Chase (ChronoShift Trilogy) (35 page)

He sat on his haunches with a solid thunk.  He shook his head, not liking how things were shaping up.

"I don't think this is going to work, Abbie."

"Please," she pleaded.

"You've seen this before.  You know what it means."

"
Please
, Hardy."

She melted his resolve to give up.  It reformed into determination to succeed.  He
would
do this for her.  One way or the other.

He retrieved some additional modern weapons from his mini-armory stashed under his one-bedroom shack next to Abbie's cottage.  He carefully noted the line of attack the Indian would take.  Alone, so Abbie wouldn't see the boy's body, he shifted forward to just after the battle and located the Indian's footprints.  One by one, he stuck a stick in each footprint to mark its exact spot, and then, holding the stick, he shifted to the night before the battle and buried landmines where the Indian would step.  He buried seven in all.

Then, he and Abbie shifted into the middle of the fight once more.  Together, they would fire on the warrior simultaneously.  She'd use her bow, as that was all she was comfortable with, but he wasn't going to waste time with that.  He'd brought a M240, an Uzi, and several pistols, which he planned to unload in rapid succession as needed.

One by one, each of his guns misfired.  Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't tell what kind of trouble Abbie was having, but she obviously hadn't succeeded either.  Fatalistic resignation drifted back into his heart, but he dissolved it into dogged determination once more.

An audible click accompanied the warrior's first step on a mine, but as his foot left it, no explosion followed.  A dud.

A hollow click from the second mine, and then, again, nothing.  Disgusted with failure, Hardy began packing his gear back into his oversized duffel bag.

Suddenly, an unexpected explosion tore through the air.  Little Nathan was knocked onto his back, but he was all right.  The Wampanoag warrior was another story.  There wasn't much left of him.

Hardy was so startled, he didn't react instantly as he'd been trained, though the sight of Abbie rushing to the boy's side broke his dumbfounded reverie.  A few other warriors were drawn to their side of the field by the explosion, but Hardy took them out before they knew what had happened.  In less than five seconds, Abbie was back at his side, cradling her young cousin in her arms.  Hardy gripped her shoulder and shifted all three of them to safety.

He set her down under a tree.  She was doing her best to soothe Nathaniel, stroking his hair and rocking him gently.  Later, Hardy would need to shift back and disarm the remaining mines. 

For now, his feet were rooted to the ground like the oak tree under which Abbie sat.  Stunned.  He had not believed they would succeed.  He'd been certain little Nathan's death would turn out to be one of those unchangeable events.  All the evidence had pointed that way.

Yet...there he lay.

Breathing.  Alive.

Hardy had not believed.  Now, he did believe.  Something about the unfolding of this drama pierced the last levee around his heart.  He felt the floodgates open and he surrendered his last resistance.

The tears in her eyes had been unbearable, yet he'd had no hope.  Then, the invisible hand holding him back had suddenly and mercifully released its grasp.

By itself, a landmine working as it should was no miracle, but it had not been chance foiling their efforts until then.

That force, that power, which till now had been insurmountable, controlled the destiny of the universe.  He knew that they had not overcome the force, but that
it
had shown mercy.  The force had shown compassion and love.  And he knew within himself the force was no "it," but God Himself.  He did not understand the hows and the whys, but submission was the only natural response.

"I'm ready, Abbie."

She nodded, smiling between sunny tears raining down her cheeks.  She knew he didn't mean he wanted to leave.

June 1
^st
2009, New London, CT

It was a work of art, this cold, sterile room Alexander Rialto had constructed.  Devilishly simple in design, yet cleverly sophisticated in concept.   The walls were poured concrete, six feet thick, with no way to break in or out.  There were no windows and only one door, which was made of thick steel and reminiscent of that of a bank vault.  It was sealed with massive bolts and a time-lock that would only open with Rialto's palm print, or in two years, whichever came first.  The sensor pad could also sense a decrease in skin temperature if somebody killed him and then tried to cut off his hand to get in.

Inside were a series of narrow, finger-width vents lining the ceiling which could emit any kind of gas he wished to inject into the ventilation system.

Few explosives on earth could penetrate these walls or the door, and none that a person could carry.

His secret weapon was the massive magnetic field generating coils he'd buried inside all the walls, above the ceiling, and even under the floor.  These coils produced strong electromagnetic fields that would cause increased electric current to flow within just about anything in the room.  The currents produced were so strong they would instantly fry any sensitive electronic devices.  Laptops, televisions, even cell-phones would begin smoking within seconds.  The human body, on the other hand, was a natural resistor.  Exactly 1.2 milliamps of current would flow through a person without any exterior source of electricity being applied.

In short, when he flipped the switch, whoever was standing inside would experience a current of 1.2 milliamps, which was enough to make a person seriously uncomfortable, but not enough to hurt or stun them.  It
was
enough, however, to permanently shut down a shifter said person might be wearing until Rialto turned the system off from the outside.

