Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  “What do I tell the prisoners? They’ll have questions—especially the ones not leaving today.”

  “Tell them they’re being moved to another location, and leave it at that. Tell them that’s all you know.”

  “That is all I know.”

  “Easy enough, then. How long do you think it’ll take to have them rounded up and ready to go upstairs?”

  The guard checked his watch. “Half an hour.”

  “Works for me. Myself or Duane will meet you upstairs in half an hour to fill in the Road Runners on what they need to do. I’ll send down some help for you to get everyone together.”

  “Thank you, boss.”

  Chris clapped a hand on Wheeler’s shoulder and winked at him. He loved when he saw his rigorous brainwashing in action. The guard asked no questions that didn’t pertain to his job, and responded respectfully to Chris by calling him “boss.” When it felt like the world was crumbling all around, it was refreshing to know he still had thousands of soldiers and Revolters below him, all working toward one common goal of making the world a better place.

  “Thank you, young man. I appreciate everything you do for us.” Chris patted him one more time, the guard now grinning and wide-eyed from the compliment.

  He turned and pushed the door open, the light immediately turning off as they stepped out to the perimeter and watched the prisoners sitting or lying on the floor, oblivious that they were about to have their lives altered once again.

  And so is mine, Chris thought, a smirk smacked on his face. He strolled down the dark hallway to return to the elevator, knowing that the next forty-eight hours would bring change he’d never imagined possible. As soon as he stepped in the elevator, all of the lights in the basement blasted on, causing moans and screams from the prisoners as their eyes made the adjustment to normal lighting.

  “I need twenty-five of you to stand up right now and put your hands behind your back,” the guard shouted. “We’re going for a little walk upstairs.”

  104

  Chapter 11

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Chris said to the group of twenty-five Road Runners standing in the mansion’s entryway. “Today, you’ll be released. Don’t ask why—it’s none of your business. In five minutes I’ll unlock this door and you’re free to go. Your people are somewhat expecting your release, so they may or may not be around to assist you. From here you’ll want to head north, which is straight out this door. There’s nothing south or on the back side of the mansion, so don’t bother.”

  The group of Road Runners looked around at each other, not sure if they should believe the Revolters’ main leader.

  Chris smiled to himself. “I hope there are no hard feelings. We did what we had to in the name of war.” A sudden tension rose to the surface after he said this, but still no one said anything. They probably wanted to rip his head right from his shoulders, but they all had their hands cuffed behind their backs. “I want you to form a single file line. When the door opens, you’ll step outside one-by-one, have your handcuffs removed, and be free to go. Don’t try anything cute; we have guards all around this place who won’t hesitate to shoot. Any questions?”

  Nothing but blank stares.

  “Perfect.” Chris rotated and started to unlock the numerous bolts and chains that kept the front door sealed. The shell of the barricade remained, but Duane waited upstairs for the official word to drop it. Chris turned back to the small crowd. “We only have five minutes to get you all out of here, so form your line now and move quickly. If you don’t make it out, it’ll be your own fault.”

  The Road Runners looked at each other one final time before wiggling around in the crowded space, forming a sloppy line that curved around the room.

  Chris nodded to a guard standing on the stairwell that led upstairs. The guard returned the nod and disappeared upward.

  Thirty seconds later, a humming sound filled the house, much like a mechanical motor. Darkness had filled the windows, giving the appearance of night time, but daylight slowly seeped through the gaps in the house, filling it with a golden glow that provided a sense of life compared to the dungeon they had all been living in. Some of them winced at the sunlight.

  “We’ve tried readjusting your eyes as best we could, but they’re probably not back to normal quite yet. You may need to wander outside with your hands over your eyes. Don’t try to be a hero, you can go blind if you take in too much light right away. There is a pretty heavy overcast today, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  The humming motor stopped, and Chris felt like a sitting duck with no protection around his house. The Road Runners could have ten thousand of their troops waiting to storm the property, and there would be nothing they could do to stop them. His heart raced at the thought.

  “Let’s move!” he barked to the Road Runners, all craning their necks for a view of the world they thought they’d never see again.

  The two guards who had stood by the front door worked their way outside, the first Road Runner in line following.

  “Goodbye. Come again,” Chris joked, more to calm himself down.

  They filed out as instructed, stepping onto the porch, turning their backs for the guards to uncuff them, and jumping down the steps to freedom. Some broke into sprints, others wandered aimlessly like they had just woken up in Jurassic Park. Only a handful looked back at the mansion, and when they did, they turned and ran like it was an evil force trying to claw them back in.

  When the final Road Runner stepped outside, Chris nodded to the guard who had reappeared on the stairs, prompting him to vanish once more into the abyss where Duane waited for the next command. The two outside guards stepped back in and Chris slammed the door shut, cutting off the view of the Road Runners dashing across the open field toward the woods.

  “Goodbye, old friends,” Chris said with a smirk. “Now we wait.”

  The humming motor kicked back on, leaving Chris and his guards to watch the brief glimpse of daylight slowly vanish and return the house to its dark mood and dim lighting.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, and climbed up the stairs to return to his office.

