No more energy or willpower was on its way. Running was off the table of options, leaving one obvious, but hesitant choice.

  Martin stepped out from the tree, hands raised in the air like he was under arrest.

  “Quit dicking around and get in the car!”

  A young man hung out the passenger window, someone Martin had never seen before.

  Martin crawled up the slope back to the road, thighs burning and demanding a rest as they wobbled beneath him.

  “Hurry!” the man called, returning to his hushed tone.

  Martin approached the car, doubt swirling, and pulled open the backseat door.

  “Get in,” the driver said. He appeared a similar age as Martin, suggested by the gray streaks in his goatee. Piercing blue eyes studied Martin as he lunged into the car.

  The passenger who had been shouting rotated in his seat and craned his neck to look at Martin. He was as young as his voice had sounded, fresh out of college by Martin’s guess.

  “Out for an evening stroll, Martin?” the young one asked, blinking his brown eyes that surely charmed the ladies at the university.

  “Who are you guys?” Martin asked, still catching his breath as the tension of the last thirty seconds started to wane. After all the urgency they had thrown his way, the men seemed content sitting in the middle of the road as they got to know each other.

  “We’re with the Road Runners,” the older man said. “My name is Bill Jordan, and my partner here is Julian Caruso. We’re sorry to meet you under such stressful circumstances.”

  “How did you know where I was? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeah, this place is a fucking dump,” Julian said, head still craned awkwardly. He gawked at Martin as if the two men had stumbled across Sasquatch sitting in their backseat. They had a calming presence, and Martin leaned back as if he had jumped into a car with friends.

  “Seriously,” Martin said. “How did you find me?”

  Bill chuckled, his small double chin jiggling as his shoulders trembled with delight. “Finding you was the easy part. How the hell did you get out of that place? That’s the question we’ve been dying to ask.”

  Martin furrowed his brow and scratched his cheek. What’s going on?

  His stomach dropped, not out of angst, but more out of frustration at the growing sense that he was some minor cog in the vast time travel world.

  “I walked out,” Martin said, unsure what sort of explanation the men wanted.

  Both men threw their heads back and howled like lunatics.

  Martin watched them and wished he could be anywhere else besides the backseat of this car. Were they here to rescue him or make fun of him?

  “That’s a good one, Martin,” Bill said. “Tell us. Did you have to fight off Chris’s bodyguards? Or were you just faster than them?”

  “I told you. I walked out of the house, then ran through the woods.”

  Now it was Bill and Julian’s turn to stare at each other, confused. “You mean you weren’t locked away?” Julian asked.

  “No. I was in my own private bedroom, kind of like a hotel.”

  “What a fucking moron,” Julian murmured under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” Martin demanded.

  “Not you. Chris. He’s a complete moron. I’ll never understand how he rose to power, but I suppose we should be grateful he’s calling the shots. He just handed you to us on a silver platter.”

  “I’m not on either side of this. I just wanna go home and dump my Juice down the drain.”

  Bill shook his head. “You’re way beyond that point, my friend. You’re in this war whether you like it or not. And I think you already know what side the good guys are on.”

  Martin still hadn’t had any true exposure to the happenings of this supposed war, but it was obvious that the Road Runners had a much less aggressive approach, at least in terms of dealing with him.

  “What if I refuse?” Martin asked nonchalantly.

  Bill and Julian exchanged glances again, speaking to each other through mere eye twitches. They may have been different in age, but it was impossible to know how long someone had actually existed in this time travelling ordeal.

  “We’ll let you speak with the Commander about that,” Julian said.

  “The Commander? Who is that? And when will that be?”

  “Right now, and she’s the leader of the Road Runners in North America,” Julian said. “She flew up here as soon as we told her you were captured.”

  “She’s waiting,” Bill said before turning his attention back to the steering wheel. “It’s time to go.”

  Bill made a U-turn and drove along the dark road. Martin slouched, trying to relax, but remained ready for what would come next.

  There’s definitely something they want from me.

  25

  Chapter 25

  The drive lasted ten minutes, and all three men remained silent for the duration. The small chat ended, and Martin sensed the tension weighing down on the car.

  “We’re here,” Bill said, but Martin only saw darkness through the windows. They had pulled off the road half a mile ago and were still in the middle of nothingness.

  Martin’s heartbeat had calmed since the two Road Runners picked him up. He didn’t sense any danger, just unease at the unknown.

  Bill killed the engine and stepped out of the car, prompting Julian and Martin to follow suit. Sticks and rocks greeted their feet as they trudged along a small path that had been cleared of snow toward a small structure, no bigger than an outhouse.

  The leader of the Road Runners hangs out in a shitter all day?

  Bill led the way and pulled open the creaky wooden door. There was no toilet, just a four by four slab of concrete. “We all fit, let’s go.” He stepped in, Julian and Martin following into the cramped, dark space.

  Julian rummaged his fingers along the blacked out wall, the clicking sound of buttons being pushed as the only audible noise over the three men’s hoarse breathing.

