The Time Stone (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by Robert F Hays

  “Pizza!” was the unanimous reply.

  * * *

  The sky was slowly clouding over, unusual for Central Texas in August. This normally heralded a summer storm. While living there, such a storm was a welcome relief from the summer heat. Driving through one was a different matter. Jim reminded himself to check the radio weather report.

  They carried the last of Jim’s possessions to the truck. Few cars passed on the quiet street, everyone was at work.

  It took under an hour to complete the final packing. Jim stopped after carrying a load to the bright orange rental truck. He thought of another reason for not liking the area. Only Bermuda and other rough varieties of grass could survive in the light tan, dusty soil of Central Texas. The lawn was not pleasant to walk on in bare feet. Jim was looking forward to the softer lawns of the Pacific North West. He was not looking forward to the grayer skies that went with them.

  Ralph spent the time racing between house and truck, wagging his tail with a ‘don’t forget me’ look on his face.

  After doors and windows were secured, house keys went into the mail box as per landlord’s instructions.

  The back door of the truck creaked and rattled as Jim reached up and hung on the strap. Using his weight, it slowly closed. As he turned the latch the familiar voice of a neighbor from across the road made him lift his head. He took a pace back to look around the corner of the truck.

  “Getting out of here? What, neighborhood not good enough for you?” inquired the short, wiry, Filipino man as he approached.

  “Hell yes, too many riotous parties at my neighbors’ houses,” Jim said while extending a hand.

  “Hey, I can’t help it if my troops show up and force me to drink. You know infantry scouts, any excuse for a party. Got to get back to work. Just came out to tell you that we’re going to miss you as neighbors.”

  “Going to miss you too, Sid.”

  Sid turned and walked in the direction of his car, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Good luck at your new post.”

  “Thanks,” Jim said then returned his attention to his former troops. “There’s an old Chinese proverb. A journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step. I guess that goes for two thousand miles too.”

  “You mean four thousand kilometers,” Don said with a grin. “Miles are for civilians.”

  Jim stood to attention with a mock sneer. “How dare you correct a superior? Do it again and I’ll be forced to bend your dog tags.”

  “And leave me here at Fort Hood?” Don added. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment boss.”

  Jim opened the door to the Corolla. Ralph leapt in as the window was wound down a fraction. “I guess this is goodbye. You two know the army well enough to realize that people tend to meet again. So, I’ll say see you later, not goodbye.”

  The farewell to good friends was as emotional as military protocol would permit. Solid handshakes, a quick kiss on the cheek from Marcie and return promises of: ‘we’ll meet again’.

  The truck slowly accelerated down Dayton Street. Ralph poked his nose through the two inch gap at the top of the car’s passenger side window.

  Jim remembered something he had promised himself. To buy the bumper sticker that read – ‘Happiness is Killeen Texas in My Rear View Mirror’.

  Chapter 3

  “Colin, would you get me a coke?” Jim asked as he leaned forward gripping the steering wheel of the truck and stretching his aching back.

  Colin, eleven years old, slender built with military style short brown hair was Jim’s oldest. He looked more like his mother than his father. That fact was mainly due to his light blue eyes. Jim’s were hazel.

  Colin sat by the passenger side window with his brother Michael, eight years old, in the middle. Michael was the quieter and more sensitive of the two. He had the same brown hair but had hazel eyes. His features were unmistakably those of his father. This pleased Jim, but he secretly wished that both boys resembled him.

  Jim’s soon to be ex-wife Jenny was not a strong person. She had wanted one child. Jim had wanted more. She barely endured the stress of two active boys. When Jim left for Afghanistan it was too much for her. She was enrolled in an accountancy course at a local college when Jim left. When he returned, she had dropped out and was waiting with her clothes packed. For the preceding three months Jim was a single parent while his lawyer worked on permanent custody. They were going to visit her on the way through San Bernardino. There was a remote chance that things could be patched up between them, but Jim held little hope for that so long as he remained in the military.

