by Ramy Vance
This was a huge double-win.
Shortly after Aki had walked away, Reuben got a text from Buzz. “Got the email with the video and timeline notes. Dude. You can warp back in time!”
A few minutes later, Martha called Reuben. “This is all so fucking crazy,” she said. “But, I believe it.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Reuben—Wednesday, February 8, 7:42 p.m.
Reuben and Martha had gone straight to Buzz’s mansion after that. Martha and Buzz had hit it off well. After they had all had a stiff drink, Buzz showed them both to his server room so they could view the timeline calendar and all their notes on the big screen.
Then the training had recommenced.
It was a shit load of training.
As Reuben kept training, there would come a point where he'd get too tired to continue and Buzz would kill him to reset the training. Buzz and Martha would get their automated email afterward, but they no longer made a big deal about it. It was just part of the process.
Buzz watched as Reuben and Martha sparred in the mansion's garden. It was evening now, and the fight between him and Martha was fairer than it had ever been.
He was actually good now.
He should be after all the warps he’d done. Of course, they didn’t just train for combat between all those warps. They’d also done a ton of research, gathering all the evidence they would need to legally bring down Pout and connect him to the microwave bomb.
During their research, the Trillium Group and Better Tomorrows Incorporated kept coming up, and they learned that Pout had recently sold RedBook tech to several foreign countries, among them India, Pakistan, and North Korea. While the activity raised flags, it didn't concern the microwave bomb attack in New York. After Pout was taken down, RedBook would probably follow suit, rendering the tech useless.
On a hunch, Martha had Buzz try to track down the guy who'd met Pout at Mr. Sudds, the one wearing the hoodie with the stripes on the shoulders who'd handed Pout a burner phone. They spent an hour searching for the mysterious guy, but they just couldn't find him. Oh, well, chances were it was just a henchman who'd be mopped up when Pout was behind bars.
But they still hadn’t found enough to nail Pout.
Buzz hit the motherlode when going through emails sent to an encrypted email address that Pout used. There, Buzz found diagrams of the completed microwave bomb along with a list of all the parts—a type of specialized wire mesh included—and their expected arrival times by van to Mr. Sudds. The emails clearly stated that the bomb was to be assembled and modified there and then transported to an as yet to be named location for detonation in the city on February fourteenth.
“Holy shit, Pout’s done for,” Martha said. “How could he be OK with killing so many people like that?”
Reuben gritted his teeth. “This is great stuff, Buzz, and it’ll definitely finish Pout. But how are we going to get all this evidence to the proper authorities?” He checked his watch. “We need to stop that bomb before it even crosses the Canadian-Detroit border. But it’s the eighth, and it’s already happened. When I warp back so that we can stop it, our evidence is going to be gone.”
“Not to worry,” Buzz bragged. “I’m a genius and have saved all the evidence in a zipped file to the nanobot in your system. Even after you warp back in time, the files will still be inside you. All we’ve got to do is transfer them to your smartwatch and phone and then forward them to the proper authorities and federal agencies.”
Reuben rubbed his chin. “Damn, that’s good thinking. I’ve never been evidence before.”
The three of them laughed.
But their biggest mission wasn’t the training or the researching, but actually stopping the semis. They couldn’t entrust this to anyone else. They’d finish this themselves.
They decided to have Reuben warp back again to allow the events at the border to unfold one more time. The shootout went down while the three of them watched from satellite imagery, listening in on one of Marshall’s old police scanners. They got a ton of useful details: truck timing, which officers would be on duty, good locations to stake out the run. All in all, they were close to ready to go in and stop the semis from ever crossing the Detroit-Canada border. The microwave bomb would never enter New York, and no police officers would be wounded or killed.
Almost ready.
Reuben would have to die again to warp back to the time of the border crossing.
Buzz lay on a lawn chair and drank cocktails while he sunned himself.
“You know it’s February,” Reuben reminded him as he blocked another one of Martha’s punches.
“The tilt of the Earth’s axis in relation to the sun has no bearing on our ability to absorb the sun’s nourishment,” Buzz said. “Besides, it feels good.”
“Feeling is relative.” He blocked a kick from Martha.
“Shut up.” Buzz sipped his drink.
Reuben rolled his eyes. “You know, you ought to get up here and try a few rounds.”
“I’m a man of science,” Buzz said. “Brute strength is of no interest to me.”
“So, how do we stop Alister?” Martha delivered a roundhouse kick, which Reuben instinctively blocked.
“I think,” Reuben threw a punch, and she blocked him, “that I need to be at the scene of the shootout. I can block the shipment from crossing over, at least I think I can.”
Buzz pondered as the two danced around the garden in an even match. “You think he can pull it off?” he asked Martha.
“I think he’s ready for at least basic combat,” Martha told Buzz.
“You think you’re ready?” Buzz lifted his sunglasses over his head and a sly smile played over his face. “Gun?”
Reuben was quiet for a few minutes as he blocked and punched at Martha.
“Maybe,” he finally said, “but I think I need to see my dad first.” He checked his watch. By the time he got home, his dad might already be asleep. He was exhausted after all that training and dying.
He decided to crash at Buzz’s place and then see Marshall in the morning.
