Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

From the mansion? Martin wondered. At his pace he’d be close to a mile away from the house. No way a laugh would carry that far.

  The laughing continued, swirling around Martin’s head to the point he had to stop walking. It’s just the wind howling, keep going. You can’t stop.

  He held his breath, planted his feet in the ground, and listened.

  The sound continued, steady and uninterrupted.

  That’s not wind. It’s a real laugh. Like a madman.

  The thought sent chills down Martin’s back that not even the stinging cold accomplished. The trees continued to sway from fifty feet above, the leaves rustling as they provided Martin cover from the moonlight.

  He remained frozen as the sound of sticks crunching on the ground grew louder behind.

  Fuck, they’re already on to me.

  He peered through the trees, squinting to make out any shape in the darkness. The crunching approached him from directly behind and stopped.

  Martin spun around and shouted, “AAAAHHHHHH!”

  He swung fists into the air and collapsed to the ground when he saw nothing there. His heart pounded in his head as adrenaline tried to burst out of his eyeballs.

  “What the fuck?” he panted as he pulled himself back up, brushing off the snow clung to his coat.

  You’ve been in the woods for 20 whole minutes and are already losing your mind. Keep going.

  Alone in nature, Martin continued toward where he believed the main road awaited. His mind kept returning to Izzy, now buried peacefully in the cemetery in 2018 Denver. Her disappearance led to this exact moment, and he felt her presence beside him, assuring him it would all be okay. The parent was supposed to console the child, but perhaps the roles switched when the child became an angel.

  He closed his eyes and imagined her soft, gentle voice. “Go, Daddy. You can make it.”

  Her voice was no longer in his imagination; he felt her speaking in his head.

  “Go, Daddy. Run!”

  Martin obliged and pulled himself up, immediately breaking into a sprint despite his legs protesting and his tar-filled lungs begging for mercy.

  The road was closer than he realized. After three minutes of running, leaping, and dodging through the trees, asphalt greeted Martin’s feet, its unexpectedly even surface nearly causing him to tumble after his escape from the rocky terrain of the woods.

  With the trees separated by the road, the moonlight provided a mystic glow. Martin looked both ways, each direction winding into more darkness, unsure which way to go. He ran to his left for no reason other than following his gut instinct that told him which way was north.

  Martin didn’t run for too long—his legs and chest were grateful—when he stopped at the sight of approaching headlights a quarter mile up the road, but moving with rapid speed as they drove along the twisted street.

  Hide.

  Martin took two long lunges and dove off the road, tumbling into the woods where branches and rocks scraped his hands as he rolled to a stop. He momentarily lost his bearings as he brushed the debris and snow off his clothes, but found them again when the car’s engine roared like a lion in the still night.

  He hid behind a tree, hands on his knees, panting for breath, the freezing air stinging his lungs with each inhale while his vision blurred in and out of focus.

  Relax, it could just be a car driving by.

  He wanted to believe this, but knew better. With the events that had transpired in the last half hour, it surely wasn’t a coincidence that some asshole was driving 70 miles per hour in the middle of nowhere.

  Martin crouched, studying the headlights that grew closer with each passing millisecond. With the car roughly 100 yards away, he could make it out as a four-door sedan, a dark color, possibly black or navy.

  The brakes slammed, splashing red light on the road and trees behind it. Smoke rose from the screeching tires, complemented by the stench of burnt rubber. The car had stopped directly in line with Martin, no more that thirty feet from where he hid behind a tree trunk, as if the driver knew exactly where he was.

  It’s gotta be Chris. Who else would know how to find you when you’re lost?

  The car’s engine puttered, blowing gray clouds of exhaust. The world felt still. Too still. As much as his mind was stuck in a panic, Martin noticed the trees no longer swayed. Silence filled the air, thick enough to cut into with a plastic knife, his breathing and drumming heartbeat the only audible sounds within his conscience.

  “Martin!” a voice whispered loudly from the car.

  His blood froze as a new layer of goosebumps broke out on his back and legs.

  They’re certainly here for you. No mistaking that now, big guy.

  Martin didn’t recognize the voice, and because of that, stayed behind the tree, praying to God that the mystery car would drive off and mind their own business.

  “Martin!” the voice called, louder. A man’s voice.

  It’s not Chris. Sounds too young.

  “Martin, I know you’re there. Come get in the car. I’m with the Road Runners.”

  He had no way out of this. They called him out by name and were shouting directly to the tree he hid behind. He had two options: to get in the car on a blind leap of faith, or sprint back into the woods where he would further become lost, unequipped for an overnight stay in the blistering cold.

  Could it be Chris’s men posing as Road Runners? Why would they take that approach? Martin had never done so much as hinted that he trusted the Road Runners. He willingly fled their capture with no second thoughts.

  But you’ve been thinking about them more. The Road Runners are the good guys in this war.

  “Martin! Get in the fucking car or you’re gonna freeze to death!” the man barked, impatience dripping from each word.

  No more energy or willpower was on its way. Running was off the table of options, leaving one obvious, but hesitant choice.

