by Brandon Mull
Nate hurried down the hall and peeked into the Flatman’s room, feeling unsure what to say to the odd creature. “Hi, Flatman. Mr. Stott is taking me in his truck to chase some guy. I’ll see you soon.”
The Flatman’s fins fluttered.
Nate ran to the garage, joining Mr. Stott in the truck. Mr. Stott hit the gas, leaving the garage door open as they rumbled onto Limerick Court.
“The Flatman told me you were coming and that you would need a ride,” Mr. Stott said. “That’s why I was ready and waiting.”
“I just told him you were taking me in your truck,” Nate said.
“Which is probably what he saw.”
“The birthmark guy is powerful,” Nate warned. “John called him a Fuse. He made the grass turn huge and tangle us up.”
“Nobody wants to contend with a Fuse,” Mr. Stott said. “But Belinda has the map and knows where to find the key. This could be our last opportunity to derail her.”
“I’m with you,” Nate said. “This might be my only chance to save my friends.”
“Burt and Starla live off the beaten path,” Mr. Stott said. “Do you have much candy left?”
“A little,” Nate said. “My second-to-last Ironhide faded to nothing while we were talking in your house. I have one left. They’ve been lifesavers.”
“I wish I had more candy to offer you,” Mr. Stott said. “Our best chance will be to beat Mrs. White’s thugs to Burt and Starla’s.”
“We might make it,” Nate said. “I came straight to you. It seemed like the others were taking John and Summer back to the candy shop.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
They drove out of town on Main Street, and then turned on Gold Coast Drive. The road wove among golden-brown hills and oak-filled valleys. Sprigs of wildflowers blossomed among the brush. Nate was impressed that on some stretches, Mr. Stott got the old truck up to over sixty miles per hour.
About ten minutes into the drive, a dirt road marked Orchard Lane branched off from Gold Coast Drive. “This is our last turn,” Mr. Stott said. At first, the dirt road was flat and drivable, but the further they meandered into the hills, the more rutted the road became, and soon they were jouncing along at fifteen miles per hour.
“We getting close?” Nate asked.
Mr. Stott glanced at his odometer. “A few more miles,” he said.
Nate repeatedly checked the big side mirrors, watching the empty road behind them, worried that their enemies could overtake them at any moment. The ice cream truck often slowed to less than ten miles per hour.
They were traversing a field where an old wooden bridge spanned a dry creekbed. Tall golden brush thrived everywhere, along with old oaks and a few huge bushes.
Off to one side of the road, a black Hummer pulled out of hiding from behind a screen of shrubs.
“Oh, no,” Mr. Stott said.
The Hummer raced toward them, gaining speed as it bounced through the brush. Mr. Stott tried to accelerate, but the road was particularly rutted, and he almost overturned the top-heavy truck. Rocks scraped against the undercarriage. “What do we do?” Nate asked.
“Ironhide,” Mr. Stott said.
Nate fished out his last Ironhide and put it in his mouth. It became evident that the Hummer meant to broadside them. Mr. Stott swerved off the road and accelerated, trying to avoid the collision, but the Hummer rammed into the side of the Candy Wagon near the rear. The truck spun and flipped upside down. Dreamlike and slow after the initial jolt, the inverted ice cream truck rocked and slammed down on its side.
Nate felt the sensation of rolling and whipping around violently, but his seatbelt held him in place and he experienced no pain. Mr. Stott also had his seatbelt on, but blood trickled down his forehead from where he had bashed the side window. The old magician looked dazed.
The Hummer raced off, spewing up dust on the dirt road. The impact had to have damaged it, but Nate could see only the back of the vehicle as he stared at it sideways through the starred glass of the front windshield. The passenger window was facing the sky. Mr. Stott’s side of the truck was against the ground.
“Drove into a trap,” Mr. Stott mumbled. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers together, grunting. “There. Changed the gasoline . . . into water. So we won’t explode.”
“Are you okay?” Nate asked.
“Could have used an Ironhide,” he smiled. “Not that it would have reinforced these old bones. I’m unwell.”
“Can I do something?” Nate said.
“If I leave the vehicle, I’ll die,” Mr. Stott said. “My age will catch up with me. Let’s see.” He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers together again. Blood drizzled down into his beard. He bared his teeth, groaning, and suddenly changed into a coyote, a transition that occurred in a blink.
“Mr. Stott?” Nate asked.
“That’s a bit more comfortable,” the coyote said in Mr. Stott’s voice. “I may be able to travel temporarily like this if it becomes life or death. But I can’t change myself back. I’ll require assistance. If I leave the truck in this state, in time my awareness will depart and I’ll grow feral.”
“What do I do?” Nate asked.
“I’d say this qualifies as a dire situation,” the coyote said.
“The Grains of Time?”
“Might as well give it a shot. Now or never.”
“You said blue first, then red, then yellow?”
