“Nobody’s stealing anything, right, John Luke?”
You glance at Korie, who looks perplexed. You wonder if this is messing up the space-time continuum thing.
I gotta learn more about this time travel stuff.
“Come on,” you tell your son. Then you look to Korie and say, “Sorry to confuse you.”
“Hey, man, ZZ Top went out of style,” high school Willie tells you.
“ZZ Top never goes out of style,” you say as you leave.
Then you realize there’s one more thing you could do while you’re here.
Do you decide to try leaving something in your locker before you leave? Go here.
Do you just get into the time machine to go back home? Go here.
A LONG, LONG TIME AGO
IT’S A STRANGE THING, walking around with a chainsaw in a place you don’t know. The few people you pass on the road end up running away in terror upon seeing the power tool. You call out, telling them that no, really, you’re not the Texas chainsaw killer or any sort of killer whatsoever. But none of them listen to you.
It starts to rain, which only makes things worse. Now you look like a sopping mess and you happen to be wielding a very deadly piece of equipment.
You reach a small village and realize this has got to be a really long time ago. The place is primitive, scattered, with only a few faces showing themselves and quickly disappearing back into their huts after they do.
Why have you come to this particular time and place?
Or maybe you should ask the more important question: Why did Phil come here? He has to be close by, right?
It rains through the night, and you end up going into the nearby woods for shelter. When morning comes, the cold rain seems to double down on you.
You need to find some more effective shelter.
Or maybe you should just get rid of the chainsaw.
You return to the village and knock on a door—actually not so much a door as some branches covering an opening—and the woman behind it shouts gibberish at you. For a moment you wonder if you’re unable to understand this language, but it’s not that. This woman is just freaked out and talking fast.
“Please go somewhere else,” you finally hear her say.
So you do.
You keep trying this, door-to-door.
You feel yourself shivering and wonder why the man in the cloak back there didn’t offer you a rain poncho or maybe some flint to start a fire.
Rain starts hitting you sideways. You knock at yet another hut, and this time the makeshift door opens. A big man steps out.
It’s not just a big man. This is a giant.
His eyes glare at the chainsaw in your hands.
“This is just for cutting down—”
You’re on the ground and don’t even realize he took a swing at you until the right side of your face goes numb.
This can’t be good.
You try to stand, but he picks up the chainsaw.
Oh, man.
This really can’t be good.
As he studies it, though, you realize he has no earthly idea what he’s holding.
You start to run toward the woods you spent the night in. This will be where you will spend the rest of your life, watching the flood come—the flood you learned so much about back in your Sunday school days.
It won’t be much of a life after all.
Thankfully, time is on your side. Actually, time travel is, and you end up back in your warehouse with Britney Spears singing, “Oops! . . . I Did It Again.” This may have happened before, you realize. It’s like déjà vu.
Again.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The Morning Fog: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
2319
“YOU’RE NOT TOUCHING MY HEAD,” you tell Uncle Si. “Even if it looks like a melon.”
“We don’t have much time, Jack. They’re coming.”
“Then you better get me out of here.”
Si heaves a sigh and opens the door behind him.
You’re led through dingy, shadowy hallways and up a cracking, abandoned staircase until you get to the top of the building. Then another narrow flight of steps in near darkness leads you onto the roof.
It’s even windier up here, and the rain is falling harder. As you follow Si, you catch sight of the spacecraft he’s walking toward. It’s long with a narrow front and two wide, multilevel wings—as if they’re four or five wings all stacked up on each other.
“These things separate,” Si says, touching one of the wings. “They call this ship the Spider ’cause the wings look like spider legs.”
The machine doesn’t appear to have much room in it.
“Can we both fit inside?”
Si nods. “Yes. There’s seats for two people. You’ll be back here.” He taps on some kind of barrel sticking out the back and opens a door in its side. You realize with a jolt that you’re supposed to crawl in there.
“In case we get followed, you shoot them.”
“What’s happening, Si?”
“I’ll tell you once we’re in the sky. You know, you go up high enough and you can still see the blue skies. But down here all you get is this rainy gray death gloom.”
“So are you fighting against the rebels?”
“No, man. I’m leading the rebels. This is like Terminator land going on here. We’re the guys fighting the machines.”
You want to ask more, but you don’t know where to start. So you take a breath and get inside the barrel compartment.
When the spacecraft starts to go up, the strangest thing happens. You don’t feel anything. Your stomach doesn’t turn over like you thought it might. You feel as if you’re just sitting down watching the massive city get smaller and smaller.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Si says. You can see him in the pilot’s seat through the opening that connects the cockpit to your compartment.
“How can you fly this thing?”
“I’ve been here over a year.”
“Where is here?”
“This used to be Chicago. Now the country is divided into quadrants. This is quadrant four.”
