Andre Gonzalez
Zero Hour
First published by M4L Publishing 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Andre Gonzalez
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Andre Gonzalez asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
ISBN: 978-1-951762-12-4
Cover art by ebooklaunch.com
Editing by Stephanie Cohen-Perez
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For my grandpa, Pete.
“Time is a storm in which we are all lost.”
-William Carlos Williams
Contents
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1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
Time of Fate
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Acknowledgments
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Also by Andre Gonzalez
About the Author
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Connecting with readers is the best part of this job. Releasing a book into the world is a truly frightening moment every time it happens! Hearing your feedback, whether good or bad, goes a long in shaping future projects and helping me grow as a writer. I also like to take readers behind the scenes on occasion and share what is happening in my wild world of writing. If you’re interested, please consider joining my mailing list. If you do so, I’ll send you the following as a thank you:
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1
Chapter 1
Martin Briar could resist the freezing of time, but that didn’t stop his life from coming to a standstill. The world of time travel—and more importantly, the Road Runners—was set to undergo the grandest changes of its existence.
Never had a commander been assassinated. Never had a fresh recruit joined the Road Runners and made a run for the commandership. And never had a Keeper of Time guarded their power so stingily and gone into hiding while the world virtually crumbled.
Chris Speidel had divided the time travelers, pitting all members against each other like pawns in some sick chess match that he oversaw. Trust had been broken, lifelong peaceful relationships vanishing within a few years of his reign, clearing the path for him to run the world of time travel as an unchecked dictator.
Tonight, however, none of that mattered. At least for the time being.
Martin sat in one of the Denver office’s small conference rooms with his campaign manager—rather, Commander Blair’s campaign manager—Tony Jenkins, each man puffing a cigar and blowing clouds of smoke that filled the cramped room.
“It’s crazy how fast it goes, isn’t it?” Tony asked through the haze. They sat around a small square table in the only two chairs available in the meeting space. “When you start the campaign, Election Night seems a hundred years away. Then before you know it, here we are, less than an hour from hearing the results.”
“I can’t believe it.” Martin hadn’t smoked a cigar since the last time he tried to pull the trigger on himself at his old apartment in Larkwood. He closed his eyes and imagined the view from that old balcony, the mountains grand in the distance, the skies a crisp, never-ending blue. And the ashtray that deemed him the world’s greatest father, oftentimes catching tears along with the spent ash he flicked into it.
What the hell has happened to my life? he wondered. If the time from campaigning to election night was one hundred years, then this particular moment on the balcony was at least a million years in the past.
Martin spent most nights staring in the mirror, trying to remember what life had been like before he accepted that pill from Chris in the Wealth of Time antique store. It almost seemed that the old Martin had died and a newer version was born in the reincarnate. He could hardly remember anything from his past. Except for the pain. The pain stuck like tree sap on a windshield.
“Whatever happens tonight, you’ve sparked a movement,” Tony continued.
“A movement? Or more division within the organization?” Martin asked, shrugging his shoulders.
“The division isn’t what you think. Yes, people are scared out of their minds and want to forget all of this, but in time they’ll realize that we eventually need to crawl out of the shadows and move forward.”
An unexpected candidate emerged in the race for the commandership. A gentleman named Yohan Templeton ran a platform based on cowardice, vowing to help the Road Runners remain in hiding, and even went as far as promising them protection in a remote location where no Revolters could ever find them.
His ideology was so absurd that no one took him seriously at first. But within a three-week time span and thousands of TV and radio commercials, he formed a massive following, ready to trade in their lives as time travelers and live in euphoria wherever this faux, remote location existed.
Yohan was sleazy, especially for the Road Runners who had never seen a candidate spew constant slander about his opponents and run a campaign with promises that rivaled those of middle school class elections. Apparently, the membership let fear control their logic, and they actually bought into his nonsense, creating a rougher road to the commandership for Martin than originally expected.
“I just don’t understand how Yohan has even made this a race,” Martin said, taking a puff of the cigar nearing its end. “I expected a fight—hell, I expected to lose—but not to someone like this. Surely there was going to be a smart, experienced candidate with all the answers to our problems who would best me at the polls. Instead it’s come down to me and this clown.”
