by W. Green
“I suppose that would be OK. My students are used to the attention. Here in Texas the four of us stand out like a peg-legged man at a hoedown. We not from these parts—we’re from Chicago. How ‘bout you pilgrim?”
“Coming from Big D—lookin’ for bad guys. You seen any?”
“Nope.”
The old guy smiled. “Thought not. Say what about that picture?” He pulled an Instamatic camera from his jacket.
Currant nodded and they assembled four abreast—Ethan, Emma, Zak and A.C. He glanced over and watched the tall guy rising up from the other side of the car as if he had been checking the tire. Then the man circled the Chevy nodding and smiling as if he was going to buy it.
“Smile...” said the old guy as he took their picture. “Very nice. Mabel will like that one. Happy trails to you.” He stretched out a parting look for each of them. Then for Emma, he gripped the brim of his beat up “pork pie” hat—“Ma’am,” he drawled. He tossed out a toothy smile and gave them all a jaunty wave, then walked away. He and the tall guy mozied along into the restaurant talking and laughing.
“Happy trails pardner,” Currant muttered to himself. Quickly he huddled with the team. “Let’s go now,” he said. “Zak—you drive and Ethan you get my valise out of the trunk.”
Zak and Ethan nodded in agreement. Emma looked puzzled.
“What’s up Doctor?” She asked as they walked rapidly to the car.
“They’re time cops. They know who we are. We’re getting out of here as fast as possible.”
They popped into the convertible. Zak took the wheel—Emma, shotgun—Ethan and Currant in the back seat. Pebbles and dust blew out behind the Chevy as it chewed its way onto the road.
“Take it up to sixty-five Zak. No more,” said Currant as he searched through the paisley valise on the seat next to him.
Emma turned back. Her arm hung over the edge of the front seat. Her hair flew wildly and her eyes danced with excitement. “What about the photo? His camera looked just like my camera. The one they took from me in Dallas. I wonder if they developed our shots?”
“Sure they did. Did you take one of the car?”
She nodded.
“That’s how they found us. Sorry about the photo he took. It couldn’t be helped. But don’t worry, it won’t matter,” said Currant flatly.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll be on to us again soon enough. They probably hid a transmitter in the car. They want to follow us to our ‘rabbit hole.’ They don’t want to make a fuss here in 1963. They just want to track us to Mystic Heights. Then they’ll relay our location to ‘the future’. We’ll be grabbed as soon as we pop our heads out of the ground in 2028.”
“What can we do?”
“Wait—I’ll take care of it.” For the next forty minutes Currant sat quietly with his arms outstretched on the seatback. The wind blew his hair about. The sun baked his face. He was at peace. Red soil was giving way to grassland. Texas was getting prettier. They heard the sound of the plane again.
“There it is,” shouted Emma. Her face wore a desperate look.
A.C. looked up and spotted the plane. “Right on time. A sandwich and a beer, and they’re right back on us. Now we’ll never shake them off,” said Currant without emotion. “Zak. Keep a steady pace son. Ethan—you squeeze over in the corner.” Currant reached into his paisley bag and withdrew a tubular, dull metal object. He looked again into the sky. They were pacing them on his side of the car. No pretending anymore, the old ‘Texas Ranger’ knew his quarry was running out of time—no deviations—no delay—the time travelers had to head straight home. The plane followed them mile for mile as they neared the Arkansas border. Since the Chevy traveled slower, the pilot compensated by running figure eight patterns in the sky. Currant figured they were locking in on the location transmitter they had planted.
“What’s that?” asked Emma looking back.
“Pulsed energy weapon. Hand-held. 2500-yard range. Causes no physical damage except for a little extra heat and sound. But it plays havoc with the human nervous system.” He twisted and extended the front of the tube doubling its length. The device had handles on either side, a flat perforated metal box hung beneath, and a thick polished black disk was fixed to its back. “Zak. Maintain a straight, steady pace.” Currant rolled up the rear window a couple of inches to use as a brace. He then pulled out a rod from the center of the device and attached its base to the window. He could now pivot the device with control in any direction. “Steady Zak. We’ll probably have only one chance at this.”
