Lost in Time_Split-Second Time Travel Story 1

by Ken Johns

  “Jean-Pierre.”

  His tracker hurried over to stand near Henri’s horse. “Oui, capitaine?”

  The man could speak a little English, but Henri preferred to stick to French so that nuance was not lost and the English guards were not privy to their conversations. “Can we still see the trail?”

  “The tracks are clear until they reach the main road,” Jean-Pierre said. “Then the carriage is lifted up out of the mud, and they are gone.” He pointed to where the tracks disappeared.

  “It sounds like we just need to follow the road until we see where the tracks leave it. Yes?”

  “Yes, but if we miss them, we could wind up in Canterbury.”

  “Please do not miss them. I have no desire to go to Canterbury today or any day.”

  “Oui, capitaine. It is a dangerous place.” Jean-Pierre smiled as he started along the road.

  The last time Henri had been to Canterbury, he’d had to save Jean-Pierre from a pilgrim’s wife. The fact that the pilgrim had been an enthusiastic participant was of no consequence. The pilgrim’s wife had been surprisingly adept at the sword, and Henri had had his hands full extricating his friend.

  Henri signaled his squad to follow Jean-Pierre and waited as they marched past him. He dismounted and led his horse up onto the road. Warmer now that he was moving, he settled in to the slow but steady pace his men had set.

  Around prime, Jean-Pierre left the road and disappeared behind a copse of oaks.

  “Hold.” The squad stopped at Henri’s command.

  When Jean-Pierre reappeared, he smiled. “We will not be going to Canterbury today.”

  Chapter Ten

  April 27, 1341

  John’s leg collapsed. Sometimes being right hurt like a son of a bitch.

  “Get down,” he shouted from the ground.

  Mila and Sandra spun around.

  “What happened to you?” Sandra asked.

  “Run!” John pointed up the hill.

  “What is wrong with you? Why are you shouting?” Mila’s said.

  “I’m shot.” John lifted his hand off his thigh. It was drenched in blood. “Now run before they shoot you too.”

  The bolt had penetrated his thigh from behind as he walked upslope. He glanced down the meadow. There was no sign of the threat. He had to assume uphill was safe. Unless the bolt had been meant to drive them into a trap. He gave his head a shake. Stop overthinking it. He rolled onto his stomach and started to commando-crawl up the slope. The bolt in his leg stabbed him every time it caught in the dirt. He twisted on his side to keep it elevated and dragged himself with only his arms.

  “Dad, come on!” yelled Mila.

  He tried to speed up, but he couldn’t go any faster. He’d been shot before, but those bullets now seemed like beestings compared to this tree trunk that tore his leg open further with every movement. He wanted to stop and cradle the wound, but that was not an option.

  “Come on, Sergeant.” Sandra was suddenly above him with Jess. They grabbed his arms, hoisting him to his feet. John hopped on his good leg as they half-carried, half-dragged him up the hill.

  Mila kicked away some rocks and broken sticks, clearing a spot on the ground behind the log. “Here.” She pointed, and they sat John down with his back to the log, shielding them from the meadow.

  Mila and Jess crouched on each side of John.

  Sandra tore his pants to expose the injury. “Let’s take a look at that leg.”

  He snuck a peek over the log behind him, and Mila followed his example. Three knights in plate armor walked their horses onto the meadow. Four foot soldiers followed them. Each man wore a long chain mail shirt with a sword belted at his side. The bastard with the crossbow at his shoulder must have been the one who shot him. The men moved cautiously, and he was thankful they weren’t in more of a hurry. Who were they, what did they want, and why would they attack without warning?

  “Ah!” John spun back, grabbing Sandra’s hand to stop her from wiggling the bolt. “A little warning next time?”

  “Sorry.” Sandra gently touched the sides of his leg near the wound. “Can you lift it?”

  He bent his knee so Sandra could examine the entrance wound on the back of his thigh.

