Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) (17 page)

“Did you go check it out?”

“Na, it won’t matter. I’m sure the feds sanitized the area as soon as it was over. That’s SOP.”

Masago didn’t respond. He was just Rocket, being Rocket.

“There’ve been reports of other skirmishes, too. The Marino brothers’ compound was hit and weapons were stolen.”

“Really? That close?”

“Yep. No survivors. I tried to warn those amateurs about the gaps in their security net, but nobody ever listens to me. You try to help some people, but they just roll their eyes and mumble crap under their breath.”

“I always listen to you.”

“Yeah, sure. In your dreams maybe.”

“I do. You just don’t remember.”

“Ah, well. Whatever. Anyway, I thought it best to activate our membership and have everyone check in. Time to prepare. Something is going down. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Then why is the rookie out front?”

“We’re working on it, but not everyone’s here yet.”

“He’s a liability. Cannon-fodder would be a better handle than Cannibal.”

“Does the fact that you’re driving the Tumbler have anything to do with all of this?”

Masago rolled her head around her neck, trying to loosen the knot forming on the side. It seemed to work. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re driving it. In public. Wasn’t that Dad’s rule number eleven?”

“Maybe I just wanted to visit my brother. Did you ever think of that?”

“That would be a first.”

Masago cleared her throat. “So, this thing you wanted to show me. Better than the mosquito cam?”

His face lit up, pointing at a lonely tree with a twisted trunk fifty feet away. “See that ugly tree just beyond the razor wire?”

Masago smirked at her brother. “Wow, you invented a remote controlled tree? OMG! The world will never be the same!”

“Funny, sis,” Rocket said, flipping her off. He thumbed the power switch of the remote control unit. “You see the white coffee can? Third branch? Halfway up?”

Masago squinted, seeing the rusted curve of the can’s lid. It looked like the top was strapped on with rubber bands. The number 212 had been stenciled on the side of it in white paint.

“Not really. I could sure use a good pair of binoculars. I wonder where I could get a pair? Hmmm. I think Cannibal isn’t using his?”

Rocket sucked in a long snort through his nose and then spit a wad of snot into the dirt at her feet. “Depends. Why didn’t you use the comms in the Tumbler? Did you lose the mic?”

“No, it’s in the car. I promise.”

“Why didn’t you radio in, instead of driving up unannounced?”

Masago bit down on her lip. “Really? You’re going to grill me about procedure?”

He nodded.

She pointed at the can in the tree. “What does the number two twelve mean?”

“So you
can
see it?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Well, maybe a little.”

Rocket sighed. “It’s the attempt number.”

“You’ve blown up two hundred and eleven trees so far?”

Rocket waved the glowing remote at the fence line. “No, we used it for blasting when we extended the fence line.”

“What’s in it? C4?”

“Nah, government won’t let that shit out of their sight. I used a unique concoction of household chemicals. Stuff you can get anywhere. Wait till you see the power.”

“That tree is creepy. I feel like it’s staring at me.”

“Yeah, I hate it, too. Time for it to go,” he said, fiddling with the control unit.

“Don’t you think we should stand behind some kind of blast shield? This is how rednecks die, you know. Blowing stuff up.”

Rocket belted out a laugh. “Only when they turn to the camera and say ‘hey, watch this.’ Then you know body parts are about to get mangled.”

She laughed.

“No, seriously, this is a focused charge. It’ll only destroy what I want it to—the tree—not the surrounding area. It’s a surgical, low-shrapnel, shaped charge. Pretty cool, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “Boys with toys.”

“Besides, if anything is going to get me killed, it’ll be my crazy-ass sister.”

“Crazy-ass sister? We have another sister? Is she cuter than me?”

Rocket stuck out his tongue, then lifted the remote and pointed the front of it at the target. He licked his lips. “Time to say goodbye, Mr. Tree.”

He dragged his finger across the screen and flipped one of the switches. Nothing happened.

Masago rolled her eyes. “Now that’s the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen. Way to go, brother. You need to get a patent in place before someone steals the tech.”

He shook the remote and tried again. Nothing happened.

