The truth was that Amhurst didn’t know who the sender was, but having seen the clipping from the paper that detailed his own death from a blaze in this lab, he was now willing to believe what would happen.
Gernot continued, “The only reason I allow the messenger to deliver that telegram is because I already know your reaction and what you attempt to do. Otherwise, something else entirely could happen and I don’t want to risk that. I can’t afford to start over. Perhaps I should run the risk.”
When Amhurst didn’t say anything, Gernot clenched his throat harder and hissed, “Who is he?”
Doctor William Amhurst stared up into the man’s harsh face, and pressed his lips together in a final display of defiance. Then he closed his eyes, ready for death, and prayed that Celice waited for him there.
40 To Kill a Fucking Turd
November 30, 1948, 9:49 PM
The buzzer echoed again throughout the lab, the red light pulsing in unison with the ringing of the bell. Gernot’s head snapped around. What was that? His eyes darted about as he processed this unexpected occurrence, and he pulled Amhurst closer, unclenching his hands slightly from around the old doctor’s neck. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know!” Amhurst choked out after taking a ragged breath.
The whites of the old man’s eyes were reddened from lack of sleep, his irises dulled with age. Gernot searched the doctor’s face for a sign of deception and knew he was telling the truth. Amhurst had always been a horrible liar.
But he was stubborn; fear of death had never been enough to force him to reveal the mysterious sender of the telegram, and he’d lost count of how many times the loop had continued. But now there was a new twist. Gernot glanced back at the stairway as the buzzer sounded and the red light lit up again like a Christmas decoration.
This had never happened before. Gernot was trapped in a state of uncertainty. Should he just teleport now? Kill Amhurst and reset the clock? Destroy the work they’d spent months on? They were so close this time. He couldn’t leave it to chance; whoever was at the door could be another American time traveler.
As if the same questions were stirring in Satoshi’s mind, the Japanese man reached for the hidden twin blades that were strapped to his back beneath his coat. His eyes asked, What do we do? Gernot offered a staying hand and motioned for Mikhail to take point and check the door.
Mikhail returned the gesture and headed up the stairwell as he pulled his weapon from the inside holster of his jacket. If it was bad news, Mikhail would have to be the sacrificial lamb.
Gernot had always made a solo trip on the leaps back after each time William Amhurst’s mystery telegram arrived. There was only one watch to go around. One piece of information Satoshi and Mikhail didn’t know was that he had to kill them both. It wasn’t that he had anything against them; he just couldn’t allow them to live beyond the alternate future he was creating. His concern about what would happen if he didn’t keep everything the same was the driving force behind such decisions.
Despite his reservations, he wanted to see this new twist. The setbacks were driving him mad and being locked in this eternal loop was making him desperate. How many times had it been now that he had jettisoned to the past? How many times had he killed his other self? They both couldn’t be allowed to live; that would ultimately bring conflict. It was best to go back now – take Amhurst’s book and kill his past self, continuing from there as usual.
And where the hell is Mikhail?
There was a fracas above that lasted a few seconds, punctuated by a: BAM! BAM! THUD! Then another scuffling noise filtered down from above.
Gernot and Satoshi locked eyes as the realization hit them that their numbers had just dwindled down to two. While it was entirely possible that Mikhail had felled the intruder, instinct told Gernot this was not the case. Mikhail was nothing more than an unskilled extra hand. Strong-minded, yes, but Satoshi was a born killer and Gernot – well, he was a leader of the Nach-Soldat. He was Der Attentäter. He would kill this intruder.
Without warning, the bright lights of the lab went out, plunging the room into absolute darkness. Gernot froze, his hand still around Amhurst’s throat. The sound of the doctor’s ragged breathing was loud in the black room.
A moment later, the backup generator outside kicked on, and the lights popped back to life. But before Gernot could savor relief, the generator’s hum changed to a dying rumble and the light dimmed out again.
