The Unintentional Time Traveler (Time Guardians Book 1)

by Everett Maroon

  The train tracks crossed a gravel road, and as it seemed familiar for some reason, I switched off and we walked along. An hour later, there was the house, looking a little better tended than the last time I was here.

  I knocked on the door. “Mr. Hartle?” No response, or sound of anyone approaching. “It’s Jaqueline.” I waited, listening to a few birds chirping from a bush next to the porch. I put my face up to the window at the side of the door and cupped my hands over my eyes. It was empty inside. Walking down the front steps I remembered the garage at the rear of the house. I stood in the doorway.

  He was bent over the hood of the car I’d been building with Lucas, and he twitched when he heard me come in.

  “Geez, girl, you should announce yourself.”

  “I didn’t know you were back here. I tried finding you in your house,” I said, not intending to defend myself.

  “Well, I don’t have time to lay about my house,” he said. He stood up and looked me over. “There’s a bit of bread and butter over there on the table. You need to eat something.”

  Instead of following his directions I walked over to him to see what he was doing. He’d removed the carburetor, which was sitting on a green workbench. He looked to be installing a turbo charger. From the crude appearance of the metal, I guessed he’d made it himself. He didn’t seem very confident about installing it.

  “So are you a Guardian too?”

  He jumped again, this time hitting his head on the underside of the hood.

  “Jackie, you sure have imperfect timing,” he said, bending up straight and rubbing the crown of his skull.

  “And charm. Don’t forget my charm.”

  “That too. No, I’m not a Guardian. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What do you mean, not yet?”

  “It’s a long story. You came all the way out here. Did Darling send you?” He looked out past the driveway toward the street, like he’d done the last time I’d ridden over here. Then he wiped grease off his hands onto a rag, and started walking out of the barn. I ran my hand over the driver’s door, checking to see if this was the same vehicle as in the abandoned bank in Marion. This one was a Model T Ford with the roof cut off, and it was much more bare bones than the Auburn Beauty I’d been customizing with Lucas. My Dad had taught me a lot more about engines than anyone seemed to have taught Jackson Hartle. But I’m a car snob like that.

  “She did, only not yet. She sent me to you in the late summer. I mean, is it 1926?”

  “Sure is,” he said, still cleaning his hands. The paradox didn’t seem to bother him.

  “It’s only May. But I suppose we can take a road trip out to see my favorite cousin.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? It’s okay to change it up like that?”

  “Oh, you think you’re an expert now?”

  “No, I’m just asking a question.”

  “Well, it’s a stupid question,” he said, and he dropped the rag on the bench and walked out of the barn. I trotted after him.

  “There’s no such thing as a stupid question,” I said.

  “Of course there’s such a thing as a stupid question! And that was one of ‘em. If Darling told you to come out here, she’s not going to care if I show up three months early. Now mind me, girl. I need to fetch a few things from the house. Keep yourself inside here.”

  My grandfather is an asshole. I was shocked my mom was so nice to me if that was her dad. I wiped away a tear I didn’t want to cry. I’d show him. How was he going to drive anywhere without the frigging carburetor? I rolled up my sleeves and picked it up from the bench, checking to see if it was clean, which it was for the most part. I found the bolts on the bench too, and dug through his toolbox for the right set of socket wrenches. In a couple of minutes I had everything assembled. I hopped in the driver seat and tried the ignition.

  It didn’t catch. The crank turned over and over, but it wouldn’t start. Probably he needed to change the intake and exhaust timing because he’d installed the turbo charger. I was midway through tinkering with the throttle when Jackson came back into the barn.

  “Why don’t you listen to a thing I say? You were supposed to wait for me.” Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head and kept talking. “I sure hope my future children aren’t as headstrong as you. But at least you have a brain between those ears.”

  “I am waiting. I’m just making it so the car will start. While I’m waiting.”

  “Well aren’t you the precocious one?”

  “I wonder where I picked that up.”

  Without realizing it, I started smiling.

  “Just what are you grinning at, girl? Wipe that smirk off your face and get in the car. Does it start now?”

  I nodded.

  “Between your handiwork and mine, I think we’ve got a lot more horsepower now.”

  “Well you’re a little cocksure, ain’t ya?”

  In all of this mess, I had to deal with this cranky jackass. Just in case I was going to get bored by time freaking travel, the universe handed me a jerk.

  “Pardon me, but do you know what time it is, grandfather?” I asked in my most pitch-perfect singsong.

  “Why yes,” he said with his head next to the engine block, which I figured meant he was inspecting my work on the carburetor. I heard him sigh and then he dropped the hood back into place, taking care not to mess up his clean hands in the process. He sat in the driver’s seat and fumbled for his watch, pulling it from his vest. He pushed a button and the face snapped open, revealing a gorgeous mother of pearl face that reflected back all of the miserable light in the barn. “It’s one-forty.”

  I nodded. “Nice watch.”

  “Thank you,” he said, putting it back. “Well, I reckon this engine will work better for ya.” He turned to face me.

  “I was in the Navy in the Great War,” he said. “Enlisted a few months before the whole brouhaha started and I have now peeled potatoes for America’s finest fighting force. Never made it out of that damn mess.”

