Middle Falls Time Travel Series, Books 4-6 (Middle Falls Time Travel Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Shawn Inmon

  Joe sighed. “Never mind. Here’s the deal. If you guys go camping up at St. Helens this weekend, you’re not gonna come back. That mountain is going to blow on Sunday. It’s going to be way, way bigger than everyone is expecting, like a global event. It’s going to happen pretty early on Sunday morning, which is good, because that will be a nice day, and more people would have been out hiking around and gotten killed if it had blown its top in the afternoon.”

  “So, it’s gonna be nice on Sunday?” JD asked, which made him laugh again, and Bobby offered him up a congratulatory high-five. “Just kidding, Joe. I can see you mean this, but how in the world could you possibly know that? No one knows when it’s gonna blow.”

  Any time traveler that was around here in May of 1980 will remember this date.

  “I could tell you guys, but I promise you won’t believe me anyway. Can I ask you a favor? Will you guys just put off going up there until Monday?”

  “Can’t on Monday. Gotta work at the gas station,” JD said.

  “Yeah, I gotta work too,” Bobby said. “Monday’s no good.”

  Lord give me strength.

  “How about next weekend, then?”

  The whole area will be shut down next weekend, and hikers won’t be allowed into the area for a long time, but I think they’ll be good with that once they see what happened.

  “You sound like a crazy man, Joe, like Nostradangus or something.”

  I should just let them die.

  “If you guys will wait until next weekend, then I’ll go with you. I promise. I’ll go and buy a crap load of camping equipment this week, then we can go camping in style next weekend. Maybe I’ll even buy a Winnebago or something, and we can camp in comfort like the old people do.”

  JD looked at Bobby. Bobby looked at JD. Finally, Bobby shrugged.

  “All right, man, if it’s that important to you, we’ll just wait.”

  Joe felt an immense sense of relief. “Okay then. Now, I’ve just gotta find some eighty-year-old that wants to get off the open road, so I can buy their RV from them.”

  Bobby shook his head. “I gotta say, sometimes I just don’t get you.”

  “But, we’ve got a deal, right? You guys will wait until next weekend?” Joe held his hand out, palm up.

  “Sure, why not,” JD said, giving him some skin. Bobby did the same.

  “Well, maybe I’ll call Beth up and see if she wants to go to the drive-in this weekend. The Shining is supposed to be playing,” JD said.

  “Hey, I can grab Cheryl, and we can double,” Bobby said.

  “Double date at the drive-in? That’s not what drive-ins are for, doofus.”

  They headed out the door, still arguing.

  When the door closed behind them, blessed silence reigned. Joe moved around his small apartment, collecting dishes and ruminating on the evening.

  So far, so fine, I guess. It will be interesting to see what they do, given a chance at a longer life. I don’t think either of them are likely to cure cancer or write the great American novel, but they could grow up eventually and build a nice family that never had a chance to exist in my last go-round.

  SATURDAY WAS ANOTHER blue sky and sunshine spring day. Joe packed himself a few sandwiches in a brown bag and drove down to the park with his copy of Heinlein’s The Door Into Summer. He read and worked on his tan for a few hours, then packed up to head back to the Rivercrest. On the way home, he drove past JD’s house. A beat-up old Camaro was sitting in the driveway, so Joe pulled in behind it.

  When he knocked on the door, Evelyn McManus answered. “Hello, Joe. How are you?”

  “I’m good, Mrs. McManus. Is JD around?”

  “Oh, I thought you knew. He and Bobby went camping up by the mountain.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Godammit. Are there just things that are going to happen, no matter what I do?

  Joe put on the best face he could. No sense in worrying her more than is needed. She’ll have enough to worry about soon.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. They mentioned they were thinking of heading that way. Did they say where they were going to camp? Maybe I’ll see if I can catch up with them.”

  “I think they’re damn fools for going up there, and you’d be a damn fool to go looking for them.” She looked at Joe’s earnest face and softened. “Oh, you boys and your adventures. It’s a wonder any of you ever live to adulthood. They said they were going to drive to a spot on the North Fork Toutle River, but I don’t know anything more than that.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. McManus. I’ll head up that way, then.”

