In Times Like These Boxed Set

by Nathan Van Coops

  “Well, I don’t think my dad would go this way. I think he’d think of something better.”

  I put my sunglasses into binocular mode and scan the parking lot. “I think I agree with you there. Don’t see much of anything worth heading for this direction.” The crack in the left lens cuts a scar across the landscape. It seems fitting. I take the sunglasses back off and switch them to sleep mode, then tuck them into my jacket. “Come on. Let’s have another look around inside. There has to be something worth finding in there.”

  “You think my dad is here somewhere?”

  I think of the video, but try to ignore the possibility that I know exactly where he is. I could still be wrong.

  “Wouldn’t hurt to look.”

  The winding path back to the pedestrian walkway seems shorter this time. We reemerge into the dusty artificial landscape of the Gold Rush era. I pick a direction and lead Piper along an avenue of Old West façades. There are saloons and boarding houses, and even banks to deposit your treasure. Piper walks over to the building and picks up a golden rock that has spilled from a broken window display. She holds it up. “Is this real?”

  “It’s fool’s gold,” I reply. “Not completely worthless, but pretty close.”

  Piper puts the shiny rock in her pocket and half-skips her way back over to me. She doesn’t seem daunted by our predicament yet. I have to admire that.

  My own feet are beginning to drag a little. The adrenaline of the motorbike chase has worn off, and my energy has ebbed with it. It’s only midday here, but I’ve been awake for what feels like a long time.

  “Keep an eye out for a coffee cart. That’s some treasure I wouldn’t mind discovering,” I say.

  Piper scrunches up her nose. “Coffee is gross. I want an ice cream.” She’s looking at a cart that offers frozen treats. She dashes over to the rusty cooler and opens the lid. Her face falls when she looks inside. She closes the lid with disgust.

  “No joy?” I ask.

  “There’s just dead bugs in there.”

  “Let’s hope those don’t end up being dinner.”

  “Ewwww,” she says. “That’s super gross.”

  I smile at her. “Let’s keep going. We’re going to figure this place out. I want to know why a time gate would lead here. Doesn’t make much sense, but there has to be a reason.”

  Piper catches up to me again. We pass over a bridge and a dried-up, plastic riverbed. The Lewis and Clark Wild River Rapids has a sign that suggests the wait time to be forty-five minutes. We move on and find a sign made of wooden arrows pointing different directions. Each arrow is labeled with a time period like “1860s” or “Early 20th Century.” I opt to head that direction and we approach a raised archway. The archway sign reads “European Theatre.” Above that is a replica of an inline engine fighter plane with red, white, and blue roundels on each wing. The aircraft is banked in a turn and has two angry looking gun barrels protruding from the wings.

  “Seems a bit intense for a kids park, don’t you think?” I ask.

  Piper shrugs.

  We move through the archway and find ourselves overlooking a re-creation of a WWII battlefield. A tank with a Nazi swastika and one with a Soviet star are facing off with one another. Farther along we encounter an American bomber plane with a pin-up girl painted on the nose. It is accompanied by a P-51 Mustang that once must have been a shiny aluminum. Now all of the aircraft are badly corroded and missing pieces.

  A steel roller coaster loops overhead. Dogfight Over London. The sign features a British Spitfire in pursuit of a German Messerschmitt Bf. 109. Despite the deadly reality of the theme, the illustrations and descriptions are depicted with a sort of cheerful theatricality. The aircraft are cartoonish and there is no gunfire to be seen. The park has managed to inject fun into world war history. It makes me wonder what timestream we’re in. I don’t think it would pass the political correctness standards of my own time.

  Piper wanders over to a children’s carousel. In addition to the standard horses, riders can climb aboard seats fashioned as planes, motorcycles, and even miniature tanks.

  Piper studies the ride, then steps up and walks to a motorcycle. “You think one day I’ll learn to ride a motorcycle like you do?”