Tony shook his head. “He stroked people’s fears. His ads are all a reminder of what happened to Strike, to the Council, to their own friends and family now living under a rock. It’s been weeks of constantly mounting fear, where he presents himself as the safety net. Frightening, yes – but a brillian
t campaign.”
Martin didn’t appreciate the compliment, but held his tongue. After spending the last several weeks on the road, meeting Road Runners from the Arctic Circle, to the hills of Panama, and everywhere in between, the last thing Martin wanted to hear was a vote of confidence toward his opponent out of the lips of his own campaign manager.
“Look, Martin, if things turn out for the worse, you have a place to stay in England with me.”
“So I can run into hiding just like Yohan wants? I appreciate the offer, but that would look absolutely absurd after ranting for six weeks about digging our feet in and fighting the Revolution.”
“I suppose that’s true, but just know the offer always stands. Sometimes matters can spin beyond our control and leave you with no option but to run.”
A knock banged on the door and Martin’s stomach immediately clenched into a knot. Tony put out his cigar in the ash tray. “Looks like it’s time.”
Tony had instructed someone come get them once the news broadcast was ready to read the results of the election. The moment of truth now waited on the other side of the door where an office full of faithful Road Runners watched in anticipation to know what the future held for their organization. Tony rose as Martin finished his cigar and joined him, opening the door to a room full of two dozen pairs of anxious eyes that followed them down the long hallway until they gathered with the rest of the office watching the big-screen TV.
“What’s the word?” Tony asked. The TV showed a campaign ad of Yohan walking through a tranquil park, welcoming all Road Runners to join him in a new world of peace.
“They’ll have the results after the commercials,” Lila Lawson said. She had worked tirelessly for the campaign over the past four weeks, and it showed in the form of bags under her eyes, her light brown hair a frazzled mess.
Life had slowly returned to normal for a fraction of the Road Runners. Election season raised spirits and brought hope for many who had been in hiding. The Denver office was currently filled with four members of the campaign team sent by Commander Blair. The other twenty people were local Road Runners who wanted to join the cause and help spread the word of Martin Briar to lead them all out of the darkness.
Many prominent Road Runner figures remained in hiding, however. The Council had still yet to show their faces. Their highly-popular news broadcaster, Chip Halsey, who had resigned on live television after Strike’s public execution, had yet to turn up.
Regardless, Road Runners were ready for the next chapters of their lives and grouped together for a smoothly-run election. While the Council typically orchestrated the election and counting of results, a group of volunteers with members from all countries in North America worked to run the election process. A new broadcaster stepped into the role, a young woman who refused to hold back her passion when discussing the future of the organization and brought a sense of urgency to her viewers. The culture had definitely changed, but the dread that had loomed over them since the disappearance of the Council had slowly started to fizzle out.
Blaring trumpets whined from the TV, grabbing everyone’s attention as the office fell silent. A middle-aged woman with black hair, dark skin, and sparkling brown eyes filled the screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining me tonight. Welcome to all returning viewers, and for those of you who are tuning in for the first time, my name is Jennifer Rodriguez.”
Jennifer held a white envelope in her trembling hands. “Here I have the results for our special election for the commandership. This is perhaps the most important election of our lives, and I can only hope we have made the correct decision as an organization. If you’ve watched all day, you’ll know the survey calls were too close to conclude a result.”
The voting software sent surveys to random voters throughout the day in an attempt to learn any particular voting trends while the results poured in. These surveys showed a split decision, Martin and Yohan each with forty-two percent of the votes, the other sixteen percent going to other candidates in the race. A simple majority was needed to win the election.
From the onset, Tony had projected forty-six percent of the votes would be needed to claim victory, yet neither candidate ever approached that mark through the thousands of voluntary surveys returned.
“It’s time for us to learn the results of our future,” Jennifer said. She thumbed open the envelope, an action that seemed to drag on for ten minutes as Martin and the rest of the Denver office watched with their collective breaths held.
She finally opened it and unfolded the sheet of paper within, sliding on a pair of reading glasses as her eyes pored over the paper. Jennifer kept her lips pursed until she looked up to the camera and into the souls of Road Runners watching around the world.
“With a majority of the votes at forty-five percent, it is my pleasure to announce the next commander of the Road Runners as Martin Briar.”