  The boys handled their mother’s departure each in his own way. Colin developed a more aggressive and self-reliant attitude, while Michael became introverted and self-conscious.

  The small brown cooler was under Michael’s feet, which meant that he had to sit with his knees raised, his feet resting on the lid. He didn’t seem to mind the slightly cramped position, but it was difficult to tell how Michael felt, he never complained about anything.

  “Lift your feet, puke,” Colin demanded, tugging at the cooler’s lid.

  Colin struggled with the lid in the confined space under Michael legs. Michael scowled and raised his legs placing his feet on the dashboard. “I’m not a puke, you’re a puke, and you’re a dork too,” he snapped.

  “Both of you, stop calling names. Can’t you two be nice to each other for a change?”

  “No,” Colin said, handing his father a coke.

  Jim paused before taking the can. The brevity of Colin’s answer flustered him. He had no comeback. Both boys giggled. The name calling was mostly in fun, the two normally got along very well.

  It was the morning of the second day on the road. They had sung all the songs they knew three times. They had played all the freeway traveling games twice. Interstate 10 through Arizona was long, straight and boring. The most interesting thing that had happened in the last hour was the sighting of a dead skunk on the side of the freeway. The excitement didn’t last long. Jim refused multiple requests to pull over so the boys could get a closer look at the splattered carcass.

  “Can we move into a house right away when we get to Washington?” Colin asked, reaching into the cooler for a second coke.

  “That depends on finance coming up with the travel pay. Sometimes they hand it over right away, sometimes it takes time. We may have to spend a few days at a motel if finance can’t get their act together.”

  “Yep, finance would kill a brown dog,” Colin said in a matter of fact manner.

  “Where did you hear that expression?”

  “Bruce said it.”

  Jim thought through his inventory of friends named Bruce. “Which Bruce was that?” he asked, giving up on the guessing game.

  “Corporal Alekna. You remember, he came to our place and told you that finance was full of shit and screwed up his pay again.”

  “Colin! What have I told you about using army language?”

  “Well, I’m going to join up when I’m old enough.”

  “You’re not wearing the green yet so cut it out.” Jim paused for a moment. “You still want to join the army?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Still want to drive a tank?”

  “Not any more. I want to carry machinegun in the infantry like Juan does.”

  “You don’t want to be a medic, like your dad?” Jim asked in a mildly hurt tone.

  “A band aid mechanic? No, I want something that can reach out and blast someone. Fire power. A machinegun can really throw a load of shit.”

  “Colin!”

  Jim’s boys were genuine army brats. They knew almost as much about the service as he did. He felt uncomfortable about their exposure to the rough talk often associated with the soldiering profession. Troops in his charge regularly visited his home to discuss their problems or just drink a beer. This accessibility was the mark of a capable leader. The boy’s occasional crudities were the unfortunate side effects.

  “Do you have
to take Ralph when you go to finance?” Michael asked with a puzzled look.

  Jim was tired so he was slow to make the obvious connection and caught himself just in time before asking why he’d take Ralph to finance. “Ah... No, Ralph doesn’t have to go to finance.”

  “That’s good,” Michael said, screwing up his face. “I don’t think he’d like it much because he’s brown.”

  “Look! A sequoia cactus,” Jim said, pointing out the right window.

  “There’s more over there!” Michael said, pulling himself up as far as his seatbelt would permit. “Can we stop and take a look?”

  “There’ll be plenty of them to look at around the next rest stop. That way we can have lunch at the same time.”

  “Can’t we stop and look now?”

  Jim looked around at the tan and rocky landscape which stretched to the base of low hills in all directions. “Why do you want to stop right now?”

  “I’ve gotta GO!”

  Jim let out a long breath as he realized the plight of his youngest son. “Colin, get out the Arizona map and tell me how far it is to the next rest stop.”

  Colin opened the glove compartment and sorted through their map collection. “Where are we now?” he asked, unfolding the appropriate one. Colin, being a soldier’s son used to traveling, knew well how to read a map.

