Back to the Future Part II

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  Then the earlier Marty would run off again, too. And that was the here-and-now Marty’s chance!

  Marty peeked up over the car. Yep, there was his earlier self, leaving right on schedule.

  Now it was time for the new Marty to take over. He ran down to the crowd and pushed his way into Biff.

  ‘Let me through,’ Marty called. ‘I know CPR!’

  A scrawny kid looked up at him with a frown. ‘CPR?’ he asked. ‘What’s CPR?’

  What was the scrawny kid’s problem? Everybody knew what CPR was, didn’t they? Oh, that’s right, Marty realised. They probably didn’t, back in 1955.

  Marty bent down over Biff.

  ‘Everybody, move back,’ he shouted to the crowd. ‘Give him some air.’

  The crowd obliged, stepping back enough to give Marty some breathing room.

  Biff groaned. He was coming to. He blinked as his eyes focused on Marty.

  ‘Hey!’ Biff shouted angrily. ‘What the - YOU!’

  There was only one thing to do. Marty slugged him all over again - smack in the jaw. Biff obligingly passed out. Marty just hoped not too many people in the crowd noticed that little maneouvre.

  He quickly rolled the other teenager over, and lifted up his jacket. There was the Sports Almanac, still stuck into the waistband of Biffs pants. Marty pulled it free, rapidly flipping through the pages full of row after row of sports scores - just to make sure.

  This was the real thing at last.

  Marty sighed. It was good to have that over with. He stood up and turned to the crowd.

  ‘It’s OK, everybody,’ he said in a loud, calm, clear voice. ‘He’s gonna be fine.

  The scrawny kid stared at Marty in suspicion.

  ‘Hey,’ he whined, ‘did you just take his wallet?’

  Marty shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd. It was time to get out of here before anything else happened. He walked quickly back toward the school.

  ‘He just took this guy’s wallet!’ the scrawny guy yelled to the crowd. But nobody seemed to be listening. At least Marty hoped they weren’t.

  He stepped back into the shadows and pulled out his walkie-talkie.

  ‘Yo, Doc!’ he called, holding up the Sports Almanac as if Doc Brown might be able to see it. ‘Success! I’ve got it!’

  Doc’s voice replied:

  ‘Thank goodness! I’ll be on my way as soon as I reload Mr Fusion. I’ll pick you up on the roof of the gym!’

  ‘The roof of the gym!’ Marty replied. ‘Ten-four!’

  He shoved the walkie-talkie in one jacket pocket, the Almanac in another. Now, to get to the top of the gym, and get this whole thing over with for good. Marty had to admit it; he’d be glad when all this was history.

  He heard the song ‘Earth Angel' coming from the gym as he climbed the stairs. He remembered the dance band ~ the Starlighters. It had been fun to play with them that time - the last time he was here.

  Marty realised there were three pairs of legs, male legs, coming down the stairs toward him.

  He looked up, and saw Match, 3-D. and Skinhead coming his way.

  Marty turned around and went the other way.

  ‘Hey!’ Skinhead yelled as Marty went from a walk to a run. ‘That was him! In disguise! He got out!’

  ‘The Calvin Klein creep?’ 3-D added. ‘How’d he change his clothes?'

  But Match had a simple solution to all of this:

  ‘Let’s get him!’

  Marty’s heart sank as he heard three pairs of shoes clumping heavily down the stairs after him.

  Wouldn’t this be over - ever?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marty ran into the gym again. He headed immediately for the shadows behind the refreshment table. The fewer people who saw him, the better!

  He looked over at the stage and saw his other self, introducing ‘Johnny B. Goode’. Wow! He’d never seen himself perform before. He didn’t look bad, in the coat and tie and all, up there on stage. Now, if Marty could just get rid of Biff’s gang somehow, he could actually stand here for a minute and enjoy his act!

  Biff’s boys came through the same door Marty had used. Marty ducked down behind the refreshment table. It was pretty dark, here in the comer. Maybe he could get rid of them, after all.

