Millennium Crash

by James Litherland

  Not as good as Sam had hoped for, but it was enough. She nodded her acceptance of his offer and turned to look down the tunnel herself as she heard a squeal and a dim rumble in the distance. Watching for the lights of the approaching train, she felt Bailey’s eyes on her.

  As the noise around them increased, he asked a question. “Where am I following you to?”

  Sam turned back to him and lifted onto her toes to get closer to his ear. “The bank. I’ll leave a message for Anya or Page, telling them our story. Along with the extra device.” She smiled to herself. “They won’t be able to eat without visiting the bank, and I can’t see either of them living very long the way we have. So it should reach them.”

  Bailey smiled. “Certainly Page will hit the bank at her first opportunity.”

  Sam took a deep breath and raised her voice as the train roared into the station and screeched to a halt in front of them. “And Anya eats like a horse.” She lowered her volume again. “So until someone finds us, we’ll be on our own. It’ll be an adventure.”

  “What kind of adventure?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”

  Chapter 16

  The Sheriff’s Tale

  May 26th, 2001 Chickadee County

  ANYA pushed the pedals down hard, standing in the stirrups to let her weight fall and help her make it up the hill. It was so quiet in the countryside she could hear Tate breathing as he cycled behind her. A beautiful Saturday morning in May. The flowers were blooming, and the fresh, clean scent from last night’s rain still hung in the air. She simply enjoyed this moment, unconcerned about the research. Or what Turner and Nye might be up to.

  Both of the young people had balked at cutting their summer short, and Anya had compromised by agreeing to Travel to May of the next year—in hope of having an extra long summer ahead of them.

  Not too long. Anya couldn’t put herself through this September, so they’d have to leave before that.

  After they’d returned to the house in Chickadee, they had spent the rest of their last day in two thousand getting everything straightened and ready for their departure.

  Then they’d Traveled forward to last night. And after checking around the empty property to make sure everything was alright, they’d gone to bed completely exhausted.

  As soon as they were able, Turner and Nye had immediately headed back into the city to continue pursuing their own interests. This morning, Turner and Nye had been eager to catch the first train into the city. Anya had forced them to take their time over a hearty breakfast, then splurged by hiring the car and driver again to take them in.

  She and Tate had lingered in silence over a second cup of coffee. Their food needed to be digested before they set off to tour the neighborhood on their bicycles. They’d be looking for signs that anything had changed while they’d been gone.

  About nine months had passed for the contemporaries, and Anya wanted to know what had been going on in their lives. And in the wider world. So far they’d already visited with their nearest neighbor, a lonely widow who could usually be relied on for plenty of gossip.

  Unfortunately the woman had been short with them and uninterested in chit-chat. It must’ve been a rough winter for her. While they might not have discovered much from her, it stimulated their curiosity over whether something had happened in the community to account for the woman’s attitude or if hers was an isolated case.

  Anya sighed. With Professor John gone, she’d started toying with the idea of taking the slow path through history. Then she wouldn’t miss anything. She’d read about researchers getting too immersed in the cultures they were studying. Going native.

  Perhaps they should assimilate more into the local community, become a part of the time they were studying. The professor hadn’t warned them not to. It wasn’t like she had much of a life to go back to in the future. Neither did Tate for that matter. He’d joined the project because his wife had passed and his children had taken over the farm.

  Turner and Nye wouldn’t object to living here in real time. Perhaps all four of them should sit down and discuss the possibilities—once they’d finished this summer and Traveled to two thousand two.

  Anya forced herself to smile and look around at the countryside overflowing with green. It looked similar enough to the future she was used to. But there was a strange frisson to living in the past, and it energized her. I’m in the middle of history.

  After everything that had been happening, this felt like her first chance to really take it all in—the enormity of where and when they were. Her smile started to feel genuine, and she glanced behind her to share it with Tate. His face was red as he pressed his way up the gentle slope.

  It was a very long hill. Then she noticed the car in the distance, coming up the road. Anya started weaving her bike over on to the side of the road to get out of the way. She looked back and saw it was a sheriff’s car.

  With a vague sense of apprehension, she rolled to a stop and planted her feet on the ground. Tate came to a halt just behind her. He climbed off his bicycle and set the kickstand and came to stand at her side. He must be feeling nervous, too.

  She hoped the driver would just pass them by, but that was unlikely here in the country. Unless it was some kind of emergency, the natives seemed to take any opportunity to stop and talk with anyone they happened to encounter. Which was good for research, but awkward for privacy.

  The mud on the road had mostly dried, but not enough for the car to spin a cloud of dust behind it. Then it was slowing down as it approached, easing to a stop in the middle of the lane. It could be anything. They hadn’t yet met the local law officers, so this was probably just a neighborly welcome.

  Anyway, Anya had no reason to fear the authorities. That didn’t stop her worrying, though, or the acid from churning in her stomach. She should’ve made the effort last year to get to know them.

  At least she recognized the heavyset figure getting out of the driver’s seat. The sheriff himself.

