Stillness. Quiet. Nothing moved. Tom, eyes closed, head lolled to one side, was motionless. The opal, still in his hand, had returned to its normal gleam. But his hand relaxed and the gemstone threatened to fall. To the edge of his fingers it rolled.
And he awoke. Caught it. Picked up his arm. So weak. Looked at the stone vacantly. Beautiful. He loved it. He stayed there, just staring at it. Babe in a new world. The stone seemingly looking back at him. Finally, he put it in his pocket. He looked around without comprehension. Except for a small white light over his head, everything was dark. Made darker by the light. Shadows. Then, barely cutting through the darkness, he noticed some other lights, small, flickering. Greens, reds and yellows. What were they? What did it mean?
His head slumped back in the rest and he drowsed, slept. Then, slowly, a thought began to impress itself upon his unconscious mind. Like a mosquito it was, tiny, but persistent. Wake up. Get out. He swatted at it. Shooed it away, but it only grew stronger. Eventually, he opened his eyes again. Harder to breathe. The light above his head seemed dimmer. Except for one tiny, pulsing red light, the others had all gone out. It was dark. The air thick with his breathing. Oxygen diluted with carbon dioxide. He needed to do something. But what?
An image began to form in his mind. Someone, calling him. Calling his name. He looked at her.
Julie. He awoke, his lethargy fading. Julie. A pause, then Tom sat bolt up. JULIE! Now he remembered. It all came back. He had time traveled! “Holy ...” He’d made it! He was here! He looked around, but all was blackness. The air was thick. A feeling of claustrophobia came over him. He was in the Strong Box. Had to get out. But how, where was the door? The control lights were faint now. Panic overtook him. He strained to see, trying to remember. Feeling for the release, he unstrapped himself and jumped up. Crap, he couldn’t remember where the door was or how to open it! Feeling his way, he stepped to the wall and fumbled about, barely able to see. Switches. Lights that had died. He walked completely around the inside of the box, but nothing felt like a door. Fear grabbed at his chest. To come all this way only to die because he can’t find the exit. He ran around the inside, pounding, clawing like a caged animal. NO!
Then, gasping, he remembered something his father once told him when he was a boy. Don’t stop thinking. When people are afraid, they stop thinking. Willing himself to calm down, he looked up at the last tiny light, reached for it. It was movable. He pointed it at a wall of the box. Nothing but wall. At another. Instrumentation. At the third. An outline of something in the wall. A prominence. The door! He ran for it and felt for the button in the middle of that prominence, pushed it. Nothing. No power. As if the ages had drained it away. Oh, God.
Wait! He remembered that he’d been shown a manual release, just in case. It was to the left of the door. A big lever. Grabbing for it, he held it and began to pull up. Stuck, it wouldn’t budge. Had it been damaged in the transport and now hopelessly jammed? Bending low and placing both hands and a shoulder under it, he heaved upward, straining, growling, then, slowly, began to rise. There came a sound of metal groaning and Tom feared that the handle would snap. Still, up he went, holding his breath, then bellowing, while gradually straightening himself. Hope shot through him as the lever rose. Then, suddenly it was up and the door creaked open, but just a bit. Light shone in, a long shaft that fell on him, as did a warm breath of air.
Relief flooded through him as he looked out the narrow opening. His heart beating and breath coming hard, he placed a hand on the door and prepared to open it, moving it just a bit to assure himself that that he could, but no more. Dietrich, alerted to his arrival by the noise of it, the unavoidable explosive sound of air being displaced, could be standing out there right now, ready to end his life, fulfilling his vow to kill anyone who attempted to find him. The thought of Julie being held by the maniac filled Tom with rage. He turned around to find the gun that had been placed under a net next to him. It was even darker in the cabin now that his eyes had adjusted to the light from the outside. He imagined Dietrich now heading toward him, not waiting for him to leave. He had to find that gun!
Taking a risk, Tom pushed open the door a little more, and now the expanded shaft fell on the weapon. Rushing over, he pushed the release on the netting and grabbed the gun, swiveling back to meet Dietrich. But he wasn’t there. Likely, casually sitting just outside. Tom crept to the door and peered out. What he saw shocked him. A mass of greenery with blue sky in the background. A waft of warm air lightly blew in. There were sounds, as well. Unfamiliar sounds. Sounds he’d not heard in a long, long while. Bird song. A variety of bird song. Sweet bird song. But he didn’t have time for this!
