Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) by Andre Gonzalez (e book reader online txt) 📗

amphitheater. She tripped on someone’s lifeless limbs, tumbling for a moment and rolling onto another dead body, before jumping to her feet and scampering once more.

A burning sensation struck her left calf, like someone had pressed a hot iron directly to her flesh, but not even that forced her back to the ground. She limped, taking long strides with her good leg, dragging her bad one behind as blood left a scattered trail behind it. A small crowd had formed behind the amphitheater, but the majority of protesters sprinted away from the park, some three blocks away already with no sign of slowing down.

Kelly leaned against the concrete wall, panting for breath, head spinning in every direction as she half-expected someone to walk up and shoot her right in the face. That didn’t happen, but something much worse was already unfolding across the street.

The timing didn’t make sense, then again, she had no way of clearly judging time once the chaos had erupted. Ten seconds felt like twenty minutes.

The capitol’s dome had caught fire, smaller patches of flames spreading across the rest of the exterior as more and more explosives were thrust against the building. Traffic came to a halt on Broadway as mobs of the black-cloaked Revolters swarmed the streets and sidewalks, their numbers trying to match those of the protesters who were assembled just minutes ago.

Not all Road Runners had fled the scene, however, and some engaged in combat, swinging desperate punches, shooting from behind trees. A few Revolters took a beating, some dying next to their own victims, but the remaining Road Runners were no match.

Kelly let her body slide down the wall until she sat on the ground, her blasted leg turning completely numb as blood pooled, running in a small stream toward the bloody footprints scattered across the ground. She fainted, unaware that similar attacks were unfolding all around the continent, the Revolution throwing everything they had as they, too, sensed the major event set to occur in the time travel world.

Chapter 20

The early morning had passed rather uneventfully for Martin and the team on the jet. Two members had wandered into downtown Winnipeg to buy three dozen doughnuts for a simple breakfast to feed everyone.

Before the food arrived, Martin went into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. He only had consumed one drink the night before, but his stomach flipped cartwheels all night as he speculated on the possibility that his life might end today. And if not his, then that of Chris, which was as equally stressful of a thought. As much as he had wanted a deep sleep, it never came. He woke nearly every hour, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on his life, trying to make sense of how and why it all led to this point. Speculation remained that he had somehow been planted in this role since the beginning, but he had concluded there were too many moving parts to make it all happen, accepting his destiny to remove the madman from the world.

His arms trembled, legs hollow and weak when he stood from the recliner to begin the day. He was the first one up at five o’clock, most of the team sound asleep, some faintly stirring, as they had collapsed straight into their laptops at some point in the night.

After he puked, Martin returned to the recliner to relax. He glanced around the jet cabin, admiring such a phenomenal team who had given their all, pushing themselves to the brink for the greater good. The Road Runners would have found a way to defeat Chris without him—their talent and dedication ran too deep.

People gradually woke up as the morning grew later, Alina among one of the first. Her hair stood in a frazzled mess as she stepped around the sleeping bodies on the floor, offering a polite, but embarrassed, grin to Martin as she made her way to the bathroom. She didn’t say a word, and neither did he.

The jet had two bathrooms, one in the front, one in the rear, and Martin watched as lines formed at both, glad he had been able to beat the rush. He worried about making it all the way to nightfall, his brain already having the slightest itch of fatigue. The day would surely be engaging enough to distract from his urge to sleep. He didn’t know if commanders ever took time off, but if things played out the way they hoped, he might become the first one to start a new tradition. It had to have been at least two years since he last had a full eight hours of sleep in a single night, but he had grown to live with the exhaustion, sometimes thriving in the state of mind that bordered on delirium.

None of that matters today, Martin thought. Throw the playbook out the window. You’ll be on Chris’s turf. Man against a withering old man for all the glory, alone in a frozen world until someone goes home and the other lays dead on the ground.

The thoughts brought a return of the twisting inside. He thought he might vomit again, but there was nothing left.

Alina returned from the bathroom, dressed in athletic pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Most everyone on the jet dressed the same way, all of their clothes originally packed from the two-week stay in Chicago. Martin was the only one stepping outside of the jet—him plus whoever was driving him to Angle Inlet. It had been decided he would drive to his destination rather than fly into the local airport. The Revolution’s private jet was already parked in the two-plane hangar and was surely grabbing attention from the locals. Having a second jet of equal elegance would surely prompt a full-blown investigation by the ninety residents who called the small peninsula home.

The main objective for the day was to remain off the radar. Flying literally showed up on radars, and crossing an international border was something they’d rather not deal