Revolutionary Unalome

By Robert Grisham

Traveling to the past didn’t make Jake Strader a time traveler, it made him an outcast. His mission, if you could call it that, was to find whatever had triggered the apocalypse and stop it. For the powers that be, either way was a win for them. He was out of their hair even if he failed, and if he actually found the trigger, all the better.
For Jake, it was life in the big city before the crash: every night, wine, women, and song… until he met her. Like a train barreling down on then, the apocalypse seemed unstoppable. He saw his girlfriend as someone important tied to those tracks. Unable to get her out of the way, he’d have to stop the metaphoric train. Trouble was, he wasn't the only one here from the future, and they had missions of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359777594

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Revolutionary Unalome

Revolutionary Unalome

Robert Grisham / Author

A Heartbeat Away Copyright 2013 Robert Grisham

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-0-359-77759-4

The Call

Run swift to hazard’s hold,

Race, my watchmen and champions bold.

In this war between doves and snakes,

Cunning and courage the winner makes.

Time is stubborn, days are short.

New game, new rules, a contact sport,

For God, for Country, for flag, for fame,

The fight is yours, no other to blame.

Though to all good things there comes an end,

Fight on! Come evil’s day, do not bend.

So contend with honor, lest someone observe,

In the hour of need, you’ve lost your nerve.

There is time to falter, stumble, and fall,

And time, oh watchman, to rise to the call.

So rise.

From J.B.Tenstead’s book,

The Searchers. ©2063

One

The first time Jacob Strader encountered James Gentry, he drove a knife through the man’s hand to pin him to a wall.

The last time Strader saw him, ended with Jacob’s girlfriend in cuffs, hauled off to jail for slicing open Gentry’s throat from ear to ear. This isn’t to say Gentry didn’t deserve either event. The punk had an abundance of stupid rattling around between his ears; so much so, no one believed he’d make it to adulthood.

This troubled relationship between the two men started with knives drawn in a dead-end alley.

***

Exasperated, Micaela Franca considered her cell phone with disgust, then hung up on the police, and turned to her father. They aren’t coming.

Guálter drove his cleaver through the chicken leg into the cut board harder this time. Is New York. he said in broken English. They are never come to Little Portugal, never.

I’m going over there.

"Micaela, you are bare feets in pajamas. Upstairs to dressing for you, now."

No time.

He slammed his cleaver into the cupboard and lifted angry eyes to her. What are you to doing? You are only girl. Bad mans is for to hurting you, too. I’m say no! Micaela, you are stay here!

Micaela scowled at him, tugged up her sweatpants, and headed out the back door to the gang that had gathered in the alley across the street.

***

Walden Campos awoke to a stream of warm water on his face. He coughed and gagged and shook himself, then sat up.

Standing over him, Jimmy Gentry zipped up. The others with him laughed as if old Walden deserved what he got. Walden himself couldn’t disagree. He was a miserable soul in a miserable place leading a miserable life. What was he to anyone? What was he to Gentry but someone to piss on?

Jimmy (the shiv) Gentry, punk that he was, was nothing like his father. While he lived, his dad, old James Sr, was a shrewd "businessman who kept the cops at bay by keeping the peace. He was no one to cross, though. The local merchants grudgingly bought his affordable" protection—his methods of salesmanship dubiously persuasive. Some believed he had stock in the drug market as well, and prostitution, among other elicit holdings, but no one could prove a thing. With him, everything was on the sly, and everyone owed him their silence.

His son, though, wasn’t nearly as bright. Growing up, Jimmy was a wild boy who wouldn’t listen to reason, learn good business tactics, or find value in his dad’s wisdom. With him, it was all show and flash and brute force. Backed by his crew of fifteen or so older teens that following him everywhere and hung on his every word, no one escaped his notice. Young and shortsighted, he cared more for his ever growing ego than he did for money.  He and his gang took pleasure in kicking over trash cans, breaking street lamps, spraying graffiti on everything within reach, and causing general mayhem wherever they went. They were a loud, bothersome lot who got their kicks terrorizing an otherwise peaceful neighborhood.

Every now and again, to counter the gang activity in Little Portugal, some soft-spoken visionary with a badge stepped in to make a difference in the boys’ lives, but that wouldn’t last. Jimmy Gentry saw to that. Now there was this.

Wakey wakey, old man! Jimmy cooed sarcastically.

***

Walden looked up into the handsome face of the early twenty-ish man-child. His innocent boyish smile didn’t hide the malevolence behind it.

Wally, old boy, you’re sleeping in my street again. You know what I told you about doing that.

I was drunk, boss. Sometimes old Walden doesn’t know where he is. I didn’t mean nothing.

Jimmy’s cheeks rose to a toothy grin. You come into a man’s home and lay down wherever?

Jimmy Gentry! Micaela shouted as she crossed the street. You leave that man alone!

He glanced at her then back at his boys. The guy lies down in my toilet that I can’t use it without waking him, Micaela, and you make out like I’m the bad guy here.

