

The

Unfortunate

Survival

of

Peter Cunningham

Karen Reis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Karen Reis

Discover Other Titles by Karen Reis

No Explanations

Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit your favorite ebook retailer to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover picture of fetus from http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

Though the pain was no longer sharp and piercing, but rather dulled by time to an ache that rested in the core of Lindsay Cunningham's heart, it was always present. Especially today did she feel that pain all the more keenly, for it was the anniversary of her baby boy's death. It was her custom to go to the cemetery to lay a lily across his little marker stone, an event she both anticipated and was woefully unprepared for.

But first, there was work.

Lindsay stuck her head inside of the front door of her boss' house. "Bob? Are you up top?"

No reply came. Good. She wasn't in the mood to deal with his crotchety personality. Lindsay stepped inside and quietly closed Bob's front door. There was no sign of life in the house, just scattered food containers and opened cardboard boxes with packaging spilling out onto the old green carpet of the living room. If Bob wasn't up here, then he was most certainly down in his basement tinkering away at his latest project. Bob was a scientist who had the extreme luck of having a rich and dead mother who had left him everything, including her house. No longer having to waste time and breath teaching at a university, fighting for grants and the attention of students merely present for the credits, Bob quit and set up shop in the basement of his mother's house, a place which he left only to receive packages and raid the refrigerator.

After dropping the mail she'd retrieved from the box outside on a table in a bin labeled IN, Lindsay went straight to the kitchen to grab a garbage bag from the cabinet under the sink. Bob was a brilliant man, an inventor, but socially inept and perpetually grouchy. Also, he was a pig.

Into the bag went Styrofoam pellets, ripped open packaging, and a week's worth of old food containers, some licked clean, some containing molding, congealed leftovers. After the trash was picked up, there was dusting. Books, manuals, charts, and loose papers, covered every surface of Bob's house. Lindsay did not move any of these things. She simply dusted around them. It would have been suicide to do anything more. Bob's house was a pigsty, but it was his, and he was protective of his mess.

As she dusted, Lindsay picked up dirty laundry and towels and put them in a small, square plastic basket, slowly making her way to the laundry room. Lindsay was probably the only living organism who saw Bob on a regular basis, besides the UPS guy and the mice, who in their own way tried to clean up after Bob, but instead left a mess of their own for Lindsay to clean up. Bob paid her a pittance to come in during the week and clean his house, restock his refrigerator and freezer, weed his front yard, and sweep the porch to keep the neighborhood association off his back, and pick up after him in general. In return, she lived in the apartment above his garage rent free.

"Ew! Bob!" Lindsay exclaimed, using the tips of her forefinger and thumb to pick up an old fashioned and very used hankie that had been wadded up under a quantum mechanics paper. "Ugh, you really are a pig."

Loud clanking noises came from behind the basement door in the kitchen, but Lindsay paid no attention as she put her basket full of laundry in the wash machine. She'd heard all sorts of strange and alarming noises coming from below her feet over the five years she'd taken care of Bob. She was extremely curious about what Bob did down there, but on her first day on the job she'd been strictly warned by him.

"Never, never, never open this basement door and try to take a peek at what I'm doing. Or I'll have you out on your ear. Understand?" Bob had said, glaring at her through his thick glasses.

"What about in an emergency? Am I allowed to call 9-1-1 and let EMTs down there?" she had asked, half joking.

Bob had frowned. "Only if you see smoke coming up or smell the odor of my decaying body."

He'd been dead serious, and she'd obediently stayed away from that door.

The loud clanking sounds stopped. Lindsay turned the wash machine on and turned her attention to the pile of dishes and silverware in the sink. She opened the dishwasher door and had begun removing the clean dishes when the power went out suddenly. Every once in a while, Bob caused a blackout in the neighborhood, a habit that pissed off the neighbors and the city. But Lindsay just casually flipped the kitchen light switch on so she'd know when the power was back. The bulb flickered on, then off, then on again. She wondered again what he was doing, but still was not concerned.

Lindsay kept working, putting clean dishes away. As she turned towards the cupboard, she paused. The dishes inside it were trembling. Lindsay put her hand down on the counter and felt it -- vibrations. She frowned as the vibrations grew strong enough to start making the dishes clatter together. The Portland, Oregon Metropolitan area was not known for its earthquakes, but there were volcanoes and a major subduction zone. She'd never been through an earthquake before, so she didn't know what they were supposed to feel like.

The power went out again. It stayed out.

The vibrating increased, and the dishes started to jiggle their way to the edge of the cabinet shelf. Lindsay quickly closed the doors and raced to an open window and looked out of it. No one was coming out of their houses or freaking out, though it seemed like every dog in the neighborhood was barking. Lindsay whirled around and looked in the direction of the basement door. Could Bob be causing the house shake and the dogs to bark?

Confused and worried, Lindsay raced to the door but didn't open it. "Bob!" she called out, hoping he would hear her and answer. "Bob, what are you doing? Is everything okay?"

She waited a few seconds, but she didn't hear Bob answer. "Bob?" she shouted again.

Nothing. During the seconds it took for Lindsay to call out to Bob twice, the trembling quickly grew more and more pronounced till Lindsay had to brace herself between the wall and the counter to remain upright. The cabinet doors were pushed open by the dishes which promptly fell, making Lindsay jump in real fear.

"Bob!" Lindsay shouted as loud as she could, fear causing her voice to wobble. "Bob, if you don't answer me right now, I'm going to come down there!"

Bob didn't answer, and Lindsay put her hand on the doorknob and turned it. It wasn't locked. A staircase went straight down into the dark basement; the power was still out, but a strange green glow cast odd shadows. Lindsay braced her hands against the railing and the wall as she made her way cautiously down the nine steps to the basement floor, her heart pounding. An electric hum filled the air and made her long hair stand on end.

"Bob!" Lindsay yelled, truly frightened now as she reached the bottom step. She tried to summon up anger at Bob for what craziness he was cooking up, but as she rounded the corner to enter the large basement room, she could only gape in shock at what she saw.

