My fingers find the dials instinctually. Tune for a time we’d arrive at night. I grab Piper’s hand and depress the pin.
Nothing happens.
“Boss man has the warp clock now,” Jorge says. “Good luck getting anywhere with that paperweight.”
I mutter curses at the lifeless chronometer. We were wrong. These criminals aren’t trying to use the chronometers themselves. They’ve shut them all off in favor of the time gates, knowing no one can find them that way.
“So let’s see how tough you are,” Jorge says. “You got what you wanted.” He waves the knife at me.
“We’ve got bigger fish, Ramirez.” A woman’s voice comes from around the side of the train, and I turn to see the pilot walking up in her jumpsuit. I recognize her as the same woman Mym and I faced off against at Dr. Quickly’s funeral. She seems to have recovered well from the kick Mym gave her. Her tight afro has been teased out farther, and she looks more in her element here. She walks confidently. Probably the confidence you get from having a heavily armed gunship at your disposal. “Franco wants them alive, remember?” She walks up and stands next to the other men. “He has special plans.” She locks eyes with me, but unlike our encounter at the funeral, her gaze isn’t aggressive. She seems to be studying me closely. Why is she sticking up for me?
“Son-in-law here needs a reminder to obey the rules,” Jorge says. “I’m thinking maybe his little girl loses an ear.”
“We didn’t come here for this, man,” Hawaiian Shirt Guy says. “We came to deliver the goods and get paid. Let’s get this nut cracked already.”
Jorge eyes me with disdain. He lowers the knife. “I’ll deal with you later, puto.”
The man with the arm tattoos climbs the steps of the train car and enters. When he comes back, he’s guiding a battered and disheveled looking man in a Nazi uniform. The man is handcuffed and blindfolded, but his distinctive mustache clues me in to his identity. That and the stream of German curses coming out of his mouth. He shouts at the world around him, raging at his captivity. He is guided to the edge of the steps, then the man behind him plants a foot on his lower back and kicks.
Adolf Hitler lands in a heap in the grass.
“Shit, Sal. You’d think he would know how to get off his own train by now.” Hawaiian Shirt Guy laughs and walks over to study the groaning man in the grass.
“Let’s get him roped up,” Sal responds. “These two also. The sooner we get them secured, the sooner we can relax.”
Jorge shouts to some of the natives, and they bring rope to tie us up with. For the third time today I find myself being bound. Hitler is back on his feet and cursing. Piper looks downcast.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’re going to get out of this.”
She looks up but seems unconvinced.
As we are led past the pilot, I catch her eye. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t reply, but she gives me a nod.
That’s twice now she’s chosen not to harm us. Not exactly an ally, but I’ll take what we can get.
We’re led across the clearing, and more of the Native Americans join us. They seem fascinated by the mustached man and his litany of swearing.
I’m not sure why, but I always thought Adolf Hitler would be short. Perhaps I’d assumed his Napoleonic, world-conquering tendencies stemmed from some physical insecurity. But it’s not the case. As he is led through the woods ahead of me, I try to process that I am looking at one of the most despised killers in modern history. I’ve met some terrible people in my life, but the extent of his atrocities makes every scumbag I’ve ever met seem tame.
I address Piper next to me. “Whatever happens here, make sure you stay well away from that man.”
“Well, duh,” Piper replies.
I stare at her for a moment, then nod. “Yeah, I guess that kind of goes without saying.”
We are being guarded by several of the young natives, but the man they called Sal is only a few paces behind us.
“Why kidnap him?” I ask, pointing with my bound hands toward Hitler. “The Nazis have something you want too?”
Sal considers me briefly then spits into the bushes. “We just had to take him out of the equation. That’s done. The rest is for shits and giggles.”
I consider what he’s saying. Taking Hitler out of history isn’t an original idea. Time travelers have been trying it since time travel first went public, but the results don’t always turn out well.
“You know sometimes killing Hitler makes Germany win World War II, right? Some people think his instability is what makes them lose.”
“Not my problem,” Sal says. “Boss man says take him out, we take him out.”
“You mean the Gladiator dude? Is he your boss?”
Sal chuckles. “Nah. I mean the big boss. Ol’ Franco just thinks he’s the boss.”
I still have a lot of questions, but at least I’m getting a few things sorted. Apparently this Franco guy is the Gladiator. Still not sure who this big boss is though.
“Hope your boss knows what he’s doing,” I say. “Looks like you’re making some big changes to history.”
“You better believe he does,” Sal says. “And don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”
By the time we reach the camp, the sun is down and my body is ready to give up on me. My eyes have begun to droop even while walking. I’m not only exhausted, but I stink to the high heavens. I can’t even begin to count the amount of hours I’ve been awake. Fortunately it doesn’t seem like we’re moving again tonight.