  “I don’t see why not.” I look around the park trying to figure out our next move.

  Piper swings a leg over the motorcycle and places her hands on the handgrips. But as she does, the ride moves. The entire carousel jolts and rotates amid a squealing of rusted steel.

  Piper shrieks.

  I rush onto the platform and snatch her off the motorcycle as it rises several feet into the air.

  I jump off the carousel and deposit Piper back on the ground as it grinds to a halt.

  “Oh my God,” Piper exclaims. “Did I almost die?”

  The ride has stopped as suddenly as it started, and other than a bit of dust lingering in the air, it has gone back to appearing lifeless.

  “I guess this place still has power.”

  “It tried to kill me,” Piper says.

  “I’m not sure about that, but we should definitely stay off the rides from now on.” I cast a suspicious glance at the array of solar panels behind the ride. “Not sure what brought it to life though . . .”

  Piper is staring hard at the carousel and frowning.

  “Come on. Let’s keep going.” I spot a snack stand advertising Cracker Jack and candied apples. The food is long gone, but there is a map preserved on the interior of the glass. Unlike its counterparts I found on the ground, this one is whole and legible. Piper and I move in to take a closer look at the full scope of the Yesteryear Adventure Park.

  It seems that if we so choose, we can experience historical time periods varying from the time of the Vikings through the Twentieth Century. While most of the park has devoted itself to American history, there are sections showcasing selected events from world history as well. The French Revolution has a corner, and one can even traverse a section of the Great Wall of China, inexplicably passing the Great Pyramids of Egypt along the way, before stopping by the Coliseum in Rome.

  My eye catches on a section of the park labeled “Independence Corner.” The attractions list the Liberty Bell, a Delaware River Crossing Adventure, and Paul Revere’s Wild Ride.

  “That’s where we came from,” Piper says, pointing out the Frontier section of the park and the California Gold Rush attraction. Her finger hovers over the Sutter’s Mill Mine Ride. “Right there.”

  I lean closer and notice a little symbol next to the name. The symbol looks like an hour and a minute hand. The clock hands are positioned directly over the spot we came out of the time gate.

  Curious, I scan the legend, but the description says, “Popular attraction. Possibility of longer than normal wait times.” It doesn’t say anything about the fact that there is an unlicensed time gate hidden in the tunnel. I run my finger over the symbol, noting its appearance in several other locations in the park.

  I find the door to the vending cart unlocked, so I go inside and rip the laminated map from the window.

  “Are you allowed to do that?” Piper says.

  “This doesn’t count as vandalism,” I reply. “Whoever abandoned this place obviously didn’t want it. This is probably the property of some bank at this point anyway, but I’m guessing they won’t care either.”

  “Because they’re all dead?”

  I glance at Piper’s worried face, then the vacant, dusty sky. “Maybe. But let’s hope they just moved.”

  I lead us around the corner to an attraction called “Allied Invasion.” It’s a self-driving vehicle ride. A few amphibious trucks made up to look like troop carriers have been left at various stages of a course that involved motoring through a lake and along a beach before roaming up and down some hills and back. I climb over a railing and head for the rear of the course where the vehicles pass through another tunnel.

  “Where are you going?” Piper asks.

  “I want to investi
gate something.”

  Walking across the dry lakebed with Piper on my heels, I cross the beach to the hillside where the track enters the tunnel.

  I put on my sunglasses and flip them to low-light mode. It’s not as good as real night-vision goggles, but it helps a little. I’m able to make out more of the tunnel details. I step inside and work my way through the darkness.

  “This is creepy,” Piper says. “I don’t like it.”

  “Just stay close. If anything is living in here, we’ll try not to wake it up.”

  The track makes a few bends past re-creations of underground German bunkers before leading to a tunnel exit. The fake blast doors to the bunker are hanging off their hinges, but the hardware around the edges looks familiar. Some of the façade of the wall has fallen away, revealing bundles of wiring and several elaborate temporal field emitters.

