After and Again

by McLellan, Michael

  “I convinced the group to humor me and wait an extra hour before someone else went through. There were a few half-hearted jokes accusing me of a ruse to try and get out of drawing straws, but I think deep down everyone knew that I was telling the truth. The hour made sense not only so that I would remember, but that the rest of them would remember that I told them about it. So with the initial tests repeated and the agreement that Paul Nesbitt would be the one to go through, we all sat in the grass and waited until two twenty p.m. When the time arrived, he stood up and without preamble, walked through. The next thing that I knew Paul was sitting in the grass in front of me telling us all that he had done it. And I tell you dear stranger, that had I not had the memory of doing it myself, I would not have believed him, because to the rest of us, we had all just sat down to wait the extra hour and Paul was there with us the entire time. It was most disconcerting.

  We stayed at the site for awhile, did several more runs through and discovered that there was an unpleasant side effect to time travel. Somewhere in your consciousness the memories of each trip still lived, including the things that you experienced while someone else was in the rip. Even after someone else went through and changed the future you would have flashbacks of memories, memories that, technically speaking, never even happened. There were never tangibles; just foggy things like half-remembered dreams that would come out of nowhere and leave you feeling drained and confused. This side effect was only present in those of us that had traveled to the other side. John Stoddard and William Hendershot never entered the rip, and never had these ghost memories, even though their futures had been changed repeatedly. It was as if traveling through the rip changed something fundamental in our brains that caused us to perceive that things had been altered. When we returned to our lab, the others who had stayed behind had experienced nothing strange either. The entire mechanism was so far beyond any of our capabilities to understand that it seemed almost like magic.”

  Zack fiddled with the buttons on the device and listened to this last part repeatedly and still only had a vague sense of what it all meant. After several reviews, he let the man’s voice continue. “We decided for the time being to leave the time-rip alone, to move on and see what else we could discover. We surmised that there was likely a blast somewhere within a thousand miles northward and we wanted to locate it, and find out if there were anymore of these phenomenon before we ran out of supplies, most particularly gasoline.

  A few days after we had returned to our base, Marjorie Joinner, Paul Nesbitt and I had gone out to forage, a task that was taking longer and longer every trip. We made it a point to stay away from the larger cities on the outskirts of the blast areas. The word was that people were killing each other for scraps. It turned out that the cities weren’t the only places.”

  After a long pause, the man continued, his voice thick with emotion.

  “When we returned from our outing we found every single one of our colleagues—our friends—murdered. The facility was ransacked, everything useful was stolen, even the generator was somehow taken. Imagine, managing to survive the most catastrophic event of all time just to be murdered for your food and a few comforts. We buried our people and took what water we could and left.”

  We traveled around in the Land Rover. Paul Nesbitt slowly went mad and ran off about three months after we abandoned the facility. It was my belief then, and still is today that his mind simply cracked under the weight of the flashbacks. I still experience the confusing waking/dreaming states and fortunately am still sane. I wonder though what would happen if one spent a great deal of time on the other side.

  Marjorie Joinner died here in this very cave only two days past. She and I found this place not long after Paul left us. We have been slowly collecting things these past years…books mostly, but other things too. Artifacts of a dead era, a history of things that were, for someone like yourself to come along and find. I myself am leaving today. We abandoned the Land Rover two years ago and replaced it with a motorcycle as it was getting extremely difficult to find gasoline. I am going to try and right this horrible wrong. I am going to do what I should have done years ago and go back through the time-rip where I will try to survive for two and a half months. When I return it should be roughly two years before the bombs annihilated nearly everything. If I do not go mad then I will try and convince the right people that I have seen their future. It will be difficult to convince them but I must try. I have taken photographs, hundreds of photographs, of the aftermath, and whether or not electronic devices can pass through the time rip without damage we never tested, but I will try to bring my camera with me through the rip as well. If I succeed then no one will ever hear this recording. It will have never existed anywhere but in my memory.”

  Zack turned off the device and clipped it back onto his pack. His first thought was that the man had obviously failed or he would not have been able to listen to the man’s story. It occurred to him briefly that the story might not be true, that it was a made up story like The Wizard of Oz; no, he thought, it was real all right. With the man’s story running through his head, Zack slept.

  Zack awoke with the sun and rekindled the campfire. He filled the tin cup that the Martins had supplied in the stream and drank deeply. He then re-filled the cup and balanced it on a couple of sticks over the fire and added coffee from the small hide pouch that the Martin’s had also provided. Grace was off a little ways from camp grazing again. He watched the mare fondly and thought about the man’s story. It had fascinated him deeply but he was also a pragmatist and decided to push it aside and concentrate on rescuing his mother, Emily, and whoever else might be held by the gang of marauders.

  He drank his coffee while readying his gear then tossed the dregs and rinsed the cup. He called to Grace who came immediately and stood still while he saddled and packed her.

  They were off before the sun had risen much above the horizon and Zack thought that it would be hot again. His plan, that was just beginning to come together in his mind was to catch up to the gang that night and just watch—unless a really perfect opportunity arose—and then wait until the following night or even the next to attempt the rescue. They would be in the foothills by then and there would be more cover, and they could always make for the mountains where it would be easier to elude men on horseback when he and whoever was with him were likely to be on foot. He had a hope that he may be able to steal horses for whoever he rescued but wasn’t going to count on it.