  But not because I want to. I’d rather stay home and watch baseball and read, or go by the shelter and see the dogs. That can all wait until Monday, though.

  Joe glanced at his watch. 3:05.

  If I’m going to go, I better move it. I don’t want to be looking for them in the dark.

  Just in case he needed it, Joe swung by his apartment and retrieved a backpack, made a few more sandwiches, and grabbed a flashlight and extra batteries.

  I’ve got a lot of questions and not many answers. Where the hell is the North Fork Toutle River? What time did the mountain blow, exactly? Damned if I can remember. It was sometime Sunday morning, but I can’t remember exactly when. Better plan on getting in and out of there tonight, just to be safe. If I can’t find ‘em, I’ve done what I can.

  Joe pointed the Olds north on I-5. Three hours later, he was through Portland and had crossed the Columbia River into Washington state.

  And now what? I’ve never been up here. This would be a helluva lot easier with GPS. That’s one of the few pieces of technology I miss.

  Joe pulled over at a Union 76 gas station and topped off. He went inside and bought a map of Washington. He spread it out on the hood, found Vancouver, then located where he was, and inched his finger eastward over the map, looking for the Toutle River. He found it, then plotted out a route.

  He patted the hood of the Olds. “Sorry, old girl. It looks like you’re in for a rough ride tonight. I’ll take you into the shop and make it up to you next week.”

  A few miles north of Castle Rock, Joe saw an exit onto Highway 504. He turned off, then followed 504 east. In just a few minutes, all thoughts of the freeway, hamburger stands, and gas stations left his mind. The road narrowed and twisted and roamed through first farmland, then, increasingly, forests.

  I should have stopped at a fast food place before I left civilization behind. While he drove, Joe fished around in the backpack beside him and pulled a bologna sandwich out. He washed it down with some cool water from his Thermos. That’ll get me through.

  He looked at his watch again. 7:15.

  Shit. It’s gonna be dark much sooner than later.

  He stood on the gas a little, pushing his speed up to ten miles an hour over the speed limit. He turned his headlights on, even though he didn’t really need them yet. He passed a sign that read “Spirit Lake Highway.”

  The closer he got to the mountain, the more Joe’s stomach flipped and rolled. He thought he might need to find a place in the woods to hunker down and relieve himself.

  Spirit Lake took the worst of it. Nothing around that area survived, right? Animals, people, buildings, entire forests, wiped out in an instant. I don’t want to be anywhere near here in another twelve hours.

  He drove with the windows down. It was so peaceful—a warm evening, birds singing and insects chirping—it was almost impossible to believe the destructive chaos and power that would be unleashed.

  At one point, he drove around a curve, and there she was, the sleeping giant, ready to awaken. He knew he was still miles away from it, but he’d never seen St. Helens so close, and it took his breath away. He was used to seeing pictures of her after the blast, with the deep hole where the crown had been. Here, in front of him, it still looked like a perfect round snow cone. So peaceful, and about to become so deadly.

  After another long stretch of crooked, winding road, Joe came to a small, solid bri
dge with a green sign that announced “North Fork, Toutle River.” A bit beyond the bridge was a wide pullout, where half a dozen vehicles were parked. He did a quick inventory. A camper van, a VW van, a dusty Toyota, and three pick-ups.

  There it is! That’s Bobby’s old truck. I’d recognize it anywhere.

  Joe pulled in beside it and hopped out. He peered in the passenger-side window. Sure enough, the seat was covered with a familiar striped car seat, and there was a roach clip with a blue feather hanging from the rear view mirror.

  Okay. That’s gotta be half the battle, right? They seem to take the easy way out, so hopefully they haven’t hiked in too far.

  A sudden thought occurred. No matter what I did, I couldn’t talk them out of coming. What if it’s the same when I find them? What if they won’t leave?

  Joe slung the backpack over his shoulder, locked up the Oldsmobile and set off down the most obvious trail.