  ‘Look!’ 3-D said to the others. ‘How’d he get on stage?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Match added. ‘And he changed clothes again!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Skinhead growled back. ‘But when he gets down, we’ll be waitin’ for him! C’mon!’

  Oh, no! Marty had lost them all right, but only because he’d led them right to the earlier version of Marty! He moved down to the end of the refreshment table, only to see the three gang members now standing off in the right-hand wings backstage, waiting until they could get their hands on the other Marty!

  What could Marty - either of the Martys - do?

  The one with the Walkie-talkie decided he'd better call Doc.

  Doc Brown wandered around the future home of Lyon Estates, looking for dead leaves, old beer cans, and any other trash he might be able to use in his Mr Fusion drive.

  The walkie-talkie crackled to life in his pocket. Doc pulled it out as Marty started to speak.

  ‘Doc! Biff’s guys chased me into the gym and now they’re laying for me!’

  Marty seemed to be getting a little upset by all this. But that was one of the reasons Doc was here, after all, as a calming influence.

  ‘Then go out another door,’ he suggested reasonably.

  ‘No,’ Marty explained frantically, ‘they’re laying for the other me: the one that’s on stage, playing “JohnnyB. Goode!” ’

  ‘Great Scott!’ Doc replied. This was serious. Even the ramifications of something like this had ramifications!

  ‘If they succeed,’ he explained to Marty, ‘you’ll miss the lightning bolt at the clock tower, you won’t get back to the future - and we’ll have a major paradox.’

  ‘A paradox?’ Marty asked. ‘You mean one of those things that could destroy the universe?’

  Doc couldn’t have said it better himself.

  ‘Precisely!’

  ‘This is heavy! ’ Marty agreed.

  Doc thought for a second. They had been so close to success - and now this! There had to be some way out of this, didn’t there?

  ‘Marty,’ he said back into the Walkie-talkie. ‘You have to stop those guys at all costs - but without being seen by your other self, or your parents!’

  There - that pretty much summed up exactly what Marty had to do, or else.

  So why didn’t Doc feel any better about this?

  'Ten-four,’ Marty replied, putting away the walkie-talkie. So all he had to do was stop these guys without letting the other Marty, or just about anybody else, see him, right? Hey, piece of cake - if only he could figure out how.

  One thing was certain - he wasn’t going to get anything done standing behind the refreshment table. He should probably get up on that stage himself - maybe in the wings opposite where the gang was standing. He walked behind the refreshment table one more time, keeping to the edges of the gym, circumnavigating the dance. No one stopped him - no one even much noticed him - and both the guitar-playing Marty and Biff’s boys were busy doing their own things. It was easy to make it to the steps leading up to the stage - but now what?

  But Marty knew what happened next, since, after all, he’d done it before himself. It was time for the guitar-playing Marty to go into his solo, and - once he did that - he’d be oblivious to the world! Yep! Here came those first fractured chords!

  Marty shot up the stairs and into the wings, stage left.

  So far, so good, Marty thought. But, not to repeat himself - now what?

  He didn’t have any ideas until he looked overhead. There were some awfully heavy sandbags over this stage.

  Marty found a catwalk ladder and started to climb.

  The Mr Fusion was filled at last. Doc climbed into the DeLorean and set the destination d
isplay for good old 1985. Better to do it now, he figured. Heaven knew how fast he would have to get Marty out of whatever he’d gotten himself into at the high school.

  He started the DeLorean up and lifted it smoothly from the ground. He had cleared the billboard in a matter of seconds.

  But somebody was coming down the road, on the other side! It was a pickup truck. The truck screeched to a halt as soon as the driver spotted the flying car.

  Doc realised that truck looked awfully familiar, what with the repainted sign on the door and all, even before Old Man Peabody jumped out brandishing his shotgun.

  Doc decided it was time to get out of here. He started to perform the sort of thing they always called ‘evasive manoeuvres' as Peabody aimed and fired.

