Suddenly, David heard a shot. A moment later, the bark of a tree tore from its trunk and hit him in the face. Instinctively, he dropped to the ground. David quickly retrieved his field glasses and rifle, and scanned the area for movement. Far off in the distance, David saw a small cloud of smoke dissipating above a large rock. He refocused the lenses and saw a pair of legs protruding from behind the cover.
David watched as the man sneaked his rifle back up over the top of the rock and fired quickly. A moment later, the bank just in front of him erupted in exploding particles of mud and grass.
“Wow, this guy’s good,” David said to himself nervously.
As the man reloaded behind the rock, David laid his rifle on the ground in front of him. He viewed his foe through the field glasses once more and judged that the sharpshooter was probably two hundred yards away: a difficult shot even for a good marksman. David picked up his rifle again and adjusted his sights. As he held the weapon steady and waited, he ran through his mind the rigorous shooting lessons Dr. Morgan had put him through over the previous year. Moments later, David watched the man's head peek above the huge rock.
David exhaled, held his breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. A large cloud of smoke billowed from the end of the rifle. David quickly reached for his field glasses and scanned the rock in the distance. There, slumped over the large stone, was the body of a nearly decapitated man. David had hit his mark.
David jumped to his feet and stowed his rifle and glasses. He knew that with the loud shots from both rifles, the enemy would soon come to investigate. Mounting his horse, David quickly sped off, barely taking the time to scan for the enemy as he rode.
A short time later, David recognized the grove of aspens he had ridden through just two days before. Picking up landmarks along the path, he made his way into the open clearing.
As he trotted over to the area that held the time portal, he drew his sidearm and scanned the forest once more for the enemy. As best as he could see, the immediate area was clear. David jumped down off his horse and quickly walked to the location he thought to be the time portal. Looking around, he judged himself to be standing directly on top of it.
David nervously scanned the area once more, then closed his eyes and concentrated on the portal opening up. He focused on his emotions, hoping to incite them to high energy levels. Two minutes later, he began to have his doubts.
Pacing back and forth, David grew angry and impatient. “What does a man have to do to get a damn time machine to work around here?” he said out loud, rhetorically.
He stormed around the small area he thought would be the portal boundaries, hoping to somehow trigger its opening. His efforts were in vain.
In anger, David reached back with his leg and kicked a rock sticking out of the ground. Instantly, David fell to the ground, the intense, searing pain taking his breath away. Tears streamed down from his eyes as his toes throbbed with excruciating pain. Looking back at the rock, he could see it hadn't moved, and realized he had kicked a boulder buried beneath the surface.
“God dammit,” David yelled out in pain and frustration.
Suddenly, he felt a breeze: a breeze that was uniquely different to other breezes he felt that day. Balmier than the day's temperature, David at first thought he was passing out from the pain. He stood up slowly and noticed a slight distortion in the ground around him, as if the ground was made of water, sending tiny rippling waves out from where he was standing.
David turned around and looked behind him. Looking toward his horse, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. David turned back toward the portal area and stood still. There, directly in front of him, just inches from his feet, clear and distinct, was an elevator.
David’s heart started to pound as he stood frozen with nervous excitement. After a year and a half of anticipation, his moment had finally arrived. David took a small step and peered inside the elevator. He noticed that the size was the same but the interior design was different. Taking inventory, David noted darkened panels on the walls. The floor had carpeting in it that he didn’t recognize. On the walls, he noted a few framed pictures of surrounding Chattanooga showing the city during the depression era of the 20th Century.
Looking back over his shoulder, time seemed to stand still. His horse was still grazing, but at a much slower pace. The trees and grasses, that had been freely moving, were now virtually still. David looked back into the elevator and noticed that the light fixtures were antiques and perfectly restored. Something wasn’t right.
Just inside the elevator, David saw a dull, metal trash bin about three feet high and one foot in diameter. The trash had not been emptied and was overflowing into the corner of the elevator. David leaned in and plucked an old crumpled newspaper off the floor. Standing outside the elevator, he read the newspaper aloud.
“November, twenty-second, 1930,” David said to himself.
Instantly, he pulled all the clues together. The portal had opened up nearly seventy-five years before his time.
“Oh my God. This is the depression era. Crap!” David yelled out loud.
David now stood at a crossroads. If he entered the elevator, he would be stuck in one of the worst financial disasters the country had ever seen. If he stayed, he would be stuck in a primitive world, devoid of any modern conveniences.
David looked over his shoulder at his horse once more. He then read a few lines from the newspaper. With great self-doubt and apprehension, David took a step back. He raised his hand up and dropped the newspaper back into the elevator.
Although his present world was harsh, and at times very dangerous, he rationalized that he would be no better off living through desperate times during the Great Depression of the 1930s than to live through the Civil War of the 1860s. David made a decision to stay.