Four tall posts connected to a huge generator stood in the middle of the room. In the middle of the posts spun what looked like a two-dimensional mirrored lake, the source of the strange green light. It was acting like a magnet, pulling everything from Bob's computer to pens to even a few lose floor boards towards its center, elongating them and twisting them till they appeared to vanish at the mirror's center. Everything in the room moved towards it, including Bob, who looked understandably distressed.

"Liiindssaay! Geeet ooouuutttt!" he seemed to shout at her. His words came to her as if he was in slow motion.

"Oh my God!" Lindsay said as the shaking grew steadily worse. "BOB!" she screamed, and ignored his warning by lunging towards him to try to help him. What should have been a quick dash across the room was turned into what felt like a plodding lifting of feet that suddenly felt both heavy and disconnected from her body. The house felt as if was being shaken by a giant, and Lindsay lost her footing. Falling didn't stop her forward movement. Whatever Bob had done - whatever he had created - it was pulling her too, just as it was pulling him.

"Bbbooobbb! Whaaaat haaavvee yooouuuu doonnne!"

It took forever for her words to register with Bob, and she watched him blink, a closing and opening of his eyelids that seemed to take 30 seconds. Lindsay's heart beat so hard in fear that she was afraid it would burst, but even that beat was unnaturally slow. Bob was so close to the vortex now, and his face was twisted in pain and his body looked oddly elongated and flat. He opened his mouth and he spoke, but the words were so slow and stretched out that she had trouble understanding him.

"LLLLiiiiinnndddddsssseeeyyy. IIII'mmmmm ssssooorrryyyyy!"

And then Bob was pulled into the mirror's center, and he disappeared. The mirror didn't shut down, and Lindsay knew that she was next. It pulled her, and she couldn't get up, or make her legs push herself backwards. She couldn't even feel her legs or arms anymore, or even the floor, and it was as if the air had thinned, making it a struggle to breathe. She closed her eyes because looking down at herself made her want to vomit. Lindsay felt like she was being crushed and stretched at the same time. The pain was incredible and she was sure that she was being pulled apart atom by atom.

I'm going to die, she thought, and opened her eyes, the churning depths of the mirror filling her vision. If she was going to die, she'd do it with her eyes open.

The pain increased. Screaming was impossible. Her thoughts began to slow. Her vision doubled, tripled, and then began to go black. Her last conscious thought was that there would be no remains of her body to bury next to her son's.

Then she was pulled through, taken apart, reassembled, and spat out.
Chapter 2

"Ho, behold the sunshine! Rise and cover. Your father would shade red to see you now!"

Lindsay blinked and groaned and reached up to grab her head. God, but she felt like she had a hangover. The blinding bright sun overhead combined with the strange man's loud voice in her ear made her want to puke.

The man, who sounded thoroughly shocked, grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. "Red woman! Ho! Rise and cover, or if not, I shall trumpet the Swords!"

"What?" Lindsay said, stumbling and yanking her arm from the man's punishing grip. She had no idea what the man was telling her. He spoke English, but it was unlike any English she'd ever heard before.

"Trumpet the swords?" she asked, looking at him, confusion knitting her brows together.

The man's dress certainly did not help to clarify matters any. He looked like a geek let loose in a Renaissance fair. He was tall and pasty with thinning, greasy hair and a pointed goatee. He wore a yellow shirt with puffy sleeves and a fitted button down vest that was stiff with embroidery and supported his beer belly. His pants were puffy as well, and ended just below his knees. The finest leather boots Lindsay had ever seen graced his feet and calves.

Lindsay's mouth hung open as she took in the sight of him, and the smell, because he obviously didn't own any deodorant. The whinny of a horse behind her made Lindsay whirl around, and if she'd been confused before, well, the sight that met her eyes then left her absolutely flabbergasted.

She was standing in some kind of square paved with stone, and a well sat at its center. Open stalls made out of wood and canvas filled with food and knives, cloth and pottery, and other odds and ends were scattered around the edges of the square. Women and men and children in old-fashioned type dresses and suits stood around and gawked at her. Apparently, it was market day. If so, she had certainly brought commerce in this strange place to a halt.

And that was the question. Where was she? She was definitely no longer in Bob's basement.

Bob. Suddenly she remembered everything that had happened to her, and she turned back to the man who had grabbed and yelled at her. He was looking at her suspiciously, but Lindsay couldn't help but take an entreating step towards him.

"Please, sir. Have you seen an older man nearby dressed in a stained white coat with brown pants?"

The man, who in comparison with the other people standing around, was richly dressed, took a step away from her, lifted a hand to his lips and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Lindsay cringed and covered her ears with her hands and looked at him uncertainly.

"If you could help me, please-" she began again, desperate to find out whether Bob was alright or not, but the man cut her off.

"Silence, red woman!" he shouted at her. "Have you no shame? Your flesh is a sight that might send weak men into a pant, but I am no such man! Cover now, or your sentence will be increased!"

Lindsay shook her head and held out her hands. "What are you talking about?" she asked him.

The crowd, which up to that point had been silent in apparent shock, began to recover and individuals started shouting at her, telling her the same nonsensical things. It wasn't till someone threw a ratty dress into her face that Lindsay finally got it. She was horribly under-dressed, at least by their odd standards. The angry people around her were covered from head to toe, especially the women, whose skirts ended at their ankles and shirtsleeves stopped at their wrists. Lindsay was dressed for a warm Oregon summer day. She had shorts and a short sleeved shirt on. People were calling her a red woman because they apparently thought she was some kind of prostitute.

But that made no sense. She dropped the dirty, ripped dress on the ground and looked back at the rich man. He raised his fingers to his mouth and whistled again. Others around took up the call and the air was filled with their racket.

"What's going on here?" she demanded to know from the rich man, who seemed to be some kind of authority. "Where am I? Who are you?"

