BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (e book reader txt) 📕

it's happening all over again—" Hortongrabbed Cade's hands and thrust the wristwatch into them. "Here. You haveto take this, you have to go. You have to go back and get to him before it'stoo late."

Cade politely refused, retracting his hands, rejecting thetimepiece.

"You must!" Horton hissed, eyes wide, tendons strainingagainst the collar of his shirt. He pressed the watch into Cade's hands."You have to stop him!"

His wild echo held the moment until silence again descended on theroom, reclaiming it. Horton closed Cade's hands around the BackTracker andsqueezed them, staring into his eyes.

Something clattered behind the closed door at the back of theroom.

"I'll go check on her," Mary offered, striding away.

"She mustn't know," Horton grated out through clenchedteeth. "She must never know."

"Who?" Cade watched him. Something was very wrong aboutthis situation. He did not remember Cyrus Horton being prone to such emotionaloutbursts. Or rambling speech.

"Irena. She can't know, it would tear her apart. Harry's not amonster—he just doesn't realize what he's done. There are no isolatedincidents," he emphasized each word. "No coincidences. Everythingoccurs for a reason, and you can't change the past. Doesn't matter how nobleyour intentions are. The road to hell is paved with 'em. You can't alter history, or you risk destroyingeverything we know!"

Harry—Harold Muldoon.

"Do you know where he is, Mr. Horton? Do you know where wecan find Harold Muldoon?"

How would this news tear her apart? Irena would be overjoyed,overwhelmed with relief to know what had become of her dear husband. For yearsnow, she had lived in misery, awaking every day to a world where the love ofher life had vanished without explanation. It was as if he had simply ceased toexist, and the authorities had done very little to aid in the search.

Cyrus Horton tightened his grip on Cade's hands and dropped hisgaze.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Where is he?" Cade hoped for the sake of his chargethat her father was in full control of his mental faculties—all evidence to thecontrary.

"She's waking up," Mary called from the back room, hertone strained.

"Want me to tranq her again?" Peter stepped forward.

Cade turned on him.

The situation had become clear.

He pulled free of Horton's grasp and dropped the watch to thefloor, at the same time drawing the sword from his drooping sleeve and bringingthe flat of the blade against Peter's chest. The speed with which he had movedheld a lasting impression: Peter, Paul, and Horton himself could only stare,wide-eyed.

"You shot her." Cade's voice was even.

"Yes." Horton swallowed. "She would've been afreak's prey, otherwise. We had to get her to safety. She wasn't thinkingclearly, coming down here like that, and it was just a tranquilizer—look, I'llshow you." The inventor moved to the side of his heavy-laden table.

"Stay where you are." Cade pressed the kodachihard against Peter who stood rooted, eyes fixed on the gleaming blade digginginto his broad chest. "You—Mary." Cade turned his gaze on the womanstanding at the back of the room.

"Yes, Mr. Cade?" She smiled warmly.

"Bring Mrs. Muldoon out here once she is awake. Until then,do not disturb her."

"Yes, Mr. Cade." She dipped her chin, her bright eyeslingering on him.

"Shut the door, Mary. She does not need to hear this."Cade tightened his grip on the hilt, watching Mary do as he asked.

"What are you going to do?" Paul said hoarsely.

Cade kept his voice low. "I want to know where I can findHarold Muldoon."

Cyrus Horton nodded, his eyes darting from the kodachi tothe wristwatch on the floor. "That's the only way, lad. You have to backtrackhim."

"Where is he?" Cade asked. "Tell me where he is,and I will release this SYN of yours, if that is what he truly is."

Peter growled deep within his chest.

"I've told you, it's not where you'll find him, but when!"Horton took a step forward. "There was a prototype—the first BackTracker Imade. It had some kinks to work out, wasn't the most reliable. I lost track ofit when the Feds shut me down, it and another item—my first attempts." Hegestured at the disorganized table. "They were imperfect, but functional,and somehow he got hold of the BackTracker—or somebody got hold of it for him,something like that. I don't really know how it happened, but it happened. Andnow he's fraying the time-string, shaping it at will with every trip he makesinto the past, with every alteration resulting from his presence in a time whenhe doesn't belong! Don't you see? He's changing things that were meant to be,and this world, all the suffering that you see, is the result!" He tookanother step, clenching his fists. "He must be stopped before it'stoo late."

Cade shook his head. These were the manic delusions of a geniusshunned by his superiors, left to grovel Underground and wallow in little morethan his own megalomania. None of it was possible, what he spoke of. No meremortal could exert any control over the essence of time. The Master would notallow it. There were certain boundaries He had put in place at the foundationof the universe, and time was an absolute. It was a river, a mighty rushingforce that moved ever forward, carrying all life along from start to finish.There was no swimming back against the current, just as there was no swimmingahead.

We are in the present at all times...in alltime. There is only now.

"When Mrs. Muldoon awakes, we will take our leave." Cadelowered the short sword from Peter and held it down at his side. For now, hewould wait.

"You'll leave when Mr. Horton tells you to leave!" Peterroared, muscles rippling like black snakes across his forearms as he lunged forCade's throat with both hands, thick fingers curled, tensed, bleeding before heknew why. "What?" He froze, staring as Cade wiped his blade clean onthe hem of his soiled robe. "What did you...?" Peter's voice rumbledinto empty space as he watched one of his fingers drop to the concrete floorwith a dark splatter of blood. Then another fell beside it.

Paul cursed and backed away. "That ain't right!"

Mary giggled in the back of the room.

"You—!" Peter growled with menace, hands tightening intofists—the left one missing its index and middle digits, both stumps bleedingprofusely.

"Stand down, Peter," Horton cautioned.

"He