The boys snickered, and Jimmy turned back to Walden.

Though some tried to block her, Micaela pushed her way into the throng.

No, man, Jimmy said softly. There’s a price to pay. You know that. If I let it go, it’ll set a bad precedent. You don’t want me to set a bad precedent, do you? What would people think?

Micaela struggled to get closer. The young men holding her didn’t let that happen.

No, boss, Walden said, I’ll be careful next time. I won’t get so drunk I don’t know where I am. Please.

Jimmy pulled out his large, German switch-blade and triggered it. Walden recognized the blade he traded a year ago for a half bottle of whiskey, and only now remembered who he had traded it to. The dull colored, dark gray knife was suddenly there. It was long and, when it touched Walden’s cheek, razor-sharp.

Gentry! Micaela shouted. Stop!

What will it be today, Wally, old boy: Pincushion Joe or Pick-a-finger?

Pincushion Joe, someone said.

Yeah, a few others agreed. Several knives appeared; some worth owning, others little more than sharpened metal scrap with wrapped cloth grips.

Walden Campos raised his hands and backed away from the blade toward the alley’s exit, toward the street. He winced when a couple of sharp points pricked his back. Pincushion Joe, they started to chant. Sharp points pierced his shirt and cut his skin.

Oh, I don’t know, Jimmy said. I want a souvenir.

A what?! Micaela screamed.

A finger, he answered offhandedly. A wrinkled old finger.

Micaela recoiled.You’re sick!

Jimmy looked at her. I think it’d make an awesome keychain fob. My uncle has a rabbit’s foot. Big whoop. But a human finger ...

No, boss, Walden pleaded. I won’t do it again, honest.

Yeah, but… Jimmy said. I kinda like your getting in my way. Gives me something to do on these lazy Saturdays. Then, as if he had a new idea, Jimmy’s brows raised. I know, I’ll take your finger, but only down to the first knuckle. You pick which one. After that, my boys’ll play pincushion with you. Everybody wins, right?

Over my dead body, you sick scum. Micaela spat.

Jimmy shot her an amused grin. Wait your turn, girlfriend. I’ll get to you soon enough.

With nowhere to turn, Walden Campos fell to his knees panic-stricken, and started to sob.

A couple of the boys grabbed Walden and yanked him to his feet.

Gentry took hold of his trembling hand, nearly breaking fingers to open the old man’s clenched fist. Don’t fight it, Wally. It’ll only make it worse. You want a clean cut, don’t you? If you struggle, it’ll be all raggedy.

NO! he and Micaela shouted simultaneously.

The blade started to cut into his little finger at the first knuckle. A dirty hand clamped over his mouth, cutting short the old man’s scream. He bit. The hand jerked away.

No, boss. Please, I…

Jimmy, knock it off! Micaela ordered.

Gentry looked at her and his brows leveled. "I said, wait your turn. I will get to you."

You were a punk in high school, Jimmy, and you haven’t changed a bit.

He smiled. First things first, girlfriend. Piece of him now, a piece of you afterward. Then my boys’ll form a line. He grinned. Chugga chugga choo choo.

Let go my Micaela! Guálter shouted. In his bloody apron, he started across the street with his raised cleaver.

One of the boys holding Micaela put a knife to her throat. Stop right there, old man.

Halfway across the street, wide-eyed Guálter stopped his advance. Sharp or dull, at that distance, his clever was worthless.

Two

Walden Campos turned to his tormentor when the knife started to cut into his finger. Behind Jimmy, at the back end of the alley, a billowing cloud bloomed. He blinked at the expanding ground level thunderhead. Within the heaving smoke, silent lightning flashed and multicolored fire throbbed and undulated. Mouth agape, Walden stared at the spectacle in disbelief. Then, as quickly as it had come, the cloud suddenly receded as if sucked back into the wall, leaving two men in its place.

At first, Walden thought they were angels come to save him. He shook his head and blinked again. On second thought, they looked like asylum-seeking refugees fresh off the boat from hell. Each, with a rucksack slung over his shoulder, carried a suitcase as weathered and tattered as its owner. They looked around to consider their surroundings until their eyes fell on Walden and the punks hurting him.

Walden didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was this the booze or his desperation making him see things? He shook his head and blinked again. The men remained. One, the taller of the two, smiled at him, and Walden felt a glimmer of hope.

"Where did they come from?" one boy said.

Without releasing Walden’s hand, Jimmy turned to see what had captured everyone’s attention.

Comic-Con, said another, trying to be funny. Look at him. That’s Booker Dewitt from Bioshock Infinite.

Comic-Con is next month, stupid countered the first.

Nice getups though, another boy said.

The others sniggered.

Bioshock? said one of the younger boys. No way. He’s Sebastian Castellanos from ‘The Evil Within’.

Shuddup! Gentry said as the two men approached. They’re just two more bums looking to get whizzed on.

