Out of Time - Ryan Matthew Harker (short books to read TXT) 📗

“I’m a man on the edge Hector, don’t push me,” I lean forward a bit. “And one more thing, when I get here I’m going act like this never happened, deny it even and probably call you crazy, but no matter what I say do not let me make that bet!” And with a dramatic flair, on that note I turn and leave the track as fast as I can.

My heart’s beating like a jackhammer as I leave the track. Time paradoxes are something I should probably be thinking more about… but I’m not. All I can think is, I just pulled a gun on a betting agent! Even if it is a sleazy grease ball like Hector it’s still kind of a big deal. I’m really not too worried about him turning me in, we used to go to the same high school and he’s about the scummiest guy I know. In a way it’s just as much this quality as my own gambling addiction that helped to land me in this mess because Hector knew I couldn’t float the bet and he booked it anyway. Grade A jerkwad, without a doubt but right now he’s just scared and confused enough I could come back and offer him money to take the bet and he wouldn’t.

My victory against fate is dulling my good sense though because I should be wondering a few other things right about now, like why I was able to make the bet in the first place if I went back and scared Hector for one? For two, why the Hench recognized me when I was on the bus after getting out of the hospital if I hadn’t made the bet in the first place and last but infinitely more important than the first two, how not being scared for my life may affect my coming into possession of TRU? I mean everything I’ve been doing is ultimately the consequence of the bet that shouldn’t be made now. Without the bet to drive my choices theoretically they should be made differently, heck they should be different choices based on different circumstances leading me to different outcomes altogether.

I don’t feel any different though. I rack my brain for a moment and conclude my memory of events hasn’t changed, isn’t changing and probably won’t change any time soon. I’m still the same guy who flew through an eighth story window to land on a primordial forest floor. But would I be able to tell that things are different if they are? Logically if my memory of events is different because the events themselves are different then I wouldn’t know the difference. Oh man it makes my brain hurt a little and I begin to doubt my philosophy major. (All my academic detractors would laugh to hear me admit that.)

Completely lost within the vast and dimly lit catacombs of my thoughts I’m not practicing the level of spatial awareness I ought to be. A cold knife blade stings my throat and a hard gun barrel presses into my spine. “Don’t make a sound,” the voice is gravel in my ear.

My body involuntarily stiffens at this threat which doesn’t make either weapon any more comfortable in their positions. I try to relax but just can’t seem to manage it. Hmm, wonder why. Not! All I can do is helplessly allow myself to be led into the nearest alley. Two grand worth of semi automatic protection isn’t enough I guess. Every penny well spent, I’d laugh if the act wouldn’t give me a permanent neck smile.

We’re in the alley and I manage a faint, “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” gravel in my ear again. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” I stall with a whisper.

I don’t think the knife can tighten any more without cutting me but somehow it does. Wait, no I’m wrong, I feel blood run down my neck. I also hear my assailant draw back the hammer as he presses the gun further into my spine. This has to be the Gunman. It sounds like I imagine the Gunman could sound, must be the Gunman.

I have my hands part way up and I make a “whoa, whoa” gesture and give the “OK” sign with the right one. I feel the weapons relax a touch and I slowly lower my left hand to my side. My mind races as I dig in my pocket. I only have one shot at this so I better not blow it. I pull TRU free of my trousers and slowly raise her in a way that brings her screen within my line of sight. As soon as I can see the screen I slam the back of my head into the Gunman’s face while pressing TRAVEL at the same time.

The crunch of the Gunman’s nose breaking is lost in the rushing waters of the time stream. We snap back to the asphalt shore and I leave the Gunman flailing on the bank. I can’t believe that worked but don’t hesitate in taking full advantage of the improving situation. I break into a run. A growl of painful frustration grows at my back and a short report chips brick fragments from the wall next to my head.

So much for this being my safe time!

TRU’s dead as I cram her into a pocket and I have no chance of escape unless I run but first I have to give myself some breathing room. Praying thankfully that there’s a dumpster in just about every alley in this city I dive behind one and pull the AR free of my coat.

The Gunman didn’t even bother searching me so I know he won’t expect this. I pop up from behind the dumpster and the little red reticule bounces into view. Yep, it’s definitely the Gunman. He dives out of the way as soon as he sees me come up slinging iron but I’m sure it’s my bad aim more than his reflexes to blame for his continuing existence. He comes up firing and I duck back down, this time thankful he’s not using the rifle I caught a glimpse of the other day or week or(time period) whenever it was.

