The Impossible Future: Complete set by Frank Kennedy (mini ebook reader .txt) 📕

found his keys, flipped open the glove compartment, reached beneath the owner’s manual and grabbed his .45 semi-automatic. He attached a suppressor and sat the gun on the passenger seat.

The truck jerked as he hit the gas. He struggled to keep the Dodge out of either ditch as he made several rough attempts at turning around. When he found his bearings, Ben did not know what was worse: The nausea or the panic. Neither compared to the sickening realization that even if he got to his brother in time, and even if his craziest theories were right, Ben couldn’t save Jamie from the inevitable.

He balanced the wheel in one hand, his cell phone in the other. He called Jamie and Ignatius, but both phones went to voicemail.

He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes before three.

“Seven hours to go. Damn, J. We didn’t have enough time.”

Entering Albion from the northwest, he passed the K-12 school, two churches, and the field where Jamie used to run track. The instant he turned onto Main Street - three blocks from home - Ben felt a wave of foreboding.

The street was quiet, empty, yet Ben slowed the Dodge. He knew something was off. Then he saw it: An Albion County sheriff’s car parked in the alley next to Ol’ Jacks.

Drive, you stupid bastard. Drive. Ben stopped the car anyway, grabbed his flashlight and gun, and stumbled to the police sedan.

“The hell?”

This made no sense. Ignatius and Jamie should have been far from Albion by now. Unless …

That’s when he saw the dark red stain on the trunk, a handprint in blood. He dropped to one knee and vomited. After the final heave, and as he tried to regain his senses, Ben tried to lift the trunk. No luck. He raced around, opened the driver door, and pulled the trunk-release lever. He said a prayer before looking inside.

“Shit. No. No. Shit, no.”

Ben drew close and saw at least three bullet holes in the chest.

“I’m sorry, my friend. Should have been here. You warned me.”

In that instant, Ignatius gasped, his eyes wandering. Ben jumped.

“Betrayed,” the deputy said between bloody coughs. “Walt right. Thought they try this.”

“J. Where is he? Did they kill him?”

“Ran. Has gun. Heard when they came back. Still looking for him. Thought I was dead. Tossed me here. Buy time. Chancellors don’t die easy.”

“Who?”

“Rand. Agatha. More? Find him, Ben. Give him a chance.”

“What?”

“Third option.” Ignatius took rapid breaths. “Give him third way out. Deserves. We hurt him. All of us.”

“I want to, but it won’t work. And it won’t stop the inevitable.”

Ignatius used what strength he still had to grab Ben by the arm. “Remember your father. How he looked at you like a stranger when he threw you out. Ben, there’s nothing to lose …”

Ignatius held his stare as he died.

Ben fought off another wave of nausea and focused. He had little time, few resources, and only one man to trust. He summoned all the cold-hearted, rigid principles he learned from the parents he came to despise. The same parents who, fifteen years earlier, robbed him of the life of his dreams on the world of his birth.

5

J AMIE EMERGED ON the other side of the woods into a soybean field. The world dropped into utter silence, and he found his bearings. He saw the First Baptist Church to his south next to Pine Grove Cemetery. He recognized Morry’s Lane, tracked it north, and saw a night light over the distant outline of McNally’s Gas n’ Grab at the corner of Morry’s and Coverdale Street. He formed a plan.

If he got to the phone booth outside McNally’s, he’d call 911; they’d send help. Only when he thought about the police did he feel the loss of Ignatius Horne. Iggy had been a true friend after Jamie’s parents died. It was Iggy who made the quick capture of his parents’ killer and offered daily support to both the Sheridan brothers during the trial, which Jamie insisted on attending despite everyone’s advice to the contrary. Iggy motivated Jamie to return to running after a long absence.

The field was muddy, and his feet sank, but Jamie pushed on like an athlete, relying upon instinct and training. He flew as if running cross country, handling the challenges of changing topography at a steadied pace. The gun felt light in his right hand, the flashlight in his left.

Jamie regained his senses as he reached the intersection and crouched in the ditch. To the east, Coverdale Street disappeared into the countryside, winding past fields and farmhouses on the way to the interstate. Jamie knew his pursuers would likely be coming from the west, where he saw the first of Albion’s street lights, illuminating entry into the town. Just beyond, he saw a jumbled mess of cars and pickups at Autry’s Body Shop, followed by a short bridge over Alamander River, and a towering wood frame at Albion Mills Flour Co.

Jamie took a deep breath and sprinted across Coverdale, avoided running beneath the nightlight at McNally’s, and reached the phone booth. He punched the first key then slammed against the inside of the booth when he heard a familiar voice.

“The problem, my sweet child, is that I should have kicked in ten years ago. Your subconscious was still malleable. That was the whole purpose of my program, you see.”

The woman in the smart business ensemble stood against the open door. Jamie froze.

“What? How did …”

She sighed. “My challenge is to make your remaining hours one of reconciliation with your destiny. This will be difficult. After all, when you die, so will I. Fortunately, I am not burdened by petty emotion.” She reached out her hand, but Jamie backed away. “The program refers to me as Mentor. But that seems shallow. So I