  “Okay.” Sandra sat back. “It wiggles, so it’s not in the bone. And it’s not gushing, so it’s probably not in the artery. I say we take it out and tourniquet your leg.”

  “Do it,” said Mila. “Hurry.”

  He couldn’t run. And they needed to run. Fast. The tail on the short bolt had disappeared into the back of his leg. He wrapped his hands around the tip, took a deep breath, and held it as he pulled. The bolt slid up a few inches, grinding on his femur. Pain swamped his leg. He let go and breathed out. Three inches were still buried in his leg. He leaned back against the log to catch his breath and let the pain subside.

  “Faster.” Mila kept her eyes glued to the knights. “They’re not resting, we’re not resting.”

  Sandra straddled his leg, pinning it to the ground with her thighs. “Jess, put his left arm around you. Mila, you take his right.”

  “Hang on. What are you thinking?” He knew a little knowledge could be more dangerous than complete ignorance. Sandra was no medic. She was the certified first aid attendant in the law office where she worked.

  “Quit whining, Sergeant, I’m all you’ve got. Now shut your eyes and give your girls a hug.”

  He held his daughters but he did not take his eyes off Sandra.

  “Three…” Sandra yanked the bolt out of his leg.

  “Ahhh! Ah ha ha haaa!” He took a huge breath and clenched his teeth. “What the hell was the counting for?”

  Mila pointed at the approaching knights. “Can we go now?”

  Sandra tucked the bolt into her waistband. She tore off the bottom of his ripped pant leg and tied it around the wound. He winced when she tightened it in place.

  “Now what?” Sandra’s voice cracked. Her wide eyes and trembling chin told him the adrenaline that had allowed her to focus on his leg in spite of the danger was gone.

  He reached out and squeezed Sandra’s hand. “Nice job. Thanks.” He tested his leg then glanced over the log. The knights and soldiers were halfway up the meadow. He ducked back behind the log and faced them. His leg reminded him he was far from combat ready, but the three most important people in his world needed him. Now.

  “We need to move.”

  “Really?” Mila’s jaw dropped open. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  John ignored her and rolled onto his hands and knees, slowly crawling behind a tree. Once he was sure he couldn’t be seen, he stood up. His right leg poked him, but he forced himself not to limp. He had to keep their morale up. If the girls thought he wasn’t going to be up to the job, they might panic. Fear had to be managed.

  “Okay, crawl over behind this tree and follow me into the forest. But stay down and stay quiet. Let’s go.”

  Henri stopped his horse at the edge of the tree line where the trails of trampled bluebells ended. “Hubert, take a look.”

  The man-at-arms drew his sword and crept into the forest. A few moments later he returned. “Captain. The heretics are gone. They will be moving slowly. The big one is bleeding.”

  “Henri,” said the baron. “Collect our prize. We want them alive. The bishop and I are returning to the castle.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Henri watched the two armored men wheel their mounts and trot down the slope. Typical. When the danger level was unknown, the lords moved to the rear. But of course, there was some merit in their choice. These heretics were still a mystery. No one knew what they were capable of.

  “Hubert, take your men and find them.” Henri tried to ignore the similarity to what Reginald had just done. “Jean-Pierre and I will follow.”

  The three men-at-arms raced into the forest.

  “Henri, why do we not hunt with Hubert and his men?” Jean-Pierre unloaded his crossbow and slung it across his back.

  Henri dism
ounted. Jean-Pierre would never question his courage, but Henri found himself feeling guilty. It was a valid question. He knew they were a more cohesive fighting unit when they were together, and so did Jean-Pierre.

  “Why do you think the baron and bishop have left us?”

  “They do not like to sweat?”

  Henri smiled at Jean-Pierre’s insolence. “That may also be true, but they have retreated because the danger is unknown.”

  “And now we do the same?”

  His tracker always spoke his mind. Henri had to remind himself that was why he held him in such high regard. He stifled the urge to reprimand him. “Let that be the end of it. We must be cautious, that is all. We will follow at a distance.” Henri led his horse into the forest as the men-at-arms disappeared from view.