Slowly, he pushed the door open, looking around for the big man, until, finally, it was thrown wide.
No one. No one and nothing except the big, wide world, his arrival apparently undetected. Good!
He seemed to be in a small clearing in the middle of a forest. Light streaming in from above made the leaves on the trees shimmer green and gold. They flickered in the breeze, occasionally letting in spotty sunlight that danced warmly on Tom’s face. On the ground were a variety of flowers. Blues, reds, yellows, whites. Then he noticed something else, the air, the very air around him was filled with a lovely fragrance, a whisper of perfume. It was so delicious to breathe, just to breathe it.
It was a shock. He knew he’d never in his life breathed air so fresh. It literally seemed to be filling his being. Invigorating him. This is what air was meant to be, he realized. Not the polluted brown stuff he was used to sucking down. Involuntarily, he smiled.
There was a sound of water. Flowing water from nearby. He looked in the direction it was coming from, a ravine shadowed by numerous trees. Tom walked over to it, enjoying the satisfying crunch of leaves underfoot. A pleasurable feel. Crunch, crunch, a snap of some small twig, to the edge of the coulee. Below, perhaps a foot or two, was a small stream. Water rolled along, bumping over rocks and boulders melodiously, carrying stray leaves. Where the sun touched the waters, they looked like liquid glass, flowing in smooth arcs, confidently. Water, the blood of the earth, reaching everywhere, giving life, just as it had from time immemorial.
A big leaf floated slowly by, raft-like, and upon its surface, a beetle walked. Tom crouched to look at it. When the beetle got to an edge, it seemed to be testing the margin to see if it was safe to disembark, then, finding water, would walk along further as if it might find land there. Tom stood and followed for perhaps twenty feet. Finally, the leaf caught on the rim of the bank and there rocked in the current, threatening to dislodge again and continue the voyage downstream. The little beetle found the spot where the leaf was touching and, tentatively, put one foot down on the other side, then hurried over and was gone under a thick mat of forest detritus. One life, one little life in a world of so many. In the great stretch of time, this little beetle was insignificant as could be. But to Tom, it had great value.
Farewell my friend, farewell.
Tom looked up into the canopy. Through it. Morning. The morning of the world. He felt drunk with it all. Then he remembered Julie. Snap out of it.
He looked around again. Any sign of them. But there was nothing. Nothing that would betray their path. Where could they be? A thought hit him. Turning around, he wondered if something was wrong. He turned around and around. Something was wrong. This was not the place he’d seen in Karstens’ video.
Oh no.
He’d been sent to the wrong time. On an earth four and a half billion years old, the time machine had accidentally gone to another era. Another time. Gone were the open, grassy hills he’d seen. That pastoral parkland dotted with peaceful grazers. That sweet vista of harmony rimmed by the sea. This could be millions of years before, or after. After continents had drifted, mountains fallen, and forests grew. It could be anytime.
Tom shot a look around and spotted a hillock, maybe 600 feet high. Immediately, he headed for it, so as to look out over the landscape, praying that he was wrong. In short order, he found himself winded and had to stop to take a break. He realized that he was in terrible physical shape. Exercise was not something he’d ever taken much interest in before. Now he’d pay for it. It took Tom the better part of an hour to climb that 600 hundred feet, coughing and hacking as he went. His lungs ached.
When finally he made it and looked out, he was stunned. Not a hill at all, he was near the top of a fairly high wooded mountain of maybe two thousand feet, the Strong Box having landed in a flattish area on its northern face. The altitude had been hidden from him by close-set trees and shrubbery. Now he saw below — a vast sweep of greens, yellows, blues and pinks unlike anything he’d ever seen. His heart sank like a rock in a pond. This was not the place he’d seen in the video. Not at all. Instead of open grassy hills was forest, and in the distance, a low plain, narrow and long, bordered by woodland. Far away to the right, he could see blue, which must be the ocean, but it was farther away than that which Karstens had shown him.
At that moment he sank to his knees and began to cry.