She put her hands on her hips. “Are we done now?”

“Must be a transmission error. Or a mixture problem.”

“Maybe you should have tested a smaller charge first?”

“I did. Worked fine.”

“That’s a cool remote control unit, though. Maybe you can sell it on eBay. I’m sure someone would buy it.”

“Now you’re just being a B-I-T-C—”

Before Rocket could finish spelling the word, an explosion ripped the air, sending dirt, sand, and tree parts everywhere.

“Holy crap!” she screamed, covering her ears and ducking for cover behind Rocket.

“Exactly,” he said, reaching up to sweep the ends of his mullet behind his ears. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about!”

“That was awesome, bro.”

“I know. Right?”

An odor drifted into her nose, but it wasn’t the smell of burned carbon like she had expected. She sniffed again, thinking her senses were confused. She stared at her brother.

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Almonds? But you said it wasn’t C4.”

Rocket looked at the crater where the ugly tree had stood. “My own special derivative. It’s amazing what a little redneck chemistry can do.”

“What’d you use?”

He smiled. “One of the components was detergent.”

“I figured that when you said typical household items. What else?”

“That’s my ace in the hole. If nobody else knows about it, then they’ll never see it coming. Nor will they know how to defeat it.”

“You’re not going to tell your own sister?”

“Not until its perfected. Then, maybe.”

Masago looked toward the sky and shifted into her coy, I-need-something-and-you-can’t-say-no mode.

“So, I was thinking maybe I could temporarily trade vehicles with you. Your truck for the Tumbler.” She dangled the keys in front of his face. “I know you wish Dad had given it to you instead of me. Now’s your chance. It’s a total blast to drive.”

“Does it still work?”

“What?”

“I’ve seen you drive, sis. Ford Motors is going to need more crash dummies.”

She lowered the keys, feeling them touch her thigh. “Are you saying I’m a bad driver?”

“No, I’m just worried about Junior. I need my truck back in one piece.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“It’s a maybe.”

“I promise to take really good care of him. I’ll drive just like you. Slow and sloppy.”

He laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I promise. Nothing bad will happen to Junior.”

“You still haven’t told me why.”

She hesitated before answering. “I need to go into town and don’t want to drive something everyone will recognize. The gawkers will never leave me alone. The Tumbler doesn’t exactly blend in.”

He just stared at her and blinked, not saying anything.

“That’s the absolute truth. I swear.”

“It might be, but my gut is telling me there’s more.”

“For once, can’t you just trust me?”

“Trust is a two-way street, little sis. Why go into town?”

“It’s personal.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

She nodded. “It’s a woman thing. You know, a monthly thing.”

He shook his head and diverted his eyes. “Oh, that. Got it.”

“So, can I borrow your truck? I really need to jet.”

“Fine, but no Baja 1000s, agreed?”

“I promise,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. She hugged him extra long and tight.

“That felt like a goodbye hug. Permanent like.”

“No, I just miss you, that’s all.”

“That wouldn’t be the case if you lived here instead of in the hole Dad bought.”

“I know, maybe someday.”

He pointed at the Tumbler. “Why don’t you back it up to the barn and I’ll get my keys. I’ll need a minute to say goodbye to my baby.”

Masago left the hatch open as she drove the Tumbler backward through the ruts, then shifted forward, parking a few feet outside the doors of the barn.

Rocket kicked the doors open, revealing his pickup truck standing high on its massive lift kit and tractor tires.

She pulled the bags out of the Tumbler and set them on the ground next to the truck. She held out her hand. “Keys, please.”

He put his hand in his pocket and left it there.

“Are you gonna make me beg?”

“There’s one condition.”

“I know. I have to drive safe.”

“No, something else.”

“Now you’re just trying to push my buttons.”

His hand came out of the pocket, placing a homemade accessory in her hand. It was two-inches wide and circular, made out of weaved paracord using an over-under braid pattern. A compass had been surface mounted to it.

Masago narrowed her eyes at him. “A bracelet?”

