Martin tried to sit up, desperate for a direct view of the cabin, but his back tightened, sending a sharp pain that made him stay down.
Today isn’t the day to try so hard, he recalled his mother’s words relayed through his daughter’s spirit. Always getting back on my feet after being knocked down. Not today.
If Martin stayed on the ground, Chris would have no choice but to come outside. If he rose to his feet, the gunfire would continue, leaving Martin on the defense as he ran for his life. Chris surely made his plans based on staying inside the safety of his cabin, ready for any move Martin might throw his way, but did he have backup plans for something like this? Possibly, but there were too many unknown factors at play. He debated going as far as playing dead, letting his head roll to the side, closing his eyes, but decided it was best to see Chris, even if only through his peripheral vision.
The best play, he decided in this hurried moment, was to give the appearance of a struggle, perhaps showing that he was on the verge of death. Chris would have to come out for what he’d believe was the final kill shot. Martin wiggled his arms and legs, making sure all limbs were still accounted for despite his numb back and shoulder. All was well, and he braced for the sound of approaching footsteps, grateful for the silence as he’d be able to hear a pin drop in the distance.
On cue, the sound of a creaky, wooden door swung open, followed by the clopping of two boots. Martin lifted his head to see the cabin, but still had no view of the front door, wondering if he’d ever get the chance. The footsteps crunched on the mixture of snow and twigs on the ground.
“Commander Briar!” Chris called out, a clear smile in his voice. “What an absolute honor it is to have you here. Welcome to my humble abode.”
The voice no longer boomed from the treetops, now direct from the source’s mouth, but still echoing around the abandoned woods. Martin closed his eyes, forcing his senses to focus exclusively on the sounds around him, projecting a mental map as Chris made his way from the cabin roughly forty-eight feet away. Assuming Chris walked with a typical stride, that translated to forty-eight steps until he’d reach Martin.
Just let him talk. Don’t engage or give him any reason to stay away.
“Did you really think you’d get the best of me?” Chris continued. “After all I’ve seen, all I’ve lived through, and you thought the battle for the soul of the Revolution would end in a fistfight with you? The Road Runners have always been smart, I’ll give you that, but you’re just as naïve. You’ve destroyed my buildings and eliminated those closest to me, but here I am, still standing, ready to put an end to another useless commander. Strike was sweet, but you’re no doubt going to be downright delicious.”
Chris cackled, Martin hearing the words but not listening, only counting the steps.
Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three. . .
“What do you suppose our little time travel world will look like after you’re dead? Do we get to go through all of this again? I need to make some plans to get myself back in shape. Not sure I can last much longer in this old man’s body. Maybe I’ll transfer my soul to a younger person and keep living forever.”
Forty-two, forty-one, forty. . .
“Imagine that beautiful world where the Road Runners no longer exist and I live forever, calling the shots, shaping the world into the image I’ve always envisioned.”
Thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven. . .
“No more poor people with no direction. They’ll either join us or be eliminated. There will be the upper class and no one else.”
Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four. . .
“One class of humanity, flawless. Everyone has what they need. No one looks down on others because there will be no one to look down upon.”
Thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty. . .
A gun clicked from Chris’s direction. Martin noted it, but did not panic.
Twenty-nine. . .
Chris was close enough that Martin could now feel the old man’s eyes on him. Martin rolled his head from side to side, letting out a moan to continue his appearance of a deep struggle.
Twenty-eight, twenty-seven. . .
“We’ve seen so many scenarios play out to lead us to the dream future we seek, and not one ever suggested an encounter like ours. It’s funny, you can study a specific event thousands of different times, and never find a similar path. Time has a way of working itself out.”
Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three…
“You see, the mistake many people make in this time travel business is that they think they can alter time, or change the course of history.”
Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…
“Time is in charge, and while we might think we can make changes, time always finds a way to get what it wants.”
Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen. . .
Chris chuckled. “You tried to stop Columbine, and time let you think you got away with it . . . until it roared back and killed everyone. Only time decides how we go, I suppose. The X-factor in nature that no one ever accounts for.”
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
Martin sensed his presence, knowing he had approximately six more steps until Chris would be standing at his feet. Stay calm, trust the plan. He wore a jacket thick enough to let him flex his back without Chris noticing, relieved to feel it working its way back from the stinger he had endured. Chris’s voice grew louder thanks to the reduced distance.
“You didn’t kill Sonya—time did—and for that I can’t even blame you. She was going to die one way or another. The fact