They'd tested it too.  Everyone's shifter shut down once inside until they turned the generators off or they left the room.

He couldn't wait to try it out.

The plan was to get one of the goody-two-shoes trio to shift into the room while chasing one of Rialto's crew through time.  Rialto didn't care which one of Mark's men it was.  Any would do.  They'd hold that one prisoner in the room until another showed up looking for him.

That someone would come looking for the guy was a given.  The room was large on purpose.  It measured 150 feet by 150 feet.  Rialto had built it knowing Carpen's propensity to shift into a situation at a distance from their object of interest for safety reasons.  However, 150 feet would be more than adequate to catch the followers even if they were being cautious. 

Anyone who shifted into his giant room would be hopelessly trapped, unable to shift out.  Once he had all three, it would be night-night forever for Carpen and crew.  Even if he only got two of them, they could round up the last one without having to worry about his friends coming to save him.

It was a nasty little plan.  He couldn't help but snicker as he set it in motion.

***

I'm not who you think I am, I slipped a stranger inside.

It helps the nights go quicker, but I diminish each time.

"
Last Night I Nearly Died
"

                    ~ Duke Special

September 21
^st
1675, Swansea, MA

Hardy had come to enjoy working in her gardens, the sun warming his back as he planted and pruned.   The scent of the moist earth on the early morning breeze always seemed to rejuvenate his spirit.  It was incredible how effectively outdoor physical labor could reconnect you with your Creator.  Today was another beautiful, peaceful day, and he was relishing it.

Until the unexpected voice paused his hoe in mid-stroke.

"What are you doing here, Hardy?"

Hardy straightened and slowly turned to face him.

"Didn't even hear you coming, Mark.  You're still the best."

Hardy stood tense, visibly so, ready for anything.  He'd been down this road once before when Mark thought Hardy had stolen Laura.  Mark had gotten violent that time.

Hardy laid down his hoe, arms loose at his sides.  Mark was his friend.  The last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt him again.  Yet, how could he possibly explain all that had transpired between him and Abbie over the past months?  How he'd been reborn.  How could he explain in a matter of a few seconds everything that needed to be said, because that's all he would get before Mark slugged him.

He resolved to not fight back.  If Mark got aggressive, Hardy would just shift away and find him later once he'd had a chance to calm down.  He steadied himself to receive the punch that might be on its way.

Mark stared at Hardy for a long minute, the emotion filling his eyes changing hues several times.  Mark opened his mouth as if about to say something and then shut it just as quickly.  He looked away, fixed his eyes on the ground, and then walked to Abbie's cottage where he knocked softly on the front door.

Abbie's surprise was evident when she saw Mark standing there instead of Hardy.

"Mark..."  She began, not knowing what to say.  There was no guilt, nothing of which to repent, yet a distinct discomfort draped the encounter.  She had turned his advances down, and now he found her here with Hardy.  That he would be hurt was not in question.

Mark raised his hand to silence whatever explanation or excuse she was about to offer.

"I just stopped by to check on you, see how you were doing."  Glancing back at Hardy, he continued, "But, I see you're in good hands."

"Come in, Mark.  Have some tea," she invited.

He hesitated, and then entered the house, ducking under the low door frame to do so.  Abbie motioned vigorously behind his back, beckoning Hardy to come in too.

The three of them sat down together to share some home-baked cookies Abbie had made that morning, as well as a spot of tea.  They discussed everything from the day's weather to the current situation with Rialto to how he and Ty were going stir crazy with cabin fever, but they conspicuously avoided the elephant in the room, Hardy's new relationship with Abbie.

"So, you've been here for months, huh?"

"Yeah," Hardy glued his eyes to the table, "I stay for a couple of weeks and then shift back to meet with you guys the same or next day after I left."

Mark stirred his tea with a spoon.  His face was vacant, empty of expression.  Finally, he managed a weak smile.

"It's fine, Hardy."

They both knew what he was talking about.  Mark looked to Abbie, strengthening the smile a bit.

"I'd no claim on Abbie.  I'm glad for you both, I truly am. Now I know I don't have to worry about her any more, cause you'll be here."

"You'll still come around for visits, of course," Abbie confirmed.

"Sure, sure."

It was obvious he was sincere, but saddened nonetheless.  He'd expected a joyful reunion with Abbie today, only to receive a gear-wrenching, third-wheel surprise.

They chatted for a bit longer, and then Mark excused himself, standing from the rustic table.

"See you tomorrow?"  He extended his hand to Hardy.

Hardy took it.  "See you tomorrow.  Tomorrow, your time."

Mark went out the door and shut it behind him.

Hardy reopened it, but his friend was gone.  He'd already shifted out.

June 1
^st
2014, New London, CT

The silver-nosed Acela speed train sliced through the crisp morning air like a lethal bullet on rails.  It was the 6:05 commuter train out of Boston, on its way to Washington DC.  Almost 300 people were on board this morning.