An Alex Hawk Time Travel Adventure (Book 1): A Door Into Time
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Alex looked at his chest. There were three ragged tears oozing blood. They weren’t deep, but they were already turning red around the edges.
The man conducted a quick and efficient exam of the wounds. He turned to the youngest-looking of the men—not more than a boy, really, although taller than Alex—and quietly said a few words. The boy moved away and rustled through a bag. He hurried back with what looked like a hollowed-out animal hoof covered with hide.
The man untied a string with his teeth, then dipped his fingers inside. He pulled out a brownish-red substance and applied it to Alex’s open wounds.
Alex tried to stay still but the ointment the man was applying burned.
The man looked at him sternly, laid one hand firmly on his shoulder and held the other in front of Alex’s face. The message was clear—stay still.
Alex closed his eyes and did his best to not move.
The medic was thorough in applying the paste but was not unnecessarily rough. The young boy took the container back and reattached the cover, tying it shut with the string. Without being told, he returned to the bag, put the hoof inside, and retrieved a ball of cloth, handing it to the medic.
The man raised his hands above his head and nodded at Alex, who mimicked him.
The medic held on to an end of the cloth and dropped the ball, unraveling a few feet of it. The boy caught it before it hit the ground and fed it out to the man as needed.
The man reached the end around Alex’s back, then wound it around and around him until the wounds were covered. He tore the cloth and tucked it inside the wrapping.
The men who had been holding Alex’s clothes away from the wound dropped them and stepped away.
No idea what their intentions are. If they had wanted to kill me, they would have tried to do so while I was stuck in the log. It seems like they are interested in having me stick around, and I can’t have that. I’ve got to get home.
An image of Amy sitting on the steps of her mother’s house, waiting for him, sprang unbidden into his mind.
Ignoring the burning wounds in his chest, Alex ran straight toward one of the older men. He slammed his shoulder into him pushing him aside. He looked ahead, where the shimmering outline of the door was, not more than seventy yards away.
It won’t matter if I hit it at full speed. Gotta remember to keep my feet moving once I get through it, so I come out at home. Will they follow me through? Either way, I should come out on the other side, then they’ll be on my turf.
A nagging thought in the back of his brain told him that he didn’t know that was the case. For all he knew, the door was a one-way trip. It could be a solid wall on this side. He was already moving, though, and the time for thought had passed.
He sprinted directly at the door, not wasting any time or energy on zigzagging or looking back to see if the men were chasing him.
They did not run after him in one big group. Instead two men split off and ran one on each side, trailing him, but not trying to take him down.
Another man gripped a heavy piece of wood shaped like a baton. He took a step to his right and stood for a moment, judging the distance and Alex’s speed. He pulled his arm back and released it in a sidearm throw with a grunt. The weapon slammed into Alex’s legs just below his knees.
Again, Alex collapsed in a heap. He tried to spring to his feet, but his left leg didn’t work properly. He looked at the door, tantalizingly close.
He took one limping step toward it when the two men who had been trailing Alex launched themselves at him, knocking him back to the sand. Alex struggled to throw them off, but they smothered him.
Two more men grabbed him roughly and stood him up. The man who had bandaged his wounds approached him, whistling tunelessly under his breath. He checked the bandages, then looked reproachfully at Alex.
“Gunta menka han wika brid, dolam,” he said as though he expected Alex to understand. He reached his hand out and the same boy as before handed him a length of softly braided rope. He moved swiftly and tied a knot around Alex’s hands. Alex recognized it as a handcuff knot.
THE MAN KNEELED AND did the same around Alex’s ankles, leaving enough rope that Alex would be able to walk, but not sprint. He was effectively hobbled.
Alex’s shoulders slumped and he turned and looked with longing at the shimmering door to home.
Chapter Five
Captured
Alex heard shouts from further up the shore and tore his eyes away from the door to see four more figures approaching.
More of this group? Or someone to attack them? If there’s a battle, I might be able to get to the door, even hobbled.
As the figures drew closer, Alex saw that they were dressed the same as the men that had taken him hostage and his captors waved to them.
Alex’s heart sank. Another opportunity to get home gone.
Alex considered making another dash for the door while they were at least slightly distracted, but one of the men—older and with streaks of gray in his hair—laid an arm on Alex’s shoulder, letting him know he was not forgotten.
For a moment, the dozen men simply watched the approaching figures, then the shouts of the four became clear, and the cries sounded a warning.
Behind them, a swirling flock of the nightmarish vulture-creatures were flying toward them.
The older man grasped Alex’s arm firmly and led him away from the beach as fast as his hobbled legs would allow. Even so, they fell behind the other men, who sprinted ahead of them without looking back. They hurried over the dunes and Alex could see that beyond that, there was a stretch of flat land that led into a forested area.
The four figures caught Alex and his guide and passed them by. As they did, Alex noticed that they were all young, too, although each was at least as tall as he was. They were still chattering loudly, but to Alex’s surprise, they were laughing as they ran.