  Duane still sat behind his desk and stood up when Chris stepped into the room.

  “I’d say that went pretty smoothly,” Chris said with a wide grin. “No complications, no surprises. Just an easy release of Road Runners back into the wild where they can try to spread their nonsense.”

  Duane laughed as Chris sat down, turning his attention to the monitor. Almost all of the Road Runners had already vanished from sight, minus a couple who were taking their sweet time crossing the open field. They had taken his word, as not one of them ventured to the back of the house. In a different scenario, he would’ve led them to their deaths, but there was a price to pay for obtaining someone as valuable as Commander Strike.

  “I was thinking more about what happens next,” Duane said, crossing his hands on his lap. “This could be a Trojan horse type of play they’re making.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well, they now have twenty-five Road Runners who know their way around the basement. They’re offering their leader to us on a silver platter. What if their plan is to turn around and use those prisoners to attack us at the exact moment we capture Strike?”

  Chris scratched his head and leaned back in his chair. “Do you really think that’s what they’re up to?”

  “No, but I’m thinking of every possibility, and this one seemed realistic.”

  The two men sat in silence, sizing up the possibility of an ambush.

  “Why now?” Chris asked. “We’ve had their prisoners for almost a year. Why wait until they’ve failed an attack on me and after the barricade has gone up?”

  Duane shrugged. “There are hundreds of reasons we can talk ourselves out of the possibility, but that doesn’t make the reasons for it any less important. They see you as the key to this war. Even if they can’t kill you, if they have you, the war can’t go on. We don’t have a chai
n of command like they do, and they know that. The Revolution would have no leadership in North America if you vanished.”

  Chris nodded, stroking his face with a nervous hand. “Well then, I guess we should plan for the best and prepare for the worst. When we go to get Strike, I want every soldier in this house with us, armed and ready for any surprises.”

  Duane nodded. “What about the house? We can’t leave it abandoned.”

  “We have before when we all go out on a journey together.”

  “That was before this. What happens if we return to a burned down house. We’ve certainly burned down plenty of theirs.”

  “Fine. Then you stay here and put the barricade back up after we leave. Don’t talk with anyone who tries to come by.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. Now we just have to wait for our friend to come back with the information we need. Now’s a good time to fill in our soldiers on what to expect in the next few days. Stress to them that this a highly secret operation we’re taking on, and to not mutter a word about it, even to each other. Doing so will result in immediate death.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Thank you. Now, I want to know more before we capture Strike. What do we know about their chain of command? Who could be calling the shots?”

  “I know Strike’s number two is a younger guy named Julian. He’s been by her side since she came into power. Then there’s an older man, Bill. He’s been a Road Runner forever.”

  “Ahh yes, I remember Bill and Julian. Looking back, I can’t say I’m surprised they joined those fools. It’s always the ones who ask the most questions that end up leaving me. Just like Briar. I swear the guy was going to have a panic attack if I didn’t answer his thousands of questions.”

  “Sounds like we should revamp our recruiting process, then.”

  “That’s for another time. Tell me what you know about Bill and Julian.”

  “I spoke with our team in Europe, and they let me in on a little secret.”

  Chris’s eyebrows raised to the top of his head.

  “It appears that Road Runner leadership in Europe, Asia, and Africa is not at all pleased with Strike. They’re all making plans for after her term ends.”

  “Fascinating. Do you think this deal is coming from across the ocean, then?”

  “It’s very likely, and that’s why I’m not buying the theory of an ambush. I think the Road Runners don’t want Strike anymore and see her as trade bait. They may be known for their loyalty, but that shouldn’t discount their ability as strategists. They really do put the greater good of their organization over any individual.”

  “Do you know what this means?” Chris asked, standing on excited legs. “This means—and I know it’s a long shot—that we can maybe convince Strike into joining us.”

  Duane shook head in a jerky motion. “She would never.”

  “Oh, she might. If she finds out that her own people turned her over to us. Don’t underestimate the tug of revenge in someone who’s been betrayed. I’ve seen it play out numerous times. Why do you think so many people leave us for the Road Runners? They feel a sense of betrayal, even though I let them know the terms of our deal well before anything bad happens in their life.”

  “Why would we want her if her own people don’t?”

  “If she commits to us, we’ll have access to all of their secrets. Where the hideouts are, what their plans are, whatever we want to know, we’ll have an answer to. We may need to reconsider our plans of torturing her, and instead plan to court her. Make her feel welcome. Sooner or later, she’ll have that dreaded realization that the Road Runners were nothing but a huge lie. And we’ll be here, ready with open arms.”

  “How was she when she first met you?”

  “I’m actually not the one who gave her the Juice. She’s originally from Europe and joined from there.”

  “We should try to find out her backstory. If we’re going to court her, it’s best to know what’s been driving her.”

  “We can inquire, but don’t get your hopes up. Our European friends don’t distribute the Juice the same way we do here. We try to tempt people who have suffered in their past, and they like to hand it out like it’s a charitable cause. They use it for fun and historical research. I’d guess half of Europe has access.”