Slowly, he backed away from the elevator. He watched with sadness as the time portal slipped in and out of translucency until it vanished, leaving no trace of its existence in the grassy area. As he turned around, he watched with amazement as all activity returned to normal.
David stood in the open clearing and contemplated his future. It was nearly dark, and riding back to the medical camp would be even more dangerous. Deep dread overcame him as he thought about the bleak prospect of slipping back across enemy lines. David took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He could see his breath in the cold late afternoon air.
“Oh man, what have I done?” David said out loud.
David walked over to his horse. He patted his neck and talked to him softly.
“Well, are you ready, old boy? I'm not going to lie to you: we might not make it back,” David said, swallowing hard as the reality of his words began to sink in.
David walked around to the left side of his horse and got ready to mount him. He grabbed the horn on his saddle and stopped. Strangely, he had the feeling he was being watched. Still holding the saddle horn, he looked over his shoulder at the open clearing, but saw nothing. Turning back to his horse, he placed his foot in the stirrup, and hauled on the horn and stood up on the stirrup.
“Hold it right there, blue belly,” a voice shouted from far behind.
Startled, David snapped his head back to where he had previously looked. There, standing in the open field, about fifty yards away, were two Confederate soldiers. With their rifles aimed directly at him, he thought for a moment about riding off. As the seconds ticked by, David knew they had him. If he flinched, they would shoot him dead.
David called over to the two and said, “Don't shoot. I'm getting down off my horse.”
“REAL slow, like, so's we can see every movement,” the Confederate called out.
David's mind raced. He'd been caught. He desperately thought about escape. As he descended, he looked for the closest tree or rock that might give him cover if he found an opportunity to run. He stepped down and turned around, and stared at the two soldiers.
“Don't move or we'll kill you,” the other Confederate yelled.
As one kept a bea
d on David, the other walked quickly toward him, hoping to disarm him without a struggle. David's hand twitched as he thought about pulling his sidearm and defending himself. With only one gun aimed at him and the other man running, this would be the best chance he'd get to escape. His heart pounded as he struggled with his decision.
Only yards from him now, the Confederate slowed his pace. This was it. It was now or never. David's hand shook slightly as his hand slowly inched toward his pistol.
The running Confederate anticipated David's option and quickly raised his rifle as he ran.
“Don't try it, blue belly. I'll cut you down before you steal another breath of our air,” the running Confederate threatened.
David stopped his advance. His chance was lost. He could do nothing more but accept his fate.
As the young Confederate stopped in front of David, he pointed his rifle menacingly at him and said, “Move a muscle, scratch your nose, pass gas and I'll blast a huge hole in your belly.”
As the other Confederate approached, he called to him, “Seymour, you have him?”
“Like a dog on a leash,” the guarding Confederate replied.
A moment later, the two Confederates stood side by side, their rifles aimed at David's stomach. He could see it in their eyes. One false move and they would shoot him down as promised.
“Seymour, looky here. This blue belly is a general. Well, I'll be. The sergeant will be happy about this, I reckon,” the Confederate said to his friend. He turned back to David and continued, “Now I'd a-just a-soon would shoot you dead and leave you here to rot, but I'm sure we would receive an extra bonus for a live general, so don't go doing nothing stupid and change my mind for me.”
David nodded in submission. He was too torn to do anything else.
“Ok, blue belly. Drop the holster and step away from your pistol and sword,” the guarding Confederate ordered. “Do it slowly. I'd hate to shoot off your hands. It’d make riding more difficult.”
David swallowed hard again at the harsh, threatening language. He could feel the sweat building on his brow while his heart pumped wildly out of control. He slowly reached down and unbuckled his belt, and let his gun and sword drop to the ground. David could almost smell the emotionally charged atmosphere as he breathed heavy and exhaled in defeat.
“That's right, blue belly. Take your last breath as a free man, ’cause after today, you'll be breathing the air of Andersonville,” Seymour said.
The two Confederates looked at each other with ominous overtones, then began to laugh maniacally.
David stood, stunned. He remembered Andersonville from his history class in high school. The disparity of the violent living conditions there served as a high watermark for one of the worst atrocities against humanity. The death toll from disease and starvation were staggering; not to mention torture and unprovoked shootings by their captors.
David looked down for a moment. He could see his heart heaving his chest cavity, pushing him to the brink of cardiac arrest. His mind was a trough of emotion mixing together, confusing his logic, taunting him with irrational ideas of escape, as his captors continued their sadistic laughter.
A warm balmy wind began to blow on that cold November’s eve as the three stood in their own world, each man sending an emotional charge into the air. While the air electrified, David's mind began to sharpen. With the two Confederates reveling in their good fortune and jeering David's bleak future, David quickly reacted.
