Collins liked to give his version of motivational speeches at the end of each day, always while the group panted for breath, hands on knees as they listened. “I’ve been to hell and fought the demons. You need to be strong, mentally and physically, because they will try to break you.”
Part of the program was learning to survive. Each trainee was given a specific amount of water to drink each day, decided by their weight and age to determine the bare minimum needed to not faint during the rigorous workout.
“What happens if you travel into the future and get captured by the Revolters? Do you think they’re going to give you a bottle of water? Maybe order a pizza and fix a soft bed for you? Hell no!” Whenever Collins shouted, spit flew from his mouth in messy droplets.
“These people will leave you to starve, leave you to thirst, and leave you to die. If they don’t kill you right away, they’ll take you hostage, wait until you can barely stand up, then beat you to death because you’re defenseless and can’t even lift your hand to wipe your ass! Do you understand, Briar?”
Martin nodded at the crazy bald man two inches from his face, bulging brown eyes burning into his spirit.
“Good. Especially you, Briar.” Collins paused and crossed his arms, taking a step back from Martin. He lowered his voice and continued. “They want you bad, Briar. You’re not the kind of man they’ll kill at first chance—they will torture you. They want that sweet, sweet gift you have, and if they have to rip it out of your organs, then that’s what they’ll do.”
This moment ten weeks ago had forced Martin to dedicate his life to the training program. He didn’t know if the things Collins said were true, but he did know Chris wanted him, whether out of revenge for fleeing, or for being a Warm Soul.
Today was day 70, the final day of the training program, as Martin lay in the mud. They expected him to maintain his new figure, and he had every intent of doing so. Martin felt the best he ever had in his life. He slept better, ate better, was never tired, and no longer craved alcohol. He was now a middle-aged man with a chiseled physique and the skills to murder a man with his bare hands.
“Everybody up!” Collins grumbled, intentionally kicking mud in the faces of those slow to rise. Despite the cramping spread across his entire body, Martin jumped to his feet within two seconds. His mental strength had developed even more than his body, in his opinion. “To the rifles!”
The group of three men and two women dragged themselves out of the mud pit where they had just completed a twenty-minute round of army crawling. At least the rifles didn’t require any further physical strength, but rather mental will.
A gazebo housed the rifles one hundred feet away. Martin ran to it, grabbing his rifle and a bandolier to sling over his shoulder. Every day ended with a quick session on the shooting range.
“Start us off, Briar,” Collins shouted. They all had to watch each other shoot, a way to practice in the spotlight.
“Learn to shoot under any circumstance. There will be times you feel like you’re dying, maybe you are dying, but you have to shoot on. Kill every last Revolter until you no longer can.” Another inspirational line from Staff Master Collins.
Martin obliged and took his post. Ten rubber dummies stood across the open field, ranging from fifty to five hundred yards in distance. He focused on his breathing, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling steadily out of his mouth. He dropped his head to see into his scope and started firing.
He shot the first nine in rapid succession, his hands gliding from side to side as each dummy rocked in its place. The tenth and final shot required extra concentration as it stood 500 yards away. He’d heard the stories of Andrei Morozov’s long distance shot on Chris in Alaska. Even though the shot didn’t end up deadly, it was still touted as the greatest shot in the history of the Road Runners. Martin had the opportunity to meet Andrei at the beginning of their training program and received a few tips from the pro, including the breathing technique used when lining up the long distance shots.
He drew his breath and fired the shot, watching the dummy’s head rock back. His fellow trainees ruptured into applause at witnessing his performance. Maybe once a week someone would have a perfect outing and hit all ten targets; this week was Martin’s turn.
“Nice shooting, Briar,” Collins said in the closest tone he had to a normal voice.
Martin stepped back and joined the rest of his team, who all offered slaps on the back and fist bumps for his stellar performance.
“Can I have a word with you?” Collins asked as the next trainee stepped up with their rifle.
“Sure.”
They dropped back a safe distance where their voices couldn’t be overheard by the others. Collins spoke in a low voice, just above a whisper. “They want me to report back what I think your best role would be. Now, by the looks of it, you have all the tools of a front line soldier. That would mean you’d barge into Revolter hideouts and kill everyone in sight, help with ambushes, and kick ass in general. But I get the sense that doesn’t really excite you—you don’t have the killer mentality that most soldiers have.”
Martin nodded. “I’ll go wherever I’m needed.”
“Get off your high horse, Briar. Just tell me what you want to do.”
“I honestly don’t care. I just want to get this medicine for my mom. Whatever happens after that I’m fine with. I do want to kill Chris.”
“Well, get in line. We already had a task force assigned to kill him, and they failed.”
“The mission failed; they did not. Andrei landed that shot.”
“Precisely. You may not have all the knowledge of someone who’s been with the organization for years, but I feel you have the smarts to figure out a way. Combine that with your Warm Soul, and you might be the person who brings down Chris.”
