“Let’s meet in the conference room in five minutes,” Gerald said to the group. “It’s that door along the wall.” He pointed to the only other visible door across the room.
Gerald walked off, into the rows of weapons, picking up various swords and explosives to examine. The three of them weren’t sure if they were supposed to follow suit, or if they were even allowed to touch anything. Ralph stood in front them, his grin wide.
“You guys, this entire room belongs to all of us. I just maintain it. You can go touch anything you want, and take anything you want—all you have to do is tell me for inventory purposes.”
“Thanks, Ralph,” Web said, and immediately dashed into the aisles. Brigham broke toward the walls, touching every gun within his reach as he skipped down the hall like a child in the toy aisle.
“How long have you been here?” Martin asked Ralph. He’d take any weapon that Gerald deemed necessary, but he didn’t care about looking at all of the stock to make his own decision.
“I’ve been here for four years now,” Ralph replied. “I love what I do and the people I get to meet from around the world and all throughout time.”
“Do you never travel to other times, then?”
“I do on occasion, mainly on trips to get new weapons—they’re much cheaper and more accessible in the past.”
“Aren’t there less laws now surrounding guns compared to the past?”
“If you’re rich. If not, it’s almost impossible to get your hands on a gun without going through the black market. Can’t have poor people defending themselves against their murderous government.” Ralph shook his head, his face scrunching as if he just bit into a sour grape.
“Is this your real time?” Martin asked.
“It is. I was born in 2034 and have lived all 30 years of my life here.”
“You never thought about going back in time and not aging? Why live in a world like this?”
“I’ve thought about it. But, why live through any amount of time knowing it still ends like this? Even if I traveled back 500 years, it all leads back to this point in time. I’d rather just live my life and die when I’m supposed to. And it feels more refreshing doing my work in this era—it’s more purposeful because I’m still fighting the good fight. I’m with the good guys, even if they bomb us in the middle of the night.”
Martin scratched his head, unsure what to do with the life story Ralph threw his way, and decided to keep him talking—he had grown an immediate interest in the “history” of the future.
“So why do you have the Juice?”
“The Revolters damn near handed that stuff out after they took control. Once they wiped out the towns, they tried to sway any middle-class people the opportunity for a better life. They called it ‘giving the gift of time.’ Basically, they thought anyone who survived the attacks and still lived in the poor areas deserved a chance at a better life, as long as they weren’t any type of minority.”
“How generous of them. Did you lose any family?”
“Not through death,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “See, I was part of the rich circle, a trust fund kid who never had to work a day in his life. But I wasn’t your typical rich snob. I wanted to do good with the money. I spent my time researching various charitable organizations that I could donate both my time and money to, making sure it wasn’t the sort of bullshit where seventy percent of your donation goes to some sleazy CEO. I had a good thing going with a dozen different organizations, but I didn’t keep up with politics. If I had, I would’ve known that our fearless leader Poe had been slashing non-profit organizations for years already, squeezing them out of existence with different tax laws that made it impossible for them to stay in operation. By the time I knew what was going on, it was too late.”
Ralph paused, head still shaking, as he retrieved a flask from his back pocket. Martin’s eyes bulged at the sight.
“Relax,” Ralph said. “This is a normal flask, with booze. A habit I took up recently; it really settles the nerves.”
Martin knew that feeling, but put up a hand when Ralph offered some.
“I brought up the issue to my parents,” Ralph continued. “Asking what they thought, if they agreed with me on how inhumane all of this was. What was the harm in letting non-profits run their businesses in peace. They weren’t out taking potential money away from businesses run by the government. But my parents had become so brainwashed by this New Age Revolution shit—something else I had apparently been too busy to notice. They and my sister supported every word that came out of the White House, and had become racist, anti-humanity pigs. So I did what any sensible person would’ve done and moved out in the middle of the night, after taking $100,000 out of my dad’s safe, of course.”
Ralph chuckled at himself, his eyes distant as he surely replayed that night in his head.
“And that’s how you ended up here as a Road Runner?”
“Oh, there was resistance. They thought I was an undercover spy for the Revolters at first. I understood why, so I had to go through all sorts of tests to prove that I was more aligned with the Road Runners’ values than the Revolters. They eventually let me in, and that’s when I decided I wanted to keep helping where I could. These days, this is the only real way to help, short of risking my own life out in the public.” Ralph tossed his hands in the air and pivoted around to admire the room of weapons. “I’ve had a lot of fun traveling back in time and gathering this collection. I’ve had enough face time with the past, that I don’t think I could actually live there. I’ve grown conditioned to be paranoid and always looking over my shoulder, even though I know no one dangerous will come here. I suppose it’s just part of growing up in this time. I wouldn’t last in any other era being this way.”
“That’s an incredible story, Ralph. I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I suppose.”
“No, don’t thank me. I want to thank you. You guys are the ones who come here ready to fight. I don’t have half the courage as you do. Shit, I need to sleep with a rifle at my side to make sure I don’t have any bad dreams. You guys are the real heroes, and I don’t even know your backstories. You have a meeting to get to, though, so it’ll have to wait for another time.”
