Portals in Time 1

by Michael Beals

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Before coming to West Fork, I was cautioned to be careful because you are at war with your neighbor.”

  “Been going on for years, hard to say how long. You lose track of time living in Hell.” McInnes snorted a quiet laugh. “It’s kinda like the Civil War. I’m a Yankee, born, and bred, and my rival’s an out-and-out Southerner. He calls himself Colonel Oakley. Many years ago, there used to be a wide strip of no-man's-land between the two mines, but Oakley keeps eating into it. Pretty soon, there won’t be a no-man's-land. So we’re fighting it out.”

  “Well, we’ll try not to get in your way. What’s the score if we want to scout Oakley’s mine?”

  “No skin off my nose. You’re welcome to film wherever you want.”

  She looked around and immediately noticed a demon sitting in the opposite corner of the saloon. Not only was he heavily muscled, his forearms positively bulging, he also wore crumpled western clothes, carrying a gun, and a mean expression. If Kat had come across him in the street, she might have been tempted to cross to the other side. More disturbingly, he was eyeing up Dore.

  “Well, that’s very nice of you. Who’s the lizard with the Colt .45?”

  McInnes shifted in his seat. “You wanna steer clear of that one. His name’s Rostock; they call him Billy the Kid. Rub him up the wrong way, and he’ll shoot you quick as look at you. He’s supposed to be a Federal cop, but we don’t have cops at West Fork. Bad enough having a sheriff. My men and I control all the troublemakers. If they don’t do as they’re told, we send them underground.”

  “Really? I thought all the mining was open cast.”

  “Oh, we got a gold mine. Ain’t much down there. Got cleaned out years ago, but no harm looking. It’s not like we have to pay for the labor.”

  “I noticed a railway station. Is that how the new labor comes in?”

  “Sure is.”

  Kat looked around again. Billy the Kid had sat down at a card game, and the demons he was playing with, looked just as disreputable. Billy was eyeing Dore up, and down.

  “Well, I guess we should check into the hotel. Can we borrow one of your Jeeps tomorrow, you know, to scout locations? We’ll pay for it, of course.”

  “Sure. You can also use the helicopter if you pay for the fuel.”

  Thanking McInnes, they checked in at the small reception desk and booked three rooms, but Giselle objected.

  “I’m not sleeping on my own in a place like this,” she said, clutching her overnight as if someone might snatch it from her. “Can’t I sleep with you?”

  Kat shrugged. “If they’ve got twin beds, yeah, sure you can.”

  Paying for three nights, they went upstairs to check out the rooms, but apart from having showers installed, there was nothing remarkable about them. Both rooms overlooked the main street, and both had twin beds, which wasn’t surprising when she thought about it. She had no idea how many women came to the mines, but with all their more interesting parts missing, what was the point? Which made her wonder about Dore and Giselle. Even if they were attracted to each other, which they obviously were, they couldn’t exactly do anything.

  That night they ate in the saloon. There was so much noise from semi-inebriated miners, Kat would have preferred to eat in the dining room, but for some reason, it was closed. So they ate at a table in the quietest corner they could find, boiled beef and potatoes, although God knows where the beef came from. Then they went for a walk, to familiarize themselves with the town. It was a strange experience. Apart from the missing horses, it was exactly like any of the western towns Kat had seen in the movies. All the buildings were made of timber, store names painted on hanging boards, and wooden walkways raised in case of rain. It was like stepping back in time.

  In the distance, she could see the barracks, and she made a mental note to visit the place. Maybe the canteen was a quieter place to eat. She was sure McInnes wouldn’t mind, which made her think about the stolen artifacts. If artifacts were being sold at the mines, she doubted it would be in plain sight. The problem was that she didn’t know how the whole thing worked. If you managed to acquire an artifact, did it matter where you were standing when you escaped from Hell? Were there special portals? Did you need to hide so that no one saw you disappear? And what happened to the artifact? Did it travel with you?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  T he following day dawned warm and sunny, although it was hardly surprising. Utah was one of the driest states in the USA. Or at least, it was in real life. Kat wondered if Salt Lake City existed. On the regular Earth, it was a Mormon city, but this was Hell. There was no apparent religion here. She tried not to think about it. The whole thing was disconcerting.