  Doc threw the DeLorean into a mini-nosedive, so it swooped almost to the ground, and then began climbing again, right into the real estate pennants hanging from the Lyons Gate sign! He heard cloth rip as the pennants got caught on the underside of the DeLorean. Oh, well, Doc thought, it wasn’t the end of the world if he dragged a few cloth flags along with him. Just so long as he got out of here as quickly as possible! He blasted toward town, streaming a row of multi-coloured pennants behind him.

  ‘Come back here, you space varmint!’ Old Man Peabody called after him.

  But then the DeLorean - even carefully flown at under eighty-eight miles per hour - was gone.

  * * *

  Biff groaned. He was coming around. Lester was glad he waited. When Biff woke up, Lester would tell him all about that other guy and what he did. Yeah, Lester would!

  Biff opened his eyes and rubbed his jaw. He sat up, and blinked like he was having trouble remembering where he was.

  He reached back to hike up his pants, then frowned and felt along his back.

  ‘What the hell?’ Biff muttered. He looked down at the lawn, like he was missing something.

  Lester knew it. He just knew it!

  ‘He stole your wallet, didn’t he?’ Lester asked, trying not to spit despite his excitement.

  ‘Huh?’ Biff replied.

  ‘That kid took something off you while you were laying there!’ Lester exclaimed, almost clapping his hands that he might actually be right for a change. ‘I knew it was your wallet!’

  Biff scowled at Lester.

  ‘What kid?’ Biff demanded. ‘Who?’

  ‘A little guy in a leather jacket,’ Lester replied. ‘I don’t know his name.’ He backed up a little, despite himself. Biff wouldn’t hurt him, would he? Lester was helping him!

  ‘Where did he go?’ Biff asked darkly.

  Oh, good. Biff wasn’t going to beat up Lester. He was going to beat up the other guy. He pointed at the back door of the gym. ‘That way.’

  Biff pushed Lester out of the way, and lumbered toward the gym. Lester grinned. He had done a good thing. Now maybe Biff and his boys wouldn’t beat him up again for two weeks, maybe three!

  Biff growled as he flung the fire door aside. Boy, Lester thought, he wouldn’t want Biff beating him up when he was angry.

  That could get really serious!

  This plan had made a lot more sense when he had been on the ground.

  Marty looked at the catwalk in front of him. Actually, you couldn’t even call it a catwalk. It was really only a pair of long bars that they had hung the lights from - two bars that stretched high across the stage. And those bars were covered with a thick layer of dust. They looked like they hadn’t been touched in years!

  But there wasn't time for another plan. The other Marty was half-way through his guitar solo! He had to get over to the other side of the stage, before his other self got demolished by Biffs gang!

  The bars swung sickeningly back and forth as Marty grabbed them. No time for another plan, he told himself again, and quickly hoisted himself onto the bars, so that he had a hand and foot on each of them. Now, he reasoned, all he had to do was crawl across.

  The right bar swung away from him. Marty felt his right foot slip free and fall through space, straight toward his guitar-playing double! He twisted wildly back toward his left and, somehow, managed to regain his balance without losing his grip.

  He crawled across the rest of the twin bars slowly, carefully, reaching out one hand, then one foot, then the other hand and foot, until he finally made it to the other side of the stage, where he could get a firm grip on an iron support pole. But he’d made it to the sa ndbags, too - fifteen or twenty of them, all tied together in one. big bundle. And there, almost directly underneath him. were the three hoods.

  Marty quickly untied all but one slip knot on the bunch of sandbags. 3-D and the others were just standing down there, watching as his other self played those last wild chords. And those chords were wild. My, Marty thought, he had gotten a little carried away there toward the end. hadn’t he?

  He pulled the ropes.

  The sandbags fell.

  They wiped out all three of the hoods.

  Marty grabbed one of the free ropes and swung down to the very back of the backstage. There was a set of stairs over here, that led to the same alcove he had come in through!

  Marty pulled out his walkie-talkie as he took the steps, two at a time.