  He again started the mare slowly and worked her up to a run. The great green plain rolling out before him gave him an inkling of what the ocean must look like. He imagined The Emerald City from The Wizard of Oz shimmering in the distance, and though he had lived his entire life on this plain at the roots of the mountains, he was realizing its beauty for the first time that day.

  Zack saw the dust just before noon. Ahead of him, but how far he didn’t know, he wasn’t that kind of a tracker and distance on the plain could be deceiving. He had slowed Grace down to a trot to cool her off before stopping for lunch and he wanted to get a better look at the dust cloud in the distance. “There they are, Grace,” he said to the horse, leaning forward and patting her neck. “We’ll get a look at those bastards tonight I think.” A knot had formed in his stomach at the thought but he knew that he wouldn’t falter. If his people were there, he would rescue them or die trying.

  Grace whinnied and Zack looked up from his lunch of smoked pork and dried apples. The wolf was about a hundred feet away staring at Zack and the mare by bobbing its head slowly between them. Zack was wary but not afraid, there was plenty of game in the area and wolf attacks on people were almost unheard of. Besides, there didn’t seem to be any others, he took the wolf for a loner. Grace was just behind Zack and stamped nervously a few times, Zack on the other hand thought that the creature was magnificent and he slowly stood up holding out a piece of the pork while making a clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Here big fella, want some
thing to eat?” he asked the wolf softly, while really having no idea whether it was a male or a female. The wolf tensed at the movement but didn’t run off. Zack said, “Here you go,” and tossed the piece of pork toward the wolf who immediately turned and ran. Zack stared after it for a few moments and then turned to the mare, “Well, Grace, I guess you’re not disappointed.” He stowed the rest of the pork back in the saddlebag and mounted the horse. He was no more than two hundred yards away and looking in the opposite direction when the wolf appeared out of the grass and ate the offered meat.

  It was about three hours before sundown when Zack realized that it would be completely impossible for him to sneak up and watch the gang out in the grasslands. He could almost make out shapes in the distance along with the dust cloud. “You are one stupid-ass Zackary Lane Mcqueen,” Zack said to himself aloud. “What in the hell were you thinking? They’d spot you miles away during the day, and you couldn’t ride Grace up on ‘em at night. You’d have to leave Grace out here and walk a couple of miles, and if they have campfires and lanterns and lookouts….” he trailed off, no longer feeling like a man but a fifteen-year-old kid. He was still resolved to the rescue but he realized at that moment that he needed to think everything through a lot better if he wanted to succeed at anything but getting himself and his loved ones killed.

  He didn’t travel any further that day and was glad because the dust-cloud disappeared not long after he stopped. He didn’t want to be any closer to the gang than he was already. At his best guess they would reach the foothills at mid-morning the following day and the beginning of the pass that night. Sitting at his cold camp after rubbing down Grace he pondered his options, coming up with ideas and then discarding them when he discovered some flaw or another. He thought about traveling by night and circling around the gang’s camp and heading into the hills ahead of them, which would be a good plan if he could be reasonably sure of where they were going to camp the following night, but he would only be able to guess, and if he was wrong…. On top of that there was currently no moon and he was a mediocre horseman at best. The last thing that he needed was to lame up Grace, or have her trip and throw him, leaving him lying in the grass with a broken spine. He also thought about trying to join the gang, thinking that if he was able to infiltrate the group and gain their trust that it may be easier to stage the rescue. In the end he thought that the best idea was to wait until they got into the mountain pass where there would be plenty of cover that he could use to assess the situation and aid in his escape.

  When the sun started going down Zack could see smoke from campfires at the base of the foothills. He wasn’t very hungry but decided to eat something before it got so dark that he couldn’t see anything. Leaning over and taking some of the pork out of the saddlebag he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. He slowly reached over the saddlebags to where his pack was lying in the grass and with his right hand (his left still holding the piece of pork) pulled the drawstring on the pack, reached in and removed the pistol. Raising the pistol while lowering himself to his knees he turned toward the movement. It was the wolf. Zack exhaled, only then becoming aware that he had been holding his breath, and said, “Damn dog, you scared the hell out of me, good way to get shot sneaking up like that. And where were you, Grace?” he said, turning and looking for the mare, who was currently grazing some yards in the opposite direction of the wolf. He turned back to the wolf who was just standing in the grass watching him like before. “I guess you went back for that piece of pork and wanted some more huh? Can’t say as I blame you, Toby Martin smokes some fine meat. Either that or you’re looking to eat Grace here and you’re worried about me interfering. Well you’re right to, if that’s the case. I’d hate to have to test out this pistol on you.” Zack, who always had a soft spot for animals, even the ones he hunted, made an awkward left-handed throw to the wolf. This time the wolf held his ground but would have to come several yards toward Zack if it wanted the pork. Still on his knees Zack simply watched the wolf, his troubles forgotten, at least for the moment. After several minutes the wolf moved warily to the place where the meat had landed, watching Zack the whole time. When it reached the spot it stopped and stared at Zack as if gauging the possible dangers of taking its eyes off of the boy. Desire for the pork won out and the wolf finally lowered it’s head, grabbed up the meat, turned, and ran off. Zack laughed to himself shaking his head and returned the pistol to the backpack. After that, he got himself a new piece of pork from the dwindling supply and sat down to eat.