The man took offense to her demanding questions and slapped her hard across the face so that she stumbled backwards a few steps. She gazed at him in dazed confusion, her hand on her stinging cheek. This was crazy, she told herself. This was insane. No one acted like this. It had to be a dream. Yes, she was dreaming she was in some sort of strange commune where everyone thought they were living in the Middle Ages. Perhaps if she just shut her eyes and concentrated very hard, she could wake up. She'd probably dozed off on Bob's couch while she waited for the dishwasher to finish its cycle.

The sound of approaching hoof beats caused her to whip around. Four men on horseback approached and the crowd parted for them. They wore green uniforms with shiny gold buttons. Sheathed sabers hung from their waists.

"Here, Swords!" called out the rich man. "Here is an offender, a red woman who scorns authority and charity and prances about under the sun to entice weak men! Take her now!"

Before Lindsay could register what was happening, the four men dismounted as one and surrounded her. One Sword drew his saber and watched her through narrowed eyes as the three remaining Swords pinned her arms behind her back.

"Hey, what do you -- Hey, what are you doing?" she yelled as two men thrust her to the ground and the third tied her hands tightly behind her back.

Lindsay cried out in pain and rage and confusion, but no one listened. Instead she was slapped again after being hauled up to her feet.

"You will be silent, red woman!" the guard who slapped her thundered.

Tears gathered in Lindsay's eyes and her ears rang from the blow. She stopped struggling, though. She didn't want to be hit again.

Once assured that she would fight them no more, the Swords pushed her towards the patiently waiting horses. Lindsay was hoisted up into the air and thrown over the withers of one horse like so much baggage. All the men mounted, her rider placing a hand on her back to ensure that she stayed in place, and, with a nudge of a spur, the horse leaped forward. Lindsay almost puked again as her stomach bounced to the horse's gait. She cried and yelled and shouted and swore, but the men, the Swords, did not stop.

"Ow!" Lindsay yelled in outrage as she hit the floor. She sat up awkwardly, her hands still bound tightly behind her back, and glared at the guardsman who closed her cell's barred door and locked it tight. "Haven't you people ever heard of the Constitution? What about Miranda Rights? What is wrong with you?"

The guardsman didn't answer her. He just left, his eyes telling her that he felt no sympathy for her.

"What is going on?" she asked the air, tears threatening to fall again.

Lindsay sniffed and tried to find a comfortable position. It was impossible to find one though. Her hands felt numb, her shoulders ached, her stomach and ribs were bruised from the ride, and her left cheek was tender from being slapped. The cell of her floor was made of stone. There was no chair or bed, no blanket. It was cold in the prison, with a draft strong enough to make her shiver.

"Okay," she breathed deeply, trying to remain calm and not give way to helpless, desperate tears. "This is obviously not a dream. A hoax then. This is a hoax or a movie set or a bunch of crazy people who really did start their own commune so they could live like people in the Middle Ages."

The idea of a commune -- or maybe cult was a better word -- did sound like the most plausible of her options. People were odd, especially in Portland. Except the weather wasn't right for Portland. It had been cold outside in that market; nippy as if it was the end of fall. By this time Lindsay was covered in goosebumps and she tucked her knees as close to her chin as she could get them, given that her hands were still tied behind her back.

She was silent, but her brain shouted questions that she had no answers to. Where was Bob? Was he hurt? Was he even here? What was going to happen to her? Lindsay sized up her cell. It was small, only about five feet wide and four feet deep. How long was she going to spend in here? Her stomach rumbled. Were they going to feed her?

And what was the normal punishment for prostitutes who scorned authority and charity and pranced about in the full light of day in nothing but their underwear?

She had no window in her cell, but a bit of light did reach her from a lamp that hung in the corridor outside her door. It never dimmed or was turned off, so she had no concept of how many hours had passed before she was woken up from a dose by the sound of a key turning in the lock of her door. The door swung open to reveal two guards, different than those who had originally drug her to her cell. Without a word to her, one guard stepped in and yanked her to her feet.

How long? she wondered. How long had she been in there? She asked the guards as they marched her down a hall filled with cells just like hers, but neither answered her.

It was long enough for her stomach to ache in hunger and her throat to become parched, long enough for joints and her back to stiffen from laying hunched on a cold hard surface. It was hard to walk and to the climb up the flight of 12 stairs, but the guards neither slowed down nor attempted to help her.

"Where are we going?" Lindsay asked the guard in a hoarse voice. Predictably, he didn't answer.

The stairs ended in a set of large, heavy wooden doors, that were opened to reveal a noisy room lined with men and women and children who stood behind a wooden railing. A man in a black robe with a black beanie on his head sat up behind a tall desk on a dais at the far end of the room. A sign hung on the wall behind him read

Justice Peace Andrew Jilt

Mercy, Justice, Wisdom

"Is this a court?" Lindsay squeaked, and dug her heels into floor. "Am I being prosecuted?"

Her guardsmen didn't answer, of course, and simply picked her up under her armpits and carried her to the middle of the room were a raised platform surrounded by a waist high fence stood, the gate at its rear open, waiting for her. Lindsay knew what that was. She'd watched too many period English movies to not know. That was where the accused person stood, the accused who was assumed guilty from the start, who had no access to a lawyer with a backbone, and who was convicted on flimsy proof and the testimony of liars.

Lindsay's heart beat hard in her chest as she watched herself being pushed up the platform's three steps and enclosed by the wood of the fence. She was too terrified to speak, to make any kind of sound, except when a guard shut the gate behind her hard, latching it in place. She jumped at the sound of metal on metal and a low moan escaped her throat. She looked down at the fence railing in front of her. The wood was rough except for two spots that were just right for gripping tightly with her hands. Lindsay envisioned countless people grasping that fence and leaning over it in desperation, begging for mercy, for leniency, and receiving none.

A thin man who sat next to the judge stood up. "The good and righteous Justice Peace Jilt will take order of this judicature and see evidence mustered against this strange, red woman who flouted law and decency and charity in the eyesight of the community. This judicature demands reverent quietude from the witnessing crowd."

