Countdown 7 Hours: No Matter What, I'll Keep You Alive
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I stared at Victor Zhou across the bomb shelter's dim lighting.
"You have my word," I said.
He exhaled—a long, shaky breath. Then he reached across the table and gripped my hand.
The deal was done.
For one moment, there was something almost like peace between us. A father and the boy who loved his daughter, bound by a promise to protect her.
Then the shelter door exploded inward.
The man who came through was dressed in black, moved like a soldier, and had one target.
Me.
Before I could react, his hand was around my throat. He lifted me off the ground and slammed me into the concrete wall. Stars burst across my vision.
Trained. Military precision. Another traveler—another assassin sent through the Gate.
I clawed at his fingers, but my eighteen-year-old body didn't have the strength to pry him loose. My lungs screamed. Dark spots closed in from every corner of my vision.
Victor charged. The assassin caught him with a backhand that sent him sprawling across the computer setup—glass shattered, circuits sparked—and in the same motion, the blade in his other hand opened a line across Victor's ribs.
Blood bloomed across Victor's shirt.
My vision was almost gone. The world narrowing to a pinpoint of light.
Then—
Jessica.
She must have followed me to the shelter. She came through the shattered doorway, ballpoint pen in hand, and drove it straight into the assassin's forearm with everything she had.
He howled. The grip on my throat loosened—just enough.
That pen was my lifeline.
I grabbed it where it jutted from his arm and twisted, then drove it in again. And again. Each puncture sank an inch or two deep. Within seconds I'd stabbed him a dozen times.
The assassin finally released me, kicking me hard in the lower back as he let go.
He scrambled for the knife he'd dropped—
I lunged. Wrapped both arms around his legs. His momentum carried him forward, and his skull cracked against the concrete wall with a sound like a dropped melon.
He went limp and didn't move again.
I lay on the ground, gasping for air, my throat on fire.
Then I heard Victor's voice, thin as paper.
"Marcus..."
---
I crawled over. Victor was on the floor, his shirt soaked dark. The knife had caught him across the ribs—deep enough to need immediate pressure, but it wasn't a killing wound.
I pressed my hands against the gash. "I'm here."
Blood seeped through my fingers.
He grabbed my wrist with surprising strength and shoved something into my palm.
A hard drive. A full-sized 3.5-inch drive, yanked straight from one of the computers. It was heavy, solid, and warm from running.
"The parameters?" I asked.
"What else?" He tried to smile. "I'm a physicist, not a pornographer."
I stared at the drive. The Gate's complete algorithm—compressed, it was still nearly two terabytes. In 2007, there was no way Victor could have backed this up in minutes. He'd had to physically rip the drive out of his machine.
Everything that had ruined his life, killed who knows how many people, and would kill more—sitting in my palm like a lump of metal.
"Marcus, listen to me." His voice was gaining urgency despite the weakness. "I figured something out while we were talking. Some things I can only ask you to do."
"Dad, stop talking—" Jessica grabbed for her phone. "I'm calling an ambulance—"
Victor knocked the phone out of her hand.
"The wound isn't in my heart, but I'm losing blood faster than you'd think. An ambulance will take at least five minutes." His voice was iron despite the trembling. "I might only have a few minutes of clear thinking left. Don't interrupt me."