  “We passed the turn off to Dorset about five klicks back.”

  Colin opened the map, found the freeway, and followed it. The military term “klick”, a slang abbreviation of the word kilometer, was a part of his everyday vocabulary.

  “There’s no rest stop between here and Phoenix.”

  “How far is Phoenix?” Jim sighed.

  “About...” Colin said, measuring the map with his finger, “...fifty klicks.”

  “Mike, can you wait thirty minutes?”

  “No, I gotta go!”

  “Hey puke, can’t you tie a knot in it or something?” Colin said, slapping his brother on the shoulder.

  “No, I really gotta go!”

  The desperate tone of Michael’s voice brought a sympathetic smile to Jim’s face. “Colin, when a guy’s gotta go a guy’s gotta go. I can remember you not that long ago, jumping up and down in the seat. Exit coming up.”

  Jim didn’t catch the street name as he pulled to the right and down the off ramp. The exit road divided in two and Jim took the right fork which headed north. Slowing to a stop he realized too late that it was the wrong decision. The road north was narrow, with a ditch on either side. He couldn’t see any place to turn a twenty-four foot truck with a car in tow. To the south there was plenty of room just the other side of the freeway, but it was impossible to make a left turn from his present position. Backing up was out of the question. Stickers on the truck’s dashboard warned against backing up with a car in tow. Having made the attempt years before he knew they didn’t lie. He released the brake.

  “Hold on son, you can get out up farther when we find a place to turn ‘round.”

  The road continued for half a kilometer with ditches on either side. He couldn’t see anywhere to turn. It then climbed slightly. Up ahead were low hills. Jim could see the ditches change into embankments. A dirt road to the left crossed a culvert.

  “Better chance that way than the hills,” Jim said to himself as he turned the steering wheel left.

  The front tires of the truck plowed through a small ridge of fine dust as they completed the left turn. Looking down, Jim could see no evidence of recent use. This fact bothered him. If the road ended before there was a place to turn without backing, a time wasting procedure had to be initiated. First the car had to be rolled off the tow dolly, then the dolly unhitched. Both had to be moved away from the truck before he made the multiple point turn. After that, the dolly had to be reconnected and the car put back in place. This also required a wide road, though not as wide as was required to make a complete sweeping turn.

  As they proceeded down the road Jim looked around nervously, hoping for the best but preparing himself for the worst.

  Three hundred meters further, he found the perfect place and exhaled with relief. To the left, the ground was slightly rough but flat. It gave him plenty of room. The truck slowed to a halt in a small cloud of dust.

  “Get out here Mike, there’s a nice looking cactus over there you can say hello to.”

  Michael almost crawled over Colin in his wild attempt to exit the cab, hitting the ground at a run.

  “Don’t get too close to the cactus stupid,” Colin called. “We don’t want weenie on a toothpick!”

  Jim shot a frown in Colin’s direction. From his many years of experience with other military families he realized that his son’s tendency to be outspoken and wild was not unusual. Military kids seemed to grow up faster than others their own age, probably due to their wider experiences. These problems were worse in a single parent family. He had the option of having them live with his brother Alan, an accountant now residing in Miami. This was unthinkable; he loved his boys, so he wanted them with him. As a single military parent he now had to be stricter, a role he didn’t like, but one that was necessary.

  Jim searched his mind for something to say that’d reduce the conflict between his sons. Confinement in the cab of a truck for the past two days tended to be hard on the nerves.

  “Colin, one more mean comment and I’ll rip your arm off and beat you with the soggy end!”

  Colin’s sudden fit of laughter told Jim that his statement was not exactly the right one.

  Jim wanted to check the area before driving over it. If the vehicle had been a two and a half ton army truck he would’ve made the turn without hesitation. It would’ve been possible to turn farther back by crossing the ditch. This civilian monster was a different matter.

  “Colin, let Ralph out, he might need to go behind a cactus too.” Jim strolled the path he would take, kicking at a few small rocks as he went. “A little bumpy but we’ll make it!” he announced after he had gone fifteen meters out.