His mouthful of an introduction would have made Lindsay snicker but she wasn't watching an old English movie. She was being tried as a prostitute in some crazy commune where they had their own police and judicial system as if they believed they lived outside and above the law of the United States of America.

Justice Jilt looked at Lindsay with distaste plain on his fat, jowly face. He picked up a gavel and banged it against the top of his desk. Her trial had officially begun.

The Justice addressed her right away. "You – red woman and stranger. How are you titled?"

It took Lindsay more than a split second to process that request and possibly understand what he was asking her. "Lindsay Cunningham," she replied in what she hoped was a respectful yet strong tone of voice.

"Cunningham?" the Justice frowned as if the name made a foul smell. "Do you claim a master?"

Not understanding what he was asking and loathe to name Bob in case he was hiding, Lindsay just shook her head. "No?"

The Justice raised his eyebrows. "Let the history for this day read of Lindsay Cunningham: Free Woman and Red, titled thus by her own tongue."

Lindsay had no idea what the significance of that statement was, but she understood the significance of his next question all too well.

He leaned forward and stared at her with intense eyes. "And a Witch too?"

The crowd of people began to talk amongst themselves all at once then, and the Justice had to bang his gavel to gain their silence and attention again.

"What?" Lindsay couldn't help but blurt out. "No! I'm not a witch! What kind of a question is that?"

"You deny the claim of Witch?" the Judge asked her.

"Yes I do deny it. I am not a witch!" Lindsay said forcefully.

The Justice turned to the crowd. "Step forward, Tobias Weatherman. Do you beg to differ the woman's claim?"

A man, poor by the state of his clothing, stepped forward. He pointed a finger at Lindsay and spoke in a voice so that all in the crowd could hear. "I did yesterday see this woman, who is red and a witch, appear out of the air! I stood by my booth – a cloth man I am – and I saw her come, but not on foot or by animal. By magic she became visible to my eyes – by dark sorcery matched with her nakedness she tried to bewitch me. Then the mayor came to scare her away, but she scorned him and charity."

Lindsay gaped at the ridiculousness of the man's statement, and she would have spoken out, except that she saw a ring of the truth to his words. She had seen with her own eyes how Bob, back in his basement, had stretched and then winked out of existence. She would logically have done the same. Apparently, she had reappeared here, wherever here was, winking back into existence. Even to a modern mind, that might seem like magic. But these people at best were ignorant, at worst brainwashed.

The crowd became stirred up at the man's words, and some began to chant, "Witch, witch, witch." A few threw bits of garbage at her. The Justice silenced them, though he didn't tell them to stop throwing garbage at her, and asked,

"Where there any other eyes to see as Tobias did?"

Four men stepped forward. Lindsay's stomach felt sour at the sight of them.

"We say the same," they all said. "Our eyes saw her appear out of the air. She is a witch."

"Burn her!" "Drown her!" a few people from the crowd cried, and Lindsay began to sweat and tremble and grasp desperately at the wooden railing in front of her.

"No! I am not a witch!" she cried out.

The Justice stood up and pointed his gavel at her. "Do you title us liars?"

It was a trap. Say yes and she would insult them. Say no, and she would be agreeing with their denunciation of her. Thinking fast, Lindsay cried, "You are simply mistaken. I am innocent. I am a victim and- and foreign!"

The Justice shook his head. "You cannot talk circles to me. You admit to being Red and Free, therefore a victim you cannot be. You are a Witch! And these men," he gestured to the five who had spoken against her, "are not liars." He flung his arms up into the air. "I know Justice. Throw her into the pit!"

The crowd cried its delight at her sentence, and her two guards hauled her roughly from the platform and down into the midst of the people, who spat on her and screamed in her face and slapped her. They cried, "Witch! Kill her!"

Lindsay didn't know exactly what the pit was, or how deep it was, but knew that she did not want to go there. She dug her heals into the ground and kicked at her guards' shins. She twisted her torso in an attempt to break free of their grasp, crying and shouting her innocence. Nothing worked. The guards simply stopped walking, and one guard let go of her long enough to draw back his fist and punch her square in the stomach. Lindsay's breath went out of her in a whoosh and she doubled over in pain, coughing and trying to get her breath back as tears streamed down her face from the pain and her fear of what was to come.

She was incapable of walking after the punch to her gut, so the guards simply picked her up under her armpits again and walked her outside of the Justice Peace building and out into the sunlight. It felt like morning. The air was crisp and chilly, and goosebumps covered her exposed skin once more. The pit was not far from the Justice Peace building, only about 100 yards away. It was surrounded by an iron fence which she was marched through, the crowd of townspeople following close behind, still yelling obscenities at her back. Lindsay had recovered enough to brace her feet against the ground as she neared the edge, but her guards simply lifted her up again and carried her to the edge.

They set her down very close to the rim so that all she had to do was tilt her body forward ever so slightly to peer into the depths before her. The word pit evoked an image of a cavernous drop onto jagged rocks or into a snake den. What she saw was definitely not a nature-made pit. It was a perfectly circular shaft cut into the ground by machinery, lined with white concrete. Little domes made of what she thought was blacked out glass were embedded in the concrete at regular intervals. It was a mysteriously modern thing in this nightmare place of superstition and covered skin.

It was also deep – Lindsay could not clearly see the bottom of it; surely a fall to its bottom would kill her. Lindsay began to tremble in fear and tried to buck against her guards' grip. She felt that if she didn't try to fight, she'd give into despair and humiliate herself by losing control of her bowels.

The Justice, who had followed the crowd at a sedate pace, drew close.

"I'm innocent, damn you!" Lindsay yelled, choosing anger over tears. "This is murder! Do you understand that? This is murder!"

Justice Jilt apparently felt no need to make a reply or even a speech as Lindsay hoped he might, just to hold off the inevitable for as long as possible in the vain hope of a rescue. He merely nodded to the two guards who held her tightly. The one who had punched her let her go and cut her numb hands free from their bindings, and then they both, before she could take one step to run away, pushed her over the edge.

Lindsay screamed as she fell, her arms flailing out, her eyes seeing a cheerful, cloudless sky and jeering, vicious smiles.
Chapter 3

But she did not fall.