Jennifer’s lips kept moving, but her words were drowned out as the office erupted in cheers and applause. High fives, hugs, and handshakes went all around, while some stood there clapping with their eyes bulging at the TV. Martin’s heart froze as he gawked at the screen, Jennifer replaced by an image of his own face, the banner reading as: Commander Martin Briar to be sworn in tomorrow.
“Holy shit, mate,” Tony said, sticking out a hand to shake. “We did it. You did it.”
Martin shook his hand, yet remained speechless. The whole thing felt surreal, like a dream he’d surely wake up from in the coming moments. The others in the office made their rounds, eventually reaching Martin who had just become the most prominent figure within the entire organization. He accepted hugs and handshakes from those who had dedicated their lives to his campaign over the past month, his jaw hanging open in between the quick words of thanks he returned.
There’s no way this is happening, he thought, again the memories of his past life being pushed further back like a forgotten toy under a child’s bed. The weight of responsibility had yet to strike him, and would remain on hold until he truly sat down to get to work.
His cell phone buzzed uncontrollably in his pocket, flooded with text messages of congratulations from the many people he had formed relationships with all around the continent.
The vibrations changed pace to signify an incoming phone call, prompting Martin to pull out his phone to see his new lieutenant commander on the caller ID. He answered the call and cupped a hand over his mouth to block the cacophony of celebration in the background.
“Gerald,” Martin greeted. “How are you, good sir?”
“I’m doing great, Commander.”
Martin had never heard such joy in Gerald’s voice.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Martin said, turning his back away from a group of Road Runners who were hollering over a popped champagne bottle spraying liquid all over the office.
“It happened. I just wanted to give a quick call to congratulate you. I look forward to moving out to Denver and getting started. We have lots to do.” Gerald had left the year 2064, but remained in his hometown Chicago while he adjusted to life in 2020. Now, he’d be packing up his life to live in Denver for the next two years while serving as the lieutenant commander. “I’ll let you get back to the party. Have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thanks, Gerald, see you then.”
Martin hung up and felt a bit more in control of himself as reality had started to settle in. The mood in the office had completely shifted to upbeat after weeks of stress and fatigue. Someone handed Martin a glass filled with champagne and he promptly gulped it, the suds burning his throat on their way down.
He had kept his cell phone in hand, and glanced down when it vibrated once more. On the screen was a text message from Chris Speidel: Congrats, friend. I look forward to dancing with you ’til the end.
Suddenly, Martin no longer felt like celebrating.
2
Chapter 2
Martin woke the next morning in the office that once b
elonged to Tarik Sadi, the former Lead Runner of the Denver chapter who had fled during the pandemonium. The room would soon expand with the knocking down of a couple walls, and transform into the office of a commander, equipped with special security measures, a pantry of non-perishable foods, and several other functions that the leader of the Road Runners required.
Construction would take a couple weeks to complete, but Martin still slept in the pullout bed and planned to do so for the coming weeks. A crew would also start work on his house in Littleton to beef up the security by installing bulletproof windows, cameras and sensors, a new lock system on all doors, and converting the basement into an official command center and panic room.
Martin had no involvement in the process, most of the Denver team working on both projects simultaneously. His time was now exclusive to serving the Road Runners, any other detail of life to be taken care of by his eager staff.
Commander Blair was scheduled to arrive in Denver at ten o’clock to swear in Martin as the new commander, a task typically performed by the Council. Later that afternoon, Gerald would show up to start his new life as the number two in charge, the rest of the day set aside for him and Martin to discuss their upcoming plans for their two-year term as the new leaders.
Once dressed and ready for the day, Martin stepped out to the bullpen, many of his staff still snoozing after a long night of celebrating. They had worked tirelessly for weeks, and he saw no issue in letting everyone cut loose to balance it out.
“Good morning, Commander Briar,” Tony greeted from a nearby desk, a steaming mug of coffee held to his lips. “Ready for your first day?”
“Sure am,” Martin said. “Did you get some rest last night?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Tony said with a smirk. “I had one drink then went to bed. My days of all-nighters are well behind me. Commander Blair left London early and should be getting here in about a half hour.”
Zero Hour (Wealth of Time Series, Book 5) Page 1
