Day Nine

by Clayton Spann

  Thursday, May 4

  Once again chilly rain fell.

  As she sat on a log Naylor kept her eyes squarely on the bottom of the depression housing the transit point. One hand gripped a shotgun and the other held an umbrella. On the other side of the depression Aaron dozed as he sat cross-legged beneath half a pup tent. Arms wrapped around a rifle helped prop him.

  They could not be sure which day and hour Jack and Chloe had entered 1863. The two could appear the next minute, or a week from now. Which meant she and Aaron must stay glued to the transit.

  She was five hours into her shift, the day shift. Her eyes burned, her shoulders ached, and she was getting pretty hungry. Plus her concentration was wandering. She guessed she would have made a lousy stakeout cop.

  At least her big toe no longer throbbed. She had stubbed it hard against a rock during the climb up the mountain. By the time they left 1863 late on the afternoon of July 2nd, the toe was swollen and black and blue. She could barely hobble about, and she feared a hairline fracture.

  Within an hour in 1882 the pain and swelling sharply subsided. By sunset the toe had healed completely. Going forward through the transit apparently restored it.

  Likewise their height. By sunset May 1 she and Aaron were back to normal stature. She had been very thankful, as she wasn’t certain at all their height would fully return so far from 2015. Now it looked like they could count on another two month lease on life.

  It was early spring in these woods. Foliage had abruptly changed from full to sparse when they stepped into 1882. The weather had been just as wet as that they thought left behind. It had to change soon, didn’t it?

  This waiting was unbearable. Three days here and they still had no idea if they had succeeded. Being tied to the depression kept them from the simple act of walking several hundred yards to the eastern slope. There they would have no trouble looking down to Thurmont. With field glasses they could easily tell if any flag flying bore the mark of the Confederacy.

  Had Thomas made it to Gettysburg? If he did, had he and Lee fully won the battle? Partial victory would not do it, the Army of the Potomac must be smashed and confidence in Lincoln irrevocably lost.

  She did not wait well, never had. Seizing and maintaining the initiative was her forte. Waiting defined also-rans.

  The rain was letting up. Thank God. When Aaron woke he could start a fire. It would be good to eat something cooked. And warm her feet, they were damn near icicles.

  Why didn’t Jack and Chloe come? They had to have entered not that long after them. Hightower and Ethan would have launched pursuit soon as manageable. “Allison, I’m awake.”

  Naylor did not lift her eyes from the bottom of the depression.

  “Good. Can you start a fire?”

  “Will do. I’ll make some coffee, too.”

  “You know the way to a woman’s heart.”

  Then the heart skipped a beat as two people appeared in the depression. The truncated Jack Mauer and Chloe Bryant. At last.

  Naylor lifted the shotgun and opened her mouth to command they not move. But Aaron beat her to it.

  “Hold it where you are. Go for your guns and I shoot.”

  The two in the depression swung their heads between Naylor and Aaron as if at a tennis match. Shock played on their faces.

  “Lift your pistol out carefully, Jack,” said Aaron. “Left hand. Then toss it out the depression. You too, Miss Bryant.”

  Neither of the two moved. Then Aaron squeezed off a shot. The bullet impacted a yard from Jack’s foot.

  “Do as I say. Now.”

  Jack glared at Naylor, then turned with softer face to Aaron. “Would you really shoot us, Aaron?”

  “If you make me.”

  “Her I’m not surprised turned traitor. You I don’t understand. I thought you loyal to the death to America.”

  Aaron shot again. “Toss the guns. I won’t give you a third chance.”

  “Let us keep them. We’re just passing through. We might need them going ahead.”

  “Let them keep their weapons,” said Naylor.

  “You can’t give him any edge, Allison.”

  “Do you have orders to kill us, Jack?”

  “At my discretion. But I’ll let the Justice Department deal with you.”

  Naylor tried to mask distress. Did that mean the United States still existed whole? But Jack wouldn’t know any more about that than she and Aaron. He was just sure he had killed Jackson, and thwarted the Southern cause.

  “Go on through the transit,” said Naylor. “You may keep your guns.”

  “Thank you, Madam Traitor.”

  She flushed. “Watch your tongue.”

  Chloe Bryant, so short she looked a child, tugged at Jack’s sleeve. She whispered in his ear.

  Jack in love with her? Scrawny, dull haired, pale as a ghost. Bryant was very capable professionally, but as a woman hardly a catch for the likes of Jack Mauer. Yet it must be so, or the two would not have lasted so long here.

  “Go, Jack,” said Naylor. “While you can.”

  Jack stared at her savagely, then he and Bryant stepped back into Transit One. Instantly they were gone.

  Naylor sighed her relief. That was done. Now on to finding out who won.

  Price raised the field glasses. Beside him Allison was fidgeting severely. With his naked eye he could see a speck waving above what had to be a flagpole in the center of Mechanicstown.

  The rain had stopped and the clouds were parting. On the rolling farmland to the east a distant shaft of sunlight illuminated a pasture and dots of livestock.

  “For God’s sake, Aaron, look.”

  “Maybe it’s better not to know, just yet. Maybe we should push on.”

  He was half serious, half teasing her. But she was in no mood to be teased.

  “Dammit, Aaron. Look. You know we’re staying here.”

  Price didn’t see any real reason to linger in 1882, whether they had reversed the outcome of the Civil War or not. Taking out Hitler and Trotsky was the only imperative remaining.

  But Allison had gotten it in her stubborn head to see Tom Jackson again. She would not be deterred. Totally nuts, the lover of peace unable to shake motherly attachment to the master of war.

  Price put the field glasses to his eyes. He found the village, then focused the lenses. He gasped as he located the flag.

  “What is it?” Allison’s hand dug into his biceps.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he said. “It’s the Bonny Blue flag.”

  “Oh, God. Oh God Jesus, thank you.”

  That was quite a declaration by such a confirmed agnostic. Perhaps some of Jackson had rubbed off.

  He gave her the glasses. “Take a gander.”

  Her hands shook as she lifted them. Price put an arm around her.

  “It is the flag. It is!”

  “‘That bears a single star.’”

  “We’ve done it, Aaron. We’ve done it.”

  Yes they had. They were halfway there. Now onto to seeing how the other half played out.