  “What mess was that?”

  “The mess hall, kid. You don’t know hard work, do you? Your cousin Darling sure knows the value of a long working day.”

  I thought about chasing chickens around a shit-covered coop, just one day in the life of Edgar MacComb. One morning, in fact.

  “You’re right, we farm folks don’t know how to work,” I said. He harrumphed at me in response. He opened up the bag he’d brought out of the house and handed me a cheese sandwich wrapped in brown paper.

  “Here’s some milk from this morning,” he said. “Drink up before you blow away in a breeze.”

  The milk was unlike anything I’d tasted from the grocery store. Rich, almost nutty in flavor. It coated my throat in happy. My stomach growled, almost in delight.

  “I suppose it’s not your fault, your whole generation is soft,” he said. I wondered why we were eating in the car and not his house.

  “You’re too kind,” I said between bites. Holy crap I was hungry.

  “Now don’t go getting smart with me,” he said, poking in my general direction.

  What had it been like for my mom to grow up with this guy as her father? My own Dad was about as unlike him as a person could be. It hit me that I’d never thought about my Mom as a regular adult before, someone who had a life before I came along. Maybe she’d actively picked someone completely different from her family to marry. I wondered if Dad got along with Mr. Hartle here.

  “You’re not paying attention to me, girl.”

  “You know, you’re not that much older than me, so anytime you feel like stopping calling me girl, I’m good with that.”

  He stood up, brushing off his trousers even though there was nothing on them. “Now I really know you’re from another time. You should show your someday grandfather a little respect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I needed his help. And it seemed I hadn’t told him I was his grandson, not his granddaughter.

  “I’m sorry.”


  “It’s all right,” he said, softening. Wow, this deference crap really works. But I still don’t like it.

  He checked his pocket watch.

  “We need to get in the car now.”

  “We do?”

  He nodded.

  I put out half a bale of hay in the horse pen, not knowing how much the four horses needed for an afternoon. I met Jackson at the car, which he was fueling from a small can. I jumped over the side and into the driver’s seat.

  “Just what is it you think you’re doing?” he asked me.

  “Oh, I’m driving,” I said, snatching a pair of goggles off of the floor of the car.

  “Women sure have changed in your generation.”

  “You’re darn tootin’,” I said, and he clambered into the car, grumbling something about insolent offspring.

  I pushed the ignition button and the engine he’d carefully expanded growled awake, sputtering out dark smoke from the tailpipe. I cut into gear and we popped out of the garage before we could be overcome from exhaust. I sized up all of the features I’d inserted into the dashboard—the same set of knobs, buttons, and dials that had confounded me the last time I’d been behind the wheel. This was the same car or a twin.

  “So, where to?” I asked.

  Jackson didn’t speak, instead choosing to point to two sheriff cars that were racing at us from two blocks down the street.

  “Away from them,” he said. “They musta seen you coming into town. There’s wanted posters of you all over the state.”

  “There are? Why?”

  “You done piss off someone with power, girl. Now drive like you know what you’re doing.”

  I floored it, aiming at the road out of town. Our thin tires kicked up a small dust and gravel storm, and then caught some traction.

  Jackson whipped his head around to see how close they were to us. I saw the needle on the odometer reach to sixty-seven miles per hour, far faster than this car should have been able to speed. The customized engine was a beauty. At once the cars flicked on their sirens, which wailed at us painfully. We had been running from them for all of ten seconds, but it seemed much longer.

  He pulled himself back around and faced forward.

  “You didn’t tell me everything, you know.” He shouted so I could hear him.

  “What didn’t I tell you?”

  He looked at me and yelled again, “That when they come after us, they’ll have guns.”

  “They always have guns! Weren’t you in the Navy?”

  “I told you,” he said, pointing out potholes for me to avoid, “I peeled potatoes.”

  “All the World War I vets in the country and I have to find the guy who was stuck in the kitchen.”

  Jackson frowned at me. “What do you mean, World War I?”

  “Nothing, I don’t mean anything.”

  We were getting some distance on them, although one of the cars managed to keep up with us better than I’d have thought possible. The cop in the passenger seat propped a shotgun up on the door and fired, tearing through our low windshield. My face stung as small cuts opened up in my skin. Holy crap! Thank god for goggles. And then we were out of range.

  “Don’t tell me there’s another goddamn world war,” screamed Jackson, as we sped out of town.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WE DROVE UNTIL we reached the other side of three towns, and then pulled up to a general store. I cut the engine. Jackson and I inspected each other.

  “Well, you’ve looked better,” he said, lifting my chin.

  “You’ve looked worse,” I said. That made him smile for a moment. “So who was that back there?” I asked.

  “Deputies of the town,” he said, taking the opportunity to look back behind us, where the dust we’d kicked up was settling back on the wide lane. We hadn’t seen another car for at least an hour. “So many bootleggers in the news, idiot coppers would love to get some attention for catching an outlaw.”

  “Right, a kid and some random guy. We must be a big deal.”

  “Fine, fine, you keep up your jokes. You better be nice to me when I’m an old man.”

  He caught me downcast at the mention of him as an elderly person.

