was free to walk outside of his tiny square.
“Try anything cute and you’ll be dead,” the deep voice said from behind.
“Understood,” Terry responded in a wavering voice.
“Hopkins!” The voice returned to a shout. “Let’s move!”
Hopkins must have been one of the guards hiding in the shadows. A tall, muscular man emerged from the darkness with a mean grin, and stepped in front of Terry who had to look up to meet the man’s eyes.
All of these motherfuckers look the same. Giant cavemen with no mind of their own.
“Follow me and put these on,” Hopkins said, clicking on a flashlight to illuminate the path ahead while handing over a pair of thick sunglasses.
“What are these for?”
“You’ve been sitting in the dark for months. If you don’t wear those, you’ll go blind the second you step out of the basement.”
Terry marched at the same pace as Hopkins, still aware of the rifle directly behind him. He only knew the basement as darkness, nothing visible from the confines of his square, so seeing the rest of the room, albeit limited by a flashlight, was a rare treat.
If I get sent back here, I’ll at least know a way out if I can ever break free of the shackles.
The freedom of his legs gliding across the floor reminded him of his old life, where such tasks didn’t need to be taken for granted.
They reached a wall where Hopkins pushed forward, swinging open a door to a well-lit stairwell. Terry recognized it as the main spiral staircase from when he had arrived at this hellhole of a mansion over eight months ago.
Eight months, he reminisced. Eight months of eating slop, shitting where he slept, and praying for his fellow Road Runners to break him and his friends out.
“Up we go,” Hopkins said with a glance over the shoulder. “No funny business on the stairs or we’ll kill you.”
I already know that, asshole.
They moved single-file up the stairs, the mystery rifleman trailing behind, patiently waiting for any sudden movement from Terry. They reached the main landing where he saw the house’s front door before continuing up to the second floor. So far everything had looked the same from when Terry arrived. Now he approached new territory.
On the second floor, which equaled the basement in eerie silence, he saw a hallway that stretched from his left to his right. Hardwood floors with elongated throw rugs provided a path to dozens of doors on either side of the hallway. Pictures lined the gray walls further down the hall, but Terry couldn’t make out their images from a distance.
The rifle nudged him in the back, bringing him back to reality.
“This way,” Hopkins said, and turned to the right where there were fewer doors. He led them to the end of the hallway where the last door stood ajar. Hopkins entered the room where Chris sat behind a massive oak desk.
“Ah, Terry Brooks, how are you my old friend?” Chris asked with an evil grin.
Terry fought every urge to rant about their inhumane treatment in the basement, and to let him know that the Road Runners would take g
reat pleasure in slitting his throat. But, he remembered Chris could read his thoughts and likely didn’t give a shit what Terry thought about the living conditions in the basement. This was war, after all.
“I’m doing just fine,” Terry said with as much sternness as he could muster. He glanced around the room and admired the lavish lifestyle that Chris had lived. Flat screen TVs lined the walls, a grandfather clock stood in the corner, its pendulum swinging back and forth as each second passed. A canteen of scotch called out to Terry from a table behind Chris’s desk.
“Care for a drink?” the old man asked.
As much as he wanted one, Terry didn’t trust anything from Chris. He knew too much of the old man’s history and how he always surrounded people with temptation.
“No thanks, I just want to leave this place,” Terry said.
Chris snickered. “Have a seat, Terry, we have a lot to discuss.” He gestured to the chair across the desk. Hopkins stood in the doorway, now equipped with a rifle of his own. Chris nodded to him and Hopkins closed the door, remaining on the outside.
“Now that we have some privacy, Terry, you know I can’t just let you go. You’re too important to the Road Runners and will just run back and tell them everything about this place.”
“We already know about this place.”
“Yes, of course, but no one knows what goes on inside this house. I’ve kept a tight lid, and observations can only be made from the outside. I doubt your people know about the basement.”
“We do.” Terry bluffed. “But you don’t have to worry about me, Chris. I’ll live my life in exile. Won’t even be that hard if the Road Runners don’t know I’m free. You can drop me anywhere in the world and I’ll live out my life there. Just get me out of this house.”
Chris smirked as he looked down to his crossed hands on the desk. “I’ll see what we can arrange. But first, you need to tell me everything you know about Martin Briar. What’s the Road Runners’ angle in using him? I know him well and don’t exactly see him as your typical type of foot soldier.”
Terry nodded. “I agree. I actually fought against his recruitment, but our team insists he has a talent.”
“A talent?”
“There have been a couple of instances where we have frozen time, but he kept on moving right along as if nothing had happened.”
“Does he know he can do this?” Chris asked, sitting up stiffly.
“I don’t believe so. Both instances when we froze time, he was in his apartment. These were the days before he met you, when he was drunk all the time and never left the house.”
“So you’ve had your eyes on him for a while?”
“Yes, for this reason only. It’s actually a coincidence that he met you before we got the chance to speak with him. I voted against him, thought he was a useless drunk; I still don’t see much value in having him on our team.”
“There are no coincidences when I’m involved.” Chris shot a wink across the desk. “But this is interesting information. I don’t put many resources into freezing time – perhaps I should.”
Terry didn’t know if he should respond, so remained silent.
“Well, Mr. Briar certainly can’t leave us now that we know about this rare gift. I’ll have to make him as comfortable as possible so he doesn’t want to leave. As for you, you can go now.”
Terry gulped down the spit that had formed in his mouth. “What do you mean?”