  “The Commander is excited to meet you,” Bill said, this time with a chipper voice.

  Julian pulled the door shut as a loud humming sound filled the outhouse, the ground rumbling beneath them.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Julian said after seeing Martin’s bulging eyes. “Just a different kind of elevator.”

  The ground lightened as the concrete descended at a snail’s pace into the earth. The darkness concealed everything until they reached their destination where two dozen people were scattered across a room that stretched back at least two hundred feet.

  They all sat at desks in the open space, computer monitors glowing, keyboards clattering, attention focused on their tasks at hand. A bell let out one shrill ring as the elevator came to a complete stop, and all heads turned to Martin.

  He stood behind Bill and Julian, but felt the stares burn right through them. A blanket of silence fell over the room as the three men stepped off the elevator.

  “Commander Strike, he’s here!” a giddy voice from the back called. “He’s here!” The squeaky man was near hysterics, running across the back of the room like he had just remembered a meeting he was late for.

  “Everyone back to work,” Bill barked with authority. “Nothing to see here. Move along.”

  The two dozen heads held their ground for a couple more seconds before ducking back into their computers.

  “This way,” Julian instructed, leading them to the left.

  Bill’s and Julian’s boots clapped and echoed along the concrete ground as they passed the area of desks that formed a large rectangle across the room. Above the desks hung 100-inch TV screens that lined the length of the room. Some showed images of people and places, others showed maps with different colored dots splayed about. Every section of the office had at least one person with a close eye on the screens.

  “This is our headquarters,” Julian said.

  “One of our headquarters,” Bill corrected.

  “Just because it’s not as glamorous as some of our other locations, doesn’t mean it’s not our main headquarters. We have other places around the world, but since this is where all of our studies on Chris are conducted, it’s considered the most important headquarters.”

  Julian explained this as if he had built the place himself, and Bill grunted as they reached the middle part of the room. Martin hadn’t noticed the offices that lined the perimeter.

  All of the private offices appeared roughly the same size, big enough for a desk, a corner plant, and two chairs for visitors to sit. Only one office stood out as special, and that was the door they stood outside of. It was also the only door that had frosted glass, keeping any wandering eyes from seeing inside.

  Bill rapped on the door with a balled fist.

  “Come in,” a woman’s voice called.

  Bill pushed open the door and stepped in first, keeping Julian and Martin at a distance.

  “Good evening, Commander Strike,” Bill said. “Glad to see you made it in so soon.”

  “I hopped on the jet right away. Is everything okay with Mr. Briar? Were you followed?”

  “Yes, and no,” Bill said proudly. “I have him right here, and he has loads of questions.”

  “Thank you, Bill. I owe you and Julian. Have Mr. Briar come in and leave us in private, please.”

  “Absolutely.” Bill bowed out of the room and held up an arm to welcome Martin. “Commander Strike is ready to see you.”

  Martin stepped into the doorway and locked eyes with a blue-eyed, light-skinned woman who greeted him with a warm smile. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing early wrinkles that had formed on her temples. Martin judged her to be in her mid-forties as her face lit up with a flash of youth.

  “Mr. Briar,” she said, standing and crossing the room with an extended hand. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I’m Commander Strike.”

  He shook her hand and admired its smooth texture. She was dressed casually for someone who was called Commander—jeans and a sweater—but she apparently just got off a plane. And they were in Alaska.

  “Nice to meet you,” Martin responded, unsure of a certain protocol for greeting the leader of the Road Runners.

  “Please have a seat. We have lots to discuss.” She was tall, almost six feet, and walked with her shoulders held high and a swagger that dared someone to mess with her.

  Martin obliged and stepped all the way into the office. Strike had the same set up of a desk and two chairs, but also had a sofa along the front wall with portraits of men and women covering every inch of space, monitors in every ceiling corner, and another side door that led to either a bathroom or closet. There was also a table along the back wall, and Martin couldn’t help but notice the bottle of scotch standing unattended with two glasses at its side. The days of heavy drinking were long gone, but he still drooled at the sight of scotch. Who was this lady, anyway? Tall, strong, in charge, and a scotch drinker. Maybe his next love interest?

  Fuck that. No more time-traveling women.

  The wounds still hadn’t closed from Sonya, mainly because he hadn’t had any time to grieve, let alone process what the hell happened. He’d been running for his life ever since the Road Runners dropped the bomb that Sonya had been a ploy to lure him into their possession. Maybe Strike would have some answers.

  She situated herself in her wide, cushioned chair that was clearly out of place for a typical office setting, appearing more like a black throne. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you.”

  “Thank you?” Martin responded.

  “I know you have plenty of questions. It’s been brought to my attention that you don’t even know the extent of your abilities. You won’t leave this office with any more questions; I can guarantee you that much.”

  “I just want to know what’s going on. Why do I feel like I keep getting passed back and forth like a kid in the middle of a divorce?”

  Commander Strike chuckled. “It’s because you’re invaluable.”