With the two Confederates’ rifles less than two feet from his stomach, he darted forward in one quick step and stood between the two weapons. Instinctively the two Confederates tried to point their rifles at David, but he was too close. Their rotation stopped as their barrels contacted David’s waist, one on each side. Their quick movements caused them to fire with a terrific roar of smoke and lead. In a split second, David's horse dropped to the ground, dead.
As the balmy air continued to blow stronger, David lifted his arms, and with every ounce of strength he could command, he stepped forward and elbowed the two stunned Confederates in the face, breaking the nose of one and knocking out the front teeth of the other. As they fell over backwards in pain, David ran between them and raced toward the cover of the Aspen forest off to his right.
The sprint to the trees was long: approximately thirty yards. David would need to expend every ounce of energy getting to cover if he were to outrun the two men. With the balmy wind pushing him from behind, David pumped his arms and legs wildly as he quickly came up to full speed.
Closing the distance to safety, David noticed a strange anomaly in his path. The ground in the distance was now moving slightly. At first, he thought it was just the grass blowing in the wind, but as he raced closer, the ground began to undulate, as if in waves.
Suddenly, David saw it. The time portal appeared, translucent at first, then took a more permanent form as he ran toward it. The thought of returning to the Great Depression was not appealing to David, but was certainly better than dying in the Confederates’ Andersonville prison.
As David ran toward the time portal, he looked over his shoulder. In shock, he now could see the one Confederate aiming David's rifle at him, ready to fire. The other Confederate, Seymour, had pulled David's Colt revolver and was cocking the hammer. With fifteen yards to go, David knew it was going to be close. He looked back again and could now see the two Confederates’ movements had slowed down considerably. David dug deep within him, pushing himself harder. As time slowed, just feet from the entrance, a loud shot rang out.
David felt it like a sledgehammer to his lower back. The rifle bullet had hit its mark and David fell forward, just inches from the portal opening. Lying on his stomach, David reached back and tried to touch the wound, but excruciating pain stopped him short. He looked back to see his wound and watched in horror as the two Confederates were now running toward him.
Even with time and the Confederates’ movements slowing, David knew it was going to be close. He had very little strength left, but began his crawl into the time portal. With each flexure of muscle, horrific pain coursed through his body. David screamed in agony as he pulled himself forward, hand over hand.
As he dragged himself into the elevator, he felt his legs go numb and useless. Looking back, as time and motion continued to slow to a crawl, the Confederates were mere yards and closing fast. As David rolled to his side, he reached down, pulled his legs through the doorway and waited a moment for the doors to close. Now only feet from him, as the two Confederates neared, Seymour aimed David’s pistol and pulled the trigger. David raised his hand over his face, instinctively trying to shield the bullet in a last desperate attempt to save his life.
The steel doors to the elevator started to close. As the bullet traveled through the air, its path could be seen as time and motion slowed its speed. David closed his eyes and waited for the impact. He heard a low 'thud' and opened his eyes. There in front of him were the two steel doors of the elevator. He had made it.
Suddenly, the elevator started to move. David cried out as the movement sent sharp pains down his spine. As David laid on his side, he began to lose consciousness. He fought his eyelids open and tried to look around him, but with the loss of blood and trauma, his strength failed him. His eyes closed and his body went limp.
Moments later, as David slipped into a dreamlike state, he felt a large jolt. He snapped open his eyes and looked around through blurred vision. His pain was now gone and his world now appeared white and brilliantly lit. A sense of wellbeing overcame him as he saw blurry images staring down at him. With a slight smile, he tried to touch his angels.
They returned his touch and he felt a warm rush race through his body. David smiled once more and fell asleep.
TT: Chapter 11
November 24th 2006
Elanger Hospital: Surgical ward
“I can't figure it out. One minute he's here doing surgery, the next he's gone. Then he shows up four years later wearing a pilgrim outfit,” Dr. Albert remar
ked.
“Civil War outfit,” Nurse Richmond corrected.
“Whatever,” Dr. Albert retorted. “And look at this wound. It's like he was shot with a damn cannon. I've never seen a gunshot like this before.”
“How's it look in there?” Nurse Richmond asked with deep concern.
“There's so much damage. He's lucky to be alive right now with all his blood loss,” Dr. Albert replied.
“Did you see the size of that bullet? It looked like a boulder. What kind of gun shoots a bullet that size?” Dr. Charles asked rhetorically.
Just then Dr. Phineas Morgan burst through the doors of the operating room. Dressed in his OR scrubs, he quickly moved to the edge of the gurney.
“What kind of gun shoots a bullet that size? Probably an 1861 Springfield musket rifle, I'd imagine,” Dr. Phin Morgan replied confidently.
“A musket? How do you know that?” Dr. Albert asked incredulously.
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