Vestige of Hope

by Sara Blackard

  Hunter gave her a look that clearly expressed he thought her dimwitted. She wondered if every word out of his mouth would send her brain to spinning or if they’d find some ground that was common to both of them.

  Chapter 4

  Hunter knew the look he gave Viola could only be described as dumbfounded. She was either clueless or a great liar. His gaze sharpened in distrust. “Maybe you’ve lived secluded in these mountains a bit too long. It’s simple modern medicine. We can temporarily stop the bleeding of most wounds long enough with QuikClot to get medical help, especially in the military. Yemen and the Taliban aren’t here in the US, but in the Middle East.”

  Hunter watched as Viola’s head shook back and forth, her forehead scrunched in confusion. She dabbed at the lion’s claw marks, intent on cleansing the entire area. It stung like the dickens, but he ignored it, focusing only on her obvious confusion and, in his intensely trained opinion, lack of lying.

  “I’ve heard of the Ottoman Empire, Rashidian Emirate, Persia,” Viola listed as she rubbed her head as if trying to remember a learned fact from long ago. “I even recall a Zaidi Imamate and Afghanistan. But I don’t remember even something similar to what you’re saying.”

  “Afghanistan is correct, but the others are no longer in power.” Hunter dredged Arabic nations’ history from his memory bank. “The Ottoman Empire dissolved in 1924, and the Persian monarchy hasn’t been in power since the Iranian revolution in 1979.”

  Viola’s hands began to shake violently, and her face became impossibly pale. She started shaking her head and stuttered, “Wh … what? I … I … I don’t understand.”

  Hunter took the cloth from her and held her hands to his chest to stop them from shaking. He’d seen this kind of reaction before, usually from some greenhorn who’d just had his first mission with unfriendlies. Her body pulsed with fear.

  “You mean 1824, not 1924, right?” Viola asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You can’t mean 1924,” Viola said, as she pulled her hands from his grip and stood up. “It’s only 1877.”

  Hunter felt the blood rush from his head. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What are you talking about?”

  Viola backed away from the bed, pulled a calendar from the wall, and handed it to him. “Today is June 10, 1877. Well, as close to the tenth as we can reckon.”

  Hunter studied the homemade calendar in his hand. They had painted it over a newspaper. The newspaper had the date of August 13, 1876. Now his hands began to shake so violently they threatened to tear the calendar in half. He placed it on the bed beside him.

  “No.” Hunter’s head fell into his hands. There had to be an explanation. Viola must be lying or something. Or maybe she and Beatrice were part of a terrorist group sent to get information from him. Hunter shook his head. How would a terrorist group know where he was when he had picked this location on a whim? How would they get this cabin and barn set up in such a short time? No, Viola must just be lying, but why?

  He stared up at Viola, her hands twisting in her apron. Maybe these two were just some nature-loving, flower-child type of people, getting back to the basics, living off the grid in their own little world. Viola didn’t seem dangerous or even to be lying. Maybe she’d lived up here so long she’d truly forgotten what year it was. Or maybe this was some kind of commune where the kids grew up never exposed to reality and had been told it was the 1800s.

  He spoke softly, hoping he’d be able to convince her he was right. “No, I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.”

  He stood as fast as his injuries allowed and hobbled to his boots. His body screamed in protest at the movement. He tried reaching for his socks and almost toppled over. He sat down at the end of the bed in frustration.

  “Where’s my pack?” Hunter asked, his voice low and strained with pain. “I need to use the SAT phone and get an evac … stat.”

  “It’s right here,” Viola said, pointing to the corner, her face riddled with confusion. “Let me get it for you. I know we can figure this out.”

  As she crossed the room to retrieve the pack, the door opened. Beatrice followed a blast of frigid air into the cabin. She closed the door and stopped in the middle of taking off her coat, looking between the two of them.

  “What’s going on here?” Beatrice asked as she slid her coat onto the antler hook and rested her hand on her holster.