  ‘Success. Doc! Everything’s cool!’

  ‘Good!’ Doc’s voice replied after the usual burst of static. ‘I’ll be landing at the school roof in about one minute!’

  Marty pushed the fire door open. He had to get back around the building to the outside fire stairs and the top of the gym.

  ‘I’ll be there, Doc!' He shut off the walkie-talkie and thrust it back in his pocket.

  He glanced back in the window of the fire door. There, in the alcove he had just left, was Lorraine, talking to the other Marty!

  ‘I had a feeling about you two,’ the other Marty was saying.

  ‘I have a feeling, too,’ Lorraine replied with the sweetest smile.

  Marty ducked down as he hurried past the window glad that everything had worked out, again. Just like they learned in English class: All’s well that ends well.

  ‘Hey,’ a voice yelled behind him, ‘butthead!’

  Marty spun around. Biff stood next to the fire door, rubbing at a raw spot where he'd cut his lip. Biff grinned and waved for Marty to come closer.

  ‘C’mon, let’s have it out!’ he demanded. ‘You and me!’

  Oh, no, Marty thought. Not when he was so close to being out of here. He grinned back at Biff.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he replied brightly as he turned to leave.

  Biff took a step towards him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he called after the retreating Marty. ‘Chicken?’

  Marty stopped dead.

  ‘Too chicken to take me on,’ Biff jeered, ‘one on one?’

  Marty turned around, his hands clenched into fists.

  There was only one thing he couldn’t stand.

  Nobody calls me chicken,’ he replied.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marty knew this was stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. His mother always told him to count to ten - but, when it came to this, he was way beyond counting! Maybe he always felt he needed to do this because he was so short. Or maybe he needed to do this just because Biff was such an asshole.

  Whatever it was - he didn’t let anybody call him chicken!

  Biff and Marty stared at each other for a long moment. Marty felt as if all his senses had been heightened. He could feel his heart beating in his chest and could hear the crickets on the high school lawn, the cars passing on the distant street, and even the voice of the other Marty, who spoke to George and Lorraine on the other side of the fire door.

  ‘- if you guys ever have kids,’ the other Marty was saying, ‘and one of them, when he’s eight years old, accidentally sets fire to the living-room rug - go easy on him.’

  ‘C’mon,’Biff said, breaking the spell. ‘Take a poke at me. chicken.’

  All right. If that’s the way Biff wanted it.

  As Marty took a step
forward, the fire door swung open, smack into his face.

  Marty fell to the ground, stunned. He had been knocked down by the earlier version of himself who was running off to rendezvous with the other Doc for the clock tower lightning bolt. Marty blinked and realised that the Almanac had fallen out of his pocket and was laying on the ground next to him.

  Biff realised it too.

  'What the hell?’ Biff demanded, bending over Marty to pick up the Almanac. ‘Steal my stiff will ’ya punk?’ He grabbed the Sports Almanac from the ground.

  Marty groaned in pain as Biff kicked him in the gut, one, two, three times.

  'And this is for my car!’ Biff added, kicking him once more, even harder than before. The pain was like fire.

  ’Butthead!’ Biff called over his shoulder as he walked to his car.

  Marty moaned as he clutched his stomach. No matter how much it hurt, he had to get up and follow Biff.

  He managed to get to his knees. He saw Biff throw the sports book into the back seat, then get in the car and drive away.

  There was no way Marty could chase Biff. Marty was having enough trouble just getting on his feet. He swayed unsteadily as he finally forced both his sneakers beneath him and slowly stood. He took a couple of careful breaths. Everything seemed to be all right. He was bruised, but nothing was broken.

  He had to meet Doc! His arms hugging his sore sides, Marty headed for the metal stairs that led to the roof of the gym.

  Marty was a little late. Oh, well, it gave Doc a chance to untangle all these pennants from the drive mechanism of the DeLorean. But, once he had the whole rope’s length of them all rolled up, what could he do with the roll?