Reuben made the long drive home and arrived at the apartment complex before the sun even rose. It felt like it had been so long since he had been here.
Downstairs, Midge watered her plants and shot Reuben a quick smile. This meant that Marshall hadn’t really behaved, but he hadn’t really misbehaved, either. It was good information for him to know before he entered the fray.
He entered the room, where Marshall sat staring out the window.
“Where the hell you been?” Marshall asked.
Reuben ignored the question. “How you doing this morning, Dad?”
Marshall scoffed. “What do you care?”
“I care a lot.” Reuben started toward the kitchen. “Have you eaten and taken your meds?”
“Aw, shut up,” Marshall bellowed. “Who died and made you my doctor, huh? I never asked you for any of this shit, doting over me like I’m a fragile little China doll.”
“You know, Dad.” Reuben turned and faced his father. “Once upon a time, you were somebody.”
Marshall scowled. “Once upon a time, huh? Is that what you think of me? I’m a goddamned fairy tale character, huh? Bippity-boppity-goddamned-boo.”
Reuben rolled his eyes and took out Marshall’s pill box. He started to make eggs. “Yeah, once upon a time, you were a hero,” Reuben continued. “Now you’re just… Look at you. You’re an asshole, and no one can stand to be around you. You know that?”
“Oh, aren’t you just a ray of sweetness in the morning?” Marshall shot back. “Good morning to you too. Didn’t I teach you some manners, son?”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Reuben continued. “You just don’t get it. I am the only one on this planet who cares about you.”
He let the shouting hang in the air for a moment, and he stood panting before his father. Marshall just stood there, eyes narrowed, but didn’t say a word.
“There are six billion peopl
e on this planet,” Reuben continued. “Six billion people on this damn rock, spread out over seven continents and mountains and lakes and rivers. It’s full of so many people, there’s not enough food to go around. Out of all of those people, I am the only one that gives a shit about you.”
“Oh, get off yourself,” Marshall said. “You think you’re a saint? You’re no saint. Anything you do for me, you don’t do it for me; you do it for yourself. So you can pat yourself on the back at night and tell yourself you’re a martyr for your crazy old man. That you’re a good son. That way, you don’t have to face your pitiful life and that you’re still sleeping alone in a twin bed and you’re almost thirty years old.”
“You know,” Reuben’s eyes burned hot with anger as he used a tone he had never dared to take with his father.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep; maybe it was facing death a thousand times. Maybe it was learning to fight with Martha. But whatever it was, he suddenly wasn’t scared of anything his father had to dish out.
But when he looked in the old man’s eyes, he saw the fear, and for just a second, he felt for the man.
“You know,” Reuben’s voice softened, “I remember when I was little. I remember feeling like my dad was the strongest, bravest man in the world and how I wanted to grow up and be just like him. I remember most of all being on that bus with Martha. That guy Thorne—”
Marshall cut in, “Don’t bring up that bastard.”
“Goddammit, for once, would you fucking listen to a word I’m saying?” Reuben retorted.
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
“I’m trying to tell you something,” Reuben said.
“Then say it already, dammit.” Marshall stood with his hands on his hips.
“I remember how it was when you got us off that bus,” he said. “That was the day everything changed. Because that was the day Mom left, and you never wanted to talk about it. You never—”
“Of course I’m not going to talk about it,” Marshall bellowed. “I’m a man, which is more than I can say for you.”
“You know,” Reuben told him, “I’ve changed a lot. I’m working on something. I can’t explain it right now, but you’re going to be proud of what I’m doing.”
“I doubt it.” Marshall shuffled back to his room.
Reuben watched Marshall’s departing back and started to say something but realized there was no point. He wouldn’t remember any of this. He was about to leave the house when Marshall whipped around to him.
“You know,” his father stood in the hallway, gray hair frizzing from all directions, “maybe if you’d worry about your own life and stop worrying so goddamn much about mine, maybe you’ll grow out of this, whatever the hell this is, stunted man-child, self-appointed nursemaid, and we’d be able to have a real conversation…like men.”
“Whatever.” Reuben turned toward the door, but the words just bubbled beneath the surface, and he couldn’t stop them from flowing out. “I know you’re not going to believe this, and it doesn’t matter anyway because you won’t remember it anyway—”
“Oh, fucking cheap shot, asshole,” Marshall interrupted. “Wait until you’re my age and you’ve lived through what I’ve lived through, then come tell me that—”
Reuben laughed mirthlessly and talked over him. “I have these….powers. I can go back in time. When I die, I go back in time. There’s a bomb.”
Marshall stood frozen but didn’t respond.
“On Valentine’s Day, it will go off,” Reuben continued. “I’ve seen it and died by it several times. I’m going to stop the bomb, save the city, save you and Martha and all of us. And no one will know. Least of all you.”
Turning to face his son, Reuben saw something he hadn’t seen in a long time. His eyes gleamed with the sheen of a tear. “You’re not losing it, are you, son?” he asked, his voice soft, almost inaudible.
“No, Dad, I’m telling you the truth.”
Marshall put his hands over his ears, shaking his head.