  “Hunter’s just a little confused,” Viola answered, sympathy laced in her voice. “He might have hit his head a little too hard.”

  Hunter took his pack from her outstretched hands as the two sisters glanced at each other in worry. He figured keeping his mouth shut would be the best plan of action. Anything he said would probably only make things worse. He’d get a call out for rescue, then figure out a way to convince these ladies they’d been lied to and it was really the twenty-first century. He dug through his pack, tossing things on the bed in a very unDelta Force manner. The disorder of the mess almost distracted him to organize it. To control something in this screwed up situation. He grabbed the SAT phone and pointed it at Viola. Beatrice’s gun was out of the holster in a second and pointed directly at his chest.

  “Hunter.” Viola’s voice shook, the calm gone. “You can put the weapon away. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

  “Weapon?” Hunter looked at the phone in his hand and shook his head. He decided he would bring these two off this mountain with him. He could help them adjust to a normal life living in the modern world. He had contacts that could get them the necessary documents they’d need. He could even help them find housing and connect them with a church. “This is a phone, not a weapon. You use it to call people. In fact, I’m going to call Search and Rescue right now.”

  “What is he rambling about?” Beatrice demanded, still holding her Colt, but at least now she was pointing it to the floor. “What is that phone contraption?”

  “You know … phone, as in telephone. You talk to people over long distances with it,” Hunter said. When Viola and Beatrice glanced at each other and shared a look that said they thought he might be crazy, Hunter squeezed his forehead, trying to think of a way to explain. “It’s like a telegraph but with sound. You can talk to another person located somewhere else and hear them.”

  Beatrice’s face lit up with recognition. “Oh, I read about a display of Alexander Graham Bell’s first telephone at the World Fair last year. It’s an amazing invention, but far from being in use. How can yours possibly work? There are no wires to transmit sound.”

  “Phones haven’t needed wires for over thirty years,” Hunter answered, his frustration with the situation fraying his already threadbare nerves.

  “But —” Beatrice started asking when Viola interrupted.

  “Hunter says he’s from the future,” Viola answered, inching closer to the bed. Her eyes were riveted onto the items strewn across it. “The 1980s, I believe.”

  “I think you ladies have been lied to by someone, made to believe a truth that doesn’t exist,” Hunter said as he turned on the phone. “You were right about it being June tenth, but it’s June 10, 2019, not 1877.”

  “What are you playing at, mister?” Beatrice asked, her grip on the gun tightening. He’d have to watch her closely. She probably wouldn’t take the news very well.

  The phone’s screen blinked on, and Viola jerked back. Hunter ignored her as he waited for a signal to register. The phone beeped. Both ladies jumped at the noise, and a message that no signal was available came onto the screen.

  “Storm must be interfering with the signal,” Hunter said in disgust, as he turned it off and tossed it onto the bed.

  The room had gone quiet except for Viola’s short, quick breaths as she inched her way closer. Her trembling hand reached for the headlamp he had tossed onto the edge of the bed.

  “The material,” Viola murmured. “The material is strange, off …”

  She shook her head as if trying to clear it. Hunte
r moved his legs around the corner of the bed so he didn’t have to twist to see her. She reached her hand again toward the headlamp. It shook so hard Hunter was surprised she could move it at all.

  “Here, let me show you,” Hunter said as he reached over and clicked the light on, causing both women to inhale sharply.

  “Dear Lord God, help us all,” she prayed before fainting dead away. Hunter barely had time to catch her before she hit the floor, the bottom of his heart dropping out of his chest.

  Viola awoke to a soft slapping on her cheek and Beatrice’s concerned voice echoing in her ears.

  “Viola, please wake up,” Beatrice pleaded. A cold cloth dabbed upon Viola’s forehead. She began registering her surroundings, the fire crackling in the stove, the hard floor beneath her, the musk of Hunter’s scent teasing her nostrils. Hunter. Her eyes flew open and locked onto him staring at her.