  Martin stepped out from the tree, hands raised in the air like he was under arrest.

  “Quit dicking around and get in the car!”

  A young man hung out the passenger window, someone Martin had never seen before.

  Martin crawled up the slope back to the road, thighs burning and demanding a rest as they wobbled beneath him.

  “Hurry!” the man called, returning to his hushed tone.

  Martin approached the car, doubt swirling, and pulled open the backseat door.

  “Get in,” the driver said. He appeared a similar age as Martin, suggested by the gray streaks in his goatee. Piercing blue eyes studied Martin as he lunged into the car.

  The passenger who had been shouting rotated in his seat and craned his neck to look at Martin. He was as young as his voice had sounded, fresh out of college by Martin’s guess.

  “Out for an evening stroll, Martin?” the young one asked, blinking his brown eyes that surely charmed the ladies at the university.

  “Who are you guys?” Martin asked, still catching his breath as the tension of the last thirty seconds started to wane. After all the urgency they had thrown his way, the men seemed content sitting in the middle of the road as they got to know each other.

  “We’re with the Road Runners,” the older man said. “My name is Bill Jordan, and my partner here is Julian Caruso. We’re sorry to meet you under such stressful circumstances.”

  “How did you know where I was? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeah, this place is a fucking dump,” Julian said, head still craned awkwardly. He gawked at Martin as if the two men had stumbled across Sasquatch sitting in their backseat. They had a calming presence, and Martin leaned back as if he had jumped into a car with friends.

  “Seriously,” Martin said. “How did you find me?”

  Bill chuckled, his small double chin jiggling as his shoulders trembled with delight. “Finding you was the easy part. How the hell did you get out of that place? That’s the question we’ve been dying to ask.”

  Martin furrowed his brow and scratche
d his cheek. What’s going on?

  His stomach dropped, not out of angst, but more out of frustration at the growing sense that he was some minor cog in the vast time travel world.

  “I walked out,” Martin said, unsure what sort of explanation the men wanted.

  Both men threw their heads back and howled like lunatics.

  Martin watched them and wished he could be anywhere else besides the backseat of this car. Were they here to rescue him or make fun of him?

  “That’s a good one, Martin,” Bill said. “Tell us. Did you have to fight off Chris’s bodyguards? Or were you just faster than them?”

  “I told you. I walked out of the house, then ran through the woods.”

  Now it was Bill and Julian’s turn to stare at each other, confused. “You mean you weren’t locked away?” Julian asked.

  “No. I was in my own private bedroom, kind of like a hotel.”

  “What a fucking moron,” Julian murmured under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” Martin demanded.

  “Not you. Chris. He’s a complete moron. I’ll never understand how he rose to power, but I suppose we should be grateful he’s calling the shots. He just handed you to us on a silver platter.”

  “I’m not on either side of this. I just wanna go home and dump my Juice down the drain.”

  Bill shook his head. “You’re way beyond that point, my friend. You’re in this war whether you like it or not. And I think you already know what side the good guys are on.”

  Martin still hadn’t had any true exposure to the happenings of this supposed war, but it was obvious that the Road Runners had a much less aggressive approach, at least in terms of dealing with him.

  “What if I refuse?” Martin asked nonchalantly.

  Bill and Julian exchanged glances again, speaking to each other through mere eye twitches. They may have been different in age, but it was impossible to know how long someone had actually existed in this time travelling ordeal.

  “We’ll let you speak with the Commander about that,” Julian said.

  “The Commander? Who is that? And when will that be?”

  “Right now, and she’s the leader of the Road Runners in North America,” Julian said. “She flew up here as soon as we told her you were captured.”

  “She’s waiting,” Bill said before turning his attention back to the steering wheel. “It’s time to go.”

  Bill made a U-turn and drove along the dark road. Martin slouched, trying to relax, but remained ready for what would come next.

  There’s definitely something they want from me.

  80

  Chapter 25

  The drive lasted ten minutes, and all three men remained silent for the duration. The small chat ended, and Martin sensed the tension weighing down on the car.

  “We’re here,” Bill said, but Martin only saw darkness through the windows. They had pulled off the road half a mile ago and were still in the middle of nothingness.

  Martin’s heartbeat had calmed since the two Road Runners picked him up. He didn’t sense any danger, just unease at the unknown.

  Bill killed the engine and stepped out of the car, prompting Julian and Martin to follow suit. Sticks and rocks greeted their feet as they trudged along a small path that had been cleared of snow toward a small structure, no bigger than an outhouse.

  The leader of the Road Runners hangs out in a shitter all day?

  Bill led the way and pulled open the creaky wooden door. There was no toilet, just a four by four slab of concrete. “We all fit, let’s go.” He stepped in, Julian and Martin following into the cramped, dark space.

  Julian rummaged his fingers along the blacked out wall, the clicking sound of buttons being pushed as the only audible noise over the three men’s hoarse breathing.

  “The Commander is excited to meet you,” Bill said, this time with a chipper voice.

  Julian pulled the door shut as a loud humming sound filled the outhouse, the ground rumbling beneath them.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Julian said after seeing Martin’s bulging eyes. “Just a different kind of elevator.”