Gernot spat out a savage curse as he tried to adjust his eyes to the shadowed room. The only light available pierced the gloom feebly from the upper walled windows of the basement. Dust particles floated in lazy drifts in the rays of moonlight shining through. Gernot and Satoshi remained silent in the surreal quiet of the room, listening to the creaking noises coming from above. Even Amhurst seemed to hold his breath, but Gernot sensed he was the one being stalked.
This was a new experience and he didn’t like it. He was the one to fear. He was the one who snatched life from his victims. He was the taker of souls. Yet even with these mental encouragements, he felt his shirt collar grow tight on his neck, and his grip on Amhurst’s old leathery throat loosened some more.
Gernot looked down at the shadow of Amhurst’s face and saw the old doctor for what he was – a variable. It was two versus two, or – given the age of the doctor – two versus one and a half. Time to remove the half. A snarl curled the edges of his mouth and he straightened, dragging Amhurst with him.
The old man’s feet scrabbled for purchase on the floor, but before he could gain steady ground, Gernot flung the doctor against one of the supporting columns. Old bones met a hard concrete pillar. There was an audible crunch. Amhurst gasped and fell over, gripping his ribs and wheezing for breath.
Gernot turned away – Amhurst already forgotten – and strained to see better in the dark basement. Everything was backlit by the windows above and the shadows played tricks with his eyes, fooling his brain into perceiving threats that weren’t there.
It didn’t take long for him to realize the waiting game had begun. There was only one way out – the staircase, which would become a kill box. The windows were too high and too thick to consider using. Gernot looked at the iron giant that stood like a hulking specter in the middle of the room. With no power to run it, and testing still a ways off, he couldn’t use it to escape. His watch was the only feasible exit strategy – for him.
He could see a little better now, so he went to one of the tables, knelt behind it and used a hand to cover the illumination of the watch face lest it reveal his location. If that happened, the story would be over before it started.
Pressing the knobs quickly, he toggled the display until it read ‘LOC1’ in bright LCD lettering. This was his route out of here. Satoshi was loyal, but he would have to fend for himself. Gernot would have liked to kill the man outright; he could have used him as bait to draw out the American – if it was the American. Or perhaps there was another one?
Gernot’s hand hovered over the button, a hairbreadth away from leaving this time and place. No! He wanted – needed – to see the stranger’s face. He had to stop this intruder from interrupting the time sequence he’d worked so hard to preserve.
But it had been many repetitive months since Der Attentäter had killed someone new. Until now, it had just been the defenseless bag of bones that was Amhurst and his own comrades. Would he be out of practice?
A noise to his left. Or maybe his mind was creating imaginary sounds. It wasn’t important. Gernot curled his fingers around the edge of the table and flipped it over in one sudden motion.
Glass beakers and metal pots smashed, chemicals hitting the ground in a liquid rush of lethal combinations. Flames erupted in an instant, and the room flared into light. The sudden burst assaulted his eyes and he almost missed noticing a figure in black standing in front of him.
The man was holding up one arm to block out the heat and light of the flames. With his other, he held a pistol. But before he could pu
ll the trigger, Satoshi slammed into him. The gun dropped as he attempted to brace his fall.
Satoshi’s fists flew down on the man in black, but he blocked most of them with effective defense moves. Gernot’s yakuza of the bōryokudan even had to move deftly to avoid an elbow from the intruder. Satoshi rolled to the side and came to his feet while the other man sprang up at the same moment.
Satoshi reached back and pulled out his twin wakizashis – traditional Japanese swords that were two feet in length.
The man in black altered his posture, readying himself for the lethal blades. This stranger knew how to fight.
Gernot remembered the gun that had fallen and glanced away from the skirmish in front of him, searching for the weapon. There! He lunged for the gun, and scooped it up. But he he fired too quickly, his depth perception off in the darkened lab. Still, the man was hit a little off center, causing him to spin as he dropped.