  If that’s what happens, then I’ll leave them and hike out of here as fast as my feet will carry me.

  Almost immediately, Joe realized he had forgotten his mosquito spray at home. He was dive-bombed repeatedly, and in the still, windless night, a small cloud gathered around him. They drew blood at will. Joe swatted and waved, but knew he would be an itchy, bumpy mess of bites by morning.

  He estimated he had hiked in at least a mile, when he saw the first sign of humanity. Off to the right of the trail ahead was a clearing with a tent, campfire, and people. It was too big, and too well-organized to be JD and Bobby, but Joe approached anyway.

  “Yo, weary hiker,” a man said. He sat in a folding chair facing the fire. He had a long gray-black beard and long hair pulled back in a ponytail. A short, round woman emerged from the tent, smiling, and two kids were playing around in the trees.

  “Yo,” Joe answered. “Mind if I borrow your fire to keep the mosquitos away for a bit? They are eating me alive.”

  “Come on in,” the man said. “I’m Merlin, like the magician. This is my wife Sapphire. Those two druids dancing through the trees are our offspring.”

  “I’m Joe. Nice to meet you.” He stepped off the path and into the glow of the fire, which crackled and smoked.

  Merlin offered his hand, then said, “Oh, brother, you are truly providing a buffet for the winged army of St. Helens. Saph? We got any DEET?”

  “On the way,” Sapphire said, digging through an old army knapsack. She pulled a can out and approached Joe. “The fire keeps them away when you’re near it, but venture away at your own risk. Do you mind?” she asked raising the can.

  “I do not mind in any way, shape, or form. I am grateful. Thank you.”

  Sapphire sprayed DEET over his arms, his neck, then up and down his back and front. She turned him like a dress mannequin. “Close your eyes and hold your breath, now.”

  Joe did, and she blasted him right in the face. She nodded with satisfaction. “There. That’ll hold you for a few hours.”

  “Thank you so much. Can I ask how long you’ve been set up here?”

  “This is our third day,” Merlin said. “We’ve got to head back to civilization, tomorrow. Well, if the hamlet of Winlock counts as civilization, which is up for debate.”

  “Did you see a couple of guys about my age, long hair, probably goofy smiles on their faces, come along here in the last few hours?”

  Merlin laughed, a high, piercing laugh that was surprising in a man so large. “You mean the stoners? Yeah, they came through here, then stumbled off in search of magic mushrooms, I figured.”

  Joe’s heart leapt. Yes! On the right track.

  “They didn’t happen to say how far they were going, did they?”

  Merlin shook his head. “No. From the looks of them, I didn’t figure them for long-distance hikers, though. They looked pretty peaked.”

  “Thank you so much, I’m trying to catch up with them. Glad I’m not too far behind.”

  Joe turned to leave, then he hesitated and turned back. “Listen, you folks are so nice, I know you’re not going to believe me, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

  Merlin leaned forward in his lawn chair, causing it to creak ominously. “What’s that?”

  “The mountain’s about to blow.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is, but no one knows when. In the scope of a mountain, a thousand years isn’t even the blink of an eye. I don’t expect one day to make all that much difference.”

  “Unless it’s this day,” Joe said. Something about his tone pricked up the ears of both Merlin and Sapphire. “Listen, I don’t expect you to believe me, because if I was sitting where you are, I wouldn’t. But, I wanted to give you a shot. For the sake of your kids, I’d pack up now and not stop moving until I got out of the blast area.”

  “Then why are you moving directly toward the mountain?”

  “Because I’ve got idiots for friends.”

  “Having met them, I can’t disagree.” Merlin and Sapphire exchanged meaningful glances. “Thank you for the warning.”

  “Thanks for the skeeter spray. Much appreciated.” Joe tipped them a two-finger salute and walked back toward the path. Once he was a hundred steps away, he turned and looked back at the small camp. They were breaking it down, getting ready to leave.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joe hiked on. The sounds around him, once bright and cheerful, quieted some. Dusk had fully arrived, and night wasn’t far behind. He pulled his flashlight out of his backpack and turned it on to make sure it was working. A comforting white beam cut through the encroaching darkness. He switched it off to save the batteries, but carried it with him.