The Justice screamed. The people screamed. Lindsay screamed. But she was the first to stop screaming when she realized that not only was she not dead, but she was floating.

No, not floating. She was falling, but slowly, gently, in a controlled way. The black, glass domes beeped gently as she passed them. They must be sensors, she thought.

"Witch!" the people above her yelled in vindication and fear.

"She lives! She does not fall and die!"

"She is falling, but slowly! She is a witch! Behold this uncanny power! She will fall and live and then what will be do?"

"Finish her! Stone her!" people cried.

"Crap!" Lindsay squeaked and tried to look down. She was still some yards away from the bottom and had no idea how to increase her rate of descent.

"I claim the right to cast the first stone!" someone yelled.

Lindsay looked back up. It was the rich mayor that spoke, the one who had whistled for the Swords. He held a rock in his hand the size of a donut, and he had a righteous expression on his face.

Lindsay could do nothing to protect herself. There was nowhere to hide, no cover at all. She couldn't even reach the edges of the shaft to try to push herself downwards any faster. She was a sitting duck. The mayor threw the rock, which was not slowed down by the little glass domes, and Lindsay barely had time to throw her arms over her head in an attempt to protect herself. The mayor's aim was true - his rock hit her square on the forearm, which was protecting the top of her head.

The pain was sharp and rocketed through her. That first rock was quickly followed by more. The next hit her shoulder, others glanced off her legs and torso. Lindsay didn't scream again; small sounds of distress escaped her lips, which were clamped shut. Tears slid down her cheeks at the gross unfairness, at her own powerlessness, and the pain. She didn't dare move her arms. She could only wait as some unseen force moved her steadily downward towards the floor. The helpless wait was almost worse than the pain that the people above her inflicted.

The minute Lindsay's feet touched the floor, whatever force that had been holding her shut off, and she was free to move. The townspeople shouted in shock and rage as their target ducked and weaved to the wall of the shaft. Lindsay, her arms still covering her head, couldn't help but retch as she stepped quickly over bodies in various degrees of decay. She was not the first person to be thrown down this shaft. There were men and women with broken limbs and caved in skulls all around her.

The rocks stopped. Lindsay looked up as she hugged herself to the wall of the shaft. There was no cover; she was still out in the open.

"She's still alive!"

"What are we going to do? There's no more rocks."

Lindsay let out a short, hysterical laugh. That's why they'd stopped? Apparently, the shaft didn't turn on for everybody; the people were unprepared for a prolonged stoning event.

"What about hot oil?"

"That takes time, man. That is a witch. If we stop to boil oil, there is no telling what mischief she might spell for us."

"Mayhap she is not a witch?" someone asked. "Perhaps this is the finger of God at work."

Lindsay silently cheered for that voice as she peered upwards.

"No, the Justice Peace is wise. She is a witch. God would not work through the body of such a red woman."

"What if we cannot kill her? What if she is unkillable?"

"Immortal?"

The crazy talk continued. There were suggestions of letting her starve, someone fetching more rocks, dumping poisonous snakes down. Lindsay turned her ears off and took a good look at her surroundings. Was there a weapon down here she could use? The thought of yanking some poor bastard's femur bone away from his/her skeleton made Lindsay shiver in horror.

Her eyes settled on panel set into the white, smooth wall. Lindsay quickly rushed over, stepping over a woman whose empty skull stared straight up at the sky. The panel had the outline of a hand on it. A palm scanner? The hope that had flickered within her died. Whatever the scanner was tied to, it was unlikely that it would open, or turn on, for her.

"Swords, this is the word of your Justice." Jilt's voice filtered down to her. "Fetch a rope, and with a knife, you will cut the witch's throat. The red woman is not unkillable. You see she bleeds even now. She is a witch, but only a woman. Our blades will finish her."

Lindsay looked at the palm scanner with a beating heart and tried to picture herself beating up a trained killer with a femur bone.

"Please, please, please," she said desperately as she put her hand on the scanner.

It turned on, a little LED on the top left flashing yellow three times. The light changed to green, and the scanner turned on.

"What is the witch doing? There are lights below."

"Sorcery! Hurry, the rope! Before she spells us and curses our children!"

A white bar of light moved quickly up and down her palm. A happy chirp was emitted by the machine.

"Welcome Mrs. Cunningham. Have a pleasant walk."

The voice made Lindsay jump and her stomach flipped at the machine's eerie and correct identification of her. But that didn't stop her from stepping through a pair of doors that slid open next to the panel. There had been no seam to give away their existence.

Lindsay looked up. "Thank you," she breathed, and not to the townspeople above her.

The people above her were shouting, but as she stepped through the door, they quieted. Lindsay stuck her head out and looked up at them. They seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop on them.

Nothing happened, of course. Lindsay was too hurt, too scared, and too exhausted to think of anything dramatic or snarky to say or do. She simply looked away and stepped fully through the doors. They closed tightly and silently behind her.

She was safe.

It was a moving sidewalk. An underground moving sidewalk.

Relief at her successful escape made Lindsay laugh hysterically at her circumstances. She had stepped into a giant tunnel that was nearly identical in size and design to the pit she'd been thrown into. It was long and cavernous; she could see no end to the tunnel. It was empty except for the sidewalk, which traveled down the center of the tunnel's floor. The sidewalk was wide and spaced every few yards were collapsible benches that sat along one edge. The walls were lit by modern looking wall sconces set into the concrete. Soft orchestral music played over unseen speakers. The sidewalk barrier was glass, and the floor was made of white metal. Lindsay looked down. She was dripping blood all over it.

There were bleeding gashes on her arms and legs, her clothing was torn, and she ached everywhere. Lindsay slumped down onto a bench and checked her head. It seemed okay. Her fingers didn't come away covered in blood after exploring her loose, tangled hair. She lost track of time for a bit, and when she came back to herself, she saw that the gashes on her limbs bled only sluggishly now.

