by Ford, Lizzy
“You’re kinda weird, Carter.” I laughed.
“Well … I didn’t mean … I’m sorry. I just …” He sighed.
“It’s okay. I understand.” He was flushed again, and I felt bad for embarrassing him.
The quiet was awkward. I ordered a beer and waited for Carter to say something. For having invited me, he was strangely quiet, staring at his bottle.
“How did your surveying go today?” I asked finally.
“Slower than usual.”
“Hmm.” I wasn’t good at pretending to be interested in things that really held no importance to me. “So, uh, you like history.”
“I like changing history. The idea,” he added quickly. “Theorizing. Researching. That kind of thing.”
“If you went back in time, would you change things?”
“Yes. I have it calculated.” He pulled out a cell phone. “You could spend less than two weeks in the eighteen forties to stop a million deaths. You’d just have to find a Choctaw Indian named Running Bear and another man named Taylor Hansen.”
“They caused everything?”
“Sort of.” He glanced up. “Am I … weirding you out?”
“Not yet.”
He perked up and began talking. He was a delight to watch, charismatic and exuberant. With little interest in history, I paid attention to him as much as possible while he began an epic tale about how one change could have prevented a million deaths. His detail and knowledge of the past was astounding, along with his passion.
Drinking beer after beer, I was more interested in watching him speak than in what he said. The sense we were friends in a past life or had met somewhere in this one grew stronger the longer he spoke, and I found myself laughing and enjoying his company.
Somewhere around beer four, more people trickled into the saloon for dinner, and the lantern-like lights went on around us. My uncle texted me what room I was in while my aunt mentioned a wine tasting bar they were headed to. I, however, liked being around Carter. Bubbly and cheerful, he had a natural, happy energy that compelled me to stay.
By beer number seven, the bar had grown loud, the televisions were blaring a college football game, and Carter and I were plotting how to change history.
The drunker we got, the more sense it made.
“So would you go?” he asked some time later above the noise of the evening crowd. “Like a two week vacation to the Wild West.”
“Yes,” I said with no hesitation. “All you have to do is figure out how to time travel.”
“I can do that.”
“I believe you. You’re one of those geniuses aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Yes, I am.”
“I so knew it!” My words were slurred, and so were his. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun at a bar.
“You go back in time. I’ll stay here so I can help you find the right people. We can text each other,” he said.
We stared at each other for a moment before we both began laughing at the amazing yet ridiculous idea.
“But wait, Carter!” I exclaimed suddenly. “I can’t speak Choctaw ... Choctawan. Whatever. How do I convince him to wear jeans?”
“Oh I can fix that,” Carter said. “I created a brain chip … I mean … micro chip for your brain and it’ll let you understand and speak every language known to man. It translates everything into … American English and then everything you say is translated into the language of … whoever you’re talking to.”
“Seriously?” I gave him an astonished look. “I could’ve used that for French class.”
He laughed. “You want to … to use billion-dollar technology to cheat on a French exam?” For some reason, that tickled him, and he laughed until he was crying.
I ordered us another round of beers.
Wiping tears away, he drew a deep breath.
The loud crowd was growing out of focus. After all the parties I attended in college, I knew where I was on the drunk chart: driving – no, stairs – only if necessary, another round – the last.
“I have another one that is like an internet. In your brain,” Carter continued. “It has all of history on it and my research.”
“Another what?” I asked, easily lost while drinking.
“Microchip. For your brain. Because there’s no internet in the past.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant, Carter!”
He smiled. “I am brilliant.”
“Do I need shots?” I asked him. “Because they had diseases back then.”
“I didn’t think of that.” He appeared thoughtful. “That explains a few things.”
We both giggled, even though I was beyond comprehending why.
“I can get you innoc … ulations.” He hiccupped then leaned forward. “Do you wanna know a secret, J… Josie?” He asked drunkenly.
“Yes!”
“I have a time machine.”
“No way!”
“Way way.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” With the line between reality and the imaginary blurred, I was so excited, I was barely able to get off my stool without falling. “Then why haven’t we gone back? C’mon, Carter. The past is waiting.” I took his arm and pulled him through the crowd to the warm night outside. “Where did you park it?”
Carter laughed and caught himself against a pillar on the porch. “I didn’t park it! It’s in my lab.”
“Okay, then, let’s go there. We can rescue people and come back by morning, right, like on Doctor Who?” I made my way down the stairs. A thrill worked its way through my drunken haze. The idea of saving a million people, of seeing what Tombstone looked like almost two hundred years ago, was the most incredible adventure my drunken mind had ever gone on.
“You need brain chips first.”
I laughed, nearly collapsing. “Like potato chips in my brain!”
He tripped and sprawled onto the sidewalk. Quakes of laughter tore through us both, and we stayed on the ground until we were able to walk again.
Helping one another up, we started walking, arm in arm. “You … are amazing, Josie,” he said. “They told me so and now I know.”
I looked up at him, his handsome profile outlined in the moonlight. “Who told you?”
“Oh. No one.”
“You’re so weird, Carter.”
“Josie, wait.” He faced me, as serious as could be. “It really is an honor to meet you. A great honor.”