My inherent battle skills (hardy har har) tell me to pop up and pop off another couple bursts with the AR. I do, and don’t see anyone in the alley to accept my offering of lead but prudently drop back behind the dumpster anyway. For a few moments I wait crouching behind its dirty blue safety and strain to hear something through the deep ringing in my ears. I can’t so I risk another quick glance, still no one there.

Threat of police response to automatic gunfire in the downtown area keeps me standing and I intensely scour the concrete and brick for any sign of the Gunman. Nothing in the first three and a half seconds, good enough for me. I turn and flee the alley, doing my best to conceal the AR within the flapping folds of my coat as I do.

Hitting the street I tear TRU free of my pocket and start trucking away from the alley as fast as my adrenaline fueled state of near panic will let me. This is pretty fast actually. I cover a few blocks very quickly and TRU flickers to life.

“Good girl,” I whisper to her and duck behind a building to manipulate the time counters.

“Good girl, good girl, good girl,” I keep whispering to her. This is the first gunfight I’ve been in and I would have to say, despite sinking into a state of shock, I’m handling it pretty danged good. TRAVEL lights up and I gratefully stroke TRU’s screen.

I snap back to reality and hear a disembodied female voice tinkle from TRU, “Rift Travel Successful.” I gasp in disbelief and just catch sight of the same words on her screen before she powers off and goes black in my hand. There’s no way I just heard what I think I did. My ears are still ringing after all. I take a moment to stare at her lifeless plastic exterior. I wish I had a rubber cover to protect me from shock. With a disbelieving shake of my head I grab the closest bus to my apartment.

Coming home probably isn’t the smartest thing for me to do but seeing as how I pretty much just became a temporal fugitive I don’t see as how I’ve any other choice. I take the stairs two at a time and curse the time it takes me to unlock my door. Time, I laugh, it doesn’t really matter how much time I take doing anything anywhere because all it takes is for me to leave some record, develop a pattern or habit of living, anything that’s traceable as a temporal footprint and they can track me any place, any time. Whoever they may be, maybe they are only him; maybe the Gunman is flying solo. Was the ransacked apartment I lifted TRU from his perhaps?

More questions. I sigh.

I’m only here for my ammo. It doesn’t take long to reload the AR and the remaining boxes I put in a duffle bag along with a few other choice provisions. How it came to this I’m not sure but it seems some inner survival instinct is in charge now because I’m not panicky anymore, exactly the opposite I’m feeling calm, cool, and collected. My duffle in one hand and TRU in the other I’m not even going to bother with locking the door, I am out of here!

TRU’s still dark so I shake her until the screen flickers to life.

“Temporal Reconfiguration Unit. Rift Co-ordinances?” it’s that female voice again!

I’m almost done convincing myself I hadn’t heard it the first time so I almost drop TRU hearing it the second time. “What?” The word tumbles off my lips like a tumbleweed, dry and crackly with an aftertaste of dust.

“Command not recognized,” the voice says. Definitely female, surprisingly attractive, TRU is talking to me. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder. “Rift Co-ordinates?” she repeats

I look at the screen and it reads like it always does. What’s that? There’s a new little icon or something in the top right corner. It looks like the profile of a face, like the face vases I had to draw in Art class back in college, with four straight lines coming from the mouth. I assume this must mean sound or speech. The face is looking to the right and to its left are two little letters, VP. “V P,” I read aloud.

TRU chimes back at me, “V P, voice prompt mode activated. Rift Co-ordinates?”

Voice prompt huh, sounds pretty self explanatory. “Um, Rift Departure?” I ask.

“Rift Departure- fourteen hundred hours fifteen minutes twelve seconds and counting, September ninth, two thousand eleven A.D.” TRU’s voice purrs from the… speaker? What speaker? I turn her this way and that looking for a speaker but, as I already knew, there wasn’t one. Just one more mystery I can’t rightly wrap my mind around, so I don’t even try. “Rift Arrival?” she asks.

I need some money so into the past I go. “Uh, Rift Arrival- fourteen hundred hours fifteen minutes twelve seconds, September ninth, nineteen hundred A.D,” I tell TRU uncertainly.

“Rift Arrival- fourteen hundred hours fifteen minutes twelve seconds, September ninth, nineteen hundred A.D. TRAVEL?”

For some reason I feel a bit of trepidation at making this snap. I hesitate for a moment but the choice has already been made.

I say, “TRAVEL.” And we stretch.

Snapping back I find myself treading air about thirteen feet above windswept grass and curse my shortsightedness as said grasses rush up to catch me in an earthy embrace. I think this miscalculation sets the healing time of my body back at least a week. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I landed with the duffle under me, my back would probably be broke. As it is it’s on top of me so it only helps the ground