Chase (ChronoShift Trilogy)

by Zack Mason

  "You're sure there is no way to stop this coming war?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Why come to me at all if you can't save me?"

  "I didn't say I couldn't save you, just that we can't stop the war."

  "What's the difference?"

  "I have a friend named Ty who has a time shifter like me. He fought in the Vietnam War which takes place about 300 years from now, 1968 or so. From time to time, he shifts back to save some of his buddies before they're killed in the war. He's saved a lot of them too, but there's no way he could completely stop the Vietnam War from happening at all. It's too big an historical event."

  "1968?" She rubbed her temples, contemplating such a date.

  "You'll get used to it."

  "You said that already. Why would God allow you to save a few but not many?"

  "I don't know. Changing an entire war would obviously have a tremendous impact on all of history, but perhaps saving one life doesn't alter things enough to matter. That said, there's been a number of guys Ty wasn't able to save."

  "I'm not sure I can accept such Calvinistic teaching."

  "The proof's in the pudding. You saw what happened. Do you have any other explanation for how your rifle misfired."

  "You must know that Swansea, my village, was founded by Baptists who were unable to fit in with the Congregationalists in Rehoboth. My Dah was Baptist and so am I."

  "So?"

  "So, Congregationalists believe in predestination. We do not."

  "Doesn't really matter what you believe, just what is. Plus, I'm not so sure God's involved anyway."

  "What?" Her head snapped around. "Are you pagan?"

  "A pagan?" He chuckled. "No, I'm not a pagan. Just not sure about this God thing."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "I'm dead serious!"

  "How do you explain all that's around you? How did you come to exist?"

  "Look, I just have trouble believing in a God that allows so many bad things to happen to good people. That's all."

  "What is it you just said?...It doesn't matter what you believe, just what is."

  He took that in stride, not willing to concede the point.

  She set her jaw firmly as she changed subjects, "You say you've friends who have these shifters?"

  "Yes."

  "I think you should go get them. I have a feeling we may need all the help we can get."

  How I cried when the sky let go

  with a cold and lonesome rain

  "Holes in the Floor of Heaven"

  ~ Steve Wariner

  June 25th 1675, Swansea, MA

  Ty declined. He was heavily involved in the rescue of a squad of soldiers he knew in Vietnam who'd been wiped out.

  Hardy reluctantly agreed to come along, unsure at first why he was needed. But, when Mark described the size of the enemy force involved, his enthusiasm grew.

  The first assault by the Indian forces would be on some settlements outside the town of Swansea. Then, the siege would move to the town itself. In light of the recent attacks and the massacre of the previous day, Governor Winslow sent 70 soldiers to Swansea to help defend the town. The soldiers had stationed themselves at three different garrison houses and most of the town's citizens planned to move to the houses as well during the course of the day for protection.

  Hardy was camouflaged in a sniper's nest on a knoll overlooking the town. They'd brought modern sniper rifles and telescopic sights back with them to fortify their advantage. Still, the enemy would number somewhere between two and three hundred. They had no real hope of stopping the massacre. Their more realistic goal was to save Abbie, the baby Mark had heard crying in his dreams, and as many innocents as possible.

  Mark would wander the village in era-appropriate dress as a stranger. Once the first shots were fired, he would duck into a house for cover. He'd already chosen the house. It was a smallish cottage facing the path Abbie ran up in his dream.

  The morning's stillness was suddenly pierced by the shouts of a frantic settler racing toward the village. The war cries of his attackers soon followed. A rifle shot rang out and the body of the screaming villager fell lifeless on the path.

  The village erupted and a mad scramble for safety immediately ensued. Throughout the settlement, villagers emerged from their homes in a panic, any attempt for order thrown to the wind. Women hugged babies and toddlers under their arms as they ran, while the men clutched rifles and powder horns. Older children stumbled along carrying any portable possessions they could grab in a moment's notice, all moving towards the three reinforced homes which served as garrisons.