“Thank you, Carter.” I held out my hand and shook his rigorously. “It’s an honor to meet you, too. Let’s go to your lab.”
“Yes, let’s!”
Together, we half walked, half staggered back to the storefront where I took the survey earlier. It took four attempts before he was able to unlock the door and pushed it open.
Brilliant light spilled out into the night, too bright to see into the room.
“It’s … there,” he said proudly. “My lab. Your brain chips.”
A tingle of awareness slid through me, one that warned me I was wandering around in the middle of the night with a complete stranger. It just as quickly fizzled, replaced by the comfortable warmth of being drunk and the idea of time traveling like Doctor Who.
“Let’s go,” I said and strode into the light.
I squinted to see what was inside.
And then the world went dark.
CHAPTER TWO
I had a weird dream, which wasn’t wholly unexpected after drinking so much. In it, I was unable to cool off. I stood in the hot Arizona sun, in the middle of Tombstone. The tourists were gone, and I was alone, except for ...
Carter. At least, I thought it was him. His athletic form was at the end of the street. Whenever I tried to walk towards him, he stayed the same distance away. In fact, it was like I was walking in place. Sweating. Craving a damn mocha. With a weird headache.
“Hey, Carter!” I shouted. “You forgot my gift card!” I paused to look around, then up at the sky. “What the hell?” I shielded my e
yes with both hands to get a better look.
The sun was rapidly getting closer, larger and brighter.
“Almost time to go.”
I whirled at Carter’s voice, startled to find him standing behind me.
“I have to cover a few things before you leave.” A tablet appeared in his hands.
“Where am I going?” I asked.
“More like, when?” He beamed a warm smile. “That sounded better in my head. Anyway, let’s get started.”
“Oh, right. The eighteen forties. We’re still doing that?”
“Yes! Your brain chips are in!”
“Cool.” I smiled. It wasn’t like I really cared. It was a dream, after all, and I liked Carter. “Shots, too?”
“Yep! You are immune to everything from the Black Death to diseases that don’t exist yet.”
“Awesome.”
“Okay.” He focused on his tablet. “First, you’ll have headaches for a few days, the side effect of brain surgery.”
“Naturally,” I agreed.
“Second, you’ll find over time that what we did is going to materialize rather randomly. We have mastered the how but not the timing yet,” he said, eyes on the screen of his tablet. “Your language and empathic memory skills will hopefully emerge the first week. I’d really appreciate feedback on how they work for consideration of future travelers.”
I shifted feet, half listening, alarm fluttering through me. “Are you worried about that?” I pointed up. The idea of the sun crashing down on us was more concerning than anything Carter said.
“It means I don’t have the time I’d like to cover things,” he said. “Third, don’t go swimming for at least two days. I was going to say don’t go flying, but there’s no chance of that where you’re going.” He chuckled.
Frowning, I stared at him.
“Because they didn’t have planes,” he prodded.
“Oh, right. Cowboys and such. You sure that’s not a problem?” The light was growing hotter, more intense and closer.
I willed myself to wake up, not liking the semi-lucid dream at all. I had never had one so real – or so bizarre – and my body was uncomfortably fevered.
“Fourth, you can always text me,” he said. “Okay? I’ll answer. Always.”
“I don’t have your number.” My phone was in my hand. I started to unlock it when he continued.
“Fifth … someone out there is trying to prevent me from changing history and saving lives.” Carter’s tone grew urgent. “If they succeed in thwarting you, horrible things will happen. There’s a man named Taylor Hansen. He might be dangerous. I need to know what he’s doing back there to figure out his role in all this. So find him and let me know what he’s doing. Then find the Choctaw Indian named Running Bear. Remember whatever happens on or around September twentieth fourth is what eventually results in a million deaths.”
“I understand.”
“Are you taking this seriously?” he searched my gaze.
“Yeah, sure. It’ll be a piece of cake. Go back, find Running Horse and Taylor and –”
“Running Bear.”
“Yeah. Easy.”
He offered a smile. “Thank you for volunteering.”
“No problem. When I get back, we can go drinking again.”
An emotion I didn’t understand flickered across his features. “Sure. I’d like that.” The words weren’t as warm as they had been, and he averted his gaze to the screen of his iPad once more.
Sounds a little bit ominous. I studied him. Or maybe, he was being himself – awkward.
“Sixth and most importantly, whatever you do, play along and don’t panic. They have to believe you’re the person they think you are,” he added. “Oh, and the others might know you’re coming, so be careful.”
“Others?” I echoed.
“People who don’t think history should be changed.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re pretty serious?”
“Very.” Carter nodded solemnly. “You don’t want to get mixed up with their kind.”
“I understand.” I didn’t, but I was overheating, a sign I would probably wake up soon.
“Close your eyes. It gets bright.”
The world around me was bathed in white-blue light so intense, it hurt my eyes. I found myself obeying out of necessity.
I was too distracted by the idea that the sun was getting ready to fry me alive to consider everything Carter and I had discussed. I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes and began panting, unable to bear the heat. Sweat dripped down my body and soaked my pajamas and my hair. It grew too hot to breathe. The insides of my nostrils burned, and I choked then buried my face into my shoulder to try to protect it from the sun.