But not for long. To Gernot’s amazement the man staggered back up. The shot should have ripped through his insides, but it appeared to have only winded him. Son of a bitch! The man had body armor beneath his clothes.
Satoshi rushed forward, one weapon aloft. “Don’t!” Gernot called out, closing the distance between them. The Asian pulled back, but held his wakizashis at the ready.
Now it was easy to see the man’s face in the shimmering light of the flames burning harmlessly on the concrete floor.
It can’t be! Gernot hid his shock as he realized that it was the cop from the diner – in 1986. How could he be here in 1948?
“Well, I guess I can believe anything. Mr. Tannor, we meet again.”
Tannor had recovered from his instability and he stood straight now, eyeing Gernot with open hostility. “I’ve never met you before, but I’m pretty sure if I had I would have killed you then.”
“You don’t remember our little chance meeting? Bad business about your boss dying. Then again, that bullet was meant for you. I see now why they wanted you dead. You are most resilient.”
Tannor said nothing to that.
“Hand over the watch,” Gernot ordered. With an extra timepiece, he might not have to kill Satoshi after all, and the Asian could join him in the leap back. This interruption was proving to be an interesting and beneficial turn of events. He watched with smug satisfaction as Tannor began disengaging the clasp of his watch.
Suddenly, a harsh whining noise screeched off the walls of the underground lab. Gernot started in surprise, his eyes snapping around in search of another member of Tannor’s group. He saw no one, and had a frantic millisecond of confusion before he realized the high-pitched ringing came from the weapon in his own hand.
Gernot tried to fling the gun aside, but it was too late – an explosion ripped his right hand away. He screamed and fell, clenching his bloody stump and watching in horror as blood pulsed from the wound. He pulled his arm close to his body in a pathetic attempt to stop the blood loss. He didn’t even feel the shards of hot metal that seared into his face and burnt his clothes.
Satoshi’s eyes bulged with shock from seeing Gernot covered in his own blood and clinging to a stubby wrist, but he recovered quickly and moved to attack Tannor. The cop was already on the move, leaping over objects to evade the dangerous swords Satoshi wielded.
Gernot slid on his back to get away from the action and bumped against the table he’d overturned. Flames were shooting up from the other side. He saw that the meteorite was on the concrete floor a few feet away. It had broken into two pieces; one was as large as a coconut, and the smaller chunk was the size of a golf ball.
He leaned against the table, gasping for breath and trying to evaluate the situation. He needed to find something to use as a tourniquet or he would bleed to death right here.
A loud banging sound erupted. Gunshots? Was Satoshi down? He was running out of time. In desperation, Gernot released his hold on the stump of his right hand and grabbed the larger fragment of the meteorite. He dragged the rock over to him and pulled it onto his lap.
He heard the crack of shattering glass – but something about it didn’t fit in with the sounds of fighting. It came from his far right, where just seconds ago he’d heard Satoshi and the American tussling.
And then Amhurst was beside him, hands coming down with something aimed at his stomach. Gernot reached out on instinct, bringing his left hand up to defend against the attack on his right side. He fended it off, but the pain in his injured arm was now searing through his whole body and he was quickly losing strength. Going into shock felt imminent.
When Amhurst raised his arms again, Gernot was unable to protect himself in time. A broken beaker slashed down into his gut. Gernot screamed. Amhurst twisted the crude weapon ravenously, tearing into Gernot’s intestines. Gernot flung his left arm out in wild reaction, knocking the frail and still wheezing doctor aside.
There was no more time. His end was coming. It was well past fight or flight; the fight in him was gone, and flight wouldn’t save him in the end. Something flared to life in his memory, and he saw a mangled body crashing down onto his own table as he sat eating a tender steak. Was this the new loop?