Martin had never thought of himself as smart. He got by in high school, never went to college, and bounced around jobs as a mid-level manager for various companies. Now with the Road Runners, more and more people had been praising his thinking ability, when all he thought he was doing was giving honest feedback.
“I don’t even know what my ability means—I’ve never even seen it in action.”
“There’ll be a special session for you with some of our scientists. I think you’ll be heading there the day after tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, Briar, I’m trying to help you.”
“I know, and I appreciate it.” Collins had never shown his compassionate side, and Martin wasn’t sure what to do with it as the others in his group howled and cheered for each other on the shooting range. “I have my sights set on one thing at a time, and for me, it’s getting that medicine.”
“I respect that, but you can’t lose sight of the future. Especially around here – you have to be ten steps ahead.”
The two men stood in silence as an ugly gray cloud moved above them.
“I know. Honestly, I’ll trust your recommendation for whatever position you think is best.”
“I only recommend, but Commander Strike has the final say. She’s checked in with me every day about your progress.”
“What have you told her?”
“I told her there’s something burning inside you, something that’s pushing you to do the impossible.” Collins paused and kicked the dirt with his heavy boot. “I’ll be honest with you, this program is not meant for fifty-year-old men. It’s designed for kids in their twenties, in their physical prime—like them.” He nodded to the rest of the trainees. “I didn’t think you’d make it past day one, but you’ve proven all of us wrong. That’s how I know there’s something driving you; I’ve never seen a transition like yours.”
The Road Runners had put Martin through a rigorous rehab for his legs before starting the training program with Collins. Through that, he felt a motivation to not let Sonya’s cowardly actions define the rest of his life. They thought he’d have a new limp after coming out of his cast—he didn’t. T
hey said his knee would never bend the same way again, leaving him no flexibility—they were wrong. The weakness in his shot knee tried to creep up at times, but he followed the rehab program to the last detail. The Road Runners’ doctors may have not had medicine from the future, but they had knowledge from it, and applied it to his rehab to make his legs stronger than before.
“I appreciate the compliment, and I’m sure Commander Strike will have a talk with me before deciding anything. I assume a lot will depend on how these tests go with the scientists.”
“I suspect that, too. Either way, it’s food for thought. If you ever need to talk about things, just let me know. I’ll be here.”
Collins stuck out a hand for Martin to shake. He had never shown his human side, and by doing so, showed Martin how highly the Road Runners thought of him. Collins thanked him for working so hard over the last ten weeks and wished him the best in whatever he’d end up doing for the organization.
An hour later, Martin was officially free to return home after living on the training base for the last ten weeks. Granted, it was only ninety minutes away from his house—and had all the luxurious accommodations he’d come to expect of anything hosted by the Road Runners—but he wanted to sleep in his own bed and see his mother in person instead of the brief phone calls they had at night.
He’d have to drag himself to the car to begin his long drive, but the prospect was enough to spark a new wave of energy as he left the hardest chapter of his time as a Road Runner in the rear view mirror.
95
Chapter 2
Martin’s stay at home would be short-lived. During his drive, Commander Strike called to inform him that the group of international scientists had arrived in Denver and were expecting Martin in the office first thing the next morning.
He agreed to arrive at eight, citing a night of deep sleep that awaited him. The Commander was also flying in to witness the experiment, hoping to learn of a breakthrough in how Martin could best be utilized.
Martin didn’t know what to expect of a gift that was foreign to even himself. They claimed he had remained mobile while the world was frozen through earlier tests, but he had no recollection of this happening.
During the rest of his drive home, soaking in the breathtaking nature of the Rocky Mountains, Martin reflected on his life. He never imagined ending up an integral part of a secret society trying to stop another secret society from taking over the world. Only, the Revolters couldn’t be too big of a secret if they end up rising to power in the future.
Thinking about the future made him uneasy. Was it really as bad as everyone claimed? People tended to make things a bigger deal than they actually were.
It can’t be too bad if they’re sending others with me. Why put Road Runners at risk to save my mom?
As the sun set, casting an orange glow across the horizon, Martin tried to push the future from his mind to think about the past. Even though he had a fresh take on life, he still felt the same inside: helpless and desperate for the end.
Sure, he had a lot going for him, but he was back to square one with no Izzy, no Sonya, and a future where his mother’s brain would slowly but surely deplete, unless he secured a miracle medicine in the future.
Not exactly winning at life, Martin thought most nights before falling asleep. His body had undergone a transformation, but he had no use for it. Part of him hoped to join the front line soldiers just to increase his chances of being killed.
“You can’t die,” he said to his empty car. “There’s a woman who needs you. She brought you into this world, and now she needs you.”
A tear rolled down his face as he sped down the freeway.
* * *
The next morning’s sunrise came quicker than expected. Martin had arrived home late after stopping at a diner for a burger, finally strolling in to his house at ten and immediately going to bed, his body drained.
