Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) by Andre Gonzalez (books on motivation .txt) 📕

wheels were in full motion for him to spend at least two weeks in the cabin, waiting for the Road Runners to give up their search.

Part of the original plan, unfortunately, was to leave either Duane or Mario in charge during his absence, considering cell phone reception was spotty and the cabin lacked an internet connection.

When they touched down, though, Chris wasn’t worried about any of these small details. Instead, he fumbled through the first-aid kit stored on the jet and pulled out a syringe, sticking it into the puffy vein on the back of his hand, drawing blood out in a painful ceremony. He hadn’t felt such physical pain since the day he had transformed into the Keeper of Time, and let out a heavy pant for breath when he finished, clutching his hand and rubbing the area before applying a bandage.

“Colin,” he cried, the pilot appearing within seconds in the cockpit doorway. “I need you to do me a big favor.”

“What is it, sir?” Colin’s eyes danced around the jet, bulging at the sight of the syringe and the few drops of blood that had splattered onto the floor.

“As you know, I’m not okay right now—that’s why we’re here. I need to inject my blood into your body, and if I can hide out for at least forty-eight hours I know I’ll be in the clear and back to normal. After we do this I want you to fly wherever you want and lock yourself inside until you hear from me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Anything for the Revolution, sir.” Colin offered an aggressive nod as he spoke.

“I appreciate that, as does the entire organization. Just so we’re clear, you should not discuss this with a single soul. If anyone finds out we did this, the Road Runners will be after you. And if they killed Sonya, then they’ll have no thoughts about sparing you.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Perfect.” Chris stood up and gestured with his arm for Colin to sit down in his seat. “Roll up your sleeve and relax. It’s just like any shot, and won’t have any lasting pain.” Colin sat down and did as instructed, taking a deep breath when Chris waved the syringe full of his own blood in the air.

“You’re our last hope,” Chris said moments before poking the needle into Colin’s arm. He pushed all the blood out and removed the needle with the ease of a nurse who had done the same routine dozens of times each day. “I suggest you wait about ten minutes to make sure your body doesn’t have any sort of reaction. It shouldn’t, but it’s good to be safe. I’d hate to go through this just for you to fall asleep at the wheel and crash into the lake.”

Chris chuckled after saying this, but Colin didn’t so much as a return a polite smile to the morbid joke. He understood the gravity of the situation and was in no laughing mood. Chris returned the syringe to the first-aid kit and snapped it shut, clapping his hands.

“That’s it?” Colin asked.

“That’s it. You have some sacred blood in your system now. I suggest you get this bird ready to fly and hide like I suggested. Remember, if you let out a peep about this, you’ll catch a bullet to the head within twenty-four hours—you can take that to the bank, my friend. Hopefully if everything plays out the way it should, you and I can resume our normal lives.”

“Isn’t this blood in me forever now?”

“Of course, but I just need you to stay safe temporarily. Once I’m back on my feet, I’ll work on finding a more permanent successor to help stretch my life out longer.” Chris’s stomach grumbled and he looked down to it with a grin. “I should get going now, and you should too.”

“Yes, sir—best of luck. I hope to see you soon.”

“Oh you will, and I look forward to it.” Chris winked and started for the door, waiting for Colin to open it. When he did, a gust of cold wind blew in, but it didn’t bother Chris. He had too much on his mind to worry about the weather, and would be within the confines of his cabin in a few minutes.

He walked down the steps, his hunger and vulnerability the furthest things from his mind. A new confidence had grown now that he had arrived to Angle Inlet, and that was the point. He never planned to live in fear, only to live in safety until the madness passed. The Road Runners could only cover so much ground and search for so long until they gave up. Chris had a three month supply of food and water in his cabin, and wouldn’t have to step foot outside for any reason.

It appeared snow had fallen a couple days earlier, patches of frozen powder scattered about the airport grounds outside of the covered hangar. The temperatures could drop into single digits, sometimes even into the negative, during the winter months, but this night was a brisk twenty degrees, good enough for the walk Chris had to endure.

He moved quickly from the hangar, passing two other jets on his way out. The cabin was deliberately built one mile south of Northwest Angle Airport. Chris had to walk the first half-mile down Inlet Road before continuing straight into the woods for the latter half. It could only be reached on foot this way, intentional to give any potential stalkers a hell of a time keeping up, let alone explain how to find the cabin. Chris always figured if his life came down to this situation, he’d be able to play the land to his advantage. He had spent the summer of 1981 living at the cabin, roaming the woods for eight hours each day to learn the area, even carving secret symbols into the trees that only made sense to him, to help navigate back to the cabin.

“Good luck catching me here, Martin Briar,” Chris said