Tom was part way into a good sob when he suddenly remembered the locator that Karstens had given him. He hastened down the side, almost falling over his feet on the way. Evidently, he startled something large, for it bounded away in the brush, escaping his view. That unnerved him, and he continued the rest of the way down a bit more carefully, eyes wide with apprehension. At the bottom, he discovered that he’d lost the Strong Box. It was nowhere to be seen. In his rush, Tom had gone down willy-nilly and now could not remember the way he’d come. Never had panic so intimately known a man, for not only was the locator in the Strong Box, but so was everything else he was going to need to survive here. In this God forsaken jungle, he thought. Tom cast about desperately, but all was seemingly a tangled mass. Nothing looking familiar. Even the stream he’d seen earlier was gone. Too late, he remembered the advice of his instructor at the Institute: Always watch where you’re going. Always find landmarks. Always know the way back.
Tom cursed himself. They’d gone to a great deal of trouble, even risking their lives to get him here, to give him a chance of finding Julie. He’d be damned if he was going to give up so easily, like a spoiled child. Then, again, his father’s advice: when people are afraid, they stop thinking. But what to do? He’d have to retrace his steps back up the mountain. He looked up; Yes, maybe from up there I’ll remember the way. And so, up again he went. This time it took longer.
Reaching the top, Tom bent over for a rest, then looked around, but could not recognize the way he’d originally come. Then he looked out at the scene he’d spied before. He remembered that, when he’d come up the first time, the view was directly in front of him. He stood as he’d stood then, looking out. Then he turned around and looked back the opposite way. A ray of hope shot through him. He recognized the oddly shaped branch on a tree he’d walked out from under before. He walked to it and looked down. The way was choked with vegetation, yet he thought he could see some impression in it from his passing. Turning around again, he looked toward the far off view, to see if the angle was right. Yes, it did look familiar.
This time, Tom set off thoughtfully, attentively. Instead of a haphazard, headlong rush, he poked, scanned, and crept along painstakingly. After a few minutes, he let out a loud yelp of glee when the unnatural angles of the Strong Box came into view, dark amid the green of the forest. Now he picked up his pace.
The heavy door was still open, but, for safety’s sake, he decided to prop it with a stick, just to make sure it didn’t close again with him in it. In a compartment on the floor was a container, and within it, a plethora of items Karstens and others had thought he might need. In another was food, but this was only a temporary stash. He would have to learn how to find his own food, he thought with a shudder.
Tom opened the first container and hauled everything outside where he could see it. A backpack, sleeping bag, clothes, medical equipment and assorted electronic gadgets. He tossed things around, trying to find the locator. Finally did. PinPointer, it said. Before Julie and Dietrich left, they had been fitted with bracelets that emitted a strong signal, in case one of them became lost. Each of them had a PinPointer that he/she could use, which would show the other’s position on a small screen and estimate the distance between them. All one had to do was to keep the point of light which represented the other person at the bottom center of the screen to know that they were headed in the right direction. When they finally closed in, the point of light would slowly move toward the center, until, standing next to each other, it would be directly in the middle. It was deemed failsafe — provided one did not remove, lose, or break either the bracelet or the PinPointer.
Hastily, Tom turned it on. Nothing. No. He stood and held his arm out, moving around in a circle. Still nothing. Then he thought about the summit again. Grabbing a pair of binoculars and making a careful look as he went, he slowly headed toward the top of it for the third time. When, at last, breathing hard and an awful ache in his side, he came over the rise, he turned around to make sure he would know the way back. Then he continued on.
Beep.
He caught his breath. There was a rocky outcrop in front of him. To its left was the panoramic view he’d stood over before. He walked that way.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Tom let out a jubilant cry. Julie was alive and he’d made it! He looked at his screen. There, just as was supposed to be, were two dots, a red and a green. Each pulsing rhythmically like the beating of two hearts. His relief was palpable and his knees shaky. He sat quickly before he fell. He’d made it! Karstens had not let him down, God bless him! Now all that remained was to find them, and with the PinPointer, that should be easy enough. He’d steal Julie away before the Neanderthal discovered her missing. Then he’d think of what to do next.
Tom’s smile was so large it was painful. The PinPointer continued to beep. Tom looked at it. Then he noticed that the dots were not together. There was some distance between them. How much, he couldn’t tell. In the way he was shown, Tom pulled out the estimator and laid it over the screen, then moved the compass, placing one end of the estimator on each point.
