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

the broken bodies of the two SYNs. "Thereisn't much time."

"You're right about that." The older man nodded."The realities are twining."

"Yeah? So? It's to be expected. I've been to the other side,and there I'm a dead man. Or I've been dead for years..." He scratched athis wild, wiry head. "Something like that. Things over there areconfusing. Here, everything makes more sense."

"Not for long. See, you made a mistake. You killed the wrongman."

"But you said—" He pointed at Lennox.

"Not him." The older man pointed at Muldoon. "Him.Our daughter loves this guy."

Horton scowled behind his goggles and crossed his arms. "Helooks alive to me."

A lone shriek echoed in the distance. A scout, more than likely.Giving the all-clear. Safe to resume all homicidal activities Underground.

"We can't stay out here." Horton bent down again.

"Careful," Muldoon warned.

"Help me carry them." Horton reached under Mary's kneesand back and struggled, grunting as he lifted her. "Leave that one."He jerked his head toward Lennox.

"You mind?" The older Horton turned to Muldoon. "Idon't have the strength I once did." He bent to retrieve the plasma rifle.

Muldoon holstered his revolver and crouched beside the body of thebald white man. The albino who'd been with Irena. They both had traveledthrough time, each with a BackTracker device. But this man was here, now,gutted and bleeding out, probably already dead. Where was Irena? When was she?

"This way. Be quick. Their bloodlust isstronger than their fear." With the dyingwoman clutched in his arms, the younger Horton staggered away, back toward thesteel door from which he'd emerged in a blaze of glory earlier.

The older version of him followed, shouldering the plasma rifle.Muldoon lifted the soggy remains of the white man, drooling blood down his coatin heavy rivulets, but he paused before pursuing the two Cyrus Hortons.

The dead man they were leaving behind looked familiar. Thehair and clothes were all wrong, but the face—there was only one face otherthan Mayor Joseph Reeves and SYNCorp's Ashland Solomon that was so well-knownin all of NewCity. Gavin Lennox, owner of The Pearl. Who was he in this reality?

Some kind of goth-metal rock star, by thelooks of him.

"Harry?" The older Horton half-turned. "I'd hate tosee the locals get you. You're the last of your kind!" Chuckling tohimself, he moved on.

Muldoon followed.

Beyond the steel door with the wheel lock lay a dusty concretepassage. Elder Horton tightened the lock behind them, and the younger onemuttered something about never being able to use that door again. According tohim, the freaks would camp outside for the next month or two, now thatthey'd seen it used.

The three men moved in silence down the passage until they reachedanother steel door, ajar with a sliding bolt on the inside. The younger Hortonkicked it open, letting it crash to the side as he stepped into the harsh lightof the room beyond. Muldoon removed his goggles, as the other two had alreadydone. They stood in a fully equipped laboratory with massive incubationchambers along the far wall—the kind he'd once seen at SYNCorp on a case longago. Designed for the maturation of synthetic neonates.

Muldoon nodded to himself. The man he carried wasn't human, andneither was that woman. SYNs, both of them. Any human in their condition wouldhave been long gone at this point, like Lennox outside. But these two—maybethey weren't as dead as they looked.

In that case, Muldoon had more than a few questions for the albinomonk.

"Make some room," younger Horton grunted, and his oldercounterpart stepped forward to sweep onto the floor all the gadgets and partslying atop a sturdy table. Horton grumbled as he set Mary down.

"You know this stuff's all crap." The older man kickedat the gizmos underfoot.

"Not all of it," Horton retorted, shuffling toward thefirst maturation chamber on the left. He heaved the solid glass door open andbusied himself with the touchscreen on the console nearby.

"All of it. Except for this, maybe." He picked up awristwatch and glanced back at Muldoon with a wry grin. "Lookfamiliar?"

Muldoon's eyes locked onto the BackTracker. His chest tightened.

That's it. All he needed to know was when.

When is she?

The albino would know. He'd have to. Muldoon dropped his deadweight beside the woman, and they lay still, looking like a pair of macabreautopsies in progress.

"The last one?"

Elder Horton nodded. Wistfully, he turned the wristwatch overbefore his eyes. "I never made another."

"Thanks for telling me my future," younger Hortonsnapped over his shoulder. "Now I know what to change!"

"Just to spite me? I don't think so." Elder Horton shookhis head. "You may be juvenile, but you're not stupid. You know it's donemore than enough damage. We just about destroyed the fabric of space-time, youknow, with all those divergent realities and what-not. Look how close Lennoxcame to getting his grubby mitts on it! You know what he would've done? Sethimself up as ruler of the world, that's what." He sighed wistfully,staring at the BackTracker. "Maybe you had it right, Harry. Maybe weshould destroy it."

Not yet!

Muldoon stepped forward and held out his blood-streaked palm."I'll take care of that."

"Oh no you don't." Younger Horton approached the table."Give it here." He snatched the BackTracker from his older self andpocketed it. "We've got more important matters to attend to. You." Hepointed at Muldoon. "Help me get her into the chamber."

Muldoon glanced at Horton's pocket and nodded. Working together,they placed the woman's body inside the incubation chamber, angled back atsixty degrees. Horton shut the curved glass door, and it sealed itself with thepneumatic hiss of an airlock.

"On to the next." Horton turned to the chamber beside itand repeated the routine: opening the glass door, busying both hands with theconsole's touchscreen.

"Why did you bring it back to your younger self, Harry?"Elder Horton leaned on the table, his grey eyes fixed on Muldoon with keeninterest. "In your reality?"

Muldoon frowned. "I-uh—"

"Not off to a great start there," quipped the youngerHorton.

"Shut up you," snapped Elder Horton. "Noteverybody's mind races at the speed of light."

"Faster." Horton glanced over his shoulder at the olderman. "Or can't you remember?"

"Nothing's wrong with my memory. But there's obviouslysomething amiss with yours if you don't remember sending Cade back to killhim." He gestured