His mom was already asleep, and was still snoozing when he woke—she’d been sleeping a solid ten hours each night since moving in, and that apparently hadn’t changed while he was away.
Martin dressed and was out the door by 7:15, leaving him just enough time to get from Littleton to downtown Denver by eight.
When he arrived to the office, he made his way through the main level that served as their front as a marketing company. Martin nodded at the many familiar faces as he crossed toward the stairs and descended to where the Road Runners conducted their official business.
The basement was filled, as usual, with the brains of the operations scattered about, sitting at their desks and watching monitors that changed every second. Tarik’s office was immediately to Martin’s left, its door open with a handful of people packed inside.
Martin assumed these to be the scientists and knocked on the wall to get their attention.
Tarik and Commander Strike both stood behind the desk, while the group of four scientists all turned in unison. Two men and two women, all young and fair-skinned, watched Martin in amazement.
“Good morning, Martin,” Commander Strike welcomed him, taking a sip from her coffee mug. “Thanks again for coming in so soon after completing your training. I’d like you to meet the team – please introduce yourselves.”
A short woman stepped to Martin with a hand extended. She had piercing blue eyes that complemented her strawberry hair and wide smile. “I’m Megan Privvy. We’ve heard so much about you.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Steffan Privvy,” said the man behind Megan, who sported equally good looks with his chiseled brow and jaw, and wavy brown hair.
“That’s my husband,” Megan said. “We met studying time travel thirty years ago and have been together ever since, still studying.”
Thirty years? They don’t even look thirty years old.
Martin grinned at them and shook Steffan’s hand. Thirty years could mean a variety of things when discussing time travel.
“And I’m Leigh Covington,” the other woman said. She appeared slightly older than the rest, perhaps in her mid-30’s, and lacked the natural warmth that Megan had radiated. Leigh had long brown hair that framed her high cheekbones.
Martin shook her hand and turned to the final man on the right.
“I’m Brigham Kelley,” the man said in a strong British accent.
“Nice meeting you all,” Martin said to the circle.
“Our scientists come from Europe,” Commander Strike said. “Their advances in medicine in the future are way beyond what we have in the future, and they’re actually accessible.”
“Why didn’t you just have them bring the Alzheimer’s cure instead of sending me into the future?”
“We don’t actually have that cure, Mr. Briar,” Brigham said. “I’ll be staying here while you go on your mission to get it. We’re interested in studying it and replicating the medicine, if possible.” Brigham adjusted his glasses as he spoke, his black hair spiked in every direction.
“So I need to get more than just for my mom?” Martin asked, puffing out his chest to show off his new strength. He felt much older than everyone else in the room, being the only one with streaks of gray on his head and early wrinkles forming below his eyes.
“Yes,” Commander Strike said. “We figured since you’ll already be there, we can use the opportunity to get some for ourselves and rightfully distribute it in different times throughout the past.”
“Fair enough.”
“We can discuss those details later. I know these fine folks are excited to start the experiment with you, and I don’t want to waste any of their time. Shall we?”
The scientists nodded and filed out of the room, strolling by Martin with wide grins. Commander Strike and Tarik joined the back of the procession and followed behind with Martin.
“What are they going to do to me?” Martin asked Strike.
“It’s not much,” she replied, brushing a hand through her blond hair. “They’re going to draw some blood to examine in their labs, run some
tests on your brain, and film you with time frozen to see how the experience is for you.”
“They can freeze time?”
“Steffan can. It’s why he’s in this group, trying to figure out how someone could resist it.”
“Does that mean he’s also warm?”
“Sort of. Anyone who can freeze time is warm, but not everyone who is warm can freeze time. The latter is more rare, which is why we need to figure it out.”
“And use this to kill Chris?”
“Exactly. Imagine a scenario where all of his guards are frozen while we send in someone like you to kill him.”
Martin knew they wanted to use his ability to their advantage in the war, but having him be the one to personally kill Chris? Yes, he wanted the old bastard dead, but he couldn’t even kill Sonya. How was he supposed to become the biggest hero in Road Runner history?
They went to a conference room in the back of the office—the largest one they had—where a camera stood on a tripod along the front wall. The room had been cleared of the tables and chairs that normally filled it, leaving a lone table pushed into the corner, out of sight from the camera. Chairs were positioned for each person, seven in total.
The scientists filed in, taking their seats around the table, leaving the middle chair open. “Please sit here, Martin,” Megan said.
Martin obliged, all eyes studying him.
“Today will be fairly simple,” Steffan said. “We’re going to run some tests, and then you and I will go for a little spin in the frozen world, right in this room. I expect we’ll be done within an hour, not counting the frozen time, but that doesn’t count anyway.”
Steffan spoke to Martin as if he already understood how this worked, so he offered an obligatory nod in return.
Tarik and Commander Strike sat on the ends of the rectangular table, clearly here to observe, as they lacked the pens and notepads like everyone else.
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 55