Zak didn’t look back. He was a rock.
“Are you going to shoot at them with that?” asked Emma.
“Right,” said Current. “Remember this is my business. You have nothing to do with this decision. Duck your head now Emma.” He made sure she followed his order. “Good.” He verified Ethan was clear.
He was ready. He armed the weapon by placing his index finger at a sensor location on the disk. In a second, the glow of a green light indicator twinkled in his eyes. Currant looked through the weapon’s view port. The device came alive emitting a low-pitched whine. Rapidly, both the volume and pitch rose. The plane began another crossing pattern in front of the car. Currant brought the tube around and aimed the weapon at the cockpit of the plane. The device screamed. He gently squeezed the trigger buttons of both handles simultaneously. In seconds it locked onto the target. There was a loud popping sound, and an almost sensuous dazzling ball of red-orange plasma rolled out of the device and expanded into a colorful fuzzy funnel. Currant held his position and watched the mystery unfold. “So long pilgrim...” muttered Currant.
Emma lifted her head to see. “Nothing happened,” she said with a hint of relief. The plane continued on.
“Wait,” said Currant. Seconds passed. Then, almost imperceptibly, the nose of the plane began to drop—a little—then lower and lower—finally it pointed straight down. As it crossed in front of them, it went into a screaming dive.
Emma covered her eyes as it hit the ground and burst into flames a few hundred yards to the left side of the road. She screamed. “You killed them all.”
Zak looked in the rear view mirror. For a second, Currant’s eyes caught his. Zak tossed his head back and gripped the wheel tightly. Then he relaxed. He blew out a lung-full of tension, and reached over to hold Emma’s hand. She looked up at him for a moment and then turned back, dropped her shoulders, rested her head on the seatback and starred blankly into the sky.
Currant disarmed and repacked the weapon tossing it on the seat next to him. He leaned forward so everyone could hear him clearly. “I did it. Remember I did it. Not you. This is the risk we took. This is the fate of time travelers and time cops. Something had to give.”
Emma sat stoic. Zak drove in silence still holding her hand. Ethan pulled himself out of the corner, tapped Currant on the shoulder and extended his hand. A.C. accepted his gesture. They shook hands. “Thanks Doctor,” he said quietly. “Thanks for everything.”
-Chapter 25-
2028 Redux
Early morning, on twenty-eighth day of time travel, just outside New York City, Currant wheeled the Chevy into a post office parking lot. They were in the “home stretch”. He knew the time cops were out of the picture. Joell was back in 2028, and “Captain Bobby Sykes” and his friends were now only an unsolvable mystery for the medical examiner. In Little Rock, the time travelers had electronically scanned the car. Their search revealed a single location transmitter on inside of the rear bumper—a gift from the tall tramp. To throw off any remaining hounds, Ethan tossed it into the back of a passing semi-truck headed west. But Currant was now unconcerned about time cops. He had taken care of them. He wanted to get back to Mystic Heights and the TimeTravelle as quickly as possible.
But first things first, thought Currant, time to settle up with Quinn. To be on the safe side, he bought five first-class stamps for a total price of 25 cents. He licked and applied them to the envelope one by one just like
he had done 65 years ago in his home in Covington. The taste of the stamps brought back a flood of memories—of his youth, his mother and father, and the house they shared so briefly with his brother Patrick. Currant floated ahead through the decades that followed. What was it all about, he wondered—a whirlwind of people, places and things. He had invented a time machine for one reason. He hoped that when he returned, all his efforts would be rewarded. He addressed the little square envelope to Tom Quinn, and then planted it in the mailbox. It landed quietly atop the other written invitations, notices, bills, complaints, fears, threats, rewards, hopes, dreams, and all the other important human concerns of that day in 1963, piled letter upon letter in the box—maybe there were even some children’s letters to Santa. In a few days, back from the horrors of Dallas, Quinn might look upon the one he received from Santa Currant—the master of time travel—as an early Christmas gift. Quinn was a good man and a great friend. He deserved nothing but the best. Currant smiled and returned to the car.