Ralph nodded across the room where Gerald and the others had gathered outside the conference room.
“Yes, thanks. I’d love to continue this conversation.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Ralph slapped Martin on the back before he rushed across the room.
Ralph had shown him that the world was as dangerous as advertised, but also, reassuringly, that there were still good people in these dark times. Even if they had to hide in the shadows, they were there, working to move forward and never giving up hope.
106
Chapter 13
Gerald paced around the conference room, shoving chairs aside with his hips, clearing the way for him to write on the dry-erase board that ran the length of the front wall. A long table faced the front where Martin, Brigham, and Web all sat and watched.
“I’ve been thinking about a plan,” Gerald said, twisting the cap off of a marker and drawing a blue circle. “This is Denver. We’re about thirty minutes away. I’m thinking we move to the edge of town and get a spot wherever we can find. There should be some hotels for cheap, and we can create a base there. Is that close enough to the city for you, Web?”
Web nodded, his hands folded and relaxed on the table. “I can try to hack the hospitals’ security systems so we can look around their cameras,” he said, pulling out a laptop from his bag and typing furiously as Gerald spoke. “I can break into anything.”
Gerald smirked and nodded. “In that case, it’ll be a waiting game until we get some more information on the insides of these buildings. Martin, we can use this downtime to have you explore downtown and get a sense for what’s going on. Commander Strike believes Sonya has escaped to this era, so we might as well poke around and see what we can learn. I’m sure Web will have some insight on an escape r
oute, but you might as well get familiar with the area—learn the hidden alleys and back doors, things like that.”
Martin still felt out of place, essentially being thrown into the situation as a sort of spy. He had no experience doing such things aside from the James Bond movies he had seen. And there was no fancy car or beautiful woman to help him along the way.
“Alright, I can do that,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t be found out and shot dead like a rabid dog.
“And what can I do?” Brigham asked. “I know I’m just here for the medicine, but there’s gotta be something I help with.”
“I’d suggest you hang out with Web and pitch in where he might need help. If you’re not comfortable with combat, then I’d advise you stay inside when we arrive downtown. You’ll put yourself in danger if you don’t have experience in fighting these people.”
And I have experience? Martin wondered. I didn’t ask to be a part of this war, just to get my mom’s medicine.
It felt like he had left home months ago, even though they had been in 2064 for an entire hour. He imagined his mom at home, worrying about him, waiting to find out if he’d make it back.
I’ll be back, and I’m pouring this damn Juice down the toilet so I never have to come back. I’ll be long gone before the world goes to shit.
“I can help Web,” Brigham said.
“Martin and I will go out and get a feel for the current situation. Like I mentioned, I’m from this era, but from Chicago. Things could be slightly different in Denver, but I wouldn’t count on it. Either way, we’ll find out for sure.”
“Gerald,” Martin said abruptly. “Do you think we might die?”
The room fell silent as everyone turned to Gerald, their fearless leader who seemed to have all the answers.
“It’s definitely a better possibility than most missions,” he replied, choosing words carefully. “But that’s why we’re going to put so much preparation into this. If we just went downtown and barged into the hospital without a plan, we’d be dead within minutes. Every decision we make will be carefully thought out, our plans regarding the medicine will be detailed to the exact second. We’ll always know where each other is and how to get in contact.”
Martin nodded, along with Brigham. Web continued typing away on his laptop, likely trying to hack the world’s greatest computer servers for fun.
“Because of these plans, we need to get moving. It’ll be best for us to arrive in the middle of the day and check in to a place. Everyone will be at work, and there’s no need for us to get tangled with other Road Runners right now. The less people who know who we are, the better. We can’t have people talking about the group of four men who showed up with their bags and guns. Word gets around fast, and once it’s out, it’ll eventually reach the Revolters.”
“So we’re going downtown already?” Web asked, not looking up from his screen.
“Yes, we’ll plan to leave here in an hour, after you guys pick the weapons you want. I think the machine guns are pretty fun.”
Web didn’t acknowledge the response and remained entranced by his computer screen, glowing a blue haze across his face.
“Any questions?” Gerald asked, and when no one replied, “Let’s get to it.”
They exited the conference room and returned to the warehouse of weapons, none of them sure where to even begin their search.
* * *
Ralph had more than weapons. He provided them a busted old van to travel in, instead of the cramped sports car from 2019. “You’ll blend right in,” he said proudly. “Just wait till you see it. You’ll be Gerald the soccer mom and his three kids.” He cackled at himself, grabbing his belly as if he just told the funniest joke in history. They offered polite chuckles, except for Web—the researcher seemed to be in another universe at the moment, remaining distant and quiet.