Reuben tried anyway. “I didn’t expect you to believe it, but I thought I’d tell you.”
Marshall pursed his lips. “No, I don’t believe it. I just didn’t think you inherited the batshit crazy gene from your mother. Dying and coming back was her idea of pillow talk, and look where that got us all.”
Reuben’s mouth dropped. What the hell? But Marshall disappeared behind a closed door before Reuben could get a word out.
Whatever.
The “Just Like Your Mother” thing was Marshall’s universal trump card. He played it any time Reuben wasn’t off-put by their usual rounds and he needed just a little cherry to top it off.
Reuben surveyed the room one last time and then walked out the door.
Guess it was time to die.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Reuben—Thursday, February 9, 7:31 a.m.
After grabbing a snack at Taco Bell, Reuben made the now-familiar drive out to Buzz’s mansion. He arrived at the circular drive and noticed Martha’s small blue Sentra sitting outside. Great, the gang was all here and waiting for him.
He let himself into the mansion, not bothering to ring the bell. “Buzz? Martha? OK, I think we should do a bullet to the head this time. That seems to hurt the least.”
He opened the door fully, and he noticed the rope pulley system too late. “What the…”
A chainsaw came down from the ceiling and cut off his head. The last thing Reuben saw was Martha and Buzz high-fiving each other.
Reuben—Wednesday, February 8, 7:33 p.m.
Reuben reinhabited his body to find himself sitting with Buzz and Martha on Buzz’s couch. This had been after all their training and research and just after he’d told them he was going to visit Marshall in the morning.
Well, he’d already done that, but he hadn’t gone back far enough. He hadn't died calmly, nor had he had a proper amount of time in mind that he wanted to go back to. He’d need to go back to earlier in the day if they were going to make it to the border before the semis crossed with the bomb. Clapping his hands together, he said, “OK, it’s go time!”
Buzz and Martha stared at each other and then back at Reuben. Then they received their emails and nodded in understanding that Reuben had just warped.
Reuben cleared his throat. “We need to go back one more time, before the semis cross the border, to stop it in person. The three of us. Plus Aki. She's a badass agent with lots of experience in these sorts of missions.”
Buzz sipped his wine and crossed his legs. “That’s not such a bad idea.”
Martha looked resolved. "I agree. Let's do it."
“So, how do I get to die this time?" Reuben shuffled his feet.
Buzz steepled his fingertips like a mad scientist might. “I’ve always been interested in the human body’s defenses against hypothermia. It might be interesting to challenge the existing data for medical purposes.”
Reuben scoffed. “Uh, calm down, Joseph Mengele. We’re talking about quick deaths. This isn’t Auschwitz.”
Buzz set his drink down and stared deeply at Reuben as he thought. “But for science. Do you see the usefulness of being a human capable of infinite deaths? Can you imagine what we could discover?”
Reuben quipped back, “You’ve got plenty of data already.” He pointed to his wrist.
“I could always get more,” Buzz said.
Martha stood and grabbed her purse. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring myself.” Reuben laughed. “Look, I'm tired of dying. Luckily, I think I've gained control of my time warps now. I just have to keep calm and warp. At least I only need to die once to go back to when we want to go.”
Martha considered his words. “Fuck. All that dying you had to do to get to this point.” She went in and gave him a hug. “An ordinary guy might consider just forgetting the bomb and leaving the city.”
Reuben shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”
She smiled. “I know. You're a good man. I hope
you know that even though no one remembers what you’re doing, I do…we do. And I, for one, know that you’re a hero.”
“We believe you’re a hero,” Buzz leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “But, let’s take things a little slower. Reuben, why don’t you calmly tell us what you’re thinking? What's the plan?”
Martha sat back down, and Reuben slowly eased himself back into the couch.
“OK. The plan is I go back in time so we can stop the maple syrup shipment at the Detroit-Canada border. The microwave bomb is in one of those semis. We have the details we need, so let’s get to it.”
Martha blinked. "Are you sure you're good training-wise?"
Reuben nodded. Well, he had to be sure, and it would be good to prove it to his friends. “Martha, stand up.”
Martha slowly stood as Reuben balled his fists. “Try to punch me.”
“OK, but you do realize I’ve been trained for this kind of thing, right?”
“Yeah, so have I. I’m waiting, Princess.” He knew the name would irritate her, and it did.
She narrowed her eyes and threw a right hook. With one swift move, he blocked it. But that wasn’t all. He twisted her arm, and in a quick sweep, wrestled her to the ground. Within seconds he lay on top of her, and they both panted breathlessly.
“Good job, good job.” Buzz clapped, and they both got up.
Martha dusted her pants off. “Not bad.”
“I learned from the best.” He smiled at her.
Martha eyed him. “You know, you’re…different, somehow.”
“Good or bad?” Reuben asked.
“I’m not quite sure. More confident, but…” She trailed off.
Reuben tilted his head. “But what?”
She waved him off. “Never mind.”
Buzz interrupted them. “As much as I would love to let this little love flower blossom, we do have an agenda here. Reuben brings up a great point.”
Reuben sipped his drink and let it numb the sting of whatever Martha’s ambiguous words meant. “What’s that?”