  The town had been warned of the coming attack, but even though they knew where to go, they weren't prepared enough to do it quickly.

  The yells of the Wampanoag grew louder as they closed in and the first arrows began to rain down. Mark saw one sturdy looking man stop and turn to face the attack on his home. He was trying to give his wife and children time to make it to the nearest garrison house. An arrow struck the dirt harmlessly by his feet, its shaft pointing from the ground to the sky. The man was distracted by the near miss.

  An Indian's long gun roared and its ball struck the man in the side, spinning him helplessly. He stumbled, but succeeded in replanting his footing. Determined, he sighted his own gun and fired, downing the Indian who'd shot him. Then, a second Wampanoag was upon him, swinging his hatchet. The settler deflected the blow with the butt of his gun and continued the movement upward, knocking that Indian to the ground with a powerful slam on the jaw. A third Indian ended the man's fight, putting a bullet in his back, but not before the man's wife and children made it to safety.

  Mark had to remember this was not his fight. He was here to save Abbie, not the whole town. At the first sign of trouble, Mark retreated to the house he'd chosen for his stand. He helped the family who owned it mobilize and escape faster. Then, he settled into a crouch behind the door frame, observing the battle from cover as it unfolded.

  Since the long guns of this era could only be fired once without being reloaded, the Indians had waited to fire most of their guns until they were at a close enough range to inflict maximum damage. They weren't waiting any more though. Clouds of grey gun smoke floated like a man-made fog throughout the village. The wails of the wounded were beginning their soul-piercing cacophony.

  Mark watched the residence across the street. The home where the baby would be. A woman appeared in its doorway, her face a portrait of fear, which twisted to agony as an arrow from an unseen attacker buried itself in her stomach. Grasping the wounding shaft with both hands, she turned and stumbled back inside her home.

  Then, he saw her. Abbie was running at full speed up the lane, looking exactly as she had in his dream. Fear was written across her face too, even though she knew what lay in store, or maybe because she knew what lay in store.

  She was so beautiful. The dimmed daylight from the overcast sky made her creamy white skin appear to glow with angelic purity. Auburn tresses of hair bounced rhythmically upon her shoulders in time with her pace as she ran.

  Sweat broke out on Mark's forehead. He knew his efforts to not fall in love with her had significant cracks, like a dike pressed by too much water. The strong emotions evoked from witnessing her death over and over in his dreams had been powerful.

  Why did he have so little control over his heart? He knew he wouldn't be able to bear seeing her life bleed away in full color, only yards away from where he stood.

  He just prayed this wouldn't turn out like when he tried to save Daniel and Brittany — though he wasn't sure who he was praying to.

  Now was his moment, the reason he was here. His rifle was already up. The savage face of killer appeared, peering from the doorway of another home, readying his bow to spill her blood.

  At last, Mark would know if the repeated nightmare had been given so he could save Abbie, or if this was just another cruel instance of unchangeable fate.

  He sighted the man's nose and squeezed the
trigger.

  The killer's face evaporated, and Abbie was safe.

  In the innermost parts of his being, his heart leapt and rejoiced.

  He waited, knowing another Wampanoag would approach shortly, for in his dream a hatchet-bearing savage had silenced the crying baby after Abbie's death.

  Abbie entered the cottage and reemerged, carrying a small bundle. The second Indian would have been upon her by now, except Mark had taken him out as soon as he'd spotted him.

  Staccato bursts from a different kind of gun punctuated the air now. They were the short claps of a modern weapon, which meant Hardy had entered the fray. The dull thud of a body falling sounded from behind the house Mark was in.

  Abbie ran now, racing away from the village toward the woods. She left Mark's immediate line of sight and he was forced to trust Hardy to watch over her for the moment. He left the protection of his hiding spot and took up her back trail, determined to keep any other attackers from taking advantage of her weakness.

