“I feel like Grimace just gobbled me up and shat me out,” Hildy says, rubbing her temples. I’m about to question her knowledge of McDonald’s, but then I remember she’s watched a lot of media from my time. And apparently, she didn’t limit herself to sci-fi and action movies. She watched commercials, too. Weird.
Burnett wakes with a gasp. He slaps his body all over, checking to make sure all of him is there. When he’s convinced he’s whole, he sighs with relief, and then he feels the discomfort of waking.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“There were two of me,” he says, “when we were rotating. Felt like I was being torn apart.”
“Turns out that’s not impossible.” I motion to BigApe and Adrik.
Burnett unbuckles, stands, nearly falls over, but then sees the pair of men lying on the floor. “Adrik is…”
“What’s wrong with Adrik?” BigApe asks, his voice groaning. His eyes blink open. He’s staring at the ceiling. “Are we dying? I feel like we’re dying.”
“Only one of you,” Drago says, sullen. He returns to his station, eyes on the floor.
“What does he—” A spasm rolls through BigApe’s body. His eyes go wide. “I felt that. All of that.” His arms come up. He makes fists. “I’m back…” To me, he asks, “Am I back?”
I nod and attempt to smile, but he sees through it.
“What’s wrong? Where’s—” He turns to the side. Sees Adrik’s weird, faceless body. Pushes himself away from it, jumps to his feet, and stumbles back against the wall. He’s disoriented from the rotation, but probably also because he hasn’t had full control of a body in a long time. He manages to hang on to my shirt, though, keeping it held in place.
Before he can say anything, his left arm juts up. His pinky flails around like a worm on a hook.
What the…
“Oh my God,” BigApe says. “He’s here. He’s still here.”
“Like a ghost?” Burnett looks around the bridge like he might be able to spot Adrik’s specter.
Drago is back on his feet. “What do you mean, still here?”
“We’re still bonded,” BigApe says. “But now…he’s inside me. In my head mostly. And…” He holds up his hand. The flailing finger points toward Drago. “He says not to mourn him. That he had his time. And now it’s…”
BigApe tears up a bit. “Thank you, friend,” he says to the man inside him. He nods like he’s hearing a response, then turns to me. “We want to know what the hell happened.”
“We all do,” Chuy says, entering the bridge. She’s covered in some kind of strong-smelling cleaning liquid. And she’s not happy about it.
“Better if I show you,” I say, taking my seat. I take control of Bitch’n and with a subtle burst of the port thrusters, I turn us toward…
Hildy snaps to her feet, excited. “Is that Earth? Are we at Earth?”
“But…” Burnett is confused. “Isn’t this where the Minutemen went?”
“It is,” I say. “About a thousand years from now.”
Chuy grabs my shoulder. Spins me around. “We’re home?”
“We traveled through time, again?” Drago asks, taking a seat as he looks at the view.
“Yes,” I say to Drago, and then to Chuy. “Almost.”
“What do you mean, almost?”
“We left in 1989. If the Europhids didn’t miss the mark by thirty years this time, this is 2026.”
“That’s when things kick off with the early Union,” BigApe says. “When the revolution began, and you became their leader.”
I nod. “But this time, I’m thirty-two years younger, I know what’s coming, and I’ve got a God-damned spaceship and the best team of badasses anyone could ask for. We won the war for the future, but the fight for the past is still a goat that needs fucking.”
“Hell, yes!” Burnett says. “We’re going to fuck some goats!”
Chuy has a laugh. “He knows the goats aren’t literal, right?”
I shrug. “Hard to say, because, you know, the pillow. Also, goats aren’t extinct yet.”
“No,” she says. “They aren’t.” And then she catches me off guard with a kiss. It’s tense at first. Strange and unknown. But then I relax into it, slip my arms around her waist, and pull her closer.
When we separate, Burnett and Hildy, now on their feet, start cheering and clapping.
“Yes! I’ve always hoped!” Burnett says.
