“My name is Raymond,” the man says. “What do you need to know?”
You point at the complicated-looking console in front of you. “What is this thing?”
“Allow me.” He shows you the control panel and begins to guide you through working it . . . and then he stops.
“It’s too confusing. You’ll never be able to understand it,” he says. “This device is a doorway to other places. You’re able to experience these locations and times from long ago or in the future.”
“You mean, this really is a time machine?”
Raymond nods.
You can hardly believe it. You have so many questions, you don’t even know where to begin.
Raymond keeps going. “Let me make sure you get the most important thing. We want these journeys to be fun. So you can’t die in another time or place. There are no tragedies here. There are unexplained events, but no deaths.”
This sounds kind of familiar. But you can’t help feeling worried. “Why not?”
“Level 34-B bicode.”
“Say what?”
“Okay. Take the grandfather paradox, for example. You can’t go back in time to kill your grandfather because that would mean you’d never exist, right?”
“I guess so,” you say. “But if I don’t die, what happens?”
“You’ll find yourself back where you began,” Father Time—er, Raymond—says mysteriously. “With a vague memory, perhaps, of what you experienced.”
You open your mouth to start asking more questions.
“Why do you need the answers so badly?” he says before you’re able to ask anything. “Enjoy the ride. The journey is everything, isn’t it?”
Hmmm.
Do you ask Raymond to send you wherever John Luke went? Go here.
Do you say good-bye to Raymond, then pull a random lever in the middle of the console? (Really? Is this a smart idea?) Go here.
TODAY
BAD THING YOU PICKED DUCK.
The ducks get all the credit. The poor bucks don’t ever get noticed.
You open the door to find water seeping in. You’re in the Dog, which is a part of the bayou—a place where you commonly go duck hunting. The outhouse is bobbing up and down. Somehow it’s managing to stay upright without toppling over—obviously there’s technology happening here that’s a bit beyond your comprehension. But regardless, water is coming in, so all of you have to get out.
“We’re going to lose the machine!” you say.
“We’re going to drown if we don’t get out of here,” Jase says. “I don’t want my tombstone to say ‘died in an outhouse’!”
The three of you manage to get out of the time machine before it fills completely. But now you’re in the lake, splashing around.
Several ducks find you and land nearby.
“Wish I had my gun,” Jase says.
“Wish you had a brain,” you tell him.
“Did you pick Duck or Buck?” John Luke asks.
The ducks quack as if they’re mocking all of you.
“What do you think?”
“I think you chose poorly,” John Luke says.
“Korie is so gonna kill us,” you tell them.
Then you start swimming, trying to avoid the ducks on your way to shore.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Morning Fog: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
A LONG, LONG TIME AGO
THIS PLACE IS TOTAL DARKNESS. And for a while, you wonder if it really is the ark since you don’t hear any animals. But then you turn a corner, and it’s as if you suddenly enter a zoo. You realize you started in an unused part of this boat but that this deck has what sounds like hundreds of rooms of animals.
You still can’t see a thing, so you only detect the animals by noise or smell. You pass a room that rings with the squawks of a thousand birds. Another room has lots of shuffling going on in it. Then you walk right into an animal that lets out a loud “hee-haw.” You pet it and feel its ears, then shake your head.
I end up on an entire boat full of animals and the first one I run into is a screaming donkey.
You keep moving, trying to locate any human being. This boat is so big you think you could end up spending hours lost in the darkness. It’s like being inside the biggest indoor mall in the world with all the lights out and no way to get in touch with anybody.
As you silently walk down another darkened hallway, you hear something to your left.
“Willie?”
Your name seems to hover all around you. You recognize Phil’s voice but can’t see him.
“Come over here. Be quiet.”
You enter a room to your left. There you can hear ducks.
“Phil, is that you?” you ask.
You always call your dad by his first name. This dates back to when you started working with Duck Commander and wanted to be professional and grown-up. It’s stuck since then.
“I could see you a mile away,” he says.
There’s a little light coming through a small hole the size of your fist.
“It’s a makeshift window,” Phil tells you. “I have a piece of wood that fits inside it to keep too much rain from coming in.”
“We gotta get out of here.”
Phil nods. “You got that right.”
“Did you . . . did you want to come back here to Noah’s time?”
“Of course I did. I’ve always wanted to see what the ark looked like.”
“Did you have to pick the one and only time God decided to wipe out mankind from the face of the earth?” you ask, sorta joking and sorta not. “I mean, couldn’t we have seen Joseph and his coat of many colors? Or what about Moses? The parting of the Red Sea would’ve been nice. Or maybe hearing Jesus preach?”
“You shoulda come with me in the first place,” Phil tells you.
“Have you met Noah?”
Phil puts a hand over your mouth. “Shh.”