“I understand you’ll need a new wardrobe, so I’ve prepared a suitcase full of new attire.” He rolled out a black suitcase and pushed it over to Martin, patting the top of it. “Everything you need. At the bottom is all of the fine attire: suits, shoes, ties, pocket squares, and a box of jewelry. Remember, the flashier your appearance, the more they think you’ll belong. On top of that I packed your regular lounging clothes, which should only be worn when you’re back at home base with these guys. Even the super-rich people in these times don’t believe in relaxing in a pair of sweatpants. They’ll stay in dress pants and a button-up right until bedtime.”
“Do they sleep under gold sheets?” Martin asked, smirking.
“Some do, yes. Go somewhere like the governor’s mansion, and you’ll see everything in gold, all the way down to his very toothbrush.”
“Obnoxious.”
“Indeed, but that’s the luxury of funneling all tax money to yourself. Politics has become even more of a cash grab than what I’ve heard about in your time. Politics is now a wealthy way of life for only the elite of society to participate. Everyone else just tries to mind their own business and pray they don’t get killed for no apparent reason.”
Every bit of information that both Gerald and Ralph mentioned felt like a new layer being peeled off an onion of fear. They were inching closer to the core, and the thought terrified Martin to his bones. Within the next hour he’d be arriving downtown with his small caravan of Road Runners, an easy target should they be discovered. He had seen downtown Denver grow from the 1980’s all the way through 2019. He even had a taste of life in 1919, but none of that prepared him for whatever horror lived on this side of the century. Would the city look the same? Were all the familiar buildings and skyscrapers still standing strong? Did Revolters march around town with automatic firearms looking to shoot anyone who appeared as a threat? He tried to imagine such a world, but couldn’t, refusing to accept that life could’ve taken such a dramatic twist during the course of history.
His flask throbbed like a hot cast iron in his back pocket, begging him to return to his normal life in 2019. It was a much different experience traveling forward compared to backward. Going back in time, he knew what would happen for the most part. There were no major surprises kept out of the history books, and life in general seemed more relaxed.
Jumping into the future sparked a constant tension that hung over every moment. An obvious sense of the unknowing tickled the back of his thoughts, creating fear and doubt. How was he supposed to return to 2019—even with the cure to Alzheimer’s in hand—and pretend that everything was okay? How was he supposed to attempt to return to a normal life, knowing what lied ahead less than twenty years ahead when President Poe ran for office? It reminded Martin of a classic scene in many suspense movies where the protagonist found themselves strapped to a conveyor belt, inching closer to a pool of boiling water. The future was the water, time the conveyor belt, and Martin was strapped down, praying someone would come rescue him.
Will he make it before turning into a boiled lobster? Tune in tomorrow—same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!
“Briar!” Gerald shouted from across the warehouse. “It’s time.”
He locked eyes momentarily with Ralph and felt an odd sense of comfort. “I suppose I’ll need to take your recommendation on a gun; I need to get going.”
Ralph grinned and led Martin down the aisle.
107
Chapter 14
It hadn’t even been twelve hours, so Chris jumped out of his seat when he saw a figure appear on the monitors. It was 9 p.m., hours after he had released half of the prisoners back into the wild. He resisted every temptation to jump forward a day in time to see what happened, but as he had learned in his decades of time travel, it was sometimes best to let time pass.
If good things come to those wait, then I’m about to receive the ultimate present.
And as long as the Road Runner wasn’t bluffing, he would. He’d kept faith that his enemies were as true to their word as he was, and watching the figure approach from the distant woods caused a rapid heartbeat he hadn’t felt in years.
His h
ands fumbled across his desk, batting papers and loose articles out of the way in search of the intercom control. “Duane, please come to my office. This is an emergency.”
Chris couldn’t think of a time where he had ever mentioned an emergency publicly over the intercom. For convenience, the intercom reached every inch of the mansion, including the basement. He imagined the remaining prisoners panicking like caged dogs on their way to the pound. Perhaps it was his heart’s desire, but he swore he heard their shouts from two levels below.
Within a minute, Duane knocked and entered the office, unbothered as usual.
“What’s going on?” Duane asked.
“Our friend is coming back.”
“Already? Are you sure it’s him?” Duane pulled his sleeve down to check his watch. “It’s only been eleven hours.”
“Perhaps they were giving us broad timelines as well. But I don’t know who else would be walking from the woods in the middle of the night.”
Duane hurried around the desk to look at the monitor, his face stretched into a studious gaze. “It’s one person again, gotta be him.”
“I know it’s him, Duane, that’s why I called you up here.”
They watched in silence as the small figure on the screen once again grew larger with each approaching step. The distance between the mansion and the woods was much longer than Chris had remembered, as it took this man nearly three minutes to reach the front porch.
Duane had already opened the software that allowed two-way conversation with the outside world.
“Good evening,” Chris said, unable to hide the grin on his face as he slid the headset on. One of two things were about to happen, both making him drool at the thought. The man was either back to disclose the plan for capturing Strike, or he was here to try and negotiate a new deal and back out of the old one, in which case he’d be killed within two minutes. No one backed out of a deal with Chris Speidel and lived to tell the tale.
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 62