The newcomers exchanged looks. You looking to get sozzled, Grayson? said the taller of the two.

Not me, Jacob, said the blond. Sounds like foolish talk from an idiot child.

Gentry grinned. And this from two retards who just stepped out of a video game. Aren’t you boys a little old to be playing dress up?

Walden didn’t care who they were, as long as they didn’t walk past unconcerned. They looked to be near Jimmy’s age, just not as juvenile.

Without taking his eyes from the newcomers, Gentry yanked his knife, taking the old man’s fingertip.

Walden screamed and jerked free to hold his now bloody nub in callused fingers as the viscous red fluid flowed between them to begin a journey down his hand and wrist into his sleeve.

As the borough’s tough guy, Jimmy Gentry had a rep to maintain; one of which he didn’t want to lose to street bums. He tossed the finger at the taller of the two, the one the blond called ‘Jacob.’ It hit his vest and fell to his feet.

Walden looked past his pain to concentrate on the encounter.

Jacob threw Jimmy a puzzled look that quickly turned to perplexed disapproval. That’s it? he said softly That’s the first impression you want to leave me with, one that says you’ll not survive this day?

Oh, God, Walden thought, if trouble had a name, it’d be Jacob. The man’s expression instantly set everyone on edge. Hellbent. Deliberate. Deadly. Walden felt his own blood run cold.

The look in Grayson’s face, passive indifference, said he was used to this sort of thing. Oh, not good, he said with his concern aimed at Gentry.

Jimmy’s not-so-veiled threat had inadvertently crossed a line with this Jacob fella.

No, Jacob answered Grayson, as he set down his suitcase and rucksack. That wasn’t very bright at all.

Walden marveled as he considered Gentry. It seemed, surprisingly, that Jimmy regretted the choice he had made in drawing this new guy into his business. Clearly, it didn’t garner the response he had hoped for.

Gentry looked back to see if his posse was with him. He needed them now more than ever. They were.

Micaela though, the look in her eye—‍one of mystified admiration‍—said she saw something in the newcomers Jimmy lacked.

A few of the older boys stepped forward to stand with Jimmy, and to block any escape either man might make. It was then that the second newcomer set down his pack and case. Like the first, his movements were smooth, paced, and deliberate.

Look here, Booker, Jimmy said to the taller of the two now stepping forward. Each footfall brings you that much closer to a world of pain.

With a thin smile, Jacob didn’t slow his determined stride. Get that from a book?

One boy nudged another. Considering his clothes, think he knows about Bioshock Infinite?

I don’t know, said the other. Let’s find out. Hey, guy, it’s a video game. You know it?

Jacob ignored him.

No? Never mind. Red-faced, he shifted nervously.

As the man stepped forward, he measured each boy critically before looking past Jimmy to Walden. You okay, old man?

Still clutching his bloody hand, Walden nervously glanced at the knife-wielding boys.

Left-handedly, Jimmy raised his blade, but kept his grip loose and casual as he twirled it threateningly toward Jacob. "Welcome to the bad side of town, Jake," he said with a smirk.

Southpaw, huh? You know how to use your right hand?

No, Jimmy sneered, then laughed as if he had wrapped that simple, single, one syllable word in utter brilliance.

The stranger snatched his knife and drove it into the brick wall, pinning Jimmy’s hand in the process. Too bad.

Stunned by his own knife locking him to the brick, Jimmy’s scream came almost as an afterthought.

His crew, caught off guard, hesitated nervously. One boy, a young twenty-something named Pete, raised his large, single-edged Bowie knife, and lunged.

Jacob deflected and slammed his shoulder into Pete’s chest, driving him against a wall. The Bowie knife, now in Jacob’s hand, pressed against Pete’s neck. Really? You want to die?

Stunned terror instantly filled Pete’s face.

Gripping Pete’s leather jacket, Jacob shoved the younger man back into the others. Come at me again, punk, and you will.

Let’s get him! another shouted a man Walden believed the others called Fidel. With raised knife, he took a step forward, but he was alone.

Screw that, Fidel said another young man. Pete’s best with a knife, and he lost it just like that.

This is our turf, Fidel insisted. We don’t give it up to street crap.

Jacob cocked his head like an amused dog pondering a hissing kitten, and smiled like he couldn’t believe these guys ruled the neighborhood.

Fidel stepped forward, his knife at the ready, and moved to put Jacob’s back to the boys.

Still puzzled by his knife-wielding opponent, Jacob didn’t take a fighting stance. Someone’s going to get hurt, Fidel, and it ain’t going to be me, he said calmly as he raised the Bowie, which was twice the size of Fidel’s folding blade. Then, as if to offer the younger man a fighting chance, Jacob flipped the Bowie to hold by the blade’s end, it’s hilt out toward Fidel. Trade?

Walden looked back at Micaela who now stood, mouth agape. The other gang members watched tensely.

Jacob shook it in an offhanded offer to his opponent. "Come on, Fidel. I’m giving you a fighting chance. Don’t let