  Chapter Eleven

  April 27, 1341

  Mila followed John up the forested hillside. He was moving far too slowly for her. John’s face told the story of his pain. With each step he grimaced, and while he forced himself not to limp, he couldn’t go any faster. She wanted to sprint until she couldn’t breathe. There was no way they could put any distance between themselves and their attackers at this pace. It was only a matter of time before they caught up. And then what?

  Mila had once taken a stage-fighting class, and John had questioned its relevance. When he’d suggested a real self-defense course, she’d told him he knew nothing about acting. He’d backed off. Now she kind of wished he’d insisted. Jess was RCMP, so she could defend herself. But these guys had swords. How useful would John’s hand-to-hand combat training and Jess’s suspect arrest and control skills be against these men?

  And on top of all that, they weren’t supposed to fight anyone here. That was the tricky part. How were they supposed to defend themselves against people who obviously meant them harm without fighting back? They had all signed the waivers before departure.

  And where the hell was their guide? So much for keeping them out of conflict. Thanks, SSTTC. Fuck.

  “Do you trust me?” John climbed over a log and held a low branch out of the way.

  “Of course,” said Jess as she stepped past him.

  “Sure,” said Mila.

  “Why?” asked Sandra.

  “We need to switch to a military model.” He took a ragged breath and continued up the hill. “I need you to follow my orders without question or hesitation. It’s the surest way for us to survive. Can we do that?”

  “Yeah,” said Jess. “You’re the expert.”

  “It’ll be just like when we were little,” said Mila.

  “Except I need you to really listen to me.” John looked her in the eye. “Not like when you were little. Can you handle that?”

  “Why are you singling me out?” Mila scowled.

  “You know why. You’re the independent thinker. You’re the one who always has to try things your own way.”

  “John, take it easy.” Sandra touched his arm.

  “I can’t. She needs to understand.” He pointed at his bleeding leg. “This is real. These guys aren’t fucking around. When they catch up to us, I need to take them out with non-lethal force. Can you think of a way to do that?”

  “I have a couple of ideas,” said Mila. “Do you want to hear them?”

  “No.”

  “John!”

  “Sandra, stay out of it. This is exactly my point. By now I should have already told you my plan, but I’m still trying to convince Mila that having one person in charge is the best way to survive.”

  “Ah, Dad?” Jess said, pointing.

  “What?”

  “There’s movement in the trees.”

  Three of the foot soldiers emerged from behind a stand of beech trees a hundred meters down the slope. There was no sign of the crossbowman or the knights.

  “We need to divide their group.” John started up the hill again. “That means we need to split up.”

  “I don’t like that idea,” Sandra said. She wrapped her arms around her chest as she climbed.

  “We don’t have a choice,” said John. “See? This is what I mean about not questioning me.”

  “I don’t want to split up. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Noted.” John must have known she was scared, but he just kept climbing. “We still have to split up, so Jess, when I say the word, you and Mila run to our right for a hundred meters then cut left and find your way to the top of this hill. When they see us split up, they’ll send at least one man after you. Keep him following you, but don’t engage him. Once you reach the top of the hill, lead him back down toward your mother and me. By that time, I’ll have taken out the other two and be ready for your guy. Any questions?”

  “What about your leg?” said Jess. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “My leg is fine,” he snapped.

  Clearly not fine, but Mila kept her thoughts to herself. He wanted them to take orders, and she was fine with that. Besides, she’d been wanting to run for the last hour. The run would clear her head and relieve the knot in her chest.

  “I think Mom and Mila should be the bait and I should stay with you.” Apparently, Jess was not quite ready to give in. “I have the most to offer in a fight.”

  “Agreed, but you and your sister are the fastest runners. You’re young and agile. I don’t want your mother slipping and falling and getting caught.”

  “Thanks, asshole,” said Sandra.

  Nice one. Mila smiled.