She had no idea where she was going. At the moment, she didn't care, as long as she was taken far away from the murderous freaks she'd left behind.

"Mrs. Cunningham," Lindsay breathed.

The computer had scanned her, identified her. She shook her head. How was that even possible? She'd never even had her fingerprints taken before, let alone her palms. The idea that they'd been scanned into a computer system without her knowledge was disturbing. And what was the Mrs. about? She hadn't been Mrs. Cunningham in seven years.

Who had built the shaft and tunnel? How did they know her? The tunnel's builders were modern people who would have not fit in with the world she had left behind. Lindsay shook her head again in confusion and lay down on her side on the bench. It was padded and comfortable. The overhead music was gentle and soothing. Lindsay closed her eyes and dozed...

Beep, beep, beep!

Lindsay's eyes flew open. The walkway had stopped moving. Lindsay focused her eyes and looked around. She had reached the end of the tunnel. Another palm scanner was embedded the looming solid vertical wall that was so close she could reach out and touch it.

The blood on her arms and legs were dried. She sat up and gingerly lifted up an arm that was stuck to the bench's upholstery; blood made a good adhesive. Lindsay looked at those doors and licked her dry, cracked lips. What was on the other side?

"Nice, sane, helpful, non-judgmental people," she told herself, her voice echoing down the empty tunnel. "Water, food. Bandages."

With a deep breath, Lindsay got up and limped over to the door. She put her hand on the glass panel and watched as it turned on, scanned her again, and beeped cheerfully.

"Good bye, Mrs. Cunningham. Have a good day."

"That's Ms. Cunningham to you," Lindsay said airily as the doors opened for her.

Sunshine streamed in, along with frigid air. Lindsay shivered as she peeked outside. "This is not Portland," she murmured.

Snow. She saw snow fallen in a thin layer over the ruins of a burnt-out building. Concrete rubble, broken plastic, shattered glass. And was that a pile of cubicle walls in a far corner?

She looked beyond the crumbled walls and caved in roof, and saw nothing but rolling yellow grassy hills frosted with fresh snow. It was desolate and quiet, with only the sound of the wind to break the silence. In the middle of nowhere.

"Okay, let's throw into this crazy reality one random, destroyed office building in the middle of nowhere."

Lindsay stepped completely out of the tunnel, the doors closing behind her, and wished that she had taken that dress that the rich mayor had thrown at her. It would have kept her warmer than her ripped shorts and t-shirt. She shivered and stomped her feet and looked behind her at the door. It was closed tight and the palm scanner was -

Broken. Lindsay stared at the shattered scanner and swallowed and fought back tears of fear. There was no going back into the safety of the tunnel. She was stranded, in the winter, in inadequate clothing. Where she was, she had no idea. She was alone; utterly, painfully, alone.

"Who are you?"

The voice was gruff and threatening. Lindsay whirled around in fright as she saw a man step out from behind a wall half fallen down. He was dressed for the weather in leather pants and a long leather coat that hung down to his knees. He had gloves and boots and a knitted hat on his head. His hair was long, pulled back in small black braids that formed a thick ponytail down his back. And he was armed. He had a long knife in one gloved hand and an unstrung bow and a quiver of arrows across his back.

"Who are you?" he asked again, though he didn't advance on her.

"Lindsay. Lindsay Cunningham," she said, and tried not to sway. "I mean you no harm."

The man didn't speak right away. Her name seemed to catch him by surprise. Then, "Did you come through those doors?"

Lindsay's face paled, but she nodded. "I did. I'm not a witch. I'm not a red woman. I am very cold. Can you help me? Will you help me?"

"You came through those doors?" the man asked. It seemed terribly important to him that he get that straight.

Lindsay nodded, which made the world spin and this time she did sway and let herself fall to her knees. Broken glass, chunks of concrete, and the cap end of a dirty, smashed BIC pen bit into her skin. She didn't care. She was done.

She didn't hear him move, but the man was suddenly by her side, his knife sheathed, his hands on her shoulders, holding her up. "I won't hurt you, woman," he said. "What happened to you?"

I was stoned. "I was attacked." She couldn't keep her voice from cracking.

He was silent for a moment before speaking. He had a deep voice, but he spoke gently. "Can you walk? I have a horse nearby, and there is a town..."

Lindsay's eyes flickered open. She didn't remember closing them. "Do you have any water?"

"Here." The man stood, and when he squatted back down, he had a canteen in his hand. "Water. Just sip it, okay?"

Lindsay nodded and sipped.

"Can you walk?" he asked her again as she handed the canteen back.

"Yes." She had to be able to walk to get to the town; she could only believe on blind faith that it had nice, helpful, non-judgmental people in it.

The man hoisted her to her feet and waited till the spots left Lindsay's eyes and she nodded that she was ready to move. He kept an arm under her elbow as they picked their way through the ruined building and out into the open. Lindsay heard the horse before she saw it.

"There." The man pointed down the hill. The horse was white. It would have blended into the snow very well but for the brown saddle and bulky cloth bags that hung from the pommel.

"You wouldn't happen to have a car just over that other hill, would you?" Lindsay heard herself say. Then she held her breath at her own stupidity.

Do you want to be stoned again, Lindsay? Shut up!

The man paused and looked at her sideways. "Did you injure your head?"

Lindsay smiled wanly. "It's a good possibility."

The horse nickered at the man quietly as they approached. It eyed her but showed no fear of her.

"Hold on here." The man halted her, and when he was sure she wouldn't collapse, he let go of Lindsay's elbow and turned to his horse. They both watched him quietly as he took a blanket from the back of his saddle.

"Here," he said, as he turned and wrapped the blanket snugly around her shoulders.

His hands were still holding the blanket closed as he looked carefully down at her. "Are you married?"

The question came out of nowhere, and Lindsay looked into his eyes, startled. They were dark green. Odd, she thought, considering his dark complexion. "No," Lindsay croaked.

"But you used to be?"

She frowned. "Yes." Why was he asking? She no longer wore a wedding ring; she'd taken it off years ago.

"What was his name?"