“In rapid succession,” the coyote said. “Past, future, and present.”
“How long will I have?” Nate asked. “It won’t do much good to go back in time if I’m stuck in a field in the middle of nowhere!”
“You’ll go back a week or two for about an hour, forward a day or two for about an hour, and then you’ll have about an hour with an advantage in the present,” Mr. Stott said. “Your body won’t travel through time. Nobody knows how to send matter across that gulf. But we can send a mind. You will find yourself occupying a vacant mind in the past, and a vacant mind in the future. The minds you occupy will have no idea you were there, no memory of what you did.”
“Will it be somebody nearby?” Nate asked.
“The nearest ideal candidate,” Mr. Stott said. “Colson remains the closest town. You’ll probably end up there. Use your minutes wisely.”
“What should I do?” Nate asked.
“All you can. You’ll find you can’t change the past—at least, I’ve never heard of anyone succeeding. Everything you do ends up being something that already happened. You’ll see.”
“So I can’t do anything?”
“You can do a lot. Just because it already happened doesn’t mean what you accomplished didn’t matter. I’ll confuse you more if I keep talking. Go back and do all you can in the time you have.”
“What about the future?” Nate asked.
“You can change the future, but not while you’re there. None of it has happened yet, you’ll be visiting a possibility. Scour the future for information. The future you will experience is the future without you in it. You see, your mind travels into the future, leaving your body vacant, meaning you weren’t a participant in how things turned out. Once you return to the present, you can try to make things work out differently. Never an easy task.”
“What advantage will I have in the present?” Nate asked.
“Three selves,” the Stott coyote said. “You’ll return to this location, and for an hour or so, you will manifest as three people. All of them will be equally you. Everything will be copied, even your clothes and the items you carry. When time runs out, however far apart your three selves have traveled, you’ll be drawn back together at a central point. You won’t materialize in solid rock or anything, or up in the air, but the spell will reunite you as close as possible to the midpoint of the space separating the three selves.”
“You’re frying my brain,” Nate said. “When time runs out, all my selves will teleport back to a central spot and I’ll be one person again?”
&nbs
p; “Yes, but you can’t take anything with you that you didn’t have when you split into three,” Mr. Stott said. “I’ll explain more when the time comes. For now, you better get going.”
“Okay,” Nate said, unscrewing the top of the hourglass.
“You’ll want to spit out your Ironhide,” the coyote cautioned. “Never a good idea to mix candy. Sometimes it’s harmless, but it can be lethal.”
Nate removed the Ironhide from his mouth. “I can’t save it? It’s my last one.”
“Doesn’t work that way. Taking it out undoes the spell. Make this count.”
Nate tossed aside the Ironhide and raised the hourglass. “Down the hatch.” He dumped the blue sand into his mouth. Instantly he felt like the truck was spinning, and he swooned. He experienced a brief sensation of floating, and then soared.
*****
The next thing Nate knew, he was lying in an alley, opening his eyes. It was daytime. He sat up. His clothes were dirty and stank. He had a foul taste in his mouth. Rubbing his jaw, he found it stubbly, a sensation he had never experienced. He was a grown man!
Nate stood up, much taller than he had ever been. He felt unsteady, as if the wooziness from the blue sand were persisting. His head throbbed.
Stumbling out of the alley, Nate found himself next to the bar and grill on Main Street. The sun seemed brighter than usual. He stepped into the eatery.
“What time is it?” Nate called. He sounded like a grown-up!
“Almost three,” a voice called back.
“What day?”
The voice chuckled. “Thursday.”
“I mean what date?”
“September thirteenth.”
Nate stepped out of the bar. Almost three on a school day. He should be walking home down Greenway! That wasn’t far!
Nate rushed along Main, his head hurting, his equilibrium off. He pushed onward, determined to overcome the uncomfortable aftereffects of time travel. He cut down a side street. Looking up ahead, he saw several kids walking along Greenway, including a familiar foursome.
“Summer, Trevor, Pidge, Nate! Hold up! You have to listen to me.”
His friends and his past self looked startled, and started murmuring to each other. Nate continued toward them, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.
“Stay away from Sweet Tooth,” Nate warned, stumbling slightly. “You can’t trust Mrs. White. She’s dangerous. You can’t trust anyone!”
“That’s close enough,” his past self demanded.
Nate halted. Although the scene was becoming eerily familiar, he persisted. “You have to let me explain. Nate, it’s me. I’m you! I’m from the future!”
“Right,” his past self said. “You don’t look anything like me. How do you know my name?”
Mr. Stott had warned him that he would not be able to change the past. He had explained that everything he did would be something that had already happened. Which meant that trying to convince his friends he was a time traveler would be a dead end. He had already failed! With less than an hour to burn, he had to make the most of his time.
