Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series

by McWilson, Randy

  Surreal.

  He tried to keep the smile to himself as he contemplated just how crazy this whole arrangement was. He looked around at the improbable mixture: different races, different decades, different vocations, different ages, probably even different religions. It was a motley conglomerate that surely had far more fundamental differences than even the most generous list of similarities.

  Ten years, he thought. This group started over ten years ago. Well, not all of them, but still—this is absolutely amazing.

  He concentrated on the faces least familiar to him.

  Now she is new. Must be what—in her middle to late seventies? She looks very proper.

  Whoa, that guy stands out. Bald…body builder by the looks of it. A good guy to have your back in a firefight, I imagine. Who else? Move aside, Doc. I don’t think I’ve met her. There. Oh, a young, black girl. Probably early twenties. Cute. Seems nervous. There’s that French guy. Patinow or something. Mr. Magoo.

  Ellen leaned over and whispered in his ear. “You doing okay?”

  He thought for a moment. “About as good as a guy with third degree burns and a gigantic head gash would be doing surrounded by complete and total strangers.”

  He grinned and she gave him a quick hug. “Don’t worry, time will heal all of that. Always does.” He had too much male pride to admit to her that the squeeze hurt.

  The background chatter died down as a very rushed and flustered Chief McCloud made his grand entrance. He started apologizing even before he was finished tossing his hat onto the table. “Sorry, sorry, folks. Had to make a last minute drive out to the McCallister’s. Again. Need I say more?”

  He hurried across the room and placed his hands on Denver’s tender shoulders. “Most of you have had the pleasure of meeting the latest addition to our, uh, family, but, for those who haven’t, this is Mr. Denver Wayne Collins.”

  A sporadic round of applause filled the room. Denver smiled self-consciously and waved. The Chief continued, “Mr. Collins arrived to Normal from the year 2014. He is our second Jumper from the twenty-first century. He is our newest Trailer, even beating Doc by almost ten years.”

  Another weaker outburst of clapping erupted, and Doc Stonecroft stood and bowed towards Denver across the table. Denver wasn’t sure how to react, so he just sat there without making specific eye contact, or at least, avoiding it when possible.

  The Chief patted Denver on the back. “As you can see, Denver’s had a pretty rough first week here in Normal.” McCloud bent over and glanced down at him. “I promise you, Mr. Collins, things will get better for you here, much better. I guarantee it.”

  Everyone smiled and a few laughed in good fun. Denver just shook his head. He couldn’t imagine how it could get worse, so odds were the Chief was right.

  “Actually,” McCloud said, “even though he’s only been here less than a week, this great guy’s already impacted this here group; in fact, he has impacted this whole community.”

  Ellen jumped up. “Impacted? How about saved the group, and saved the community?” A third, louder round of applause exploded, and all stood up.

  Awkward, freaking awkward.

  A strange, uncomfortable silence followed, and everyone stared at him then each other. He looked around. Clearly he was expected to make some version of an acceptance speech.

  “Uh,” he began, “I just did what anyone would’ve done. I’m not a hero. Really. Thanks.” He looked around. “Please, sit. Please.”

  He was thrilled when they did, and the Chief took the spotlight once again. “What I tell ya? What’d I tell ya? One great guy. Well, as he finishes healing up, spend some time with Trailer Collins.” He looked down again. “But, I gotta ask, Mr. Collins, do the Red Sox ever break the famous Curse of the Bambino?” The Chief roared and a few joined him. “I’m just kiddin’, I’m just kiddin’. Can’t be teaching our newest family member to be breaking the Second Accord in the first week!”

  By the reaction on his hardened face, the bald body-builder didn’t seem to be finding any of the light banter to be amusing in the least. He cleared his throat and cut through the din. “I can’t believe you’re tellin’ baseball jokes, Chief, when there are far more important matters to be discussed tonight!” The chit chat in the room died an instantaneous death. “Can we get on with the real business?”

