grabbed his forearm. Then, Mark felt himself shifting out.
The ropes had come along for the ride, but now they dangled loosely from his freed wrists.
The barn was gone. It had been night and was now daylight, probably early morning. Hardy must have shifted them to a time before the barn had existed.
They were in a narrow pasture surrounded by trees. About five feet to Mark's right was a grassy slope that descended into thick woods.
Warring emotions battled inside as Mark studied his rescuer. He would have much preferred it to have been Ty who saved him. The relief he felt was strong, but anger over the past swirled against it, clouding his vision.
Mark started to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of more electric crackles. Seeing the figures of two men phasing into their time right behind Hardy like something out of Star Trek, Mark dove straight into his former friend and tackled him. They rolled down the slope and into the forest.
Bullets spat up plumes of dirt where they'd stood just moments before. Knowing their best hope was to not break momentum, both men let themselves continue rolling down the slope as far as possible.
"Defense!" Mark called out.
Hardy understood immediately. They'd slowed sufficiently to control their descent, so both men dove toward each other, throwing themselves into a crouching position, back to back. Together, they had a full 360 degree view of the surrounding terrain. Hardy passed Mark one of his handguns.
The shots from the top of the hill had ceased, but neither man expected the attack to resume from there. Their attackers wore shifters like them. Any second, they could hear the electric static from a new shift, and from any direction.
If they heard that, they would have a fraction of a moment to respond, but if Rialto's men shifted into their time far enough away from their position, Mark and Hardy would never hear them coming. With one good sniper rifle, their enemies would be able to pick then off like fish in a barrel.
"We've got to get out of here," Mark breathed.
"No kidding," Hardy replied.
"What year are we in?"
"1834."
Mark began adjusting the settings on his watch. "All right, same day. Twenty years back. We shift on the count of three."
"Roger that."
"One, two,... three ."
The woods shifted oddly in their vision, most trees shrinking, some larger, more mature ones appearing out of nowhere. One that had lain collapsed on the forest floor in front of Mark was suddenly upright and healthy. It was an effect that was still difficult to get used to.
Hardy looked at Mark. "What now, hot shot?"
" Time is the justice that examines all offenders. "
~ William Shakespeare
November 22 nd 1963, Dallas, TX
Ty groaned. He wanted to lift his bloodied face up in defiance of his abusers, but he couldn't summon enough strength. He refused to let them think they'd broken his spirit.
Earlier, Ty had shifted back to the day of the Kennedy assassination in search of traces of their newly discovered nemesis, John Smith.
Unfortunately, Smith had turned the tables on Ty. He didn’t know these men who had kidnapped him, so he’d never seen them coming. He and Mark hadn't even known Smith had henchmen working for him until now.
For all Ty knew, there could be an army of men out there with shifters on their wrists. What if Smith was just the tip of the iceberg?
These men hadn't divulged any info so far, not even their names. Smith was nowhere to be seen, and their apparent leader sported an odd, squarish patch of grey above his brow amidst what otherwise was a solid bush of jet black hair, so Ty mentally dubbed him Grey Tuft.
Grey Tuft had a shifter just like Mark and Ty's, but the other hirelings didn't. Which was a good thing. That would seem to indicate there was a limit on the number of time-traveling goons opposing them.
It was these
The ropes had come along for the ride, but now they dangled loosely from his freed wrists.
The barn was gone. It had been night and was now daylight, probably early morning. Hardy must have shifted them to a time before the barn had existed.
They were in a narrow pasture surrounded by trees. About five feet to Mark's right was a grassy slope that descended into thick woods.
Warring emotions battled inside as Mark studied his rescuer. He would have much preferred it to have been Ty who saved him. The relief he felt was strong, but anger over the past swirled against it, clouding his vision.
Mark started to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of more electric crackles. Seeing the figures of two men phasing into their time right behind Hardy like something out of Star Trek, Mark dove straight into his former friend and tackled him. They rolled down the slope and into the forest.
Bullets spat up plumes of dirt where they'd stood just moments before. Knowing their best hope was to not break momentum, both men let themselves continue rolling down the slope as far as possible.
"Defense!" Mark called out.
Hardy understood immediately. They'd slowed sufficiently to control their descent, so both men dove toward each other, throwing themselves into a crouching position, back to back. Together, they had a full 360 degree view of the surrounding terrain. Hardy passed Mark one of his handguns.
The shots from the top of the hill had ceased, but neither man expected the attack to resume from there. Their attackers wore shifters like them. Any second, they could hear the electric static from a new shift, and from any direction.
If they heard that, they would have a fraction of a moment to respond, but if Rialto's men shifted into their time far enough away from their position, Mark and Hardy would never hear them coming. With one good sniper rifle, their enemies would be able to pick then off like fish in a barrel.
"We've got to get out of here," Mark breathed.
"No kidding," Hardy replied.
"What year are we in?"
"1834."
Mark began adjusting the settings on his watch. "All right, same day. Twenty years back. We shift on the count of three."
"Roger that."
"One, two,... three ."
The woods shifted oddly in their vision, most trees shrinking, some larger, more mature ones appearing out of nowhere. One that had lain collapsed on the forest floor in front of Mark was suddenly upright and healthy. It was an effect that was still difficult to get used to.
Hardy looked at Mark. "What now, hot shot?"
" Time is the justice that examines all offenders. "
~ William Shakespeare
November 22 nd 1963, Dallas, TX
Ty groaned. He wanted to lift his bloodied face up in defiance of his abusers, but he couldn't summon enough strength. He refused to let them think they'd broken his spirit.
Earlier, Ty had shifted back to the day of the Kennedy assassination in search of traces of their newly discovered nemesis, John Smith.
Unfortunately, Smith had turned the tables on Ty. He didn’t know these men who had kidnapped him, so he’d never seen them coming. He and Mark hadn't even known Smith had henchmen working for him until now.
For all Ty knew, there could be an army of men out there with shifters on their wrists. What if Smith was just the tip of the iceberg?
These men hadn't divulged any info so far, not even their names. Smith was nowhere to be seen, and their apparent leader sported an odd, squarish patch of grey above his brow amidst what otherwise was a solid bush of jet black hair, so Ty mentally dubbed him Grey Tuft.
Grey Tuft had a shifter just like Mark and Ty's, but the other hirelings didn't. Which was a good thing. That would seem to indicate there was a limit on the number of time-traveling goons opposing them.
It was these
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