You glide through the clouds. So far, from the seat you sit in that turns forward and backward, you can’t see anybody following you.
“How could you have been here a whole year already?”
“The time machine got blasted two seconds after I stepped foot out of it. But this time I made sure it was protected when you arrived.”
“You saw?”
“Yes. And we tried getting to you before Big Brother did. This place is trippy. And it’s only 2319 too. The machines are winning.”
“They’re machines?”
“Nah, not really. It’s just bad guys controlling machines. It’s not exactly like The Terminator or The Matrix. The bad guys are the rulers who are imprisoning everybody and using machines to do it.”
“Uncle Si—we have to get home.”
“I know. But we need to help these people.”
“How are you going to do that?” you ask.
“By defeating the bad guys.”
When the machine you’re in lands on another rooftop, Si looks back at you before exiting.
“You can take off if you want, but I got a battle I need to win.”
Do you decide to stay and help Uncle Si win the futuristic war? Go here.
Do you decide to find the time machine and somehow force Si to travel home with you? Go here.
1990
JOHN LUKE WANTED TO COME with you and see your old locker, but you pushed him back in the time machine before he could get into any more trouble.
You shut the door of the time machine and follow the familiar path to your locker. Just down the hall from the boys’ room, in the middle of the Rs in your class. Stanley Rose had a locker right next to yours and had the worst breath imaginable. Every morning you’d say, “What’s up?” and he’d deliver a blast of poo in response.
That was the worst.
Here you are again, staring at your locker, trying to remember the combination.
It can’t be the same, right?
But it’s 1990 again. So of course it can. It’s still your locker.
Your idea really could work. It’s only a tiny idea that won’t harm a soul and won’t be a big deal.
You think of those tough early days with the family, the times when you had to work so hard for so little. You’ve always wanted to go back in time and just help things out a bit. Not because money is that important in life, ’cause it’s not. You’ve always been happy with your family. God’s given you guys so much.
But . . .
You could have used some help. Before you decided to work at the camp. Before Duck Commander, when you were struggling those first few years.
So you test out your memory on the locker combination. Yep. It works.
You see books tossed around and what looks like a bagged lunch with some gym shorts on top of it. Some pictures of Korie and you decorate the inside of the door. Your locker sure doesn’t smell very good (but it’s nothing like Stanley’s breath). You dig around until you find a notebook and a pen, then open it to write yourself a note.
Hey, Willie. This is yourself from the future. Life’s been good to you, buddy. Just stay strong in your faith and stay close to Korie. Oh, and just so you know—the Buffalo Bills never win a Super Bowl. After four consecutive trips. So . . . just saying.
And another thing. DO NOT eat the ducks you shoot on Christmas morning 1998. Just don’t.
Willie
You take tape from the back of one of the pictures in the locker and stick the note to the door.
You head to the time machine, ready to go home. Hopefully John Luke made it back already.
You don’t expect anything to be different. Maybe some of the memories you have of lean days and nights cutting back on meals will change. But still—you’ve done nothing wrong. Have you?
You might be telling yourself about a potential sports bet you can make. But that’s all.
This is a gift from above. You’re just helping yourself out a little.
You find the time machine and step in.
Go here.
1990
“GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN.”
They all start to laugh at you. Obviously they don’t know who you are. Not with the beard. And maybe you’ve put on a little weight, but other than that you don’t think you look that different from when you were in high school.
If they don’t recognize you, though, you might as well use this to your advantage.
“Henry Billowby,” you say with a heavy, threatening voice.
“Yes?”
Now they’re not laughing. They’re wondering why the guy with the long hair and beard and the big boots is standing over them looking like he might paddle any of them in a millisecond.
“Staying out of trouble?”
The kid nods.
“You want to hear something? You may not know me, but I know you. And here’s my promise to you on this night. If you do anything—and I mean anything—that might be considered foolish, then I’m going to come find you. I know where you live. At the end of Baker Lane, right? You and your brother.”
“How do you know us?” Henry asks.
“From a long time ago. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“So what are you gonna do, anyway?”
This is Ralph talking. Henry was always the bigger talker, but Ralph was always the one getting in more trouble.
“Ralph, Ralph. Do you know what it feels like to hold the beating heart of a dead deer?”
The boy only shakes his head while you lean toward him and stare into his eyes.
“You don’t want to mess with a man who’s really good at carving up things.”
His eyes are big, like balloons ready to burst.
You are about to say something else, but then you see someone approaching the entrance to the gym from the other way. It’s a cute, tall, skinny girl with curly hair you recognize quite well.
It’s Korie. Your date for tonight.
Your date for the rest of your life.
You don’t have a clue what you’re going to do.
Do you rush over to say hi to Korie? Go here.