He gritted his teeth and brought his left arm up to tap the transporting node of his watch against the overhanging lip of the table. Agony slowed his progress, but he knew he had to give the warning, even though it would be his dying breath that sounded the alarm. It gave him some comfort that the meteorite would be saved, but the doctor had yet to finish his work. Which meant that his Other had to start this all over again.
Gernot was in so much pain that he wondered if he’d even be able to make this work. But of course he could. He’d already done it once before, hadn’t he? He cursed himself for not traveling sooner. His arm shook as he brought it into position, then let it drop.
The node clicked.
There was a sudden whirling in the air, followed by a sucking noise and a violent crack as the floor beneath him was ripped from its foundation where he lay with the table at his back. A portion of the table splintered and shredded as it was pulled with him back in time – to a small kitchenette where his Other sat enjoying a succulent steak, oblivious to what was about to come hurtling down in front of him.
41 The Sword in the Bone
November 30, 1948, 9:56 PM
Wakizashi blades flew in a rapid pattern, slicing the air inches in front of Blake’s face, torso, and arms. He jumped back as an attack barely missed his right thigh. Shit! That was close!
The Japanese man’s conditioning seemed to be infinite. Blake’s body had been through too much in the past few days, and he felt his reserves depleting.
In his left periphery, he saw the frail doctor being knocked way from Gernot. There was a loud sonic boom-like crack that threatened deafness. Blake didn’t have time to check his ears for blood, but both he and Satoshi stopped and stared at the cloud of smoke, wood splinters, and dust where Gernot had been seconds ago. A large crater was left in the concrete, caved in like a giant footprint in the snow.
Son of a bitch! He was gone.
Satoshi shot forward again, angry eyes reflecting madness in the fiery room.
Dodge. Shift footing. Change positioning. Alter between defensive and offensive stances. His years of martial arts training were paying back with huge dividends, for he’d have surely been dead by now.
Blake parried the next blade attack that came from Satoshi’s left hand, and the man followed through with the spin of his momentum, bringing around the butt end of the short sword held in his right. Training apparently wasn’t all the Asian man received – this was his lifestyle.
But this attack had been wild, and Blake avoided the strike with ease. This gave him time to see Satoshi’s overhead slash with the left blade as he finished the three-sixty spin. Blake rolled underneath the spin, but it wasn’t enough and he felt the sting of hot pain as his calf was clipped.
The cut was deep. A spasm exploded through his leg and caused him to stumble as he came to his feet. He grabbed for
the edge of a nearby lab table and pulled himself up. He glanced down at the injury and saw that his black pants hid the true extent of damage and amount of blood pouring from the wound. His newly acquired limp would tell Satoshi a different story.
This could be it for me.
Satoshi noticed Blake steadying himself with the table and took the opportunity to surge forward, striking out with another flurry of his blades. One came in with a high arc, and Blake pushed off the table, launching himself forward.
The blade in Satoshi’s other hand was positioned harmlessly backward. Blake used this to his advantage, bringing his forearm up to block the man’s arm as it descended, then caught his wrist and wrenched it beyond its normal pivot. The Asian’s fingers flexed open in response and the short sword clattered to the floor.
This made Blake’s odds better. Still, they needed to be evened out more. He dove for the wakizashi, but Satoshi read his thoughts, kicking the blade beyond reach and whipping into another spin. It was uncanny how the fighter managed to maneuver with such speed. Satoshi came around with the left-handed wakizashi, going for Blake’s midsection.
Blake sidestepped as best he could given his injury, and collided with the lab table he’d grabbed onto earlier. Now he was cornered, and Satoshi rushed in for the kill. Blake knew throwing a kick of any kind would be useless; his injured leg wouldn’t support his weight, and if he used it as the lead it would do little more than flop through the air ineffectually. A punch was now the only weapon he had.
He tossed out his left arm, but Satoshi’s sparring mind must have seen the volley coming. The man caught Blake’s arm by the wrist with his right hand, and brought up the wakizashi with his left, closing the distance between them.