  Joe didn’t see any other signs of people. Even on a nice weekend with beautiful weather, the rumblings and earthquakes had scared off many of the would-be nature lovers. Several times, he saw spur paths that moved off from the main trail. When he came to each of them, he would walk fifty or a hundred yards down it and call out, but he never heard a sound except for the occasional echo.

  Darkness fell so gradually that he tripped over a rock in the path before he realized that he couldn’t see the path in front of him. He flicked the flashlight on and followed its beam step after step and eventually mile after mile. He tried to do the math to figure out how long he could hike toward the mountain before he reached the point of no return. He estimated that he could hike in until 1:00 a.m. and still have time to turn around and get to a safe distance before it blew.

  In the darkness, his pace slowed, and he covered less and less with each passing hour. He shone the flashlight on his wristwatch. It read half past midnight, and he sat down in the middle of the path. His batteries were fading, and he was tripping and stumbling more and more often. He pulled the replacement batteries out of his pack and had a moment’s panic when he realized he hadn’t double-checked to make sure whether or not the flashlight took C or D batteries.

  He blew out a breath of relief when the batteries that fell out of the flashlight matched the ones he had brought with him. Wouldn’t that have been just great, though? Stumbling along the path in the dark, trying to get out of here before I get blown to bits.

  He screwed the cap back on and the white beam of light cut through the midnight blackness in a most satisfying way. He turned the light off, though, and sat in the cathedral quiet of the forest. He took his last sandwich out of his pack, devoured it, and washed it down with water from his canteen. It was no longer cool, and now only tasted stale.

  I hate it, but I think it’s time to give up on this adventure. I don’t want to leave them here to die, but they made their choice. If I can’t find them, I can’t find them.

  He slung his pack over his back and stood up again. Weariness washed over him.

  What I’d really like to do is lay down and take a nap. Close my eyes for just a minute, then fall deep asleep and wake up, when exactly? What if I die while I am tilting at this windmill? Then where am I? Do I wake up back in 1978, or does this fulfill some karmic debt so I’m allowed to go on to whatever is next? No idea
, but I don’t want to find out.

  Joe took a deep breath, flicked the flashlight back on, and walked back the way he came. After a quarter mile or so, he paused, turned the flashlight on his watch. It still read 12:30.

  Shit!

  He peered at it more closely and saw that the sweep second hand wasn’t moving.

  Oh, God. No way to know how long it’s been stopped. It could be one o’clock, or it could be three o’clock. I’ve completely lost track of time.

  He swiveled around to the east to see if there was any hint of dawn. There was only darkness.

  Joe put his hand against his chest, trying to calm both his breathing and his hammering heart.

  Have I come out here on a fool’s errand, and now I’m going to kill myself? Standing here worrying about it doesn’t get me any further away, that’s for sure.

  Slightly panicked now, he began retracing his steps. Almost immediately, he missed seeing a tree root stretched across the trail in his bouncing flashlight beam. It grabbed his left shoe and he pitched forward, hitting the dirt with an explosion of breath and curses. He laid his head against the cool dirt.

  That’s not gonna help, either.

  He gathered himself for just a few moments, pushed up onto all fours, then stood and dusted himself off.

  Nothing broken.

  He began alternating the flashlight beam ahead of him a few yards, looking for obstacles, then dropping it back down immediately in front of him. That worked better, and he made more efficient time, but he was still moving slower than he had been on the way in.

  After what seemed like hours hiking back, but was probably closer to only thirty minutes, he saw the glow of a campfire off to his left. It was at the end of a small spur trail that he had missed the first time by.

  Who the hell still has a campfire burning in the middle of the night, or this time of morning?

  A thin, high-pitched laugh wafted across the night air. The distinct, stoned laugh of JD McManus.

  Joe shook his head. At this point, I don’t even care anymore. They’ll only slow me down.