“Benda de Tralen ha,” the man said, quietly to Alex, arching his eyebrows.
What does that mean? ‘Kids these days?’ Is that one of those universal things?
Alex glanced over his shoulder and saw the approaching cloud of creatures was gaining on them rapidly. He looked at the tree line ahead, then back at the creatures again.
It’s going to be close.
He picked up his pace until he was going as fast as he could with his limited gait.
When they closed in on the trees, one of the creatures screamed a rattling, hollow screech. The older man pushed Alex ahead and turned to face the oncoming attack. The first creature dove at the man, who side-stepped neatly at the last moment while he drew a long cudgel attached to his belt. The beast missed the man but adjusted and flew straight at Alex.
The man swung the club smoothly, letting the weight of it do the work. It slammed into the crooked neck of the thing as it flew by him, and the beast crumpled to the ground.
Moments later, they made it through the tree line. The winged creatures circled and screamed. After a few moments, they turned and flapped lazily back toward the ocean.
“Karak-ta,” the older man said, smiling, as though that explained everything.
Alex wasn’t sure if “karak-ta” was the name of the creatures, or if it meant, “Damn, we nearly died right there.”
Alex looked around at what he had at first thought to be a normal forest, and saw that every tree was dead. They stood tall as though they were all still vital, but there were no leaves or needles. There was live undergrowth of vines and brambles surrounding them, but the trees themselves were nothing more than giant toothpicks jammed into the ground.
Alex’s captors moved deeper into the woods, then stopped in a small clearing. They broke into groups of two or three and spoke in their strange language. Strange to Alex at least, though he supposed English sounded equally odd to them. The men grinned, gestured, and seemed to be telling each other stories. Alex half-expected one of them to hold his hands wide apart, showing how big the one was that got away.
Alex recognized what he
was seeing. It was the post-stress blow off after a successful operation. Death had been in the air, but it hadn’t visited any of them and now they all seemed to feel that sense of rebirth.
Alex wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them had pulled the equivalent of a case of beer out of one of the bags and passed them around. They didn’t, of course, but the four young men who had come screaming up the beach did kneel and open the bags they’d carried on their backs.
Carefully, they each reached inside and pulled out several large blue eggs. Each was speckled with yellow and gray dots, and the other men stood around admiring them.
Alex began to think he might be able to quietly sneak away and risk his life with the leather-winged beasts at the sea, when the older man who had guided him away once again laid his hand on his shoulder and shrugged.
The gesture was so human, so seemingly universal, that it almost made Alex laugh.
I guess that could mean, ‘Sorry, dude, but you’re still our prisoner,’ or ‘You will make a delicious stew for us tonight.’ It could go either way.
After a few minutes of rest and celebration, the men shrugged their backpacks onto their shoulders. The man who had carried Alex’s rifle took it off, walked to a nearby rock formation, lifted the rifle by the barrel and smashed it into the granite.
Alex winced.
Why?!?!?!
Chips of the rock flew everywhere, but the AR-10 held together.
“Stop!” Alex cried. He rushed toward the man, but strong hands again grabbed and held him.
The man who held the rifle did not look angry. He seemed bent on its destruction, but he was business-like about the process.
The man examined the rifle, saw that it was still straight and true, and lifted it far above his head, slamming it on the rock again and again and again. The handguard, the scope and the buttstock separated and flew in different directions. As soon as the parts hit the forest floor, the young men of the group scrambled, plucked them up, and stuck them in their bags like souvenirs.
Why? They already had it. Why destroy it? If those beast-birds are any indication, a rifle would come in very damn handy around here.
Finally, the man jammed the barrel between two rocks and torqued on it with all his strength.
Alex winced as he saw the barrel bend, then return mostly to true.
Finally, the man turned the damaged weapon over to another, younger man, who slung it over his shoulders.
The man with the scarred face, who Alex had begun to think of as the leader of the group, said, “Dalen ka trent. Mala ne daka.”
The group fell into a marching formation, putting Alex in the middle, and set off at a very healthy pace.
Alex was in excellent condition—he’d never been in anything else since basic training—and he was thankful for that fact.
The men took long, steady strides and didn’t stop for rest.
They soon left the dead-tree forest behind and emerged into a long flat stretch of land that served as a canyon floor, where tall hills covered with thick growth rose above them. The lower section was covered in trees that were as dead as the ones in the forest. Higher up were living trees that swayed slightly in the wind.
They walked through the canyon for hours, finally emerging onto a broad plain that went on far enough to disappear beyond the curvature of the earth.
To Alex’s eye, the unending level plain looked unsafe. If there were creatures like the oversized vultures at the ocean, he believed there would be other, even more dangerous threats. On that open plain, there would be no place to hide.
The scarred man seemed to agree. He turned to his right and hiked up through the dead trees and the other men followed him. Halfway up the hill, he stopped and dropped his pack.
All around him, the other men sprang to what seemed to be preordained duties. Some gathered rocks to build a small fire pit. Others went in search of firewood. A group of young men disappeared into the trees above them.