  Martin stared into Commander Strike’s eyes, as if the truth would magically jump out. He had his doubts, but believed he’d finally learn the facts that Chris never told him.

  “You have a rare gift, Martin. Something even more rare than the capability to travel through time.”

  She paused, looking for a reaction, but Martin gave none.

  “You’re what we call a Warm Soul.”

  “Chris called me warm,” Martin said, bolting upright in his seat.

  “Because you are. One thing you should understand is that Chris and I are simply minor characters in this world of time. Time travel is simply one aspect, and one that both him and I know almost everything about. That’s why there’s a war—we have two drastically different approaches to how this gift should be used and shared.”

  “What does this have to do with me being a . . . Warm Soul?”

  Martin had no desire to hear another explanation of the war—he wanted to know why everyone used him like the rope in a deranged game of tug of war.

  “Beyond time travel, there are others with different abilities. There are some who can freeze time. And on the flip side of that, there are others who can resist the freezing of time.”

  Martin’s eyebrows elevated to his hairline. “What do you mean by freezing time?”

  “When time is frozen, everything comes to a complete standstill. You can be in the middle of a run through the park, and be frozen mid-stride. We could freeze in the middle of this conversation, and the thing is, we would never know it—well, I would never know it. You would.”

  If Martin scrunched his face any more it would fall off his skull. “Are you saying I’m immune to this?”

  Commander Strike nodded, her ponytail bobbing joyfully.

  “Wouldn’t I have noticed that everyone around me was frozen?” Martin asked.

  “Not necessarily. This isn’t something that happens often. Not yet, at least. There are only a handful of people in the world who can freeze time, and even less who can resist.”

  “Why me? What did I do?”

  “That’s one question I wish I could answer. We don’t have any knowledge on how this actually works. As far as we know, it’s all random. We’ve conducted studies on those who can resist time, and have found no similarities across subjects. You said Chris mentioned this to you?”

  Martin squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable that he had such a unique ability. His dreams of going home to a normal life were shot. Although, maybe he could leverage this situation for his personal gain. Strike hadn’t said it yet, but he had something they wanted.

  “He didn’t mention it directly—I was eavesdropping on his conversation. He called me warm right before I ran away and escaped.”

  She laughed. “That’s right. They said you walked right out the front door. It amazes me how someone so smart can be so stupid.”

  Martin stared blankly across the table. “So what is it exactly you want from me?”

  “We want you to be a Road Runner. To fight on the right side of history.”

  She let her words hang in the air, pressuring Martin to speak next after a few awkward seconds of silence.

  “How do I know you’re on the right side?”

  Commander Strike stood from her desk and paced along the back wall, rubbing the bottle of scotch as if debating to pour a glass or drink straight from the bottle.

  “Tell me everything Chris has told you about his plans.” She tossed her hands in the air. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, he never tells me much. He told me some of the rules for time—”

  “I don’t care about that. Tell me about his plans for the future.”

  “I can’t say he’s told me anything. He’s mentioned that he has counterparts on every continent. . .but that might have been the Road Runners who told me that before Chris came and busted me out of the hotel. The last couple days have been a blur.”

  “That’s exactly my point. I can tell you everything about our plans as the Road Runners, where we’ve been and where we’re going.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Our main reason for existence is to keep Chris and his friends from ruling the world. It is true that he has counterparts on every continent, even Antarctica. And they’re all as equally bought in to their mission of taking over the world. It’s why they’re on each continent. They’re slowly manipulating every country’s government to the point where they have rule over those countries by planting their own people in positions of power.”

  “So, they’re like the New World Order?”

  “You could say that, except this is real. Their movement is called The Future Revolution, and they call themselves the Revolters. They’re real, and they’re powerful. They travel throughout time to learn what can make each government fall, and how to manipulate people into believing what they’re selling.”

  “Which is?”

  “No different than anyone else who makes empty promises: a better world, a better future. Every action they make, every word that is spoken, has a direct purpose behind it with a specific goal at the end. Their end goal is to rule a world where there are no people who can think for themselves, and it’s frightening. They’re succeeding, in fact. But that’s the beauty of there not being linear time—we can always inflict change in any era and save the future from itself.”

  “Is there a point in time where you see an end to this war?”

  She crossed her arms and frowned. “There’s not necessarily a time where the war ends, but there’s a time where it becomes obvious that The Future Revolution rules a majority of the world. What year is it in your current time? 1995?”

  “No, 1996 is what I traveled back to, to save my daughter. I’m from 2018.”

  She nodded as if she should’ve known this. “The takeover has already begun by 2018. The world is going mad by then. It’s one of our main eras of focus.”

  “And you want me to help stop it from happening?”

  “Yes. We’re just not sure how yet. We have so much to learn about time freezing that we won’t put you in a situation that we don’t even understand. One thing I can promise you is that every decision is made methodically and we never put a Road Runner’s life at risk. Unlike Chris who rotates through his soldiers like it’s World War One all over again.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24