“Carter?” I rasped.
“Don’t fight it, Josie. I promise – you’ll be okay.” Eventually.
Did he say the last word or did my drunk, sleeping mind imagine it? The light was too blinding for me to look.
In the distance, I heard what sounded like a sonic boom, and hot, dry air roared by me. I was no longer standing but floating, upright yet unable to reach the ground with my feet.
A second boom went off, followed by the strange crack of a baseball smacking into a concrete wall.
The heat was suddenly gone, along with the light.
Gasping for air, my eyes flew open, and I flung my arms wide, too fevered to touch my own skin.
Cold rain poured from the skies, shocking me at first. Lightning tore through the night, brilliant and bright, before it vanished and just as quickly plunged me once more into darkness.
The world smelled funny, like the area in Tombstone where a man had been super heating and blowing glass by hand. Raindrops pelted my face. The surface beneath me was hard, cool, and smelled of dirt.
I was definitely not in bed, and the sensations were too real for me not to be awake. I was on my back, gazing up at a night sky. It took a moment for the fast moving clouds to take shape beyond the sunspots left over from the brilliant light.
Disoriented, I pushed myself up and looked around. I lay in the bottom of a steaming crater, right at its center. At first I thought I was surrounded by water, until I recognized the glassy, green rock.
“Moldavite,” I recited. “Occurs when dirt and dust are thrown into the atmosphere after a meteorite hits the earth.”
Moldavite was rare – and sold for a huge price. If I took some back to my aunt, I knew her jeweler could make me something from it and I could sell the rest to pay down my student loans. A thrill went through me at the discovery and I stretched towards the nearest pile. It was still soft. The weird sensation of malleable glass made me withdraw. Wiping my hand self-consciously on my wet yoga pants, I took a second look around.
How did I get to the center of a crater? Beneath me was earth, and surrounding me, moldavite. As if I had been there when the meteorite struck.
As if I were the meteorite. I touched the edge of a thick chunk of moldavite near one foot. It was still soft enough for me to push an indent into but cooling rapidly. No longer super heated, it had not yet frozen into its permanent shape yet, either.
This shit is worth a fortune. And there was a ton of it. If I weren’t somewhere I shouldn’t have been, I would have been calculating how to transport the rare rocks to the hotel before someone else found them.
More than the chilly rain caused the shudder that ran down my spine. Aside from feeling fevered, I was in the pajamas I normally went to sleep in. I seemed healthy or at least, uninjured.
Beyond the moldavite and patch of dirt were natural, rock-dirt walls about six feet tall topped by swaying grasses battered by the winds of the storm.
Had a meteorite hit Tombstone and flung me out of harm’s way?
Confused, I shifted to my knees. I felt … weak. As if my muscles were having difficulty remembering how to walk.
That makes no sense! Frustrated, I climbed to my feet. One pocket of my pajamas was heavy, and I reached in to see why. My cell phone was there
. Satisfied I could call for help, once I was out of the crater, I ventured onto the moldavite.
My feet sank into the soft glass, and I grimaced. Wobbling, I caught myself twice as I made my way to the edge of the meteor pit. Rain quickly filled my footsteps, leaving behind an eerie trail. I made it up the slope and over the edge of the crater before pausing at my second obstacle: the dirt wall that was my height.
Fevered and tired with the mild throb of an alcohol-headache, I leaned against the earthen wall standing between the prairies and me. It was much cooler than I expected, and I pressed my forehead to a flat stone for a moment. The rain was cold, and it felt good against my burning skin.
How did I survive being flung out of the city into the grasslands? I wasn’t hurt that I could tell. The last thing I really remember was staggering through town with Carter.
Had he been thrown out of the town, too? What if he was hurt? What if my aunt and uncle were?
Someone’s hand stuck out over the edge of the crater. I blinked, uncertain if I was seeing things or not. It was a strong hand, with a wide palm and long fingers. Definitely a man’s hand by its size. What looked like a thick bone and leather bracelet was around his wrist.
I had been talking to Carter and then …
No. I had been dreaming of talking to Carter when a meteorite hit and flung me out of the dream and Tombstone simultaneously.
I shook my head. The series of events that ended with me in a meteorite made no sense.
First things first. Get out of this hole.
The man waiting with his hand extended spoke, his low voice barely above a whisper. Engulfed in trying to recall what happened, I didn’t catch what he said and moved away from the wall.
I took his hand. He gripped mine with both of his and deftly lifted me out of the crater. I swung one leg to the edge of the pit and then the other.
He released me.
I wobbled.
The stranger steadied me with his hands on my arms. Startled, I looked up, expecting to find Carter or one of the hotel workers holding me. Lighting illuminated his features.
He was a man I had never seen before whose face was hidden beneath a layer of dark paint that appeared impervious to the rain. He wore a combination of cowboy and tribal Indian period dress: workpants that might’ve been the predecessor to jeans with a gun belt slung low over narrow hips, and a leather vest and band around his forehead to keep medium length hair in place. Face paint over the upper half his features hid what he looked like.