  They ate breakfast in the saloon, at the same table where they’d eaten dinner. But the place was deserted. They seemed to be the only guests in the saloon, which felt odd. Where were all the other guests? The hotel had twelve bedrooms. Was the other ten all empty? Was that why the dining room was closed? There was no reason for it to bother Kat; it wasn’t her hotel, but for some reason, it did. She hated things that didn’t make sense, and she made a mental note to check it out.

  “So, what are we doing today?” Dore asked, through a mouthful of fried egg on toast.

  “Well,” Kat began, “there are no time restrictions. We can stay as long as we want, and I’m concerned about the situation here. I’m sure that Rostock isn’t the only dangerous one in West Fork, and I’m worried about Giselle. She’s never fired a gun in her life.”

  “And I don’t want to,” Giselle shot back. “Jock can look after me.”

  “Most of the time, I’m sure he can, but what if he’s wounded, or simply not around at the time? We need to be able to defend ourselves.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we borrow one of McInnes’s Jeeps, drive to somewhere remote, and do some target practice.”

  “With what?” Giselle snorted incredulously. “One of Jock’s canons? I’ll be lucky if I can pick it up, let alone fire it.”

  “Ah, well, that’s the beauty of forethought.” Reaching down, Kat unbuckled her satchel, and after rummaging around, placed a tiny gun on the table.

  “What on Earth is that?” Giselle asked, peering at the gun.

  “It’s a Baby Browning. I thought this might come up at some point, so I requisitioned it from the armory. It’s so small; you can hide it under your dress.” Kat stood. “Anyway, that’s what we’re doing this morning. Unless McInnes was joking, our transport should be parked out front.”

  But McInnes had been true to his word. When they stepped out of the hotel, lounging in his Jeep was the cowboy who drove them from the airport. There was a second jeep parked behind him.

  Kat waved a hand at him. “Morning, Cowboy. That ours?” she asked, pointing to the second Jeep.

  “Yep. But I’d be happy to drive you. Ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”

  “That’s very nice of you, but we’ll be fine. You want to drive, Jock?”

  “I’d love to, Lass.”

  Piling into the Jeep, they set off in a westerly direction towards the dry savannah that would soon be carved up for iron. There were no roads, just rolling hills, small gullies, and dried out creeks. There were groves of cottonwood and aspen, and a low range of hills shimmered in the distance. The land seemed untouched by civilization. After a few miles, they came across an old mine, set into the side of a hill. A rusting trolley blocked the entrance, and the ceiling supports had partly collapsed, hence the rusting metal sign that had been erected. It read, DANGER! KEEP OUT! It seemed as good a place as any, so they pulled over and climbed out.

  “Are there snakes out here?” Giselle asked, nervously looking around.

  “Snakes won’t harm you,” Dore said, aiming one of his heavy pistols at the sign, and pulling the trigger. There was a loud report, and a chunk of wood flew off the support post. “Damn! I’m losing my touch.”

  “Jock! That’s pathetic,” Kat laughed, pulling a
gun from her bag, and firing three shots in rapid succession. Three neat holes appeared in the sign. Shoving the revolver in the waistband of her pants, she handed Giselle the Baby Browning. “That’s our target. If you can hit that at twenty yards, I’ll be proud of you.”

  Taking the tiny gun, Giselle studied it for a moment. “Any particular way I’m supposed to hold it?”

  “Jock, show her how to hold it.”

  Dore racked the gun and handed it to Giselle. He sucked in a deep breath, put his arm around Giselle’s waist, and turned her gently into a sideways position. Dore then wrapped his hand around her gun wrist, and pointed it at the sign. “Remember,” he said, stepping away from her, “keep your arm straight and use both eyes. Pretend the gun’s an extension of your hand. Then, well… smoothly squeeze the trigger. You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

  Doing as Dore had shown her, Giselle pointed the gun, then closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger. Incredibly, her bullet pinged off the metal sign.

  “God Almighty!” Dore exclaimed. “You hit it. Do it again and keep your eyes open.”

