Chapter 9: Racing the Flames

---

Chapter Nine

I pulled out my phone, wanting to call my son and tell him to stop.

My fingers fumbled for my phone, already dialing, rehearsing what I'd say: "Tyler, don't go back. Stay with your friends. Trust me."

But when I opened my contacts, I suddenly realized—

The phone in my hand was all wrong—Face ID, apps I didn’t recognize, none of the old contacts. Like I’d brought a piece of the future into a world that wasn’t ready for it.

No service, no signal. A relic out of time, just as lost as I was.

There wasn't even a single bar of signal.

No matter where I stood, no matter how many times I restarted, the little "x" in the corner never changed.

Since I couldn't reach him, I had to rush out of the gaming lounge immediately, trying to catch up with my son.

I shoved the phone in my pocket and bolted for the door, barely sparing the boys a backward glance. My legs moved on autopilot, fueled by adrenaline and terror.

I had to find a way to stop him.

Maybe I could catch him at the crosswalk, or on the next block. If I could just get close enough—

Then I could use his phone to call his homeroom teacher.

The plan was half-formed, desperate. Maybe the adults could clear the building, sound the alarm, anything.

With this plan in mind, I ran like mad—harder than I had in the past five years.

My heart thundered, my breath burning in my chest. Old injuries flared, but I didn't care. I dodged teenagers, leapt over trash cans, ignoring the pain.

But to my dismay, the moment I'd traveled back to was already too late.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard shouting, the blare of alarms. The taste of smoke filled the air.

Barely five minutes after I'd started running, I was only halfway there.

My legs felt like lead, every step slower than the last. I screamed Tyler's name, but the wind stole the sound away.

Far ahead, thick smoke was already rising.

A black column against the orange sky, sirens wailing. It was happening all over again.

Flames soared into the sky.

The world burned, just as it had before.

As the fire raged, I could smell burning plastic and hear the distant, guttural wail of a mother’s scream. Helpless, I watched history repeat itself.