Hildy grabs his cheeks, pulls him in, and gives him a puckery kiss on the lips. It’s not long, or particularly sexual—closer to something a grandmother would lay on an unwilling grandchild—but Burnett swoons back into his chair, a funny smile on his face.
“I think I speak for all of us,” BigApe says, “when I ask, can I have some fucking clothes, please?” His pinkie goes bananas. “Right, also, we’re with you. Whatever you need.”
I thought this moment would feel better. A recognizable Earth without the Union. The human race a bit saner. Confined to the one and only planet we call home. But the cost to get here was great. Porter, Morton, Whip, Benny, and even Carter are dead. I had to leave Brick behind. And now, instead of a happy victory lap, I need to root out the source of an impending evil empire and cut it down.
The weight on my shoulders is heavier than ever.
Chuy seems to read my mind, hands on my shoulders, head beside mine. “It’s not your burden to carry alone. Let us help you.”
I smile, slip an arm around her waist again, and then say, “We’ll get started in thirty minutes.”
Chuy calls bullshit with a raised eyebrow. “Fifteen at best.”
Before the others can question what we’re talking about, I trigger the PSD and rotate away with Chuy. We land in my bed, already removing clothing. Motion in my periphery freezes me in place.
It’s outside my porthole.
In space.
I do a slow turn, and reel back when I see a man in a spacesuit…behind the wheel of a red and black sports car.
“Fifty bucks says a rich white guy did this,” Chuy says.
“I don’t have fifty dollars.”
“Then I’ll just have to find another way for you to pay me back.” She tackles me back into the bed, straddles me, and pulls off her shirt, undeterred by the lifeless peeping Tom sailing past.
EPILOGUE
It’s been six months since we arrived in the future-past. Took us that long to reestablish ourselves back on Earth, not as ourselves, who disappeared thirty-seven years ago, but as new people, with new names and histories.
Technology in 2026 is sleek and sexy, closer to the Minutemen aesthetics, but Union tech is still far more advanced. With Hildy behind the keyboard, we’ve been able to fabricate detailed backstories, get social security numbers, degrees, and bank accounts with enough money to start a revolution.
While all that was happening, we scoured the planet’s rich and powerful, searching for signs of racist bent. Found plenty. Some of it was painfully blunt and systemic—the kind of thing I thought relegated to the years before MLK. But we’re not looking for a loud, blunt instrument. We’re looking for a keen mind who knows when to strike, when to stay quiet, and how to start a white supremacist movement without anyone noticing—until it’s too late.
Haven’t found him yet, but when we do… Well, let’s just say it’s not going to be a fun day for the Fourth Reich. We’re going to abort that shit before it can ever leave the womb.
But first…
The six of us are gathered on a man-made green hillside. At the top, where the view of the ocean is best, are two gravestones. The first reads, ‘Porter — A loyal friend, a dedicated soldier, and a mind without comparison.’ The second, ‘Morton…’ which is followed by his favorite quote. ‘I went through shit, and came out clean on the other side.’
Took us a long time to bury them, because I wanted to do it right. Waited until we were ‘real’ people. Until we had money. And a home. And land to put them in.
Burnett spoke. About brotherh
ood. And friendship. And sacrifice. Nearly broke my damn heart. Even Drago was wiping his eyes.
Now all that’s left is to shovel the dirt over them…a task I demanded I do alone. Burnett, Hildy, Drago, and BigApe head back to our compound hidden in the trees of what was previously Anastasia State Park in St. Augustine, Florida. To get the land, we simply had to fake an environmental disaster, and then buy it from the state on the cheap, with a promise to clean it up. The sixteen-hundred-acre peninsula is populated by moss-filled trees that hide what’s going on beneath. Also: alligators. Walkways cross the dunes, leading to our very own private beach, where, if you swim deep enough, you’ll find what looks like a submarine parked on the ocean floor.