  McCloud composed himself and moved back toward his own chair. “As delicate as ever, Mr. Frazier.”

  “Who cares about being delicate?” Frazier growled. “Our lives are on the line here people.”

  Denver was stunned.

  Lives on the line…did I miss something?

  The Chief arrived at his seat but remained standing. “I think everyone has been privately briefed, with possibly the exception of Mr. Collins, about our latest…situation.”

  “It’s not a situation…it’s a threat!” Frazier shouted, veins pulsating.

  Denver could tell that the Chief was exercising extreme restraint, but only out of necessity. McCloud’s response was measured and firm. “Regardless if we characterize it as a situation, or a threat, or a whatever, it does not change the fact that we need to collectively discuss and collectively arrive at a solution.”

  Frazier wasted no time. “There is nothing to discuss. I think we all can see the cold, hard facts here: as long as Betty has those items in her safe, then none of us are!”

  Terrance Gaines, the head of maintenance, countered. “Look, Garrett, we don't even know what she really has! It might be nothing.”

  “Uh, I don't think it takes a rocket scientist, Tee, to figure out that she has enough to get this whole freaking town crawlin' with suits!”

  “And once that happens,” Shep offered, “it's only a matter of time. The Feds know how to get what they need.”

  Side conversations and outright accusations began to rebound around the room. The noise and tension rose exponentially. Denver observed that the young African American girl was trying to get everyone’s attention. He tapped Ellen and pointed towards her.

  Ellen stood up and shouted, “Hey! Hey, listen. Listen.” It took far longer than it should have, but the group subdued. “Thank you. Listen, Alexus wants to share something.” Ellen sat down and whispered in Denver’s ear, “Daniels. Alexus Daniels. She’s from 1973. Good kid.”

  The young woman rose in a timid manner. “There is a chance that the newspaper editor’s collection could bring us unwanted Federal attention. I just want to remind everyone that, uh, these kind of witch-hunts don't end so well for people that look like me and Terrance.” She stared at everyone with real fear in her eyes. “I don't think America is ready for Dr. King's dream, at least not just yet.”

  There was a short pause and the Chief spoke up. “Careful with that information, Lexi. Priors.”

  Alexus acknowledged as she dropped back down. Leah Swan jumped in. “Listen. Lexi is right. And with World War Two and the Korean War, a lot of people don’t give Asians like me too many chances either. If they start asking questions and running background checks, it's…it's over. I mean, less than half of us even really has a background. Think about it.”

  Denver studied the shy teenager sitting to Leah’s left. Birthday calculating girl, what was her name…Laura? Lori? Tori. Was it Tori?

  Ellen stunned everyone with a bold pronouncement. “Maybe we should disband, or, or maybe move on to a new town.”

  Denver caught the tail end of a long, hard stare between Shep and Finegan.

  “Conservatively speaking,” Doc Stonecroft explained gravely, “it will take weeks to disassemble just the reactor chamber, not to mention the Jump Portal.”

  For the second time in the short meeting, the chatter ratcheted up to a deafening level. Leah turned to Tori and helped to cover her ears.

  The Chief whistled. “Hey, look.” He whistled louder. “Nobody is—hey! Listen. Nobody is gonna disassemble anything or move anywhere.” He paced as if trying to slice through the tension with his physical presence. “We haven't wo
rked all these years, together mind you, and got to where we are today, to just throw it all away because of a small town newspaper editor with a box full o' goodies!”

  Shep had to rain on his parade. “Those goodies, Chief, could get us all killed or at least hauled off like lab rats in some government facility!”

  McCloud spun around. “No one is being shipped anywhere. Nobody’s gonna be anybody’s lab rat. We just need to do what we've always done, folks: create a plan, then execute that plan.” He glared at each of them.

  Garrett spoke up. “I think execution is the plan.”

  Denver couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Actually, he doubted that anyone could believe what they had just heard.

  “Excuse me, Frazier?” the Chief asked. “I hope I'm not following you.”