  He walked around the front of his vehicle over to where she waited and tipped his hat at her. That seemed friendly enough. She was still glad to have Tate along with her, literally at her back.

  She decided to take the initiative. “Good morning, Sheriff. I’m Anya—though you probably know that already. This is my friend and colleague, Tate.”

  “Morning, mam.” The sheriff nodded at Tate and scratched his nose. “You’re the people who got the old Butterfield property, right? There are more of you, I hear.”

  “That’s right, Sheriff.” She smiled at him. “But the young ones are spending some time in the city.”

  The man took his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his uniform. Then he placed the wide-brimmed hat back on his balding pate. “I find that a bit strange, mam. I mean, you must’ve just arrived back here in Chickadee.”

  Anya nodded. “Last night. But you know how young people are—full of energy and impatient to expend it.”

  “True enough.”

  The sheriff flicked his gaze over her shoulder to Tate and back. “You ended your summer early last year. We tried to get a hold of you after you’d left—I don’t suppose you knew that.”

  Anya shook her head. “What was it about?”

  “We called the number you’d given for an emergency contact.”

  Emergency? They certainly hadn’t noticed anything wrong at the house last night or this morning. “The number for our bank in the city. Were they not able to help you?”

  The sheriff scratched his nose again. “Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to know how to get ahold of you. I didn’t talk to them myself, but they weren’t too helpful. Or so I hear.”

  Which was no surprise. Bankers were not notorious blabbermouths anyway, but they knew little enough to tell. “I’m sorry about that, Sheriff. Anything we can do now? You never said what trouble there was.”

  “Well, it’s kind of a long story. But it would be helpful if you could st
op by for a chat. It might take a while, and it’s not too comfortable out here in the heat. We might as well enjoy the air-conditioning.”

  “At your office? I think the weather’s beautiful, but we could find the time to come around.”

  The man adjusted his hat. “I’d like to clear this up now if I could.”

  Anya thought they should cooperate as much as they could. “Go ahead and ask your questions now then. We’ve got the time to talk.”

  The sheriff smiled. “In that case, why don’t you let me give you a ride wherever you’re going? I can put your bikes in the trunk, and we can chat in air-conditioned comfort.”

  Tate started shaking his head, but Anya ignored that. “Thank you for the offer, Sheriff. But Tate can take both bikes back to the house. He has work to do.” Hopefully her helper would understand what that work was without her spelling it out. “I should be able to answer all your questions.”

  The sheriff spared another glance for Tate and nodded. “That’ll be fine.”

  He scratched under his bottom lip and opened the passenger side door for her. It seemed pleasant still. And Tate knew what was happening, and he’d know to get word to Turner as soon as he got back to the house. Just in case.

  Anya folded her skirt under her as she slid onto the warm vinyl seat and let the sheriff close the door for her. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in and put the idling car in gear. He swung the car around and headed back the way he’d come, and she looked back to stare at Tate as he receded into the distance behind them.

  “I hope you don’t mind going to my office.”

  Anya frowned. “I thought you were giving me a ride to where I was already going.”

  The man nodded. “Which was to my office so I could ask you a few questions. Sorry if you misunderstood.”

  She understood alright, and she didn’t think he was sorry.

  The ride into town was short, but then any trip from one point to another in Chickadee County was quick by car. Which was why she liked riding bicycles. The sheriff didn’t ask her any questions while he drove, so she watched the scenery go by and held her peace.

  Most of the people she saw on Main Street were strangers. The only person she recognized was Mrs. McGlinty, who stood on her front porch with arms akimbo and her apron flapping in the breeze. They all stared at Anya.

  Every eye remained on her as she got out of the sheriff’s car and followed the man into his office. It was a fair-sized square brick building, and inside it was mostly one big open space, with one big partitioned office at the back, a few desks lined up in the middle, and some filing cabinets along one wall.

  There were also a couple of open air cells built into the wall on the other side of the room.

  She walked past a deputy who was leaning back in his chair and gesturing with a pastry as he talked on the telephone and a secretary sitting at a desk in front of the office at the back. Both of them merely glanced at her as she followed the sheriff back into that office.

  He nodded at the chair in front of his desk and planted himself behind it in his own rather comfortable looking chair. At least he had left the door wide open.

  “Now, let’s see if we can get some things cleared up.” He moved some papers around on the top of his desk. “I don’t know your last name. Have you got any identification on you?”

  She sat and smiled. “Not on me, no.”

  “I’ll still need your full name for the record.”

  “I’m just Anya.”

  He looked at her for a moment with wide eyes, pinching his nostrils between thumb and forefinger. “Are you refusing to give me your full name?”

  Anya leaned back in the chair and considered. She couldn’t tell this man the truth, that she had no family name. Yet she didn’t want to lie. Leaving her with little room to maneuver.

  “Yes, I suppose I am refusing. This is still a free country, I believe.”

  “As far as I know.” The sheriff leaned back himself, lacing his fingers across his belly. “But it makes things difficult for me.”