Chris grinned. “I mean you can leave this house. You’ve provided me plenty of information and have revealed a new secret weapon. You just better do as promised and not return to the Road Runners. If you do, I’ll kill you myself.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“I’m not as bad as you people think. I’ll always be fair when possible, and I’m certainly a man of my word. Hopkins will see you outside.”
As a reflex, Terry stuck out his hand to shake with Chris, instantly realizing he didn’t owe an ounce of gratitude to the scheming old man who had held him hostage. But mercy was mercy, and all Terry could see in his near-sighted vision was freedom.
“Best of luck,” Chris said as the men locked hands. “Hopkins!”
The door creaked open, and Terry’s old friend from the basement showed himself with his usual stern, dead expression.
“Please see Mr. Brooks out of the house. He is free to go.” Chris gave one final grin to Terry before Hopkins entered the room to lead him out.
“Follow me, Mr. Brooks,” Hopkins said in a deep baritone.
Terry followed him back down the hallway, descended the spiral staircase to the main floor, and to the front door that had a half dozen locks for Hopkins to tinker with before pulling it open.
Terry saw the outdoors for the first time in months, and the sight sent an instant flutter to his chest.
Time to get the fuck out of here.
“Thank you,” Terry said to Hopkins as he passed him in the doorway and took his first steps into freedom.
The crisp air filled his lungs as the orange sun fought to provide heat on a cold day. He’d need a jacket and some thicker clothes, but he’d have time. Besides, the Road Runners kept a secret hideout nearby. Surely they would have some extra clothes for him.
Not knowing which way to go, Terry started for the stand of trees 100 yards in front of him. He’d walk a straight line until he found a city or a road, or the Arctic Ocean. The snow crunched beneath each step as the pine trees ahead swayed in the breeze.
Wait till everyone hears about the basement, he thought, his pace increasing with each step.
Terry looked over his shoulder and stopped in his tracks. The house, now 100 yards behind him, had somewhat shrunk in his vision, but he could still see Hopkins standing on the front porch, a rifle cocked and aimed in his direction.
“No!” Terry shrieked in unison with the rifle’s explosion on the otherwise silent day.
For that brief half of a second, Terry swore he saw the bullet fly out from the muzzle. Before he could blink, it struck him square in the forehead, and he collapsed to the ground.
78
Chapter 23
“Holy shit!” Martin panted under his breath. He watched the entire thing unfold, at least from the moment the man started walking across the open field toward the trees. From his window, he could barely make out the guard standing on the porch with the rifle now slung over his shoulder.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the dead body, lying limp at the base of a pine tree, face down in the snow. Who was that? Why was he walking out there? And why did they shoot him? Did he try to escape?
Without having seen the rest of the mansion, Martin sensed something off about the place. The way the guards all worked together—and all looked the same—he couldn’t help but feel a bit like a prisoner. If he wanted to go out for an evening walk, could he? If he asked to borrow a vehicle to drive into town, would they allow such a request?
Regardless of what they allowed him to do, Martin settled on one new priority: getting out of the mansion.
After having an afternoon to sleep and meditate on the last twelve hours of his life, he decided that anything involving Chris led to no good. Sure, the old man and his army of clones had busted him out of the trap set by the Road Runners, but were the Road Runners really the bad ones in this war? How was Martin supposed to know? He had no war or military experience to draw from, and was only weeks removed from his life as a drunk post office employee.
The Road Runners had caused him no harm, and didn’t so much as suggest they would. Hell, he had apparently lived with one for six months in 1996 with no sign of danger. So what exactly was their angle?
Something is going on behind the scenes much bigger than you, he told himself. You’re wanted by both sides in this conflict.
“But why?” he said to his empty bedroom. Since arriving and taking a quick nap, Martin had studied the bedroom further to find it was set up like a hotel room: private bathroom, fridge, closet, ironing board
, and the TV mounted to the wall. Landscape paintings hung on the beige walls, showing a glimpse into his Colorado life with a cabin in the snowy mountains.
Martin’s internal alarm sounded off, demanding he leave the mansion. He was sent straight to his room like a punished child, with no offer or opportunity to explore the rest of the house. The door wasn’t locked, and he could wander down the hallway, but he nevertheless felt a resistance. The vibes in the room told him to remain and wait. How hard could it be to walk out of the mansion? Even if he escaped, he had at least a mile to the main road that led back to town; he couldn’t even spot it from his elevated bedroom window.
Stay, the voice in his head said.
A knock came from the door, startling him as he jumped away from the window. Do they have cameras in here? How would they know I’m awake?
Martin considered this, knowing Chris could have any sort of technology from the future implanted in his room. The paintings could have cameras in them the size of a needle tip, and there could be microphones as small as ants propped anywhere in the room for listening. And there was still Chris’s ability to hear his thoughts. Did he have the range to do such a thing simply by being in the same house?
Clear your mind right now.
Another knock echoed around the room, this time louder and harder.
“I’m coming!” Martin shouted, irritated, as he dragged his feet across the carpet.
He pulled open the door to find a grinning Chris. “May I come in?”
Martin stepped aside and allowed the old man into his room, keeping his mind clear of any thoughts.
“Did I wake you?” Chris asked as he crossed the room to study the portrait on the wall.
“No, I just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“Very good. I wanted to see how you’re holding up. Today was pure chaos, especially for you.”
Martin nodded as Chris turned his attention to him, and closed the door to lean against it.
“I’m doing fine. Glad you got there when you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you never showed up. How did you know?”
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 44