  “How do they get away with it? Keeping it a secret?”

  “It’s not a big deal to them. They don’t treat it as this mystic gift like we do here. It’s almost like it’s a right, not a privilege.”

  Duane stared blankly at Chris, shaking his head after a moment of silence passed.

  “Good for them, I suppose,” Duane said. “I guess we’ll have to wait and find out for ourselves how she really is behind closed doors.”

  Chris nodded and turned his attention back to the computer monitor, watching the now open field, abandoned by all of the released Road Runners, knowing his world would change within the next two days.

  105

  Chapter 12

  After sharing sob stories, they entered the abandoned building with heavy hearts. Even inside, deep in its halls, bullet holes peppered the walls, along with random splatters of dried blood. Martin half-expected the odor of dead bodies, but the place had been cleaned out of any human remains. Gerald mentioned how, in Chicago, the Revolters had stacked all the corpses in an open field and set them on fire, claiming mass cremation as the best option. The handfuls that had survived watched their friends and family burn like logs on television. Gone were the Road Runner networks, leaving only channels run by the Revolters, who praised the attacks and the cremations as a huge success for cleansing the soul of America.

  Martin tried to not think of this horrific imagery as he walked through the apartment building, but could still hear the helpless screams crying out from the walls.

  There was no power to the building, or to the neighborhood, for that matter. Gerald led them down the main hallway, having only the soft glow of daylight that broke through the shattered windows at the ends of the hall. Doors lined the hallway, former entryways into family life and innocence. Cracks zigzagged down the walls, weaving between the craters formed by bullets. The musty smell of abandonment filled their lungs as they reached the back of the hallway where the fire exit stood across from a closed door that concealed a stairwell.

  “This way,” Gerald called, his boots clicking on the tiled floor, echoing throughout the building. Martin’s paranoia kept him looking over his shoulder, positive they were being too loud and would be found by a group of passing Revolters with nothing better to do. But they never came, and they never would. Their work had already been done here, and Gerald assured them that the Revolters mainly stayed in their upscale neighborhoods in or around downtown. The war was won, as far as they were concerned, and they no longer believed any group of surviving people to be a threat. Yet, when a Road Runner did appear, they simply shot them dead without question.

  Gerald swung open the stairwell door, and led them into a dark pit where they had to rely on the sounds of his obnoxious boots to lead the way. When the door shut behind Brigham, who was at the back of the line, the stairway fell into pitch-blackness. Martin waved his hand in front of his face and couldn’t see a damn thing. It reminded him of following Lela through the fog that fateful night when she decided to dump Izzy’s body into the lake.

  Fucking bitch.

  They all clopped down the stairs until bottlenecking and bumping into each other as Gerald stopped to knock on what sounded like a steel door. Someone let out a nervous laugh after they had all fallen into each other like dominoes.

  Martin’s paranoia vanished. No Revolter would go out of their way to step into the darkness and climb all the way down these stairs. It was a perfect hideout for the Road Runners, something he realized they excelled in creating.

  “What’s going on?” Brigham whispered from the back.

  “He’s coming,” Gerald said. “Just give him a minute.”

  A few s
econds later they heard the rattle of chains and the clunking of bolts as someone on the other side unlocked the door, swinging it open to stinging lights that filled a basement the size of two football fields.

  A young pale man with long, wavy brown hair to his shoulders greeted them with a smile. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said in a nasally voice. “Come on in.”

  Gerald stepped in first, shaking the man’s hand and admiring the walls that stretched into the distance, every inch of them covered with guns of all sizes. Webster stepped in next, followed by Martin and Brigham.

  “Holy shit,” Brigham said. “How many guns are in this place?”

  Not only were the walls completely smothered with firearms, there were dozens of tables spread across the room displaying more guns, bombs, swords, and knives. It looked like a trade show for all things weaponry.

  “We have over 10,000 firearms, ranging from muskets to fully automatics, and even bazookas. More than 3,000 explosives, and 2,000 blades.” The man explained this proudly with his hands on his hips.

  “Gentlemen, meet Ralph,” Gerald said. “The craziest son of a bitch I’ve ever known.”

  Ralph threw his head back, revealing a bulging Adam’s apple on his skinny throat, and cackled to the ceiling. “He only says that because I sleep in this room.”

  “You could sleep in any room in this building, but you choose the one that could blow up the entire state,” Gerald joked back, the comic relief spreading its gracious arms around the men.

  “If it’s gonna blow up the state, what does it matter where I sleep?”

  Gerald burst into laughter, a welcoming sight from the behemoth.

  “In all seriousness,” Ralph said. “I’m here for you guys. Anything you need, I have it and can tell you exactly where it is.”

  “We’ll be making a plan first. Do you still have some office space we can use, or did you fill that room with guns, too?”

  “Funny. No, it’s still a conference room, and it’s all yours. I haven’t had too many visitors lately, so make yourselves at home.”