  Zack sat at the base of a tree in the foothills chewing on a piece of the gum that he had found in the cave. He had eventually swallowed the first piece that he’d tried but now thought that maybe you were supposed to spit it out like tobacco when all of the flavor was gone.

  Once the gang had reached the foothills their travel had slowed appreciably. Zack lagged back taking frequent breaks. He still hoped that the gang would reach the treeline by dusk but was doubtful. He was growing more apprehensive every moment, wishing that he could just make his move and get it over with. The waiting was difficult.

  The next morning he awoke shivering, it was getting colder the farther up that they traveled. He was camped about three-quarters of the way up the foothills and was guessing that the gang had camped at the beginning of the mountain pass. He could see a little of their campfire smoke the previous night but with the terrain no longer being level and the gang being a good distance uphill from him their location was difficult to gauge. He did not risk a fire again the previous night and wished longingly for a cup of hot coffee. Instead he stood with his single wool blanket wrapped around him thinking of the leather jacket that he had left in the cave. Was that really less than a week ago? It seemed like a lifetime to Zack.

  He saddled up Grace and looked briefly around for the wolf who had not showed up the night before. He knew that he shouldn’t waste it but he retrieved one of the two pieces of the pork that remained and dropped it on the ground before mounting the mare and riding off.

  4

  Zack was near the very top of a large oak tree overlooking the gang’s camp. They were only about three miles into the mountain pass because the road through was not only narrow but steep as well. The camp was set up on a natural shelf that was both large enough and flat enough for the wagons, horses and people. The road itself hugged the mountain on the east side, where Zack was currently perched in a tree looking down upon them. The shelf was located to the west side of the road and was basically a big half moon shape with most of the entire radius dropping off of a cliff. There was a small copse of trees on the south end of the shelf where the horses were tethered, otherwise the shelf was barren rock.

  Earlier, after Zack had entered the pass, he exited the road to the west and climbed the mountain keeping Grace parallel to the road. By mid-afternoon he had overtaken the gang. Their voices carried well up to where Zack was keeping pace well out of site. They were a surly lot; their vocabulary riddled with swears and angry declarations. Zack was now deeply afraid but kept his thoughts focused on his mother, and on Emily.

  The gang made camp late in the afternoon. Zack tethered Grace to a tree and fed her some oats out of the small store that the Martins had supplied. When dusk was near he left her with some gentle whispers and climbed down the mountainside above the camp. He saw the oak and thought that it would be a perfect place to observe as he would have a full view of the shelf and be hidden by the tree’s foliage. He was currently well hidden on the thickly wooded mountainside but would be briefly exposed if he made for the oak. Gathering his courage he shifted the pistol which he had stuck in the waistband of his pants, crouched, and made for the tree.

  Now, high above the camp but close enough to clearly hear some of the conversation, he immediately saw where captives were being held. There were two wagons, one made of rusty metal appeared to be loaded with supplies, the other, wooden, was a cage on wheels. Small trees maybe as thick as Zacks arm had been cut, de-barked and lashed t
ogether to make a rolling jail cell out of the wagon. There looked to Zack to be ten people in the wagon, all women.

  With the distance and the fading light, it was difficult to make out faces. It was impossible to tell who was in the cage-wagon, but Zack was hoping to catch a glimpse of Santiago and Michael in one of the scattered groups of men in the camp. The place was a hive of activity, everyone seeming to have a job—there were men skinning pigs, maybe his pigs he thought bitterly—hanging from a tree, others were gathering wood from the copse of trees. He gave it up and began looking at a way to rescue the women in the wagon.

  The cage-wagon was next to the tethered horses and closest to the road, the other wagon was in the center of the camp and several men were removing things from it. Zack thought that if he walked back up the mountain until he was well out of sight, then walked parallel with the road back the way that they all had come and circled around the bottom side of the shelf, that he could come up unseen behind the tethered horses. He could then use the horses to obscure himself from view while he moved to the wagon.

  Zack stayed in the tree and watched the camp. A woman in the wagon started calling out shortly after dark, begging someone to help her mother. “Please help her!” she shouted. “She’s sick, I think she is dying, for the love of god, someone please!” At first she was responded to with mocking insults and “Shut up, bitch, or I will give you something to cry about.” Then, after it was apparent that the woman was not going to “shut up” three men got up from their place around one of the campfires and walked over to the wagon. He could hear the three men talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying over the woman’s cries. One of the men then broke away and walked over to a giant of a man who was standing alone next to the other wagon. The two spoke briefly, the second man towering over the first. Then the first man walked back to the cage-wagon while the other retrieved something hanging from the rusty one that he had been standing by. The second man then joined the three at the cage-wagon, and after doing what was apparent to Zack as unlocking the cage, the man opened it.