"Trevor Cunningham." Lindsay's frown deepened. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Divorced?" the man asked, ignoring her question.

Lindsay nodded, confused as to his line of questioning. "Are you married?"

Once again, he didn't answer her. "Don't make that common knowledge. Being divorced. People don't look on it lightly here. It would be better to say you're a widow, since you can't prove your virginity."

Lindsay involuntarily took a step away from him, and he let go of the blanket. "This is surreal."

"More than you know," he said cryptically. Then, "The village is about a half-hour's trot away from this place. Do you ride?"

Lindsay shook her head no.

His lips thinned. "Then today you'll get your first lesson."

He drew her towards his horse. "This is Bruce."

Lindsay let a huff of laughter escape her lips, but no more than that. He was a stranger that she trusted only because there was no one else around who could keep her from dying from hypothermia and dehydration. But Bruce? He named his horse Bruce?

"What's your name?" she asked.

"David. Now you'll sit up front, and I'll sit behind. So up you go first. Hands on the saddle. Put your left toe in the stirrup. Your right leg goes over his back." She did as he commanded. "Up you go- whoa!"

She hadn't made it, not totally, and felt his hand firm on her rear, pushing her up. Lindsay grabbed what she could: saddle, mane, David's arm. Then she was up in the saddle.

Bruce stood with splayed feet and ears back, unsure of the clumsy human on his back.

"Easy Bruce. She's a filly. All knees," he murmured to his horse.

The animal's ears came back up at the sound of his voice despite the fact that Lindsay was clutching her legs too tightly around his girth and unconsciously on his pulling in his mane.

"Easy woman," David said. "You're fine. You're safe. Bruce is reliable. You okay? Are you going to pass out?"

Lindsay took a deep breath. The black spots in front of her eyes faded. "No. I'm not going to pass out."

David smiled, and Lindsay wasn't sure why. "Okay. I'm coming up then. Things may creak a little..."

He was up before she even realized he was moving. Was he that fast, or had she actually blacked out?

His arms reached around her, one hand grasping the reins, the other holding her fast to him and the saddle.

"You bundled up still?"

She checked her blanket, and nodded. Lindsay didn't know where her voice had gone to.

"Okay. Hold on," David warned her.

David eased Bruce into a walk, then a bone-jarring trot, and finally into a canter that left Lindsay breathless and afraid of looking down. So she closed her eyes, and her head fell back against a solid shoulder. She was so tired. It would be alright to just fall asleep, wouldn't it? David would do her no harm. He would keep his word; he would help her. She could trust him.

Why did she think that?

Lindsay's eyes flew open. Why?

She realized the answer. He spoke regular English. He had an odd accent she'd never heard before, but he spoke an English that she understood. And he understood her.

Why?

She remembered Justice Peace Jilt and the townspeople who'd tried to kill her. Fear of the unknown, of where she was, of where she was going, and what would happen to her when she got there suddenly made her very awake and very still.

Where was Bob? And what had he done to them?
Chapter 4

Welcome to Grass Valley, Oregon

Population 217

"Lindsay," David's voice was in her ear, rousing her from the doze she'd slipped into despite her best efforts to remain alert. "Wake up. We're here."

Here was... not what Lindsay expected. Bruce walked along a road that was half dirt, half broken asphalt. The rolling grassy hills of what sure looked like northeast Oregon were interrupted by a town that was a mixture of dilapidated but recognizable buildings made of vinyl siding and concrete, and newer, rough brick buildings with hand painted signs that looked like something out an old western show. An old gas station bore such a sign for Tim's Trading Mercantile and General Information. A building with golden arches and a drive through window was now Missy's Leather Works. And there were no cars. In place of them were wagons, trailers, horses, donkeys, and a lot feces. People moved around doing their business, but some saw their approach and stopped to watch them. They were all dressed in dull colored winter coats, the men in pants, the women in a mixture of skirts or loose pants. There wasn't a pair of jeans or a T-shirt to be had among them.

"This can't be Oregon," Lindsay whispered.

"Why do you say that?" David asked her casually from behind.

Lindsay stiffened her back in fear and didn't reply. She'd almost forgotten he was there. Shut up! Stop marking yourself as different!

"What makes you think this isn't Oregon? Because it is. This is Grass Valley, Oregon." David repeated, pointing at the welcome sign as they passed it. "About 10 and a half days walk from the state capitol in Portland."

The capitol was in supposed to be in Salem, but Lindsay swallowed and reminded herself that if she didn't want to be labeled a witch, she needed to watch her mouth. "Don't mind me. I'm just tired."

Lindsay tried not to stare at the people they passed with an open mouth, though they unapologetically did stare at her. David greeted the men and women they passed by name, and they greeted him in return. That everyone had questions was clear on their faces, but no one gave voice to them.

No one said a word to her in greeting.

Boys and girls, ran around the street, playing with sticks and balls, all dressed like their elders, in rough spun cloth and leather.

Lindsay felt dizzy. Where am I? she thought again, for the 100th time.

David stopped Bruce in front of a large new building that was a mixture of brick and white clapboard. It had two white painted square wood pillars to hold up the porch roof, which made it the fanciest building she had yet seen in town. It was also the first she'd seen with landscaping in the front. Pruned bushes, flowers and cut grass decorated the grounds. The sign above the front door read Government and School.

David dismounted and tied Bruce's reins to an old, metal bicycle rack that was sunk deeply into a slab of cracked concrete sidewalk that didn't match the newness of the handmade building. He looked up at her. "We need to go in here and speak to the mayor."

"The mayor," Lindsay repeated dully, and a shiver went through her as she relived being thrown down the pit that didn't let her fall.

"He is responsible for this place, these people. You are a foreigner, alone, and with no one to vouch for you. And it is the custom to notify him of newcomers to the town."

Lindsay chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. "Does he like foreigners? People who are different?"

David shrugged. "I'm foreign. And the Professor is foreign. So, I suppose he does like foreigners. Or at least, he likes our ideas."

"Where are you from?"