  By the time they reached the safety of the woods, Mark had eliminated several more threats.

  Once they were under the cover of trees, Abbie hastily unwrapped the baby, checking for any injuries. Hardy continued to rain down fire upon the village, saving a settler here and there.

  The baby cooed. Abbie breathed a deep sigh of relief and finally allowed an answering smile to peek through.

  The battle below was ending now. The settlers had lost. The three of them watched as the Wampanoag closed in on one of the remaining garrison houses, bodies strewn about its perimeter.

  A woman emerged from within and descended the steps, her eyes sweeping across the destroyed forms of her loved ones.

  "That's Mary Richardson," Abbie whispered.

  A Wampanoag warrior was taking aim at her with his long gun. Hardy sighted down on the warrior and fired an instant before the Indian did. Hardy's bullet slammed into his wrist, deflecting his shot enough it only hit the woman in the side. She stumbled, and Abbie screamed, but it soon became clear that Hardy's shot had saved her from any serious injury.

  The Wampanoag chief waved off his warriors, effectively ending the attack. The Indians began gathering up the surviving villagers to carry off as captives, shooting those who were too severely wounded to travel.

  "It's just so...hard to believe," Abbie breathed, awestruck.

  "Yet, there it is," Mark said.

  ***

  The three of them held vigil over the dreadful scene. All the survivors from the garrison houses had long since fled to the next closest settlement seeking safety, reinforcements, and vengeance. The Wampanoag went south with their captives. The day was drawing to an end.

  What remained was a picture of emptiness, a devastation dulled and dampened by a soft afternoon rain which had fallen. Charred skeletal remains of homes raised their blackened, burnt fingers toward the sky, as if pleading. The heavy odor of smoke had been the only sense of vitality remaining after the brutal attack, but the drizzle had now washed it away, leaving nothing but the smell of damp earth.

  They'd exhausted themselves trying to bury the bodies, but there were just too many. They'd eventually given up, knowing the villagers would return the next day with help, and they would bury the rest.

  Abbie had been strong throughout the ordeal, but Mark saw a tear running down her face now, matching the lump he felt in his own throat. What should have been a beautiful summer afternoon felt empty, wet, cold and dreary.

  "What are you going to do now?" Mark queried Abbie.

  Hardy sat on a nearby stump, rolling some tobacco into a cigarette. He wasn't a smoker by habit, but he'd found a stash that had survived the burning in a ruined home and was intrigued by how authentic colonial tobacco might taste. He'd remained silent for most of the day, quietly observing Abbie and Mark.

  "I don't know. There's nothing for me here now," she said softly.

  "You could come back to our time and help us."

  She was surprised.

  "It wouldn't be easy," he continued, "Our century would be completely foreign to you, but we'd be happy to have you. We could always use another good shot on the team." Mark didn't mention that in spite of his resistance, his heart was losing ground in its battle against falling in love with her. A simple, but strong affection for her was growing within. He wanted more time with her.

  She turned her gaze back to the burnt village.

  "I'll think about it," she whispered.

  July 8th 2013, Boston, MA

  He forewarned her as best he could, but no conceivable warning could have prepared Abbie for the shock she received when he brought her to the 21st century.

  He took it as slowly as possible. Before going, he'd described a lot of the gadgets and modern inventions used in the daily life of the future to get her used to the idea of modern technology. When they'd finally shifted, he'd made sure they did it in a place which was still forested in 2013.

  He moved her toward civilization slowly. Her eyes grew wide as saucers when she first saw Mark's car. Only the trust she had in Mark allowed her to get in the beastly thing. The myriad of devices inside the vehicle were just as much of a shock, especially the radio.

  Once she'd gotten used to the idea of electricity, emotional adjustment came much easier to each new piece of technology she encountered, but the speed and pace of modern life were still a shock. Not to mention the blatant immorality she saw splashed everywhere she looked, from billboards, to hand-bills stapled on telephone poles, to the clothing choices of women on the sidewalks.