  Garrett was defiant. “And why not? What is the life of one woman compared to all of ours?”

  “I can't believe this!” Leah exploded. “Are you suggesting that we...that someone kills Miss Larson?”

  Every eye was fastened on Garrett’s unrepentant face.

  “Not suggesting, Miss Swan. Recommending. Maybe even volunteering.”

  Leah jumped up and grabbed Tori’s arm and fled from the room. Officer Billy chased after them.

  Ellen was livid. “What’s your problem, Frazier? We don't joke about people's lives! Especially in front of Tori.”

  “Like she would understand anyway. And who said I was joking?”

  Ellen stood and pointed at him. “We don't know what she understands, Garrett!”

  Dr. Papineau struggled for clarification. “Excuse moi. Assassiner?” He drew a finger across his neck with a puzzled look.

  Garrett nodded. “Better her than us—it's simple math.”

  “Murder, Mr. Frazier, is not an option,” the Chief barked. “Period. No discussion. Off the table.”

  Shep shook his head. “Uh, I don't see too many options on the table, Chief.”

  “There are always options, Mr. Sheppard,” offered a platinum-headed, elderly woman three spots to Denver’s right. “There are always options—especially when violence masquerades as the only one.”

  Ellen leaned in once again and whispered, “Grandma Martha. Martha Tomlin. Class act. 1989.”

  Denver sensed a change sweep over the group. A quiet seriousness descended. Impressive lady, Denver thought. Some low-level murmuring eventually returned, but Chief McCloud had one more bomb to drop. “Uh, folks. Folks, there is another complication.”

  The room fell silent again.

  “Denver's identity may be compromised,” he said. “He lost his wallet. He told me yesterday that the last time he had it for sure was on the bus to Chicago. It had his driver's license, military ID, and some cash.”

  Shep threw up his hands. “That's not a complication, McCloud. That’s...that's one helluva train wreck!”

  Martha offered more wisdom. “We must operate under the assumption that it will end up in the hands of the authorities, and I am not referring to the boys in blue.”

  Shep rose from the table and paced the length of the floor. “She’s right! The boys in black have it. Guaranteed!”

  Denver felt sick. His status had flipped from community hero to local villain in less than fifteen minutes. “I'm...I'm sorry,” was all he could say. He wasn’t sure if anyone even heard it.

  McCloud walked over. “Hey, look, Denver. What's done's done. It wasn't on purpose. Now we need damage control.”

  “It's hard to control this much damage,” Shep retorted.

  “He’ll need a new name,” Frazier proposed. “Maybe even a new look.”

  Denver found the strength to speak up. “I, uh, I had a beard on my driver's license photo. It was a few years back.”

  “He should be able to keep his first name,” Ellen observed. “It's too difficult to learn a new one and react naturally. Changing the last should be sufficient.” Several people nodded.

  “Changing names and facial hair is all well and good, but what about Betty Larson's evidence?” Shep demanded. “His wallet may or may not turn up, but her collection definitely will!”

  The Chief glanced at Shep. “Well, I bought us some time. She promised not to do anything til I got back with her.”

  Frazier couldn’t resist mocking him. “Well, that settles it, then! All our lives are hanging by one sweet little promise.”

  “I don't think I like your tone, Mr. Frazier!” McCloud snapped.

  Garrett grinned even wider. “Finally! I’ve been here six months, and now I’ve found someone who truly understands me.”

  McCloud stormed across the room as Garrett jumped up. “You need to watch your attitude, Mr. Frazier!”

  “I’m not afraid of the badge, McCloud, never have been!”

  Stonecroft and Papineau grabbed their coats and exited the conference room. Martha followed them in short order.

  Frazier and McCloud stood chest to chest, and seconds from fist to fist.

  Denver interrupted the alpha male contest. “There is another option,” he said and the postures relaxed. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on the table. “I know it, you know it, we all know it. But no one wants to say it.” He paused.