It’s a nice place to live. Light years better than the inside of a space dump. Bitch’n served us well, and still does, but I hope to never call her home again.
Burnett puts his arm around Hildy as they walk away. They’re officially a thing, and they still represent the kind of innocent, loving people I hope the world can achieve. Seeing as they were both from a future where Nazis were in charge for a thousand years, it gives me hope for the people of this era. If a couple raised in the Fourth Reich can see me as just another person, maybe the rest of the world can, too.
A shovel digs into earth. It’s Chuy.
I’m about to complain. That I want to do it alone.
“Don’t even say it, joder aliento.”
“Fuck breath? Classy.” I pick up the second shovel, happy she’s here.
Then we move dirt in silence for an hour. It’s a sad moment, but I’m at peace.
For now.
This morning we launched a Minutemen website. There’s a questionnaire. A manifesto. A FAQ. All of it’s anonymous, but it allows people to send us tips, to sign up for the newsletter, and join the not-yet revolution. It’s also a place where those who oppose our vision can lash out and put themselves front and center on my radar. It’s a big pain in the ass, but the future Minutemen, and even the Europhids, don’t know who launched the white power movement that’s been building steam for a few years now, into an established government superpower. So, it’s up to us to find them, and hopefully stop them before America finds itself in another civil war. No idea if the website will work. From what I understand of the Internet during this time, these things are hit or miss.
But Hildy is ‘doing the socials’ and advertising. All of it under a shell company owned by people who don’t exist. The rest of us are prepping for the future we all hope to avoid—amassing guns, ammo, and a shit-ton of canned beans. Because: Wolverines. Those beans always looked good to me.
By the time I tap the soil flat and lay down the carved-out grass, the sun is setting. Wispy clouds overhead glow pink and orange. Out over the ocean, the sky is dark purple.
Chuy stabs her shovel into the ground and stands beside me. Links her fingers with mine.
“They would have liked this,” she says. “I’m glad you waited.”
I turn to her. She’s lit by the sunset, covered in dirt and sweat. The moment is perfect. Our happy-for-now ending. I reach into my pocket. Pull out my phone.
“What are you doing?” Chuy asks.
“You know how I like everything to have a soundtrack…” I tap the play button. The happy guitar rift of I’m Gonna Be by the Proclaimers fills the air, followed by a foot-tapping beat and lyrics that make even the grouchiest person smile.
Chuy wraps her arms around my neck. “Would you? Walk five hundred miles?”
“I’d cross the galaxy.” We lean in, to kiss.
“Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick. Like a couple of horny teenagers, you two.” It’s a gray-haired woman in a tight-fitting, very colorful power suit that suggests she’s far more comfortable with her body-type than she should be. The sass in her eyes makes it work, though. She motions to the graves. “Sorry for your loss.”
“The park is closed,” I tell her.
“That’s cute,” she says. “Saw your website.”
“Our website?” Chuy asks, trying to sound casual, but failing horribly.
“Sounds like you might be up to no good,” she says.
I tense. The woman is old, but confident. Powerful.
And white.
She chuckles at me. “Oh, come now. You look like you’ve got a dick in your ass.”
“Huh?” is all I manage to say.
She shakes her head and tsks. “You need to work on your communication skills, or this is going to be the shortest damn revolution ever.”
“Lady,” I say. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“I’m here to help.”
“How can you help?” Chuy asks.
“Aside from satiating the troops’ carnal needs?” The woman smiles. Offers her hand for me to shake. “Name’s Winnie.”
I stop the music and shake her hand.
“We just put the website up this morning,” Chuy says. “How did you—”
She rolls her eyes. “We’ve been watching you since you thought it was a good idea to steal a car from orbit, and then drive it around St. Augustine. At least you stole one of the prototypes. The publicized car Elon launched is currently coasting past Mars.”
Chuy backhand slaps my shoulder. “Told you that was stupid.”