  When Mark finally got her to headquarters, he showed her to her room on the third floor. A room Savannah had helped him prepare for her arrival. Abbie collapsed onto her new metal spring mattress and into a deep sleep, mentally exhausted.

  ***

  "How'd it go Ty?"

  "Saved a few, but I ran into another one I couldn't do anything about."

  That one grieved Ty, clouding the joy he would have felt over the others. He'd just gotten back from Vietnam again. He'd run out of friends to save and had moved on to other marines in his battalion. He was running into more and more instances of men he couldn't save, and that was bothering him.

  "Shake it off, man. Be happy for the ones who live now because you intervened. You're doing a great thing."

  "I know, but..."

  "But, what?"

  "There's something that's been gnawing on me. I've got to kill a VC, if not several VC, in order to save one of ours."

  "So what?"

  "Is that right, morally, I mean?"

  "You're a soldier, Ty. We're Americans, and it's war. What's different about you killing VC now and back before you knew about the shifters?"

  "Nothing, I guess. Just been thinking is all. Those Vietnamese have families too."

  "They're communists, man. After the US pulls out there's widespread massacres all across Southeast Asia. Those guys aren't angels."

  Ty tumbled a penny between his large fingers. He was listening, but still looked unconvinced.

  "Should I have left you dead back in 1968? Should I have spared those VC who killed you?" Mark pushed.

  "No."

  "Well?"

  "I guess you're right." Ty wanted to change the subject. "So, tell me about this girl you brought home. I hear she's a real beauty."

  As if on cue, the door to Mark's dormitory opened. Abbie hesitantly emerged. She wore a white dress shirt and a pair of blue jeans Savannah had pulled from Mark's closet. She looked fabulous. Her skin was the color of pale cream, accentuated by burnished, auburn hair pulled back in a pony tail. Unless she spoke, you couldn't tell her from a 21st century woman.

  "Mark..."

  "Hey, Abbie. Come on in. I want you to meet a friend. This is Ty. He's a partner in the company."

  Abbie curtseyed abruptly as Ty extended his hand. He hastily withdrew it as soon as he realized she was not expecting the gesture.

  Then, Hardy entered the conference room, bearing coffee, followed by Sava
nnah who had several boxes of donuts in hand.

  They were all going out of their way to make Abbie feel welcome, but the past 24 hours had clearly been a major shock to her system. Modern day technology was inconceivable to the average 17th century mind, and the fact that Abbie was coping at all was a testament to her metal fortitude.

  "So, what's got you freaked out the most, Abbie?" Ty grinned.

  "Freaked out?"

  "Um, what are the hardest things to adjust to?"

  "Uh...cars, lights, airplanes, those tel...telo...telephones. Definitely the compu...tation instruments..." She was naming things in the order she'd encountered them.

  "Computers?"

  "Yes, that's it, computers. Everything to be truthful. I don't understand how any of this is possible unless it's magic of some sort."

  "It's electricity," Mark said. "That's what makes all this technology possible."

  "I don't really understand electricity."

  She looked demure, insecure in her new environment. Until now, Mark had only seen her in states of supreme confidence. This new meekness endeared her to him even more.

  Savannah opened one of the boxes of donuts and offered Abbie one. She bit down and her eyes grew wide. She wanted to say something but couldn't bear speaking with her mouth full. She hastily chewed, a funny expression on her face until she finished.

  "My goodness, that is sweet," she scrunched her eyes in distaste. "I've never had anything that sweet."

  They all laughed.

  "I'll explain electricity to you, Abbie, along with a lot of other things you need to know," Savannah offered, ever the considerate one.

  "She'll fill you in on all the history since 1675 too," Mark added, "She's our resident expert on that subject. We'd be sunk without her."

  Savannah blushed at the compliment. "I'd be glad to," she said.