“He’s playing you, Chris. I’m not sure if it’s been his plan all along, but it is now.”
“Why would anyone discuss this in front of you? I don’t understand.”
“It wasn’t directly discussed in front of me, but I caught wind of it and fact-checked it myself. It all makes sense. Haven’t you noticed the Liberation has also gone quiet?”
“Well, no, because they take orders from myself and Thaddeus. We chat once a week and last he told me, they were working on replenishing their supplies and outlining new strategies for future arson missions. Sounds to me they’re ready to get back to work.”
“I know once I leave this room you’ll believe me. I have no reason to make this up. Tread carefully, and keep this in mind during your future conversations with Thaddeus. He might start asking questions about your schedule and whereabouts—they’re planning a coup and want to hijack the Revolution and all of its resources. You’re the only one in the way of making that happen.”
Chris smirked. “I believe it, even if I haven’t seen it for myself. It’s a shame. I actually liked the work they were doing at the Liberation, but now I’ll have to remove them from existence just like all the other small groups that formed in the past.”
“You have the experience in these matters; taking them out should be a cakewalk. I really need to get going now, though.”
Duane stood, his lips pursed as he waited for Chris to join him.
“So just like that, it’s over?” Chris asked. “Nearly fifty years—in real time—of work down the drain, leaving me to fend for myself in a fistfight with Martin Briar. Thousands of years if you add it all up.”
“Why do you act like you’ve never been in this position before? I can think of five right off the top of my head, and each instance you came out on top. You’re still invincible. What are you worried about?”
Chris worried about plenty. Martin could authorize time be frozen and resist it, leaving all Revolution soldiers useless, and a one-on-one battle between the two leaders. He also had a standing appointment for a phone call with Sonya every Monday, one that she had to initiate since she was living in 1933. A lot could happen to her within seven days—the unknowing made him paranoid. He gave her his word that he’d leave her alone, and he had so far. The last thing anyone would call Chris Speidel was a liar, but it might be time to renegotiate their terms. His life was on the line, and whether Sonya cared or not didn’t change that fact.
“I’m not worried,” Chris said again, more to assure himself. Once Duane left, it was true that nothing would change. He’d still be in the same predicament, and if Martin froze time it would deem Duane irrelevant anyway. He was on his own, and surely Martin understood this simple fact. “I know it’ll be fine, but can’t you agree that something feels different this time around?”
Duane shrugged, slipping on his coat. “Sure, because Martin can somewhat level the playing field, but remember—he’ll still be on his own. If it comes down to it and you need to run, you know all the hidden trap doors this continent has to offer.”
“The day I hide from a Road Runner is the day I die,” Chris snapped. “You speak like they have Sonya in their possession.”
“Sonya’s fine. She doesn’t want to get tangled in this mess any more than you do. She’s done picking sides and just wants to live her life—there’s nothing you or Martin can say to change that. The Liberation has been searching for her, but they’re nowhere close. They don’t have the access to information like we do—they’re essentially throwing darts at a board. Blindly, at best.”
Duane picked up the lone suitcase of his few belongings, and started toward the front door.
“Goodbye, my friend,” Chris said. “I do hope you’ll reconsider staying, or coming back sooner.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, Chris. I wish you the best. I’ll be watching from afar, but I know you’ll be just fine.”
Chris stuck out a hand, growing thinner and bonier by the day. He knew his body would keep aging no matter what he did, but he didn’t care. He was strong despite his deteriorating appearance—his mind still sharp, his soul as hungry as ever to exterminate Road Runners.
“Thank you for everything. This organization wouldn’t be where it is without you. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it—I’ll be in touch.”
With that, Duane Betts walked out of the house and out of Chris’s life forever, never to speak another word to the Keeper of Time.
Chapter 3
Martin enforced that no one was to leave the apartment complex without his approval. Even a trip to the grocery store was off limits, so they had each packed additional suitcases of all the food they needed, sure to never be spotted by Sonya.
On the morning of another winter Chicago day in 1933, Martin sat at his kitchen table with an opened Pop-Tart wrapper, crumbs scattered next to a steaming mug of tea. He had no consistent diet since arriving to the Great Depression, but it didn’t matter. All he wanted was to either kill Sonya Griffiths or convince her to return to the Road Runners and assist with the capture of her father.
Nerves bubbled in his stomach, each bite of the artificial strawberry flavoring a chore to force down. The tea made his head spin, too hot for such a rattled state of mind. His own potential death consumed his thoughts, and pushing them away was near impossible.
Sitting at the table reminded him of the time he had confessed to his mother about his participation in this world of time travel, back in 2019 at the kitchen table in their Littleton mansion. He had expected an argument over the validity of his claims, but all Marilyn did was encourage him to see this adventure through its