  “You know what I mean,” he said.

  “Dad, these guys have swords.” Jess offered her standard insightful reality check. “When’s the last time you fought a guy with a sword?”

  “Don’t worry about it. A sword is like a long bayonet. I’ll figure something out.” John looked at Mila. “Anybody else?”

  Mila shook her head and kept climbing. There was no way she was getting into it.

  “All right, how close are they?” said John.

  Jess glanced behind them. “Seventy meters.”

  “When they hit fifty, you go. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Jess.

  They continued to climb at John’s pace, placing each foot carefully to avoid slipping in the damp underbrush. The rocks on the forest floor provided traction, but a simple twisted ankle could be their undoing. At one point, John bent and picked up a hunk of wood the size of a baseball bat. Good idea. Mila started looking for something similar as she climbed.

  “They’re at fifty,” said Jess. “Let’s go.” She took off across the hillside.

  “See ya later,” Mila said and rushed after Jess.

  They ran around the bend of the hill. When Jess started climbing up, Mila glanced behind them. She couldn’t see John and Sandra anymore, but apparently two of the foot soldiers had chosen to follow Jess and her, not one like John had predicted. Thanks, John.

  When the ground flattened out, Jess stopped. Mila came up behind her and stopped. They were still surrounded by trees, but clearly they couldn’t climb any higher. The ground sloped away in every direction. The two guards climbing up through the trees had slowed to a walk, so Mila squatted down on her ankles and leaned her back against a tree.

  “Are you serious?” Jess stood with her fists on her hips.

  “What?”

  “Sitting? Don’t you think that might be a little cocky?” Jess glanced at the men. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Mila sighed.

  “Bullshit.” Jess frowned at her sister. “You haven’t said a word since Dad lit into you.”

  “Exactly. He wanted us to listen and take orders without question. But the first thing you and Sandra did was interrupt with questions. I’m the only one who did what he asked, but do you think he noticed? Hell, no.” Mila took a breath.

  “Okay, okay, I get it.” Jess stood next to Mila. The soldiers had halved the distance to the top. “I think right now we need to focus on leading these bastards into Dad’s trap, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah.
” Mila dragged herself to her feet.

  “Hey.” Jess put a hand on Mila’s shoulder. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Why bother?” Mila shrugged. “You know he’ll never change.”

  “Yup.” Jess nodded.

  One of the guards was cutting across the hill face to their right while the other one continued directly toward them.

  “That’s not good. They’re splitting up. Let’s go.” Jess sprinted across the top of the hill. Mila bolted after her.

  “Down this way.” Jess veered left, jumping down between two trees. The closer man rushed to intercept them. “Faster. It’s going to be close.”

  “You go faster,” Mila said between breaths. “I’m right on your ass.”

  “I’m trying!” Jess jumped over a root and accelerated.

  Mila wasn’t applying any braking force, just letting gravity pull her down the hill. She focused on finding safe places to put her feet. The terrain was rocky and riddled with trees, roots, and underbrush. The slightest misstep would lead to a skin-grating fall. She glanced at the soldier, who was closing in.

  “He’s going to be right on us when we go by,” Mila yelled.

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Keep going,” Mila shouted. “He’s running parallel, about ten meters. But he’s drifting in as he goes.”

  Jess snuck a glance at the soldier. “Shit.”

  Mila risked a longer look. The man’s knees were hampered by his chain mail shirt. He couldn’t take a full stride. At that moment, he tore off his helmet to lose some excess weight. The man’s long hair was pasted to his skull with sweat. Mila refocused on her path down the hill and smiled.

  “Okay, ease up a bit,” Mila yelled to Jess.

  “Why?”

  “He’s done.” Mila and Jess had both run middle distance in high school. Their coach had been an Olympian, and when they had showed promise, he’d taken their training to the next level. That had included studying the stride of their opponents to know when their tank was empty and when to make a move. Who would have thought she would come to the fourteenth century to find a use for that particular skill?