Must be some mistake. Forty-four miles. Forty-four miles between them? Why would that be? Unless...
He remembered what he’d been told; Dietrich was red, Julie green. And there were forty-four miles between them. Then he wondered, if there are forty-four miles between them, how many were there between him and Julie? He pushed a small button on the side of the PinPointer. He, too, had a locator bracelet. Instantly, the red and green lights shrank to minuscule dots at the very bottom, while another light, a blue, popped on at the top of the screen.
Oh no.
His heart sped up. Pulling the estimator back out, he took the measurement, blinked, took it again. It can’t be. He pushed the little button on the PinPointer’s side that said, “Map.” Around the colored lights, an outline, black on white, of the state of California now appeared, a depiction of its shape as it was during the Luisian, with the name of future cities and distinctive features noted for reference. And there it was; there was no doubt about it. He was six hundred and fifty-three miles away. Six hundred and fifty-three miles! As the crow flies. In this world, it might as well be ten thousand. Tom let out a roar.
The silence that followed was startling. It seemed all the earth grew quiet as if to give this strange new biped his due. He had something to say, and the world waited for him to say it. The quiet unnerved him. Finally, though, tentatively, a chirp here, a peep there, and before long, all was as it was before.
Tom sat down there on the summit and looked out. Looked in the direction the PinPointer said his wife was. Six hundred and fifty-three miles away. All he could see was country. Of course. What else would there be? He began to think of his situation, of the enormity of it, of what he had to do. The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became. It was impossible. He simply could not do it. He’d never make it. And there was something else. Something very odd. According to the PinPointer compass, Julie and Jaqzen were north of him, for there was the needle pointing at the big “N.” Yet, he was sure he’d been looking south — after all, there was the ocean on his right. If he were looking north, it would be on his left. Additionally, the map showed Julie in southern California, while he was in northern. It made no sense. On the other hand, he worried, maybe the device had broken during the transference.
Slinging the lanyard around his neck, he lifted the binoculars, and, scanning below, Tom surveyed the open spaces. Between him and them was unbroken forest. It looked like it went on for miles, after which was the start of long, flat, grassy areas, fringed by still more forest. That stretched on as far as he could see, and appeared to be dotted with innumerable bodies of water of various sizes. Far to the left and running south was higher land, not mountains per se, but a gradually rising flatland with low hills and valleys. Flowing between them and running down into the lowlands were rivers that ended in lakes or continued on south for a long, long way. From here, those highland hills looked like roundish mounds and everything covered in green: grass or other soft ground-cover. Much further south, the shallow hills became true mountains that continued into obscurity. On the right was more forest, with areas of relief here and there.
Distantly to the west, past the woodlands, was the long, thin, blue stretch he’d seen before. The prehistoric Pacific, he decided. A little further out in that sea, he could just make out prominences; islands, he assumed, running north to south.
Adjusting the focus, Tom again looked to the view ahead of him. While other, lower mountain chains were visible, especially near the far southern coast, on the whole the impression was of quasi-flat, eroding land, sprinkled with gentle hills here and there. Of dense forests with long ribbons of grassland, opening sometimes onto wider parkland, and other times, a semi-arid landscape, running through them. Farther still, beyond the plains, he could barely make out a fine, bright, turquoise line. It looked like water, too.
Above it all was an expanse of azure sky and huge, puffy, white clouds. And there, flying high above the pristine valley, were birds, large, light-colored ones, and smaller, copper-brown versions, silently drifting in wide, lazy circles.
To a man used to gray and brown, it was shocking, all this green and blue, all this life. Overwhelming, even.
Tom tried to make sense of it. Was this, indeed, California? If so, where? Those low hills, what were they? And that line of turquoise blue ahead stumped him. But it must be, for the PinPointer map confirmed it. He turned to look behind him. Dark, unbroken forest to the horizon. He was glad he wasn’t going that way.
Then he thought about that. Going. He’d have to leave. He’d not planned to be away from the Strong Box, had intended to use it as his base. But now? He’d have to. There was no other choice. North or South, he’d follow those lights. The thought chilled him. Tom knew next to nothing — okay, nothing at all — about outdoor survival. He was in sorry shape, weak and full of self-doubt. What’s more, he knew there was no way he’d be able to pack enough food to last him the time it would likely take him to go six hundred and fifty-three miles. Six hundred and fifty-three miles! He couldn’t stop thinking about it. God, that was a long way! How did he end up so far off?