  “Bingo.”

  “Another time gate?” Piper asks.

  I shove some debris out of the way and search for the control panel. “Whoever ran this park must have had a little side business going on. Some sort of time travel junction. I’m guessing these might be ASCOTT’s missing time gates.”

  “Where do you think it goes?” Piper asks.

  I locate the control panel for the gate hidden behind a faux boulder. I depress the power button and the display screen comes to life. “You want to show me how to use this thing?” I ask.

  Piper stands next to me and points out the various operations of the control box. It seems, like at the previous time gate, that we have limited options on places to jump to, but there are multiple gates listed as possible exits. The majority of the preprogrammed time slots have been used up, but there are still a few in the mid 20th Century.

  “It’s looking like 1941 is our best bet.” I say. “If we can get there, we’ll still be almost sixty years away from the millennium, but it’s closer to home. At least we’ll be out of this depressing theme park.”

  “It doesn’t show states or countries. Someone deleted the names.” Piper is scrolling through various data fields for our target destination. “We won’t even know where we’re going.”

  “I’m not a big fan of that, but even if there are more time gates in this park, I don’t see any other time periods closer to home on this list.” I scan the map of the theme park, my eyes lingering on Independence Corner. “Nowhere I want to be, anyway.”

  “What about my dad?” Piper says. “We still need to find him.”

  “I think your dad would want you somewhere safe first. If we end up in a stream where we can contact other time travelers, we may be able to reach your grandfather or someone who can pick you up.”

  “I don’t want to get picked up!” Piper says. “I need to save my dad.” She lowers her voice. “You told me you’d help.”

  “I will help. But without chronometers and no idea where we are, we have slim chances at finding him. We need help. You agree we don’t have a lot of options here, right?”

  She crosses her arms but doesn’t speak.

  “Let’s try this gate, and if for some reason we can’t find any help in the 1940s, then we can always jump back, okay?”

  Piper seems to be weighing the options. “You think maybe they took him through this gate? Like they took us through the other one?”

  “Could be,” I say.

  “Okay. I’ll do it then.” Piper uncrosses her arms and studies the array of temporal field emitters. “He would do it for me.”

  I punch up our mystery destination and power on the emitters. A multicolored wave of light illuminates the tunnel and connects the space between the tunnel walls. The colors wash from side to side and swirl around before settling into a consistent pattern of oscillations.

  “I’ll go first and make sure it’s safe,” I say. “Wait maybe thirty seconds, then follow me through, okay?”

  “Okay.” She glances back the way we came. “What if someone comes while you’re gone?”

  “Then come find me.” I grab her by the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  I adjust my sunglasses to compensate for the increased light, then step quickly through the time gate.

  The floor is wobbling.

  I’ve stepped into a narrow space neatly decorated with carpet and a few armchairs. The rocking from side to side is accompanied by a clickety-clack noise that is now recognizable.

  I’m on a train.

  Okay. That doesn’t seem bad. I move to one of the small windows in the cabin and roll up the shade. Wooded hills are rolling by out the window. A mountain range in the distance is topped with snow. A few cattle are grazing lazily in a field. One lifts its head and stares idly at the train as it rolls past.

  “Are we on a Harry Potter ride?”

  I turn around to find Piper standing near the back wall of the cabin.

  “There’s no way that was thirty seconds,” I say.

  “It was on my end. You probably just forgot to set the exit timing right.”

  I glance at the time gate hardware that’s been haphazardly secured to the wall. “That does sound like something I’d forget.”

  “Where are we?” Piper asks.

  “I don’t know. Stay here for a minute and let me look around.” I walk to the door and open it a crack, listening for activity in the corridor. Piper is watching me intently. I hold my finger to my lips and slide the door open a little farther, then I slip outside.