Three more hours of steady driving brought the time travelers back to Mystic Heights. They cruised through town in their nifty car gathering looks of appreciation from the town folk.
Currant exhaled loudly. “It’s good to be home. Isn’t it?”
“You are so right Doctor. It’s been a long trip,” said Ethan stretching his arms out, his hands pushing into the fabric top.
“Don’t stretch it Ethan. It’s a classic,” said A.C. not smiling.
“Sorry boss,” he replied as he carefully withdrew his hands.
Emma’s voice floated up to Currant and Ethan from the back. She had been sleeping with her head on Zak’s shoulder, but now she came back to life. “You won’t believe this. But I’m actually looking forward to going home. I want to sleep in my own bed and be at peace in my own house. This trip has been very stressful. And Zak.” She looked at her seatmate. “Zak, You will be able to talk again. I’ll bet you are excited about that.”
Zak nodded and signed to affirm her speculation.
“What are you going to do with this car?” Ethan asked. “You can’t take it with you.”
“You’ll be surprised,” replied the inventor as he patted his hand on the dashboard.
They drove up the hill following the winding road that led away from the heart of Mystic Heights, and toward the war memorial. Currant scanned the ocean to his left. It was a beautiful clear, cool day. The sun reflected brightly off the blue water. A few die-hard sailors skirted about in small boats denying the change of seasons. It was late November 1963, and winter was coming. As Currant glanced at the boats, he contemplated the seasons of his own life. For some lucky people, it was human nature to live in the now and ignore the future. The aging time machine magician vowed to himself that, except when riding the TimeTravelle, he would become such a person. Then he saw a dirt road to the right, and he cut the Chevy into the turn quickly.
“Where are we headed?” Ethan asked.
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes of bouncy driving brought them to an old farm. A.C. smiled as he drove into an entry drive, and parked in front of a run-down barn building. A short distance away, an old stone foundation was all that remained of a long-ago farmhouse. He got out, and the others joined him.
Ethan stretched. “Days of driving cross-country are enough for me. I’m beat. What’s happening?”
Currant smiled. “I own this place. Or at least I will own it in about 15 years. Belonged to my mother’s grandfather originally.”
“Lucky you,” said Emma with a smirk.
“It doesn’t look like much, but it will serve my purpose.” Currant pulled a heavy lock and chain from the trunk of the car. “Follow me,” he said walking toward the silo. They stood at the base of the tall structure. A rectangular one-story windowless stone box of a building was attached to the deteriorating round stone silo. He pulled open a pair of large doors revealing a spacious workroom. It was large enough to accommodate an automobile. In a matter of minutes, the Chevy was tucked into the tower. Currant enlisted the help of Zak and Ethan to place four large stones under axles at the wheels. Then one by one, he released the air in the tires so that the car now rested on the boulders. He grabbed a large tarpaulin from the trunk and they carefully covered the car from bumper to bumper.
“Thank you fellows. This will be mine in a few years time. I just hope she starts then.” Currant grabbed the paisley cloth valise that contained their tools, the weapon, and the remaining money. He left the other bags in the trunk. The doors swung closed, the chain was engaged and the lock buckled. “So long my friend,” said Currant.
“You better hope that no one discovers your Bel Air beauty,” said Emma.
Currant smiled. “Got that figured out.” He pulled a couple of metal signs from his bag. They each read: QUARANTINED. Dangerous Toxic Waste. Do Not Enter. For added measure, they included a skull and bones graphic, and the address of the county health office. He nailed the two signs to trees at either side of the entrance. “Let’s go home guys. We’ve done enough,” he said. He checked his watch. “We have exactly sixteen minutes to take our positions.”
Fourteen minutes later they were all in position facing the chessboard, wearing goggles, breathing heavily from their fast walk from the farm. Emma east, Ethan west, Currant south, and Zak north—each had a spot in front of a paired column.