  Giselle fired again, and once again, a bullet pinged off the sign. She shrieked, and fired again, and then again, hitting the sign with every shot.

  “Bloody hell!” Kat cried. “Giselle, you’re a natural.”

  They spent half an hour firing at the sign. Giselle seemed to have a gift. No longer nervous, she ejected the magazine, reloaded it, then slapped and tapped it back into the Browning. And when they finally called it a day, she was beaming like an excited schoolgirl.

  “That was incredible,” she giggled. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”

  “You think you can do that when it matters?” Kat asked.

  “No problem…”

  The saloon was hopping when they returned to West Fork. There was no sign of McInnes, but the bar was packed with miners and local townspeople. There had been another armed skirmish with Colonel Oakley’s men, and everyone was talking about it, including Billy the Kid, and his cronies, who were propping up the bar.

  Making her way to the bar, Kat waited to order drinks. Target practice in the summer heat had been thirsty work. But she had no sooner ordered drinks when she heard Dore’s booming voice. Kat turned to discover that Rostock had confronted him. Dore could look after himself, but it wouldn’t be good to have a dust-up at this stage of the game. She decided to step in.

  “Is there a problem here?” She asked, stepping between them and looking Rostock in his bloodshot eyes.

  “He spilled my drink,” the demon growled. “He owes me a whiskey!”

  “He spilled his own damned drink!” Dore interjected. “He should look where he’s going if he’s going to piss it up before lunch!”

  “You walked into me,” Rostock insisted.

  “Bullshit!” Dore snapped, glaring at the demon. “I didna’ move.”

  “Gentlemen, please,” she said, never taking her eyes off Rostock. “I’ll buy you another.”

  “Mind your own business, bitch.”

  “My, aren’t we the sweet talker?” Kat beamed. “With that attitude and bad breath, I’ll bet you have all the female lizards falling all over themselves to be abused by you.”

  “What!” The demon’s eyes glittered as his hand slid towards his gun. “You know who you’re talking to, woman?”

  People began to back away, some of them slipping through the swing doors and into the street, some of them tripping over tables and chairs as they gave the demon a wide berth.

  “By the looks of it, the town drunk who’s never heard of personal hygiene.”

  Reaching for his gun with one hand and pointing at her with the other, he snarled at her. “I’m a Fed lady. Screw with me, and you’re in–”

  But Rostock didn’t complete the sentence because Dore grabbed his scaly wrist. “It’s rude to point, Laddie. Back off!”

  What Dore did next happened so fast, Kat didn’t even have time to take a breath. Dore let go of his wrist. Rostock grabbed for his gun, and Dore reached for his, but Dore was faster. In microseconds, Dore’s Colt Python jammed in the demon’s chest. Rostock’s jaw sagged as his gun clattered to the floor.

  “You’ve got two choices, Sonny, you either buy yourself another drink, and calm down, or you leave the hotel. I don’t argue with drunks.”

  Rostock stared at Dore for long seconds, then, leaving his gun where it lay, stormed out of the saloon. Dore reached down and picked it up. It was a Colt .45 Peacemaker revolver, mottled with age.

  Giselle took it from him and handed it to the bartender who stowed it behind the bar. “That wasn’t very wise, Jock. You might want to tell McInnes about this.”

  “We’re Elites, Ellie. We outrank Rostock.”

  “Yes, but no one knows that. We’re supposed to be film producers.”

  Intrigued to hear Dore refer to Giselle as Ellie, Kat said, “I think it’s time to pay a call on McInnes. He needs to know about this, and he needs to know now. They don’t call Rostock, Billy the Kid for nothing. He and his cronies won’t let this lie.”

  “Fine,” Dore grumbled. “Let’s tell McInnes that there’s been a bit of a skirmish; he’s probably at the barracks.”

  Piling into the Jeep again, they made their way over to McInnes’s armed compound. There was no recognizable entrance, but the road had been surfaced, and they spotted several half-tracks. And when they reached what looked like a make-shift parade ground, Kat was surprised to see a Yankee flag fluttering in the wind. McInnes’s headquarters had been housed in a large, two-story ranch house. It reminded Kat of how the German army had taken over Chateaus, and country houses in Italy during the war. They found McInnes pacing his office with the phone in his hand.