Do you head into the gym to search for John Luke? Go here.
1863
IT DOESN’T TAKE YOU LONG to find a Confederate deserter to switch clothes with. At first he thought he was going to be captured when he saw you with the general, so he’s more than happy when all you demand is his uniform. Granted, it’s a little short and tight, but that’s okay. The soldier even lets you have his horse. Giddyup.
You’ve always wanted to be a soldier.
“Where is Robert E. Lee?” you ask Stonewall Jackson.
But he is not talking to you. Even after you’ve explained half a dozen times that you’re from the future. They don’t understand the things you know. Time travel is real. Well, it might be real one day. To Stonewall (currently Stoneface), though, time travel is made-up nonsense.
You’ve decided that maybe it’s okay to save Stonewall Jackson’s life. But you’re not trying to help the South win the war.
Saving Stonewall Jackson won’t save the South.
Or will it? You can’t access Twitter to take a poll.
“You do know we’re saving your life,” you tell the general. “You realize you would get shot in battle? By your own men?”
The stern-faced general doesn’t reply. Jase, however, does.
“‘Fat guy in a little coat,’” he sings to you.
“Shut up and let’s get these horses going.” The only problem is, you’re not sure where to go. “Excuse me, General? What direction is Gettysburg?”
“I think that’s Pennsylvania,” Jase says.
“Where are we, again?”
“Virginia.”
You nod.
“Are they next to each other?” Jase asks.
“You should have paid better attention in geography,” you tell your brother.
Stonewall Jackson can only shake his head.
You’ve been riding for half an hour when two figures approach on foot. One wears a dark poncho with a cowboy hat and the other a sombrero. Both appear to be carrying holstered pistols.
“Good day, gentlemen,” you say.
“Have any of you stumbled upon a man called Angel Eyes?”
“No,” Jase says, looking at you. “Willie, you know who this is?”
The two men sure look familiar.
“What are your names?” Jase asks.
“You can call me Tuco,” the sombrero man says with an accent. “He’s Blondie.”
“I’m just waiting for the music now,” Jase says. “You know—the aheeaheeaaaaaaaa.”
“We’re back in time,” you say. “Not in a movie.” Are there no rules to this thing?
The guy named Blondie is talking to you now. Not only that—his gun is aimed at you. You kinda wish you had a weapon to defend yourself, even that dagger you found in the warehouse from the Thanksgiving play—not that it would do much good against a gun.
“Give us the horses,” he says. “You see, in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend: those with loaded guns and those who walk. You walk.”
You’re about to get off your horse, but Stonewall Jackson won’t take any more of this. He begins to ride away.
Suddenly Tuco gets nervous and draws his gun too. Jase bends over and looks like he’s going to jump off the horse, but the nervous bandit thinks he’s doing something else.
The sound of gunfire is the last thing you hear.
Actually, it’s the steady sound of drums, followed by a flute that sounds like a coyote.
Wah, wah, wah . . . turns into “Oops! . . . I Did It Again.” All of a sudden you’re in the Duck Commander warehouse, your ears echoing with the sounds of gunshots and drums.
THE END
Start over.
Read “The M
orning Fog: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
1990
“YOU’RE PRETTY HANDSOME, you know that?” you tell your high school self.
He doesn’t seem that impressed or amused. More like creeped out. He’s standing in front of John Luke, still looking like he might be ready to start a fight.
A clash between the mullet heads. That’s gonna be great.
“Hey, man, can we go take a walk?”
You know he’ll say yes because he—you—learned to always respect your elders.
“Yes, sir.”
You vacate the crowded gym for the hallway, leaving John Luke behind. A group of students walk past and make jokes about the beard. You’re used to it.
“So how’re you doing tonight?”
“Fine.”
“Really? You don’t look fine.”
He doesn’t say anything. It’s funny seeing yourself. Especially a younger and clean-shaven version of yourself.
“Can I tell you a few things? A few things about life?”
“I’m not going to do anything to the kid,” he says. “Is he your son?”
You smile and nod. “Well, yes, he is.”
“I’m not going to get in a fight.”
“Listen—there are times you have to put up a fight for the things you believe in. But you do so in a responsible way. How you feel about Korie—that’s a cool thing. Don’t ever let it go, okay? She’s a good lady.”
He gives you a suspicious look because, of course, he has no clue who you are. Or maybe it’s because you called Korie a “lady.”
“I just want you to know—you’re almost out of here. And you have your whole world ahead of you. Make sure you don’t change. Okay? Keep the things your parents have taught you close to your heart. Trust God. There are going to be some trying times, but that’s okay. You might find yourself working in an ice cream plant in a cooler all day long. Don’t let that wear you down. Big things are ahead for you.”
Willie's Redneck Time Machine Page 6