Then he remembered a sound of shooting just before everything went dark. Something must have been changed. He imagined a body falling over a dial, possibly turning it. Probably. He remembered Karstens and hoped he had not been caught in the crossfire.
What Tom didn’t know was that, besides being dislocated in space, he’d also been displaced in time; luckily, though, it wasn’t by much. A further turn of the dial and he could easily have ended up in an ice age. As it was, he was three months past the time he was due to land.
He remembered something else then. Reaching into his pocket, he felt a now familiar smooth shape; pulled out the opal. Just as beautiful as ever. It felt warm in his hand. Warm as the day. It gleamed and glistened. He put it back in his pocket. Somehow, it comforted him, this memento from his time. What was it that Karstens had said? It began its formation in the middle Miocene. That’s now. So it had come full circle. Back home.
Fearful as he was, Tom felt a drive to be underway. Just follow the blips, he thought. He looked again at the way ahead, down, down the mountainside and through that congested forest, tight with tall trees. Tried to see a way through it, finally spying a thinnish, lighter area, illuminated from above. An open path, cut off from sight here and there by the canopy. He followed it with his eyes, yes, a path, possibly a wildlife route.
Finally, it came out onto the grassy plain, and there, at its mouth, was a collection of black dots.
He hadn’t noticed them before, but now as he looked out, he saw them, like scattered specks, some singly, but most in groups. He raised the binoculars again. They were herds, large and small. Farther out onto the plain were more of them, thinly dispersed, as if they did not feel safe being too far out on the exposed savanna. A few groups, though, other kinds of animals, increased in numbers. There were more pockets of forest near bodies of water, and around them, more of the small black flecks he knew must be wildlife.
Wildlife, he thought. How strange that word. Animals roaming free, free to go wherever they choose. No cages, no walls, no roads, no fences. It boggles the mind. And I’ll have to go through them! The thought sent a shiver up his spine. Still, the view ahead of him was lovely, no, more than that, it was stunning, majestic, alluring. It called to something deep inside him, something long buried by civilization, paved over with cement and asphalt. Touched a heart hardened against it.
Something moved briskly in the grass nearby him. He looked. Spider! A big one! Tom jumped up and back, but it paid him no mind, continuing on in its hurried fashion away from him until it was lost in the undergrowth. He looked around himself for more; shuddered at how close it had been. One didn’t see spiders much in his time, casualties of man’s ceaseless war on pests. One did, though, have to deal with flies and roaches.
Again, the magnitude of his situation hit Tom and terrified him. This world, this raw, untamed wilderness, teeming with life, all manner of life, was alien, as alien as if it were another world. Karstens was right, it would take a revolution in his thinking to get used to it. Where before, his basic necessities had always been met by long established means and mediums of convenience, now he was entirely on his own. He would have to find his own food when his rations ran out. Make his own clothing. Defend himself. No one would come to his aid if he called. There was no one to complain to for injustices. No doctor to attend to his injuries. If that spider was poisonous and had bitten him, he could very well now be lying on his deathbed, so to speak, and no one would ever know — or care.
Then, suddenly, unbeckoned from within him, from that dark core of fear and loathing he’d acquired in the warped, twisted world of the future, arose another feeling. He missed his world, his own time. A world that, for all of its sickness, all of its miserable gloom, still was the world that he understood. A world that he could at least navigate in somewhat. The world where his friends and everything he ever knew were. He wanted to go back.
Almost as quickly as he’d thought it, though, Tom shivered, his revulsion immediate. No! The perverse feelings of regret were short-lived, melting away in the light of sanity, blowing away on the wind. He shook them from him. Yes, he did miss his friends. Yes, the prospect of being alone in this world was petrifying. Yes, for a while he would miss the security of utter predictability. But there was nothing else for him there, nothing else to yearn for in that dark and dreary place.