  “So the new guy will say it: we have to steal it. We have to steal Betty Larson's evidence. Period.”

  Journal entry number 182

  Monday, July 7, 1947

  This may be the lowest point in my life, and I have lived through some dark days, including watching my father waste away with the slow cruelty of Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Maryanne had a miscarriage before we were blessed with Kurtis. That was rough. I know that she still suffers to this very day.

  But neither of those horrifically tragic events crushed me with the level of guilt like what I have just gone through.

  Ken Miller and Larry Etherington are dead.

  My two closest friends are gone, and I am effectively alone once more. Intellectually, I KNOW that I need to write about what happened, but emotionally…everything within me refuses to do so. I can’t keep food down again, and I shake terribly. The drive home from Roswell was like a surreal nightmare. With the language barrier, I might as well have been as alone as I felt. I don’t know, but I think that X is blaming himself for everything. He hasn’t said a word or even made an attempt to gesture at me in over 48 hours. I am afraid he may abandon me. And who could blame him?

  I will do my level best to explain what happened.

  We had been on the road for over three weeks, chasing storms, setting up, tearing down, repeat. It was exhausting. On July 3rd we heard that some bad storms were coming up out of Mexico into the desert Southwest. We got ahead of a big supercell in New Mexico and intercepted it in Roswell the afternoon of July 4th. We set up on a remote ranch outside of town on a hillside.

  As the night wore on, it looked promising: lots of lightning, and close. We had just set up the long rods and transfer lines to the temporal device. X had made some last minute adjustments, and activated the Tesla design. I was back by the truck, a good 50 yards away.

  And then…it happened.

  You swear you hear it before you see it even though you know it is just the opposite. There was a simultaneous flash and blast that will haunt my memories. Instantly, the blast flung me to the ground. After I peeled my face out of the dirt and looked up, I saw an eerie blue glow like St. Elmo’s Fire all over the temporal device. There was a strange distortion several feet wide in the center of the machine. X was also getting up and started shouting something unintelligible. The hum from the device muffled everything.

  Ken, only a few feet away, started walking toward the device. He reached his hand out and inched up to it. After what seemed like minutes, it was probably only a few seconds, his fingers intersected the temporal anomaly. You could tell he was trying to pull his hand back, but it was like his arm was locked in time and space. Larry ran up, yelling, and grabbed him, trying to yank him away. They were both pulled in towards the anomaly and then they began e
mitting blue light. I could tell they were screaming, but it was like the distortion was trapping their sounds inside an invisible barrier.

  The blue fire around the device began to flash and grow increasingly erratic. It appeared that Larry and Ken were sort of stretching out, but you couldn’t tell if maybe it was just an illusion, like the way a glass of water distorts an object behind it. I started to move towards them but X ran to block me, protesting with his hands. The hum felt deafening.

  Then, eerily, the device flashed with no sound. Zero sound. And then… I woke up. I probably had been unconscious for over half an hour. I was bloodied a bit, the front of my shirt and pants were burnt, and I had a raging headache. The continued flashes of lightning from the passing storm revealed a tragic scene. The device had been nearly obliterated. Twisted smoking metal scattered over the hillside for a hundred yards, random fires burning the scrub and grass.

  I found X laying face first in the mud, the back of his clothes fried. I couldn’t wake him up, but he was breathing. I dragged him up to the truck, laid him across the front seat, and poured some water on his face. His forehead had a gash.

  I stumbled up the hill, and that’s when I saw their bodies. I couldn’t help but imagine that Larry and Ken had been instantly and mercifully blown to bits as I examined the wreckage. But there they were in almost exactly the same spot where the device had been, but they were…different. Altered.

  They still appeared roughly human, but they were smaller and thinner. They could not have been much over 4 feet tall and their arms and legs made them look like bloated children who died of severe malnutrition—except for their heads, which appeared to be almost double in size. I can only imagine that the incomplete time displacement had somehow left them mutated. Their clothing was nowhere to be seen.