Story 2 - Chapter 2 - SPC11 Team 3

Tyron rounded a bend, the brakes screeching. He grimaced. It amazed him that after all this time the old jalopy still held together. He was almost surprised at how he held together. This job aged you, and sometimes he felt that he had something in common with the car; they were both almost at the point of collapse. He peered trough the fading fog, worried that somehow he had gotten the directions wrong, that perhaps he was not going to make the deadline… No, he couldn’t worry about that. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

The sun peaked over the horizon and he could make out the shadowy shape of the grain in the fields. Tyron pursed his lips. For him, the brightening of the sky was like sand in an hourglass. He spared a glance at his watch and was suddenly jarred forward. He must have hit a pothole on the unpaved road. Ignoring the bruise he was sure would soon form on his forehead, he instead looked to the scenery, hoping that it would distract him from the anxiety eating him up from the inside. But the rolling fields looked so similar it made him feel as if he wasn’t moving. He leaned forward, almost willing himself to go faster. After sometime the crops gave way to grass, and Tyron was surprised to see people in the field on his left. Their drab clothes fluttered in a light breeze as they made their way down a small hill. One of them suddenly turned and started pointing at his car, but the people were soon out of sight, lost in a blur of green. Despite the situation he was in, Tyron smiled. Those people had probably never seen a car in their lives.

Tyron glanced at his watch again. Almost time. He peered through windshield. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the road ahead of him blur into a kaleidoscope of color. Even after all these years it still never failed to amaze him. He braced himself as his car went through the wormhole. There was a short moment of complete silence. Then his car went racing out the other side. Tyron reminded himself to thank Jeremy for opening the wormhole for him if he ever got himself out of this mess. He raced down the road, his sights set on the motel Joe was staying in a mile or two away. It would take more than a little time travel to stop him.

The End

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