He looked again at the PinPointer. There were the two dots, still separated by a puzzling distance. He wondered if they could see him, as well. Then Dietrich would know that someone else had made it back and would be on the lookout. Tom wondered if he should turn off the device so as not to announce his presence. He thought about it: Might be a good idea, better not to let the big man know until the last. On the other hand, if Julie noticed the other dot, it would give her hope. Of course, there was the possibility that, as soon as he had switched on his locator, both Dietrich and Julie were aware of it the same way he was of them. He was undecided, but finally chose to leave it off, for the time being anyway. He took another look at his intended path, then turned around and headed back down the mountain, this time with a bit more assurance.
At the landing site, Tom noticed that the lighting had changed subtly. He looked up. The day had advanced some, but he couldn’t tell by how much. Wondering what time it was, Tom looked for his watch, then remembered that he’d been told to remove it before launching. He dug around among the assorted paraphernalia in the container and found it. Not working. He tapped it, shook it, but to no avail. Damn! He’d need that watch, always wore one. How would he know the time without it? Then he thought about it: What do I need it for? It’s not like I’m on a schedule now. There are no more clocks to punch, no more deadlines to meet. No more curfew. Still. Tom looked up through the canopy, tried to judge the time by the position of the sun. It was high overhead. Probably near noon.
He wondered what time of year it was. In the summer, the days were long, but in the winter, they were short. How to know? Looking around, he again noticed the flowers he’d seen earlier. Flowers used to come out in spring, he thought. Spring, then. The days would be of medium length, with sunset perhaps seven or eight hours from now. Should he leave right away? Tom pulled the other bunker out, the one with the food. Put everything on the ground. Spread it out. He grabbed the backpack, opened it, then tried to decide what to bring. He wouldn’t be able to take everything, so he had to choose wisely.
The pack was a nice one. Top of the line, as would be everything else. He looked inside. Roomy, yet not nearly enough space. Should he fill it with food or equipment? If food, it would take him farther, but he knew it would run out well before he was even a fraction of the way there. If equipment, he would have to find food on the way, and Tom was decidedly wary of his ability to do so. What if the plants were poisonous? He had a firearm; he could hunt. But he was leery of that, as well. For one thing, he had no idea how to go about it. What if he only wounded the animal? He’d heard as a child that a wounded animal was a dangerous animal. For another, was the fact that he had ethical objections to killing other beings. In his time, wildlife were all but nonexistent. It would be sacrilege to those with caring hearts, like crushing a rare flower. Besides, both he and Julie were vegetarians, having made that decision years ago when they began to distrust the meat the government supplied. A combination, then.
From the gear in front of him, Tom chose:
Sleeping bag
Tent/Hammock
Inflatable pillow
Lightweight thermal blanket
Broad-brimmed hat
Sunglasses
An extra set of clothing
Needles and thread
Handsaw
Two small hand towels
Two bars of soap
Medical kit
Insect repellent
Water filter
Collapsible water bottle
Small, foldable pan and spoon
Flashlight / lantern / signal light
Fire-lighters
Magnifying glass
Pedometer
50’ length of rope
Hand shovel
Compass
PinPointer
Photo Identifier
Knife
Gun and ammunition
Writing journal
Binoculars (still slung around his neck)
Lastly, he found the board piano he’d brought. The little wooden, oval and steel-tined instrument from Africa his father had given him as a child that played such simple, yet sweet tunes. His first musical instrument. He couldn’t leave it.
Then he loaded the foodstuffs. A meatless, jerky-type concoction. Freeze-dried packages of various meals. Packets of candy. Powdered sugar drinks. He hefted the pack and groaned. Too heavy. Way too heavy. But when he tried to think of something to leave out, he couldn’t. He was already leaving too much stuff behind.
Something moved in the brush behind him, something heavy.
Tom vaulted for the door of the Strong Box, tripped, painfully banging a shin, then, rising in a hurry, fell inside, grabbed the door and made to close it, stopping himself just before it shut. Yeow! he grimaced. That really hurt! And he didn’t want to be stuck here in the dark again, that was for sure. Heart racing and leg throbbing, Tom listened for it now — at first, nothing more, then, finally, a slow, methodical advance through the brush. Gradually, he pushed the door open a little to get a look. Peered around the side. What he saw made his heart leap. A great, russet-colored beast, with wide antlers upon its head, stared attentively in his direction, ears pricked forward. It looked ready to bolt. Evidently, Tom’s ungraceful exit alerted it. With great caution, it stepped, one foot in front of the other, occasionally stopping to look around. Extremely watchful, its muscles rippled under thick skin. In a short while, it was standing over the supplies Tom had carelessly left on the ground. A huge beast. Magnificent.