  “Won’t we get bogged in the sand?” Colin asked.

  “Not if we work up a bit of speed before getting off the road. The momentum will carry us straight over it. It’s quite solid anyway, very little sand.”

  Ralph dashed from one spot to the next looking for an appropriate place. Jim walked back to the truck and stood watching Colin throw a stick for him. The dog loved to play go fetch. The boys accommodated him at every opportunity.

  “How about having lunch here?” Jim asked as he turned toward the back of the truck.

  Michael appeared from behind the cactus and wandered back.

  “Mission accomplished buddy?” Jim said.

  Michael nodded.

  They casually ate their lunch of cut sandwiches sitting in the back of the truck. The boys had tired of Pizza, emphatically turning up their noses at the half of one that remained from dinner the night before.

  Colin pointed at a rocky area. “I just saw a jack rabbit over there dad. Can I get my rifle? We can have rabbit for dinner.”

  “No. Take too long to skin it and cook it. We’re behind schedule as it is.”

  “Can’t I just take a shot at one?”

  “No! Have you forgotten everything I taught you about hunting? What are the four reasons to kill an animal?”

  “I know them dad,” Colin said self-consciously.

  “Then tell me.”

  “To eat, self-defense, when the animal is in pain and for the protection of the environment.”

  “You still want to shoot at a jack rabbit?”

  “No... How about a can?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, get your rifle out. Michael, put Ralph back in the car.”

  Colin reached behind him and pulled a rifle from between two boxes.

  “What is the effective range of your weapon?” Jim shouted after him.

  “Three hundred meters,” Colin called over his shoulder.

  “Select your firing range.”

  “That way
,” Colin said pointing north. “Clear all the way to the hills. I can see over two klicks.”

  “What’s rule seven of shooter’s safety?”

  “Never run with a loaded weapon.”

  “Rule two?”

  “Never leave a loaded weapon unattended.”

  “That’s rule five, what’s two?

  “Never put your finger inside the trigger guard unless you intend to fire the weapon.”

  “Good to go, the range is now open.”

  Jim had a healthy respect for weapons. Flying bullets had narrowly missed him on a number of occasions. The usual causes were individuals who thought they knew what they were doing. He despised the common feeling that if one was American one had some sort of inherited ability to handle a firearm safely.

  * * *

  After Colin had fired twenty rounds from his .22 rifle at some empty cans they repacked the truck. With Ralph back in the car, the three climbed into the cab.

  The engine burst into life and Jim gripped the wheel. “Buckle up and hold on, here we go,” With a fast release of the clutch, the truck gained speed. Jim turned the wheel hard to the left, leaving the road. They bounced over a few minor ruts which ejected some coins from the collection in the ashtray. Jim felt a momentary concern over the glass top to his coffee table stored in the truck. He tried to remember how thick the padding was that covered it. The turn was half completed, so far so good. Concern over the glass would have to wait.

  “Doing fine dad!” Colin said, smiling and slapping his knees.

  Jim felt the drive wheels slipping on a small patch of sand. He eased off on the accelerator until they caught again. Once assured that he had traction he planted the foot. The truck continued to accelerate.

  Darkness suddenly filled the cab. It felt as if he had been blindfolded. Jim couldn’t see the road; he couldn’t see the steering wheel, just darkness. More than a darkness, it was a blackness.

  “Dad?” Michael yelled in panic.

  Jim felt himself lift from the seat, a floating sensation he knew well from many years of skydiving. The steering wheel went loose. He felt no resistance on turning it slightly left and right. Moments, that seemed like minutes, later the wheels screamed as if something had lifted them off the ground, spun them fast, then dropped them back on a hard surface. The loose steering wheel tightened again, whipping out of his hands, painfully catching his left thumb as it turned. He was slammed hard back into the seat. The truck was traveling again. He wanted to reach out with his right hand and secure the boys to the seat, but his prime concern, for now, had to be the steering wheel.