The young natives argue with one another about what to do with us but, somewhat inexplicably, Piper and I get tossed back into the same hut we escaped from the last time. The little old lady who was watching us is still there, sitting on the bed and shelling acorns. Apparently the hut belongs to her family, and she has nowhere else to go. We aren’t left to our own devices this time, however. My wrists get securely bound to a support pole of the hut, and I’m forced to sit with my legs wrapped around it and pinned underneath me. It’s a unique position I’ve seen employed before, but I’ve previously only seen it done by high school friends goofing around, mostly torturing underclassmen. I wisely avoided participating in the past, but now I remember why. With my left leg around the pole, and my right leg and foot wrapped rather painfully over my other ankle and squashed beneath me, I wouldn’t be able to escape even if my hands weren’t bound.
Thankfully Piper avoids enduring this treatment for long simply by having skinny legs. As soon as our captors exit the hut, she’s able to finagle her feet out from under herself and sit. She’s still tied to a pole but infinitely more comfortable.
“I’m getting hungry,” she declares from her position at the neighboring roof support. “And I miss Mom. I bet she’d know how to get out of this.”
I think of the stricken look on Mym’s face the moment before she jumped away in London. Where is she? She’s probably worried sick.
“Where’s your mom right now?” I ask, attempting to shift my weight and ease the uncomfortable pressure on my ankle.
“She’s still at home. I don’t think she knows I’m gone.”
“What? How did you manage that?”
Piper splays her legs out in front of her and wags her feet back and forth in a manner I currently envy. “I didn’t tell her I was leaving. I knew she wouldn’t let me go. I thought I’d be home before she ever noticed I was gone.”
I consider what she’s saying. I’ve heard several time travelers bemoan the near impossibility of keeping track of their kids once they become capable of time travel. It’s rare that any would travel on their own so young. I imagine it’s far more rare that they end up trapped in the 1800s with Adolf Hitler. Leave it to my kid to be the prodigy when it comes to running away.
“You must have wanted to get away pretty badly,” I say. “You couldn’t just tell your mom where you were headed?”
“She wouldn’t have let me,” Piper replies. “I ran away to find you because yo
u were supposed to come get me and you didn’t. I knew you must be in trouble and that you needed my help. She said you were probably just forgetful and lost track of which week I was supposed to visit.”
“Visit? Where was I that you had to come visit? Don’t we all live in the same spot in the future?”
“Not anymore,” Piper says. “Not since you and mom split up.”
I thought the sitting position I was in was painful enough already, but her statement hits me right in the gut. I temporarily forget my physical discomfort in the wave of thoughts that overwhelm me. Mym and I are split up? What the hell kind of future is she from?
I study the little girl on the floor across from me. She’s an anomaly; the results of a life lived in an alternate future. But throughout this long and absurdly surreal day, she’s proven herself brave, capable, and unflinchingly positive. What could be wrong with my future self that I’ve screwed up parenting so badly?
It seems insensitive to ask but I can’t help myself.
“What happened? I know it’s kind of not my business, but in a way I guess it is. Do you know why your parents split up?”
Piper looks at her hands and fidgets with a loose end of rope between her fingertips. “I think it’s maybe my fault. I think it’s different now than it used to be because I’m there.”
“Stop. There’s no way that’s the reason.”
Piper looks up at me. “You don’t know that. You weren’t there. That’s the whole problem.” She pivots angrily around the pole, putting her back to me.
“Hey. Piper. That’s not what I meant. I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying that there’s got to be more to it than that. Heck, I’ve only known you for a day, and I already think you’re really cool. Your dad has to be your biggest fan ever.” I wince as I try to get circulation back to my foot. “We’re going to find him, okay? Then he can tell you himself.”
Piper keeps staring at the far wall. “That’s what you said before, but now we’re right back where we started.”
I try to pull myself upward on the pole to release my feet but to no avail. I grunt. “If it helps any, I don’t think we’re exactly back where we started.” I slump back onto my bent ankle. “I think I’m considerably worse off.”
Piper turns and glares at me.
“That was a joke,” I say. “That’s how I deal with adversity when I’m out of ideas.”
“Mom would have ideas,” Piper mutters.
“Yeah. You’re probably right about that.”
My legs are growing uncomfortable to the point of consistent pain. I’m not going to be able to keep my weight off my ankle much longer. When my arms give out sometime soon, I’m likely going to tear a muscle.
Darkness has fallen outside. Someone is laughing down by the river. I hiss through my teeth as I try to find a way to ease the pain in my legs. I look up to adjust myself and find the old toothless woman standing next to me. She seems to be listening more than watching. She walks around behind me. I hold my breath, trying not to annoy her further with my gasping, but finally I have to exhale. My arms are shaking as I struggle to keep myself upright. The woman cocks her head, peers through the darkness, then gives my shoe a swift kick. My foot slides out from underneath my butt, and I’m finally able to fall back and free my leg. I twist my other leg from around the pole and collapse onto my side in relief.
The woman grunts, then says something in her own language before puttering back over to her bed.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She lies down and rolls over to face away from me.
I slump all the way to the floor. My wrists are still bound around the pole, but I can finally relax. Piper is lying down now too. She watches me for a little, then rolls onto her back to stare upward at the few stars we can make out through the hole in the ceiling. The last lucid thoughts I have before drifting off to sleep are that she looks a lot like her mother, and that we’re both still a long way from home.