“Survival kit. Inside are all sorts of goodies to help keep lead-footed sisters safe while they’re on a secret mission. Just clip it on your wrist and leave it there.”

Masago did as he asked. It was snug around her wrist and a bit uncomfortable. The dial on the compass spun around to point north. “What’s in it?”

“The wrap unravels to fifteen feet, giving you plenty of cordage to use for just about anything. Inside it are foil, snare wire, needle, thread, fishing tackle, waterproof matches, and char cloth.”

“Nifty.”

“Nifty? Now who’s pushing buttons?”

She held out her hand, again. “I love you, too, brother. Keys?”

Rocket pulled the keys from his pocket and jiggled them in front of her face. “I really don’t like the idea of you being on your own, out there in the world with all the nut bags. Not with all that’s happened recently. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“You always say that.”

“But this time, I’m right.”

“I’ll be careful. You know I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, you can, but there’s a million deranged people living down there in that cesspool they call Tucson. That’s a lot of crazy to handle on your own. If anything goes wrong, I want you back here. On the double. This is the rally point for everyone. Our Alamo when
it
starts. But remember, my responsibility is here. To protect everyone. Not just you. I won’t be able to come find you if the shit hits the fan.”

She grabbed the keys from him and snatched her stuff from the trunk. “Everyone died in the Alamo.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Roger that,” she said with a sharp tone. She dropped her bags into the back of the truck and opened the driver’s door. “Try to eat something. You need to keep up your strength.”

“No one here can cook like you,” Rocket said.

“That’s because I spoiled you,” she said, rolling the window up. Her fingers put the keys in the ignition and started the V8 engine. It roared with the power of four hundred ponies. A moment later, the gearshift was in drive and she sped off, feeling the overly stiff suspension hit every bump on the property.

Lucas was sitting on a chair-size rock, flexing his knee as Masago told him to do, when he felt a strange tingle on the lower part of his left leg, just above the ankle bone. He yanked his pant leg up and saw a hairy, three-inch long centipede slinking along, using his red leg hairs as a stepladder.

He jumped from the rock and shook his leg like it was on fire. The poisonous crawler flew into the air, bouncing and skipping its way across the desert floor until it landed in a patch of loose dirt ten feet away. The all-black creature struggled to right itself, eventually flipping over to its belly, then slithering away using a zigzag escape pattern.

“Shit! That was close,” he said with panic-filled breath. A distant memory flared from an earlier timeline, taking over the projector in the back of his mind. He remembered the hockey-puck-size scorpion crawling into bed with him back in his apartment, right after Drew had finished his shower. The sight of the arched stinger caused the same all-out adrenaline rush he’d just experienced from the centipede
.
Of course, in the apartment, he was able to smash the creature flat with his shoe before flushing it down the toilet.

Then something occurred to him. Something about his past. The bed-crawling scorpion event took place about now in his former timeline. He couldn’t remember for sure, but he thought it may have just happened yesterday or the day before to his younger self; at least it should have, if the current timeline held true to the past. He wondered if his younger self smashed it with the same shoe or took a different approach. How close would a rerun of a past timeline event hold true?

He took a few deep breaths through his nose, more so out of instinct than anything else, calming his nerves and letting his mind flush the thoughts.

A faint smell drifted across his senses. Oranges. Again. That strange, lingering citrus scent that seemed to rise up out of nowhere. It didn’t matter where or when he was, it seemed to follow him everywhere. It didn’t make any sense, but then again, there are hundreds of billions of nerve endings firing in one’s brain at any second, so there’s bound to be a few that misfire on occasion.

Just then, the roar of a straining engine echoed across the warming desert terrain. The torque-driven whine was coming from his left. He looked but couldn’t see anything except a billowing trail of dust drifting across the landscape, floating aimlessly above the endless hedge of desert brush. Lucas estimated it was a half a mile away, and worried it wasn’t Masago. With his luck, General Alvarez and his band were coming to dig six-foot-deep holes for a few body dumps. Then again, it could be some four-wheeler out for a joyride. Whoever it was, Lucas was a sitting duck, unable to escape with a bad knee. Actually, a better term would have been lame duck.