  “I don’t care who started it!” he yelled into the phone. “It’s Tuesday, and we have work to do! Now I’ve got six men in hospital, and I’m behind on my quota.”

  The three of them stood there while McInnes raved into the phone. By the sound of it, he was talking to Colonel Oakley. Kat smiled at Dore and shook her head. A turf war was going on, and they were the bystanders. Should they really be worried about Rostock when there was a guerrilla war raging?

  Gazing around the room, Kat was surprised to see a television set. It wasn’t on, but it looked surprisingly modern for a guerrilla army headquarters in the middle of nowhere. The only other television she’d seen was on Hades’ jet airliner.

  “Not more problems, I hope,” McInnes exclaimed, slamming the phone down.

  “Kind of,” Kat said. “We had a run-in with Rostock.”

  “Jumping Jehoshephat! That didn’t take long.” He peered at them and frowned. “Well, you’re still alive. Is Rostock in hospital?”

  “No. We just disarmed him.”

  McInnes threw up his hands. “Big mistake. The only way to deal with The Kid is to fill him full of holes. Demons take months to heal.” He peered at Kat. “So is that why you’re here? To ask me to lock him up?”

  “Is that possible? He’s a cop.”

  “Yeah, a useless, cantankerous, alcoholic cop who keeps shooting people. I wish I could lock him up, but he’s a Fed. If you wanna get rid of him, you’ll have to take him down, but it won’t be easy, he’s got friends.”

  “Yeah, we noticed. Don’t you have any real police here?”

  “Nope. Just Rostock and his cronies and I Don’t need them, or want them here. But he was sent by the Feds to monitor the town, so there’s nothing I can do. Best thing you can do is stay out of Rostock’s way. Why don’t you take the helicopter, and zap over to Oakley’s while it’s quiet? He’s got a ton of great film locations over there.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “No. Why should I mind? Oakley, and I often have a beer together. While you’re away, I can talk some sense into Rostock, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope. He’s a nasty shit. You might be better off moving into the barracks.”

  If McInnes and Oakley had beers together, it was obviously a friendly war
, but she wanted to find out who was sleeping in the other rooms at the hotel, and why the dining room was being locked up. There was something fishy about the hotel.

  “Who owns the hotel?”

  The question took McInnes by surprise, and he stared at her for a moment. “A guy from New York,” he said, eventually. “Don’t see him very often. A cousin of his runs the place, don’t know him very well, either. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering. We haven’t seen any of the other guests.”

  “No, and you probably won’t. The owner has rich people fly in from New York City, Chicago, and other cities. They come on package holidays to experience the Wild West, but they’re usually terrified when they get here and keep to themselves. They only stay for a few days, then disappear. That’s why we have the airstrip.”

  “So, are the other rooms empty now?”

  “Hard to say. I don’t take much interest.”

  Kat squinted at McInnes, who was far too casual about the whole thing. He ran everything in West Fork. Why would he turn a blind eye to wealthy guests who could get shot?

  “Okay. Well, if your helicopter’s free, we’d love to visit Oakley’s mine.”

  Leaving McInnes to sort out his work quota, they went in search of the helicopter. After scouting the barracks, they found it parked on a small landing pad, not far from the main landing strip. It was a Bell Iroquois and covered with dust, which seemed to surprise Dore, who was something of an aficionado on helicopters.

  “Wow! Hell certainly isn’t short on technology. The Iroquois hasn’t even been introduced back on Earth. They’re still testing it.”

  “That’s not uncommon,” Giselle said. “A lot of technical innovations are created in Hell. The scientists involved are then reincarnated and end up developing the same design in real life. It was the same with the Comet. It’s existed in Hell for quite some time, but it’s only just become available on Earth.”

  “How d’you know all this?” Kat asked. “You’ve been stuck in Hell for ages.”

  “I talk to Persephone. She and Haddy are big enthusiasts. They were really proud when we invented television. Back on Earth, electronic TV was invented in 1927. Hell had regular TV programs at the turn of the twentieth century. Of course, you have much more variety these days, so people in Hell watch pirated shows like I Love Lucy and Bob Hope.”