  “What? What do you know?” Jackson grabbed the fabric of my shirt at my arm. “Do I not? Do I not get old?”

  I took in his face, trying to imagine how it would look with saggy jowls, wrinkles, bald, a face he would never grow into because he only lived a few years past his fiftieth birthday. I wanted to tell him but I also feared it because if there was such a thing as fate knowing wasn’t going to help him. I can travel through time, but I’m no philosopher, buddy.

  “You’re going to be just fine,” I told him, giving him a nod. “Think of it this way, you’re like an old man already.”

  I was grateful he changed the subject, by asking about the car and what other modifications I’d done to it. He had only followed my instructions for enhancing the engine by changing the air intake, which was the request I’d made of him.

  “Oh, a few other things I thought would come in handy, like the radio?” I asked him for the time, and he shook his head.

  “Sorry, Jacqueline, it’s three forty-five.” He pulled at the cord, sprung open the dial. The watch face was beautiful.

  “Let’s try anyway.” I kicked on the starter and we drove to a parking lot behind a large white church with the tallest steeple in the small town. As long as the engine idled, we would have power for the transmitter, actually far more power than most ham radios had in the 1920s.

  I dialed the frequency as before, and gave out a short call: “I don’t feel like waiting for twilight.”

  Jackson shook his head. “What a fool girl you are.”

  I shot him a wide, fake grin. Fine, go ahead and think I’m stupid.

  The radio crackled, breaking the static.

  “I’m here, I’m here.” Lucas’s voice. I gasped without meaning to, and punched Jackson after he rolled his eyes at me. He grimaced, as some of the broken windshield had cut his arms.

  “We ducked two uh, former friends, about an hour ago. I’m with the old man.”

  I ignored the glowering stare from my passenger.

  “Oh, good. Things here are the same…full of old friends, like for a big party.”

  Big party? What does that mean?

  “Well, we will join you then.”

  “We’re looking forward to your visit.”

  “We’re ready for a blast!” Nothing like sounding super cheery when we’re on the run from men with guns. I bet this is exactly how the CIA works.

  “Well, I have to go,” Lucas said. I heard a tinge of nervousness in him, or so I thought. “Good to talk to you.”

  “You too.” The line returned to static.

  Coming out of the church, a man dropped a wooden box he’d been carrying when he saw us and our blown-out windshield. He pointed right at us, shouting. “It’s the girl!”

  Terrific. All this time back in the 20s, and it’s like we’ve been plastered across the evening news.

  I threw the shifter into reverse, which pushed back against me. We could hear the gears grinding from under the hood.

  “More clutch,” said Jackson, who had taken to pressing against the dash. “More clutch!”

  “I know!” I slammed my foot on the leftmost pedal, and the stick grabbed into gear. We flew backwards until I had clearance to get out of the small parking lot.

  Two more men jumped out from the building; a man in a minister’s shirt and collar, and another man in a suit, this one burly with a handlebar mustache. He held a shotgun. “Citizen’s arrest,” he said, taking aim at us.

  “Go, go go,” said Jackson. I shifted into first gear and hit the gas, and we kicked dirt into the men’s faces. The churchman took a shot at us, blinded from the dust, and missed. We sped out toward the emptiness beyond the town on a narrow highway.

  “People sure do like to shoot at you,” he said.

  “I lik
e to think it’s affection.” My heart hammered inside me.

  “Pull over here for a second,” he said.

  “What? Why? We have to get out of here!”

  “Pull over,” he repeated, and this time I did as he asked. He hopped over the passenger door and clambered up a telephone pole like a monkey. A pop of electricity, and the dark wire hung limply in the air. In a manner of seconds, Jackson was back in the car.

  “Now drive fast,” he said

  I obliged.

  “What was that about?”

  “They have to assume we’re headed back to Dr. Traver’s town, so I figured they’d find a phone and call to warn him.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Well, thank the Lord her Highness approves,” he said, closing up his pocket knife and tucking it away.

  “Let’s not talk holy, okay? I’m a little over the prophet’s friends.”

  “Anyone claiming to be a prophet isn’t,” said Jackson. “He’s twisted the good word into a monstrosity.”

  We drove in silence, concentrating on any sudden attacks from Dr. Traver’s followers. It had been so good to hear Lucas’s voice. I couldn’t wait to see him.

  A red light flickered on near my left hand. The gas gauge. “We need more fuel,” I said. Behind us the sun crept toward a ridge; minute by minute the day was fading. I clicked on the headlamps.

  “There are a few cans in the trunk,” said Jackson. I pulled the car off the road, onto a bolt of grass, and fumbled for the trunk lock. I wrestled the straps open and felt in the dark for a metal can.

  I jumped when Jackson started talking to me; he’d come out of the car and I hadn’t noticed.

  “Settle down, girl. It’s just me.”

  “Are you going to fill up the tank?”

  “I wanted to talk,” he said.

  “Right now?”

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  “What’s to tell?” Now I struggled with the gas cap, but Jackson twisted it in a quick yank, and took the can from me, unscrewing the top. I winced at the acrid stench.

  “Come on, talk to me. What is she like?”