Winnie gets a look in her eyes, like she’s hearing God speak to her. Then she says, “Look, I represent some folks who are interested in what you’re up to, where you came from, and what you plan to do with that shit-shaped spaceship out there in the water. We’re not the bad guys, but we need to make sure you aren’t either. Then we can talk about la revolucion. Agreed? Estupenda.”
Before I can reply, she’s walking away. “I’ll be in touch.”
A helicopter roars overhead. Looks fast. Like it cost a lot of money.
“That’s it?” I catch up to her. “You can’t just drop all this on me and bail.”
She stops. Looks me in the eyes. “Sure I can, Moses.” She smiles as the helicopter descends. “Looking good for a man my age.” She gives me a quick up and down. Gives me a different kind of smile. “Let me know when you get bored of G.I. Jacinta over there. For now, I need to introduce myself to some folks in Boston.”
She ducks down as the helicopter lands twenty feet away. I watch her go, feeling beyond confused. Then she stops suddenly. Turns around. Shouts over the loud rotor and the whooshing wind. “Hey! I’m not your only visitor! There’s someone in the lodge!”
The lodge was once a visitor’s center. Now it’s where we all live while the rest of our facility is being built. It’s also where the others went.
I sprint away as the helicopter whisks the strange woman into the sky. No idea if she was telling the truth about anything. She might very well be the brains behind the Fourth Reich’s rise. But the Europhid presence in my mind, which occasionally flares when danger is near, had no reaction to the woman.
“What’s wrong?” Chuy asks, as I run toward her.
“Intruder in the lodge,” I say.
She’s by my side a moment later, both of us drawing the sidearms we keep with us at all times. We rotated together, emerging just outside the lodge’s front door, which we shove open. We step into the large living space—leading with our guns. A quick sweep reveals only surprised familiar faces seated in the room’s leather furniture.
“Whoa!” Burnett says, raising his hands.
Drago laughs at me. “Looks like little mouse, afraid of cat in house.”
“Stand down,” BigApe says, placing a hand on my weapon. Lowering it. “We’re all friends here.”
“Speaking of that,” Hildy says. “We have—”
Motion draws my eyes to the kitchen.
A man in a Stetson steps into the doorway. He’s got two revolvers hanging from his hips.
My gun comes back up, as I shove BigApe to the floor. Chuy takes aim as well.
Before either of us can consider whether to take a shot, the stranger has drawn both revolvers and fired—one
bullet from each. My gun snaps out of my hand, landing beside Chuy’s on the floor.
He disarmed us both, faster than I could think.
Chuy and I give each other a ‘How the fuck?’ look, and then I rotate from the living space to the kitchen, emerging from the fourth dimension directly behind the man. I draw my knife, slip it against his throat, and say, “Who the hell are you?”
He slowly raises his hands, letting the revolvers dangle.
“I was trying to tell you,” Hildy says, a little angry. “He’s here to help. Saw the website, apparently.”
“The website doesn’t give our location,” Chuy points out. “You said it would be a secret.”
Hildy frowns. “It was.”
“Kind of feels like you put us in the yellow pages,” I say, and then to the man, I ask, “How did you find us?”
The man shrugs. “I have my ways.”
The accent is… “Russian?” I ask. Maybe he’s a friend of Drago’s.
“Czech,” Drago says, sounding bitter. “Apparently, Soviet Union decided to remove troops from Czechoslovakia.”
“Czech Republic,” the man corrects.
“Whatever,” Drago says. “Is now independent country, like other Soviet states. Blah, blah, blah, America. Freedom. Apple pie.”
“His name is Milos Vesely,” Burnett says, “and he’s really nice.”
I decide to trust my people. If Drago and BigApe thought the man was a threat, they’d have shut him down. I remove the knife from his throat and step around him. “Okay Milos, why the hell are you here?”
“Same reason you are. I am gunslinger. Am Cowboy.” He gives a lopsided smile. “And I hunt Nazis.”
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