  “Sorry, I had to lay you on the floor,” Hunter sheepishly stated. “I couldn’t lift you to the bed with these busted ribs.”

  “Oh dear.” Viola pushed her sister’s hands away and kneeled beside Hunter. She pressed her hands against his broken ribs. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Hunter’s hands stilled hers and pulled them in front of him. He slowly rubbed a comforting circle upon her wrist. She gazed into his eyes. Concern and tenderness replaced the distrust that had been there before she’d embarrassed herself and fainted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I normally am not so weak-hearted. It’s just … everything is too much. I’m so confused.” Viola eased her hands out of Hunter’s and sat in the chair next to the bed. Maybe if they talked things through, they could figure out this puzzle. “Beatrice, why don’t you pull up a chair so we can talk this out?” Viola asked.

  “No,” Beatrice answered, throwing a cautious glance at Hunter. “I’ll stand.”

  “Well, in that case, can you make your pacing useful and pour me a cup of tea, please?”

  Beatrice huffed but stalked toward the stove. Viola’s gaze moved from her hands that clung together to the items haphazardly lying on the bed. Her trepidation threatened to cause her to faint away again.

  “Do you mind if we pray?” Viola asked, needing God’s presence and direction. “We’re going to need His help if we want to figure this out.”

  “I’m not opposed to praying,” Hunter answered. “It should probably come from you, since He’s not exactly on speaking terms with me.”

  The pain in Hunter’s statement baffled her, but she pushed that mystery aside to deal with the present one. “Father God, I’m not even sure how to pray at the moment. This situation we find ourselves in is disorienting and unsettling. Please Lord, calm our hearts and give peace to our minds. Give us understanding and wisdom for the puzzle before us. Help us work together in harmony without contention. And Lord, heal Hunter. Keep his body strong to fight against infection and mend what is broken. Help him find his way home. Amen.”

  Viola studied Hunter’s items strewn upon the bed. She reached for a small rectangular object about the size of her palm that appeared innocuous. It was black with a smooth glass surface on one side and a material that was rough and bumpy on the other. Her thumb hit a circular indention at the bottom of the glass. The black glass became vibrant with faces of people. Hunter and another man who was similar smiled from the contraption. The number 15:13 showed above the people with June 10 written smaller below. Viola heard Beatrice’s sharp intake of breath moments before a tea cup rattled to the table. Viola looked to Hunter in confusion as Beatrice snatched the thing from her hands.

  “It’s my eye phone,” Hunter said, watching their reactions like a hawk, searching within their faces for something. Truth, maybe? Whatever he searched for, his look was intent, and she determined to be as open as possible. “Slide your finger across the bottom from left to right. You’ll be able to see my apps, contacts … an official calendar. The passcode is 089300.”

  Viola watched as Beatrice did what he said. Her sister’s face lit up in a mixture of amazement and fright. She moved closer so Viola could see. Viola slowly reached a finger toward the little square that read “calendar.” When she tapped it a new image popped up. A miniature calendar with the year 2019 in red at the top.

  “How is this possible?” Viola asked. “You say it’s the year 2019. Your clothing, pack, shoes, and this eye phone are not the kinds of items available now. But, despite what you may think, we are not insane. It is the year 1877.”

  “I believe you believe it’s 1877,” Hunter stated.

  “Please, Hunter, let’s not be condescending,” Viola retorted, infusing as much patience in her voice as possible. “I’m not some backwoods nitwit. We may live in the middle of nowhere, but we’ve surrounded ourselves with books of all categories and studies. We’ve delved deep into the knowledge of the world as we know it.”

  Viola had always prided herself in her family’s propensity to gather books. They didn’t limit themselves on topic, purchasing books from all disciplines. Their mother had been intent on them learning as much as they could despite their limited surroundings. She had always been so fascinated with learning about new discoveries and cultures around the world. Grandfather used to bring boxes of books for them when they’d visit him before he’d died in an accident at one of his steel factories. She may be from the isolated wilderness, but she was intelligent. No stranger, no matter how handsome or confused, would tell her different.