“What?”
Your father shakes his head. “He’s a bit—well, saying he’s intense just doesn’t do it justice.”
“You saw him, then.”
“Yes. And we don’t want to see him again. He’s a wild man, that Noah.”
“Really?”
Phil nods. “And they say I’m wild.”
“So you’ve seen the ark. Let’s get out of here.”
You manage to slip back out of the ark, and now you’re headed away from the unruly crowd, back to the time machine. The rain is falling hard. Puddles are everywhere.
“So when’d you get here?” you ask Phil.
“Oh, I reckon it’s been about five or six days. They hadn’t closed up shop yet on the ark.”
“So you saw all the animals.”
“Every one of them,” Phil says. “It was like the most amazing and messy zoo you’ve ever been to. Koala bears right next to lions. Some of those animals I’d never even seen before.”
“I still can’t believe how big that thing was.”
“I hope you took some pictures of it.”
You look at Phil. “What for? Are you planning on sharing them on our Facebook page or something?”
“It’d be nice to show Miss Kay.”
“I was a little too busy saving you.”
“Is that what you call it?” Phil says. “I remember you looking a little lost.”
You guys reach the time machine and get back inside. You’re both drenched.
“Let’s go back home,” Phil says.
You suddenly have this awful thought.
John Luke. Uncle Si. Jase.
“We have to pick all the other guys up.”
“Really? And where’d they go?”
A door in the back wall of the machine swooshes open, and John Luke comes in, eating something. He’s followed by Si and Jase.
“They have the most amazing puffballs in the back there,” Jase says. “Each one tastes like some kind of meal. Lobster. Chicken stir-fry. Egg foo yong.”
“What are you guys doing in here?” you ask.
“Man, you’re wet,” Si says.
“We got back in the time machine,” John Luke says. “Didn’t the red-haired guy explain to you how the machine works?”
You shake your head.
“Think of this as a door,” Jase says as if he’s trying to imitate an intelligent-sounding voice.
“This right here’s the stairway to heaven, Jack,” Si states.
“I’d prefer going home and getting some warm clothes,” Phil says.
“So why didn’t any of you come out and get us?” you ask the three of them.
“I’m not going out there,” Jase says. “It’s the end of the world.”
“And we were out there,” you remind him. “We could’ve died. Thanks to you.”
“We were eating puffballs,” Si says.
John Luke nods.
“Okay, gentlemen,” Phil says. “Let’s set our sails for West Monroe.”
“And let’s try to make it before Korie’s party, okay?” you say.
“We still gotta get Mom her birthday present,” John Luke says.
You nod as Jase works at one of the control panel screens.
“Do you guys have any of those puffballs left?” you ask. “Bet Korie would love them.”
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Morning Fog: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
1863
YOU STEP OUTSIDE INTO THE SUNLIGHT and for a moment are blinded. As your eyes adjust, you hear the sound of horses rushing toward you.
“There he is!”
“Over here!”
“He’s alone!”
When you can see what’s happening, you find yourself in a field with rolling hills around it. The men coming toward you are wearing gray outfits. Exactly like the kind the Confederates wore in the Civil War.
“Where is he?” the first man who comes up to you asks.
“Where is who?” you ask.
“You know who.”
“He’s the one who took the general!” a second man cries.
There’s shouting all around you, and you realize that something very strange is happening.
Could I really be here? Or are these just actors?
But they sure don’t look and sound like actors.
“He’s the man who took General Jackson. Same look. Same beard.”
You realize they must think you’re someone else.
Stonewall Jackson? Is that who they’re talking about?
You walk up to one of them, offering a hand, when suddenly a gun goes off nearby.
It’s the last thing you’ll ever hear . . .
Until you hear a female voice singing, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” and you’re standing back in the warehouse, phone ringing loudly. You don’t remember anything that happened, but you find yourself thinking about the Civil War for some reason.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Morning Fog: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
TODAY
THERE’S BARELY ENOUGH ROOM for you in this confined space. You tap on the walls of the outhouse, but everything feels sturdy and unmovable. The panel of wood that you sit on doesn’t move either. John Luke hasn’t slipped inside it and isn’t hiding.
For a second you look up at the ceiling. There’s a strange little blinking light going off. Then the door shuts.
You blink, and everything changes. You’re no longer in the narrow box of the outhouse. You’re now standing in a room that’s not square but circular. The blank, boring walls have transformed into elaborate panels full of blinking buttons. At the middle of this room—and it’s a very large room—is a round control center that looks like something you’d find at Chuck E. Cheese’s. It has monitors and panels and several chairs in front of it.
This totally looks like the inside of some kind of spaceship. Like something from Star Trek or Doctor Who.
“Hello?” you call out.
