BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

pieces of a wristwatch. "Hewore this recently."

"I see." Horton stared at the remains. He didn't sayanother word.

"So did your daughter." Muldoon pulled out anotherhandful, this time from his right pocket. He regarded the old man for a moment.He's going to help me find her, whether he wants to or not. "Tellme what this is all about."

Horton's gaze wavered between Muldoon's palms. He didn't look up. "Nowis as good a time as any, I suppose. Though I'd hoped it could wait until wewere Underground, safe and sound." He glanced up. "I like to rhymesome of the time." He winked, but the cheerfulexpression didn't linger. It collapsed like a rotten façade. "You want toknow where she is."

"I want to know what's going on." Muldoon wouldn't bewearing his heart on his sleeve anytime soon, not for this loony bastard."You haven't told me everything."

"If I did, your brain would explode!" He gestured withgreat enthusiasm, both hands flying upward. "My own mind can barely containwhat I know. You think I'm going to share it all with you? Link up anddownload? Share and share alike? I don't think so!"

Muldoon grit his teeth, his patience waning. "Then tell meabout these." He closed both hands into fists and squeezed. The shards ofcrystal dug into his palms, bringing a singular focus to the moment. "Whatthe hell are they doing—Cade and your daughter?"

"Did you do that? All my work, broken to bits." He shookhis head. "You know, it really—"

Muldoon cast the pieces from his left hand aside and theyskittered, tinkling against the concrete wall. Horton looked stunned. Then hecringed as Muldoon's hand clamped him by the throat and drew him close.

"What were they doing in the past?" Muldoongrated out.

The old man strained, pawing feebly at the crushing grip on hiswindpipe. "Looking—for you!"

"Why?" She doesn't even know who I am.

"You—your alternate, he died twenty years ago—but in a way—hedied tonight." Horton gasped for breath. "Cade was sent backto collapse the divergent—"

"What about her?" Muldoon's grip tightened.

"Irena?" Horton choked. He nodded, fighting for air,clinging to the hand on his throat. "If I tell you—you'll let go?"

Muldoon nodded. He didn't loosen his hold.

"She—she's trying to save—your life."

Muldoon's grip slackened as his knees swam in their sockets.Horton pulled himself free and fell back against the wall, doubled over andgasping.

"She knows who I am?" Muldoon's voice sounded small andweak.

How is that possible?

"Yes." Horton coughed in spasms. "She's your wife, forcrying out loud!"

"But here I'm dead—twenty years—" His eyes staredwithout seeing.

She's trying to save my life? She knows who Iam...

Horton shook his head. "No, no, it's like I said. Youralternate—your younger self, he died twenty years ago. But in a way, ithappened tonight. Cade went back to do the job just a few hours ago." Hecoughed again, grimacing and rubbing his neck. "Irena wentback after him, to keep him from succeeding."

"And—" He didn't know what to ask. "Did she?"

"Stop him? Obviously not. You're still dead in thisreality!" Horton smirked.

Muldoon considered using a fist to wipe the old man's face clean. "Whereis she now?"

"Now?" Horton's shoulders lifted and fell. "Well,that's a fairly relative question, isn't it? Truth be told, I don't knowexactly where or even when she is.But she's back in the past, doing her damnedest tokeep you alive. I guess we'll know if her efforts are successful when there'sanother one of you running around this version of NewCity."

Muldoon uncurled his right hand and stared down at the pieces ofthe BackTracker, some of them stabbing his flesh. "How will she get backwithout it?"

Horton came alongside himand reached up a gnarled hand to clasp his shoulder."Maybe she doesn't plan to, Harry. Maybe forher, saving your life is enough."

But I'm right here. I'm alive! She doesn'thave to save me— "I've got to get her back."

Compassion flickered in the old man's eyes. "There may betime for that later."

Muldoon turned on him in a flash of anger.

Shots rang out. Plastiglass exploded in the air across the street,showering white sparks into the night that rained down in pieces.The scene repeated itself half a block away. The surveillance cameras on thestreetlamps—someone was blowing them out with live ammunition. Another shotechoed, and the last camera in range met its demise.

Three figures dashed across the street then, straight for thederelict subway entrance. Two men and a woman. Among them a bald white head,seeming to glow in the moonlight.

"They can't!" Horton charged after them. "Theycan't get their hands on it, Harry—it's the last one. The lastBackTracker!"

Muldoon knew he would follow, just as he knew he'd need to use theBackTracker one more time. Something he swore he'd never do again in his life.

But he would. He'd do whatever was necessary to find Irena.

SEVENTEEN

 

Forty Years Ago

Irena couldn't remember the last time she'd held a baby in herarms. But the warmth snuggled against her felt normal. And good. The house around her was dark, silent. It had taken littleeffort on the part of Cyrus Horton's clone to bypass the security system.

"We designed it," he'd remarked in a whisper, pointingout the Alpha Geminorum logo. Then he winked at her. "Lucky break,eh?"

Now they stood in the nursery, a small room painted in blue anddecorated with all manner of flying machines. From Da Vinci's early sketches tothe last space shuttle ever to leave Earth, a hundred years ago. The child'sparents were sound asleep in the bedroom down the hall. The hands of thegrandfather clock in the hallway crept toward two in the morning, the steadyrhythm of the swinging pendulum holding the moment as Irena gazedinto the peaceful face of the sleeping baby boy. He looked so content. Soundasleep, barely stirring.

Little Harold Muldoon.

He's always been a deep sleeper. She triedto swallow, her throat too tight to allow it. Her heart beat so fast, she wassure he'd feel it and wake up, take one look at her unfamiliar face and breakinto wails. That's all it would take, and it would be over, all of this.Whatever this was.

What the hell am I doing? Could shego through with it? Forty years in the past, in the home of her husband'sfamily, a modest house she'd never