  Hunter considered the little cabin. Books or weapons covered every available space on the walls. There was a Lancaster rifle he itched to get his fingers on propped within a gun stand. He’d only ever read about them or seen them on his and Chase’s favorite TV show Top Shot.

  “I’m sorry,” Hunter apologized, again. He’d apologized more today than he could remember ever apologizing in one day. “You’re right. That was a low blow. I’m a little out of my element at the moment.”

  “You and me both,” Viola retorted. “Maybe if you tell us what happened, starting first thing this morning, we can figure out what is going on. But why don’t you let me wrap your ribs while you tell us. No use in me sitting here looking at you talk when you still need patched up.”

  Beatrice snorted, drawing his attention to her. He mentally chastised himself for how he’d all but forgotten she was there, his attention so focused on Viola. That’s how people ended up killed. He knew that firsthand, the devastating consequences of an operator with tunnel vision. Beatrice had already proven she wouldn’t hesitate to mark a bead on him. He needed to remember to keep his wits about him.

  “If you press the button on the bottom, you’ll be able to open the other apps,” Hunter instructed, pointing to the phone. He watched Viola out of the corner of his eye as she rummaged for what he assumed was cloth to wrap his ribs.

  “What’s the purpose of this device and what’s an ‘app’?” Beatrice asked, as she clicked the button.

  “The main purpose is to communicate with others via the phone function,” Hunter answered. “The subsequent purpose is whatever you want it to do. Apps allow you to play music, keep records, read books, and they tell the weather.”

  “Why would you need that when you can peek outside and see what the weather is doing?” Beatrice said with a snort of indignation. Hunter wondered if she realized she snorted a lot or if that was a recent development. “What kind of instrument is it? There are no strings to strum or holes to blow through.”

  “Not what the weather is doing now but what it’s forecasted to do in the next few hours, even days, and not just here but anywhere, even China.” Hunter shook his head in disbelief. “And you aren’t performing the music, only listening to it. Tap the app with the music note, and you’ll see.”

  Hunter watched as her eyes lit up in amazement as a country song’s chorus about just a kiss came singing out of the speaker. Both ladies stared at the phone as Beatrice turned it over and over, looking for where the sound came from. Hunter peeked up at Viola as the chorus
repeated. He slowly smiled as a pink blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. She ducked her head, looking down at the bandages in her hands as she approached him.

  “Here, let’s get you wrapped.”

  “All right,” he whispered as her hand placed a bandage on his chest. He decided he wouldn’t mind helping Viola and her sister adjust to life in the real world, especially since it would mean getting to know Viola better. Maybe he could talk Chase into helping out, keep Beatrice busy.

  “Beatrice, can you please come help? I can’t hold the bandage and wrap,” Viola asked over her shoulder. Looking back at him, she said, “Can you tell us what you remember from today?”

  “This morning I left the hotel in Yampa before dawn to get to the trailhead early. I’m going on an extended camping trip,” he explained, though he left out the reason for the trip. “I left my Jeep in the parking lot at about 0600, grabbed my gear, then took off up to Devil’s Causeway. The plan was to hike into the wilderness from that access point.”

  Viola leaned forward. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but where is this Yampa and Devil’s Causeway? There isn’t a hotel anywhere near here. The closest is Denver, and that’d take you weeks on foot. Unless you have a horse—”

  “Mister, you didn’t say anything about a horse being tied up somewhere. If that poor critter dies because of your not having the brains to remember, I’ll push you off the mountain again.” Beatrice placed her hands on her hips, her face a menacing glare.

  “I don’t have a horse. I drove a vehicle from Yampa, a town about a forty minute drive to the parking lot for the trailhead to the causeway, that big mountaintop that looks like China’s Great Wall I fell down this morning,” Hunter said, exhausted at how this conversation circled nowhere.