14
“A time period can become home as easily as any physical location. And the bonds that keep us there are identical: love, duty, and the hope for a better future.” -Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2112
I’ve had some bad nights of sleep before. Uncomfortable. Restless. But I can honestly say I’ve never had a tied-to-a-pole-in-the-1800s level of bad night’s sleep. When I wake up, my back and neck are stiff, and I have aches in muscles I wasn’t even aware I had.
I’m rousted by several of the native youths at sunrise, then permitted to stretch my legs and go about the business of my morning under careful supervision. Going to the bathroom in the woods is an activity not improved by company. Especially when that company is dudes with guns. I do get a chance to splash myself in the river and wash away some of the sweat and stink from my previous day of futile activities. That is the highlight of my day so far.
Piper is likewise being kept under supervision, but I get the impression it’s more of a formality. The disappointed expressions of the young men assigned to guard her clearly indicate that they wish they had been given something more important to do.
The women of the tribe have made some sort of porridge for breakfast, possibly out of acorns, and they gave some to Piper. She’s gracious enough to share a little with me. It’s pretty terrible, but appreciated. I feel like I could eat about anything at this point. After eating, we’re tied up again near a stand of trees while we wait for the group to finish setting up the next time gate.
“Which one is that one again?” I ask Piper for probably the third time.
“That one’s Sal.” She points with bound hands toward the man with the plentiful arm tattoos. He’s unloading electrical equipment from a crate and hardwiring it into the power cells near the solar array.
“And we decided that one is Jimmy,” I say, watching the guy in the Hawaiian shirt curse at a lock on one of the crates.
Figuring out the names of our captors has been the most entertainment we’ve managed this morning.
Hitler has quieted down overnight. He’s no longer blindfolded, and the environment he’s found himself in is no doubt a shock. He’s tied up on the far side of the little beach watching the activity in the camp. He doesn’t look too pleased about his circumstances. The helicopter pilot is guarding him. She has a camp chair set up nearby and a rifle laid across her lap, but her feet are up on a crate and she seems to be giving herself a manicure with a knife. Apparently she doesn’t find guarding the Führer especially taxing.
“Did you figure out her name?” I ask.
“That one’s Vanessa,” Piper says.
She’s obviously been listening a lot more attentively to conversations than I have.
“Why haven’t they let us go yet?” Piper asks.
“What?”
“Mom gave them what they wanted. You heard them say so. If they have what they want, then why haven’t they let us go?”
“I’m not sure it’s going to be that simple.”
“I think they should do what they said they would.”
The question gets me wondering what they do intend to do with us. And with Hitler. If they were just removing him from history, a strategically placed bullet would have sufficed. They obviously have additional plans beyond screwing up history. I’m curious as to what they might be.
We’re one step closer to finding out when Sal and Jimmy get the new time gate working. With the old gate damaged by the helicopter tail rotor, it looks like they opted to set up a new one instead of attempting repairs. Sal is apparently the tech guy of the operation. It doesn’t take him long to have the temporal field emitters tuned and pulsing with light.
Jorge shows up with several more of his Native American friends but not to accompany us. Apparently he’s staying behind to work on his mining project. I’ve managed to avoid eye contact with him all morning, but when we’re untied from our tree and marched to the time gate, we are led right past him. He tilts his head back and appraises me. “You’re lucky, cabron. You
get to leave again. But I think maybe you won’t like where you’re headed.”
I know better than to respond. He looks at Piper. “You better keep your dad in line today, chiquita. Or he won’t last long.”
Piper glares at him but likewise stays silent.
He never asks for his deactivated chronometer back.
The others are packed up, and apparently Hitler is coming too. He studies the time gate with wonder, but goes back to cursing his captors when they shove him toward it. He squirms and tries to get away, but Jimmy and Sal manhandle him through the gateway in short order. They vanish into the ether.
Vanessa gestures for us to get going. She addresses Jorge as we move. “We’ll be back for the shipments. Don’t be forgetting that gold gets split lots of ways.”
“Six months,” Jorge says. “I’ll have you swimming in it by then.”
“Happy to hear it.” Vanessa hoists one of the power packs to haul along with her. “And don’t let these locals eff up my chopper. I’m coming back for her, pronto.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna mess with your bird,” Jorge says. “They call you ‘The Monster Rider.’ I think you scare them shitless.”
“Damn straight,” Vanessa says. “That’s a wise attitude.” She fist bumps Jorge, then picks up her rifle and looks at me. “Okay, we’ve got a lot of time to cross. Let’s get moving.”
Piper and I are led to the time gate. I can’t see the destination on the display screen, but once we are through, I immediately recognize where we are. We’re back in Yesteryear Adventure Park.
Despite our delay on the other side of the time gate, we emerge moments after the others. Hitler looks flabbergasted. He’s staring with wide eyes at the change in scenery. He spins around several times, trying to process what he is looking at and how we’ve gotten here. There is an edge of wonder in his eyes though too. It makes me hope these guys are planning to keep him carefully detained. The last thing we need is a time traveling Hitler running amok in history.
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 172