“I have no time,” Nate said, plunging his hands into his wild hair. He looked at his past self. “What was I thinking? I forgot that you weren’t going to believe me. I guess you guys don’t want to come with me so I can fill you in on some things?”
“Sorry, we’re not going anywhere with you,” Summer said. It felt strange having her look at him coldly, like a dangerous stranger. It felt strange being so much taller than his friends. It felt strange looking down on himself from the perspective of another person.
“This guy harassing you?” the crossing guard called, approaching from down the street.
“I think he’s drunk,” Pigeon said.
Nate had a clear memory of this moment, thinking what a psycho the stranger must be, thinking how there was no way he would ever look like that slovenly bum. He remembered that the crossing guard had considered calling the police.
Nate threw up his hands, backing away. “No problem here, sorry to bother you kids.” The stranger had predicted something that would happen. What had he said? Oh, yeah. “Keep in mind, robbing graves isn’t right. I have things to do.”
Nate dashed away down Greenway, in the same direction the homeless stranger had run. What had been the man’s destination? How could he best use his time in the past? He could confront Mrs. White, but her henchmen were there and could certainly handle him, especially if he were alone, unarmed, and without candy. Besides, if he had succeeded doing something to Mrs. White, it would have already happened, right?
He considered his needs in the present. He was stranded in a field miles from town, with no houses around. If he was going to make a difference in the present, he needed a way back into town.
And suddenly it was clear what he needed to do. Of course! It was something he had already done. He just hoped it was something he had succeeded in doing. He would have to hurry.
Nate ran down a side street. He needed to double back, cross Main, and get into his neighborhood. But he couldn’t use Greenway or he would spook the crossing guard and his past self.
He dashed along the nearest street that paralleled Greenway, raced across Main, and entered Summer’s neighborhood. Racing through the middle-class development, he reached the creek. The rainstorm had not happened yet, so it was pretty low. He crossed the stream at a narrow point, managing to hop on rocks and avoid dousing his shoes.
Panting, Nate charged up the slope to the jogging path and trotted to Monroe Circle. He was getting so sweaty and nauseated that he walked up Monroe to his house. Pausing on the sidewalk, he stared at the front door. He knew just where his mom kept the keys, on the hook in the entry hall.
Still he hesitated. He remembered how this had traumatized his mom, and hated the thought of frightening her, but this was an emergency, and he knew the Explorer could handle the terrain where the ice cream truck was stranded. The SUV was an automatic, his dad had let him drive it short distances a couple of times, and he knew he could successfully steal it on short notice. He needed to do it! In fact, he felt certain that, in a sense, he already had.
Nate walked up to his front door and found it unlocked. Easing the door open, he heard his mom in the kitchen using the sink. He quietly closed the door and took the Explorer keys from the hook. He slunk over to the door to the garage and passed through it silently.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Nate rubbed his eyes. They felt itchy and sore back behind the eyeballs. In the rearview mirror he saw that they were bloodshot. He found it very unsettling to look in a mirror and see somebody else staring back.
He started the engine and clicked the garage-door opener at the same time. He gently pressed on the accelerator as the door went up. The engine revved but the Explorer did not move. He was still in park. He tried to shift to reverse, but the gear stick would not move. He pressed down the brake, and that did the trick. Shifting into reverse, he backed out of the garage, clicking the button to close the door behind him.
Switching into drive, Nate accelerated up Monroe and turned toward Mayflower. It was nice that he could comfortably reach the pedals. In fact, the seat was a little too close to the steering wheel, so he backed it up a few inches.
Now that he was under way, driving felt easier, although he didn’t brake soon enough at Mayflower and ended up screeching several yards past the stop sign. He tried to use the turn signal and instead switched on the windshield wipers.
The stop sign at Main was approaching. He considered running it as John Dart had, but chickened out. It proved to be fortunate that he had hesitated, since he would have plowed into the side of a school bus. After a car honked to inform him it was his turn, Nate pulled out onto Main.
Cruising down the street, Nate found it troublesome to maintain a constant speed—he pushed the accelerator either too hard or too softly. Through experimentation he got better. By the time he turned onto Gold Coast Drive, he was feeling confident. He even used his blin
ker correctly!
The hills looked browner and drier than when he had driven this way with Mr. Stott. He saw no wildflowers. That rain had really freshened up the fields. The speed limit was 55, and he tried not to go over. At this point, getting pulled over for speeding would prove disastrous.
He watched for Orchard Lane, remembering that the road had been small and the sign not particularly obvious. He still felt a little unstable, and his head ached, but he managed to keep the wheel steady. He saw Orchard coming, put on his blinker, and turned.
The dirt road seemed to be in better repair than when he had traveled it with Mr. Stott. It was hard to be sure whether that was truly the case, or if the Explorer just handled the ruts a lot easier than the Candy Wagon had. He had lost all track of time, and began to worry he might skip back to the present at any moment.