After taking another look around, it lowered its head to sniff the gear. Great! Tom thought, It’s going to eat it, and then I’ll have nothing. What to do? Seeing that the enormous animal looked like it might flee, Tom decided to try to scare it away. Holding the door, he pushed it open some more, ready to close it again if need be. Instantly, the beast raised its head and looked at him. He gulped, continuing to open the door until he was fully in view of the animal. It took a step back. Then another. Tom just stood. Finally, the animal turned, and with high springy steps, pranced away, back into the shadows.
Tom’s chest heaved. He’d never seen anything like it! Well, maybe in pictures from a time before he was born, or in Julie’s dioramas. There was no comparison.
If Tom was apprehensive about the journey before, he was positively terrified now. Quickly, he began to gather the supplies into the bunkers and drag them back inside the Strong Box. He put the lantern on the small, raised counter next to the seat, which provided some light. Back outside, he looked up again, trying to gauge the time. The sun was now further west. He decided that the day was too far advanced and thus now was not a good time to leave. It was a stall. But leave he would, first thing in the morning. That meant a night in the Strong Box.
Suddenly hungry, Tom rummaged in the food locker and found some bread and jerky. He ate it hastily, then opened a pack of the powdered drink mix. He’d need some water. To be sure, there was some in one of the “cabinets” below, but for some reason, Tom didn’t want that water. He thought of the stream outside — clean, lovely. Taking the collapsible bottle, he dumped in a portion of the powder, then tentatively made his way back outdoors, carefully scrutinizing the area before proceeding. It was probably fifty feet to the stream. He judged that it was safe. Limping, Tom kept an eye out for any more uninvited visitors. None showed. Crouching down now, he dunked the bottle into the stream and it began to fill, turning a bright red from the drink. Likely an artificial dye. When it was filled, he turned back to the Strong Box.
Leaning back in the seat he’d arrived in, he made to chug his drink, when he suddenly realized that he’d not filtered the water. He looked at it. It looked clean, but he’d been instructed not to drink unfiltered water, could catch a disease or something. Damn. He really wanted that red stuff! Sighing, he got the water filter and unscrewed the lid, pouring the drink in. Then he drank it. None of the coloring or sugar made it through, but the water by itself was refreshingly cool. Tom drank half the jug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he ate some more. He’d decided that, if he was going to be leaving most of the food behind, he’d better eat as much as possible before he left. He gorged himself.
Tom withdrew the journal from the backpack and wrote:
Julie, I’m here. I’m coming. Hold on, my love.
Reflexively, he dated it the date it had been when he’d left: February 21. Then he thought again about that: What is the date? It seemed improbable that he’d landed on the very same day of the year he left on. He furrowed his brow. Actually, it does seems to be spring outside, he thought; Okay, let’s make it April 22nd. Earth Day.
April 22, Year 1.
The night was a long one for Tom. His leg ached, his fall had inflicted a nasty bruise, and he shivered, not due to cold, for, if anything, it was warm. But from nerves. All the night sounds of the forest. The various calls, both deeply guttural and high. Roaring, bellowing, yipping and mewling. The sound of crashing through brush. He dared not look out. It hit him now how foreign this world was. Yes, it was the same earth, but so very different. All the normal sounds he knew, had grown up with — cold, hard, mechanical noises, of grinding engines and sharp, abrupt staccatos — were gone. Gone forever. In its place were these sounds, the sounds of nature. Of unpredictability and chance.
And there was apprehension. Tomorrow he would be leaving. Leaving the Strong Box, the last bit of security the future world provided. He knew that, once away, he’d never find it again.
After a while, a light rain began to fall. A gentle shower. The sounds of the forest died down, then another sound began from farther away. Rhythmic, melodious. Tom tried to identify it. Something from his past. His mother taking him somewhere. A lake, at night. Her walk down a dirt path nearby it, holding his hand. And ... frogs. Yes, that was it! She wanted him to experience them before they were gone.
This was frog song. A million of them now, it seemed, lulling him to sleep.