  The ground lightened as the concrete descended at a snail’s pace into the earth. The darkness concealed everything until they reached their destination where two dozen people were scattered across a room that stretched back at least two hundred feet.

  They all sat at desks in the open space, computer monitors glowing, keyboards clattering, attention focused on their tasks at hand. A bell let out one shrill ring as the elevator came to a complete stop, and all heads turned to Martin.

  He stood behind Bill and Julian, but felt the stares burn right through them. A blanket of silence fell over the room as the three men stepped off the elevator.

  “Commander Strike, he’s here!” a giddy voice from the back called. “He’s here!” The squeaky man was near hysterics, running across the back of the room like he had just remembered a meeting he was late for.

  “Everyone back to work,” Bill barked with authority. “Nothing to see here. Move along.”

  The two dozen heads held their ground for a couple more seconds before ducking back into their computers.

  “This way,” Julian instructed, leading them to the left.

  Bill’s and Julian’s boots clapped and echoed along the concrete ground as they passed the area of desks that formed a large rectangle across the room. Above the desks hung 100-inch TV screens that lined the length of the room. Some showed images of people and places, others showed maps with different colored dots splayed about. Every section of the office had at least one person with a close eye on the screens.

  “This is our headquarters,” Julian said.

  “One of our headquarters,” Bill corrected.

  “Just because it’s not as glamorous as some of our other locations, doesn’t mean it’s not our main headquarters. We have other places around the world, but since this is where all of our studies on Chris are conducted, it’s considered the most important headquarters.”

  Julian explained this as if he had built the place himself, and Bill grunted as they reached the middle part of the room. Martin hadn’t noticed the offices that lined the perimeter.

  All of the private offices appeared roughly the same size, big enough for a desk, a corner plant, and two chairs for visitors to sit. Only one office stood out as special, and that was the door they stood outside of. It was also the only door that had frosted glass, keeping any wandering eyes from seeing inside.

  Bill rapped on the door with a balled fist.

  “Come in,” a woman’s voice called.

  Bill pushed open the door and stepped in first, keeping Julian and Martin at a distance.

  “Good evening, Commander Strike,” Bill said. “Glad to see you made it in so soon.”

  “I hopped on the jet right away. Is everything okay with Mr. Briar? Were you followed?”

  “Yes, and no,” Bill said proudly. “I have him right here, and he has loads of questions.”

  “Thank you, Bill. I owe you and Julian. Have Mr. Briar come in and leave us in private, please.”

  “Absolutely.” Bill bowed out of the room and held up an arm to welcome Martin. “Commander Strike is ready to see you.”

  Martin stepped into the doorway and locked eyes with a blue-eyed, light-skinned woman who greeted him with a warm smile. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing early wrinkles that had formed on her temples. Martin judged her to be in her mid-forties as her face lit up with a flash of youth.

  “Mr. Briar,” she said, standing and crossing the room with an extended hand. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I’m Commander Strike.”

  He shook her hand and admired its smooth texture. She was dressed casually for someone who was called Commander—jeans and a sweater—but she apparently just got off a plane. And they were in Alaska.

  “Nice to meet you,” Martin responded, unsure of a certain protocol for greeting the leader of the Road Runners.

&nbs
p; “Please have a seat. We have lots to discuss.” She was tall, almost six feet, and walked with her shoulders held high and a swagger that dared someone to mess with her.

  Martin obliged and stepped all the way into the office. Strike had the same set up of a desk and two chairs, but also had a sofa along the front wall with portraits of men and women covering every inch of space, monitors in every ceiling corner, and another side door that led to either a bathroom or closet. There was also a table along the back wall, and Martin couldn’t help but notice the bottle of scotch standing unattended with two glasses at its side. The days of heavy drinking were long gone, but he still drooled at the sight of scotch. Who was this lady, anyway? Tall, strong, in charge, and a scotch drinker. Maybe his next love interest?

  Fuck that. No more time-traveling women.

  The wounds still hadn’t closed from Sonya, mainly because he hadn’t had any time to grieve, let alone process what the hell happened. He’d been running for his life ever since the Road Runners dropped the bomb that Sonya had been a ploy to lure him into their possession. Maybe Strike would have some answers.

  She situated herself in her wide, cushioned chair that was clearly out of place for a typical office setting, appearing more like a black throne. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you.”

  “Thank you?” Martin responded.

  “I know you have plenty of questions. It’s been brought to my attention that you don’t even know the extent of your abilities. You won’t leave this office with any more questions; I can guarantee you that much.”

  “I just want to know what’s going on. Why do I feel like I keep getting passed back and forth like a kid in the middle of a divorce?”

  Commander Strike chuckled. “It’s because you’re invaluable.”

  Martin stared into Commander Strike’s eyes, as if the truth would magically jump out. He had his doubts, but believed he’d finally learn the facts that Chris never told him.

  “You have a rare gift, Martin. Something even more rare than the capability to travel through time.”

  She paused, looking for a reaction, but Martin gave none.

  “You’re what we call a Warm Soul.”