  The windows are dressed with elegant curtains. Wherever we’re headed, we appear to be traveling in style. The pleasant view of the countryside helps a little with the nervousness of trespassing. I move forward. There are muffled voices in some of the other cabins. I pass a couple of closed compartment doors and consider knocking on one, but I opt to look for a ticket agent or some kind of rail official who might be able to tell me where the next stop is. I reach the end of the car and spot someone in uniform stationed between our car and the next. His back is to me but his starched collar protrudes above his jacket. He’s standing stiffly at attention.

  I’ve almost reached the door when footsteps sound on the carpet behind me. I turn to find Piper running a hand along the windowsill, moving toward me with the half-skipping walk she seems to like.

  “I thought you were going to wait in the cabin.”

  “I didn’t want to miss seeing Hogwarts.”

  “I don’t know where we’re headed, but I doubt it’s there.”

  Turning around, I reach for the door handle.

  The man stationed outside has a red and white armband wrapped around his bicep. It gives me a moment’s pause. A placard near the doorframe reads: Führersonderzug Amerika. My sunglasses automatically supply a translation option and a definition that hovers in midair. As soon as I read the words I spin around.

  “Get back to the gate! Right now!”

  “Why?” Piper says.

  “Because this is no Harry Potter Ride. We just boarded Adolf Hitler’s train!”

  12

  “Death doesn’t frighten me. I fear living a life unworthy of the many opportunities I’ve been gifted. That, and bears.” -Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1910.

  We’re halfway down the corridor when one of the compartment doors opens, and two soldiers step into the hall. My breath catches.

  Both men are wearing Nazi uniforms, and one has a pistol holstered at his waist. I grab Piper and bring her to a stop, while frantically pulling up a German translation menu on my sunglasses.

  The man in front of us has short, stiff hair that stabs from under his hat. He looks us up and down and states something in German. Only a few words register in the translation app. “ . . . doing in . . . car.”

  I smile while skimming a list of common German phrases. “Um. Wo ist die Toilette?” I continue smiling while gesturing to Piper.

  Piper gets the message and crosses her knees in an urgent need sort of way.

  The second man whispers something to his companion, narrowing his eyes at me. I get the i
mpression that my accent wasn’t very passable. That and the fact that Piper and I are wearing clothes that are clearly from another time.

  The man reaches for his gun.

  I push Piper behind me and prepare to charge him, just as a tremendous boom resonates from outside the car. The man with the gun wobbles, then regains his balance, but he turns his attention immediately to the window. There’s another sound. A sort of whump whump whump noise. Wait, is that a . . .

  The windows beyond the Nazis explode inward, and bullets rip through the wall of the train. I spin and flatten Piper to the floor as a hail of lead rips through the doors of the passenger compartments.

  The gunfire tears through the train, moving forward, and it rains debris on us as it passes overhead. Then it moves on. I definitely recognize the sound now. A helicopter.

  I lift my head to check Piper. She’s wide-eyed but seems to be unhurt. I spin around to find that one of the men in the hall has vanished, disappeared through the open doorway of their compartment. Only his shoe is visible now, toe pointing skyward. The other man uncovers his head, then gets to his knees. Our eyes meet and he reaches for his pistol on the floor. I’m to my feet quicker and send an instinctive kick to his skull. His head rocks back, then he slumps to the floor. I snatch up the pistol and look out the gaping hole in the wall where the bullets have demolished the window. Outside, I spot what looks to be an Apache attack helicopter pummeling the train with its chain gun.

  “Holy shit.” I grab Piper by the arm. “Come on!”

  Piper steps gingerly over the Nazi’s prone body.

  I drag her down the hallway looking for the larger compartment we came from.

  “You kicked that man. You kicked him right in the face.”

  “He had it coming.”

  “And you said shit. My dad says not to say that.”

  I find the compartment door and fight to get it open. Gunfire has erupted from other parts of the train. It sounds like the Nazis are firing back.

  “I thought you were going to talk to him. Think your way out, or talk your way out. That’s what you always say.”