Sea birds soared overhead floating on the invisible. A.C. took one last look down on the town of Mystic Heights in 1963. Then, he looked at his charges and shouted, “Do not move!” Randall Tower’s clock hands pointed to the heavens and it chimed melodically. The bell rang: seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven—twelve was lost in time. The crackling sounds commenced. Colors danced before them. Then the background removed itself—a crazy waterfall of noise—they were going back to the future. Images appeared to fly by all around him. His stomach rebelled. He was getting sick. I’m too old for this, he thought. Then the blinding white light, and they were back. Currant was buckled over—spent. He looked up and starred at his three friends. They all laughed almost hysterically. From someplace, Currant heard a distant voice. Slowly, he removed his goggles. His ears rang.
“Doctor Currant. You made it back You’re alive,” shouted Jacques Dufour. He ran to Currant and threw his arms around him. “Mon ami. Mon ami. Tu retournes.”
Currant shook his head to clear it. He looked at his old friend. “Qui. Dufour. Je retourne. Je suis ici.” He looked around. The others seemed groggy also. For some reason, the return trip in time was far more taxing on the human body than their travel to 1963—kind of a “jumbo-jetlag”, thought Currant.
Warren Wright rolled up in his gyromobe and greeted his two children giving each a bear hug. “Did you have to wait until the twenty-eighth day? You had me worried.”
“Come on Dad,” said Ethan. “We got wrapped up in our case.”
“Forget the case,” said Emma. “I’m happy to be back.” She smiled and hugged her father again. “Love you Dad.”
Mr. Wright kissed her on the forehead. And then he did something astounding. He stepped out of the gyromobe and stood straight and tall in front of the Twins.
“Dad. You can walk,” said Ethan and Emma together. Tears rushed down Emma’s cheeks.
Wright smiled broadly. “That I can. Thanks to the good doctor. His baseball skills and the ‘butterfly’ effect.”
Currant walked up to Mr. Wright and hugged him. “Damn. So this is what it was all about. I stop a little red ball from going into the street in Chicago in 1963…”
“And the toddler doesn’t run out into traffic. And the car doesn’t swerve to dodge him. And it doesn’t smash into another car killing two people. Those people were the parents of the cop who accidentally shot me. So that man is able to continue his schooling. And he graduates from law school instead of joining the police force. Therefore he is not there to shoot me in the back five years ago. And it doesn’t happen. And as you can see, I am here walking around enjoying this reunion.”
“I take back everything I said about you, Warren. Even if it was in jest. You are a great detective,” declared Currant.
“Elementary my Dear Currant—elementary,” said Wright. “And thanks again—from my heart.” With a flourish, he did a mock bow in front of the inventor. “I bequeath you my gyromobe,” said Wright.
“Thanks Warren. I may be getting a little older, but I’m not there yet. I’ve got a few good miles left in me.” Then spontaneously, Currant danced a little jig around the Twins, Mr. Wright and Jacques Dufour. “See,” he said. “You can walk. And I can dance. Isn’t it great?”
Dufour broke away from the group and grabbed something from a nearby table. Quickly, he walked over to Zak who had been sitting quietly in the corner. “Here. I’ll bet you’ll be happy to have this back.”
Zak smiled and took the Voicenator quickly affixing it to his neck. He activated it and approached his friends. “Hey,” he said in a voice that was loud and clear. “It’s my turn to talk. In fact, for the next month, I’m going to do all the talking. Man, this is wonderful. I felt like a lion without teeth in 1963. It’s good to be back.”
Emma interjected. ‘I’m sure you have a lot to say, but that will have to wait. I want to talk…” Emma smiled. “Just kidding Zak. Talk away. Talk to yourself. Talk to the moon. Talk to the animals. Talk. Talk. Talk. Enjoy.” She gave him a serious hug.
“Well I will say one thing more,” said Zak. “This was the most exciting time of my life. Thanks Dr. Currant.”
They all nodded. “You’re the best. We had some tough times, but you kept it going and without the TimeTravelle nothing would have happened,” said Ethan.
“OK. Enough. Remember you’re just journalism students. Show some respect for your teacher.” Currant tapped his hand on his vest pocket to make the point. Then he seemed mystified for a moment. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a tiny toy-sized silver 2017 Mercedes Benz coupe. He held it up to the light, checking it out from all angles. “I wonder where my Batman comic is…?”