The older man who had apparently been assigned to ensure Alex didn’t try to get away pointed to the ground next to a tree, then sat down himself. Alex was happy to do the same.
The old man’s brown eyes bore into Alex’s as though looking for answers. He put his hand over his throat and said, “Doken-ak.”
Alex mimicked the gesture and said, “Alex.” Then, he pointed to the man and repeated, “Doken-ak.”
The man’s eyes twinkled in the way someone might when a pet learns a new trick. He pointed to Alex and said, “Aleks,” with an intonation that showed he wasn’t completely sure he had gotten it right. The old man leaned back against the tree, seemingly satisfied that he had taught Alex—and himself—enough for one day.
Alex watched as a fire pit was built, with a fire immediately following. Wood from the dead trees was used as dry tinder, then other fuel was added until the flames leaped three feet high. Once that burned down, a pot was hung just above the hot coals and filled with water produced by another group who emerged from higher up the hill.
It was all organized and accomplished with a minimum of conversation.
The sun went down and temperatures dropped. The older man, who Alex now thought of as Doken-ak awoke from his brief nap and motioned for Alex to move closer to the fire. One of the young men presented Alex with his backpack—now empty. Another gave him a carved wooden bowl filled with a steaming helping of whatever had been cooked in the pot.
Alex sniffed it.
The young man mimed putting a bowl to his lips and drinking.
Alex did and although the flavor was strange to him, it wasn’t bad. He took a second drink of the thick liquid, which seemed to have some sort of beans and green herb in it, then smiled at the boy who had brought it to him.
At least it’s not the stew pot for me tonight. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.
A dozen of the men and boys stretched out on the ground to sleep while four others set up a perimeter watch.
I won’t make the mistake of writing these people off as backward. They are organized and every man knows his job. If there’s dissent in the ranks, I’m not seeing it.
Alex stood. Doken-ak groaned a little as he stood beside him. Alex gestured off toward the woods, putting one hand in front of his groin, hoping it was a universal sign for ‘I have to pee.”
Doken-a also pointed to the woods and they set off in that direction. They walked just a few paces beyond the glow of the fire and Doken-ak stopped Alex.
Alex thanked the gods he didn’t have a nervous bladder, unzipped and let forth a stream of urine. Without a thought, he peed on the base of the closest tree.
Doken-ak said, “Ment!” but it was too late, the pee had already sent vibrations up the tree. Doken-ak grabbed his cudgel and looked up. A black form the size of a Chihuahua came scuttling down the tree at an alarming speed. When it was just a few feet away, Alex recognized it as a form of cockroach, blown up to many times the normal size.
The black roach sprang from the tree while it was still several feet above their heads, spreading dark wings and making a chittering sound that might have made Alex lose control of his bladder if he hadn’t already been peeing.
As he had with the creature at the edge of the forest, Doken-ak timed his cudgel’s swing perfectly, knocking the creature out of the air. The frightening thing was, as mighty as the blow was, it didn’t disable the bug.
The thing continued to chitter as its antenna—as long as a man’s hand—waved from the center of its compound eyes.
“Holy shit!” Alex cried as he jumped back, hoping to clear the jumping range of whatever the thing was.
Doken-ak calmly stepped forward and slammed his club into the body of the bug, spreading its insides over the forest floor. Then, he firmly took Alex’s shoulders and turned him away from the base of the tree.
Alex found that he didn’t need to pee anymore.
They walked back to the campfire and Alex noticed that the others were grinning but trying not to look at him.
He shuddered involuntarily.
Alex did his best to maintain his dignity and tried not to look to see if he had peed down his leg.
He found his spot by the campfire and laid his head down on his backpack.
He stared up at the night stars, which glowed brighter than he had ever seen in his life.
Home—and Amy—felt very far away.
Chapter Six
Dire Wolves
Alex had the habit of keeping his eyes closed when he first came awake. The first thing he noticed was there was no light hitting his eyelids, so he knew it was early. He heard soft rustling and movements, but nothing more.
He might have woken confused, hoping the day before was a dream—that he wasn’t really trapped in a place so far from home, but he wasn’t confused at all. He knew he was sleeping on the ground amid a forest in a strange land. He knew he was a prisoner and that he was hobbled so he couldn’t get away.
He also knew that the ropes that held him were not strong. They couldn’t be expected to hold him for too long. Given just a few minutes of freedom, he could have found something to use as a tool to saw through them. So, they were either not traveling very far, or they would soon replace them with heavier rope or even chains.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that Doken-ak was sitting, leaned against a tree, watching him. Around the camp, men moved quietly, packing up, throwing dirt on the fire, preparing to leave. Four young men emerged from the trees above them, carrying the eggs they had stolen the day before. The eggs were in a net and water dripped off them.
They must have kept them in a stream somewhere nearby to keep them cooler. Whatever exercise these people are doing, they’ve done it before, many times. The question is, where do I fit in?