You’re not sure if you’re dreaming. Nothing around you makes sense. If this is a joke—and it no longer feels like one—then it is a very, very elaborate joke.
“John Luke?”
You hear a ticking and a whirring from the knobs and buttons on the control center. On one screen is a set of about a hundred different images. You see a bunch of photos but don’t recognize any of them. Some are places and some are people. There are numbers and colors. You press one of them and feel a slight jolt.
You look around again but don’t see anybody.
A siren starts to sound, and you circle around the set of monitors until you’re in front of a screen that blinks with the number 1990.
You feel a rumbling that seems to be coming from all around you. Like a car engine revving.
The number 1990 keeps blinking and seems to be getting bigger and brighter on the screen. Then another message shows up.
YES, TOUCH THE SCREEN.
So you do exactly what it says. The shaking continues, and you feel yourself floating and spinning around like you’re on some amusement park ride. The lights all seem to blend together and blind you for a second. You can’t help but pass out.
When you wake up, the outhouse is dark again. The screen you just touched isn’t blinking anymore, but it still says 1990.
Maybe this is a time machine and I went back in time.
You know that’s not what happened, and you also know that you’re surely going to wake up and find yourself asleep in a duck blind somewhere. Or maybe stretched out in your favorite reclining chair.
You hear music playing outside. You remember that you’re still looking for John Luke.
The song playing outside . . . you haven’t heard it for some time.
Do you head outside to find John Luke? Go here.
Do you figure this must be some kind of jambalaya-inspired dream and hope you wake up soon? Go here.
Do you decide to stay put until you figure out what’s going on here? Go here.
TODAY
AN ALARM IS SOUNDING in the control room. As you look for the source of the noise, you spy a red warning screen flashing urgently, so you walk over to the armchair in front of the screen and read the message.
CRISIS SITUATION
It’s getting louder. Then it starts to sound like a dog barking.
The siren has turned into a barking dog.
What kind of crazy spaceship is this?
The screen’s content changes.
PRESS THE BUTTON, DUMMY.
Sure enough, a big, blinking button that glows and reads Press Now is flashing below the screen.
“Oh, okay, I’m going to press the button.”
Just in case your brothers are watching you right now—and in case Raymond was some guy in on this whole joke—you look around to make sure any cameras catch you grinning, then push the button.
Now everything is moving and shaking, jerking you off your feet and onto the floor. The thing feels like it’s taking off.
After a few moments, it stops and the doors open.
You stand and peer at the screen. It’s still flashing on and off, but now it says something different.
BE CAREFUL, AVOID DANGER, AND DON’T BE STUPID.
“Okay, I sure will.”
Do you step right outside of the machine you’re in? Go here.
Do you take the computer’s advice and wait before stepping outside? Go here.
A LONG, LONG TIME AGO
YOU SEEM TO WAIT FOREVER, feeling your heartbeat as you hover in the darkness and shiver in your wet clothes. You keep hearing more and more voices outside, screaming and yelling and cursing. Occasionally you hear knocks—probably things being thrown at the giant boat.
You’ve never thought very hard about this part of the Bible, but now you know the mistake you made. It’s not really a sweet story about animals for little kids. It’s pretty scary. Who could live like this for long, in total darkness with the rain pounding against the b
oat? How many days? Forty, right?
Forty days and forty nights.
You’ve been waiting for forty minutes and you’re already ready to go home.
Steps signal someone’s approach. But you stay put. You see light and wonder how that can be. Then you see a shadow coming around the corner.
“Who’s that?” a thunderous voice calls out.
You know it’s not Phil. You think about running, but the figure is blocking your exit.
“What are you doing in here?” the man calls out when the light reveals you crouching in the corner.
“I’m not here to harm anyone.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
In one hand is a lantern-like thing that’s giving off the dim light. In the other is a long stick of some kind.
It sorta resembles a baseball bat.
“Look, my name is Willie Robertson, and I believe very much in the same things you folks do. I don’t mean to do anybody any harm. What’s your name?”
“My name is Ham, and you do not belong here.”
The baseball-bat thing strikes down at you, and you’re out.
Seconds or minutes or hours later—you don’t know because you wake up in a puddle of rainwater with those dark skies above you—you open your eyes and feel the rain splashing on your face.
You’re off the ark. The crowd surrounds you. Fights are breaking out. Some people are screaming and crying.
You still can’t believe a guy named Ham took you out.
You need to come up with a plan. You need to figure out a way back onto the boat.
But first things first. You need to get dry. Maybe start a fire.
All of this is wishful thinking. You know that because you’ve read what happens.
Those in the boat survive.
You, however, are not in the boat.
But as soon as the water closes over your head, you find yourself back in your warehouse, with Britney Spears singing that annoying song on your phone, over and over again.
Willie's Redneck Time Machine Page 2