  “I don’t want to make it difficult, Sheriff.”

  The man nodded. “I believe that. Really, I do. So let’s try some other questions.”

  “Let’s.” They were fencing, with her at a disadvantage because she didn’t even know what it was he wanted. Yet.

  The sheriff stared at Anya for a long minute as he rolled his tongue around in his mouth. If he was hoping she’d lose her cool, he’d be disappointed. He didn’t know what she’d been through.

  “For one thing, there’s a little mystery we hope you can help us solve.”

  “I can certainly try. Who’s ‘we’?”

  “My brothers in law enforcement. You see, last summer a man was found stabbed to death in New York City. Did you or any of your colleagues spend any time in the city around then?”

  Anya nodded. If he’d talked to Mrs. McGlinty at all, he already knew that. “We all did. Could you be more specific about when exactly? Then I might be able to be more helpful.” She wondered if Turner or Nye had gotten into more trouble she’d never found out about. “Was this murdered man someone I’m supposed to know? Are you saying the police suspect one of us?”

  The sheriff cocked his head. “I suppose that depends on who you mean by ‘us’—they have reason to believe it’s one of your colleagues. One of the recipients of this Travelers’ Trust business.”

  Anya closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t think it sounded as if she herself was under suspicion, which made it more difficult. Only one of the other team leaders had the access to be a trust recipient. Harold or Page. And Anya didn’t have a clue what either had been up to between the time they’d landed in two thousand and then left again. Though this might explain why one of them had Traveled.

  It was impossible to imagine Harold stabbing a person—anyone under any circumstances. It was all too easy to see Page killing someone in self-defense. And then running. Page had abandoned one of her helpers. Anya hoped Bailey was keeping the woman out of further trouble.

  Until she had a better idea where this was headed, Anya wasn’t prepared to volunteer information. “When I went to the bank myself, they were tight-lipped about the other recipients. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about them.” Which was all true. She would have to watch her words. If she couldn’t tell the truth, she’d be better off to keep her mouth shut. Whatever the consequences.

  The sheriff was watching her closely. “The suspect left the knife behind with their fingerprints on it. So we know it wasn’t you.”

  “So do I.” They each had to leave their thumbprints on record when they accessed the trust funds. That would be how they knew it was one of the trust recipients, why the sheriff could say with certainty it wasn’t Anya. But they had to have the name. She wondered why the man hadn’t mentioned it yet.

  He waited, but when Anya didn’t say anything else, he continued. “We’re having trouble identifying this woman. Maybe if I described her you could say which of your colleagues it might be.”

  “Even if you described her down to her toenails, I doubt I could help you.” For a number of reasons. “But I hope justice is done.”

  The sheriff smiled at that. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. We found the woman—that’s where the mystery starts.”

  Anya eyes widened by reflex, and he noticed. “I do like a good mystery. But if you already have her, I’m not sure why you want my help?”

  He hesitated as if unsure how much he should say. “The prints they found on the murder weapon matched those of a woman who died ten years ago, in nineteen ninety-one. Nine years before she was supposed to have stabbed the victim.”

  Poor Page. “Obviously that woman couldn’t be your murderer, Sheriff.”

  “So the New York City boys still have a mystery to solve.” He pulled on his lower lip. “But if you’re unable to help with that one, maybe you can with a different crime they’re investigating.”

  “If I can, I
will.”

  The sheriff smiled. “I’m sure you can help with this one. A traffic fatality in Midtown Manhattan. I believe it was the same day you claimed funds from this Travelers’ Trust. The very same morning, just a little earlier in the day.”

  The professor. Anya would have to watch herself closely now. There had been a lot of witnesses to what had happened, and the police likely had a description of her. “Yes, I was there. I saw.”

  “No one seems quite clear how an old man suddenly ended up in front of an oncoming vehicle. Do you know anything at all about it? Or who the man was?”

  John. This was becoming a minefield. “I can’t help you with that either.”

  “For a witness to leave the scene of an accident is against the law. It would be a real problem if that person knew the victim, or was somehow involved.”

  Anya would have to come clean, to whatever extent she could. “I told you I saw what happened, but I didn’t stick around. I couldn’t explain how it happened anyway.” She couldn’t even begin to.

  “And you can’t identify the victim for us?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  The sheriff sighed. “Then you’ll have a difficult time explaining your actions. Someone took a home video of you, you know. Running up to the injured man. Robbing his body. Fleeing the scene.”

  Anya narrowed her eyes at the man. He’d led her right into that trap—but she wouldn’t have been able to avoid it even if she’d seen. “And if I knew the victim? If I had a right to whatever I’m supposed to have taken?”

  The sheriff didn’t look pleased. “After you’ve already said you couldn’t identify him? He might’ve been already dead when you robbed him, or dying. But either way, you’re in a bad spot. You can come clean about that though, and maybe avoid a charge of murder.”

  “I thought you knew I didn’t stab that man, and what does the one have to do with the other?”