David helped her down, holding on to her elbow even after her feet touched the ground. He didn't answer her question. "Steady? Keep your blanket wrapped completely around you, even when we are inside. You're underdressed."

"For the weather or the culture?"

"Both."

"Why are you so accepting of me?"

David once again didn't answer her question, but turned a hand-carved wooden doorknob and entered the building, motioning her in when she hesitated. There was a foyer partitioned off from the rest of the building with cloth screens. The handmade tiled floor was covered with crocheted rag rugs. A fire in the fireplace threw some heat into the chilly room, and Lindsay gravitated towards it while David walked up to a desk that held two items: a metal bell with a long handle and small engraved plaque that read Mayor. The desk chair was empty. The place was quiet.

The loud ringing of the bell startled Lindsay and made her jump. "Kevin! It's David," David shouted. He turned to Lindsay. "Kevin and his family live here in the building, in the back. We're after hours now. But the mayor is always on call."

Lindsay hugged her blanket and gave a thin smile, but said nothing. She was keyed up, nervous about what was going to happen, worried too that she was so far away from where she had landed in this crazy reality. The recurring questions whirled in her brain. What had happened back in Bob's basement? Where was Bob?

A muffled voice, footsteps, and an odd clunking sound reached her ears after a few moments of silence. Then a short, red haired man dressed in brown pants and a blue button down shirt with brown boots came around the cloth partition. The smile that blossomed on his face at the sight of David faded when he got a look at Lindsay.

"This is the Mayor, Kevin Hartman," David said. "Kevin, this is Lindsay Cunningham."

"Cunningham?" Kevin said sharply, giving Lindsay a once over with his small, brown eyes. She swallowed nervously. Justice Peace Jilt had not liked her name either.

David shrugged. "It's just a name."

"I suppose." Kevin looked Lindsay over sharply. "You are not a red woman?"

"No!" Lindsay shook her head. "I am not," she denied, hoping the mayor would believe her.

David stepped forward. "I was out riding, and I spied her plodding the road in a state of undress, very cold and wounded as you see. She called out to me to stop and help her. She said she was traveling from Portland to the Kalamanth Falls in the south. The woman she had hired to travel with her was attacked by a mountain lion and killed. Lindsay ran, and got away, but took a fall down a ravine. Her belongings were lost, and so did she become."

He was lying for her. Why? Lindsay didn't deny his story though. Her recent encounter with the unhinged renaissance freaks and their attempt to stone her kept her quiet. That, and the shaft that had floated her gently down to its bottom, and the tunnel with the moving walkway and background music. And the computer system she'd never encountered before but had recognized her palm print, and known her name, Cunningham, a name which made mayors react with suspicion. All those things, those unknown, unanswered, mysterious things that equaled danger to her life, kept her quiet. David said he was a foreigner, and he was healthy looking and welcomed. He obviously knew how to survive in this crazy place. And he had not hurt her yet.

"She told me that she is a widow and was travelling to Kalamanth Falls to stay with an aunt on her husband's side, and to try to find new prospects. She is alone in the world, by her own admission to me," David said quietly.

Kevin seemed to buy David's story. His frown softened and he looked at Lindsay more gently. "I am sorry for your loss. This aunt... Can she support you?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay saw David give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I don't know. We've never actually met."

Kevin ran a hand through is hair and nodded. "Alright, I will help you. Do you wish to travel on to Kalamanth Falls and your aunt?"

"I want to take responsibility for her," David said quietly. "I will provide her with clothing and home."

"You!" Kevin said incredulously as Lindsay watched in silence, not comprehending exactly what David was saying. "You who are always wandering, always looking at the old things! You want to take this woman into your home? You want to be responsible?"

"I want to."

Kevin looked askance at Lindsay. "She is in shambles. Disgraceful. A widow who had no prospects in her old home."

"Kevin. I want to. And it will make the women happy."

Kevin frowned at him. "It will make them jealous, more like." He looked at Lindsay doubtfully. "What say you, woman? Will you go on to your aunt, or will you stay here and go with David to his home?"

Lindsay looked at David. She had no wish to go to Kalamanth Falls, wherever that was in this crazy place, to an aunt who didn't exist, to a place that could look on her no more kindly a fashion than they did back in the place she had come from. What she wanted was to look for Bob. But her body, relaxing next to the warm fire, ached, and she was covered in her own dried blood. She didn't want to be set upon by the authorities, and she didn't want to die of hypothermia in her underdressed state. Her options were limited and David knew it. So, Lindsay looked at Kevin. "I'll stay here. I'll go to David's house."

Kevin nodded, then clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. "Excellent! Congratulations, and welcome to Grass Valley! Now go. I'll spread the good tidings tomorrow morning, and have the papers to sign. For now, go home. I have the word of you both, and that is enough. Now, the sun is setting to dinner time, and my own wife is waiting."

Lindsay frowned. Why should it be good news that she was going to stay in the town? Why did she have to come and sign papers tomorrow?

What had she just agreed to?

Something had happened; she had entered into a transaction of some kind, and the pit of her stomach lurched as Kevin shooed them out of his office. David had his hand under her elbow again, and he steered her out the door with an expression on his face that made her close her mouth. Lindsay realized that she couldn't ask any questions within the earshot of any of the townspeople. She couldn't risk exposing her ignorance; she'd end up stoned just as quickly as she had in that other town.

Once they were on the porch, Kevin closed the door firmly. The street was mostly deserted now. The sun was almost down, casting inky streaks of red and gold and purple on the hills in the distance. Lindsay tried to do some quick calculations as David led her back to his horse. It had felt like early morning when she'd been cast into the pit. She did not know how long she had been in the moving white tunnel; no more than a day, surely, and it had not taken David more than an hour to ride with her into Grass Valley. Still, she had lost all track of time. How long had it been since she'd - since she'd left Bob's basement? Two days? Three? It was hard to know.

David drew her to Bruce's side and when she didn't immediately put her toe in the stirrup, David bent and lifted put her foot for her.

"What just happened?" Lindsay whispered, her face close to his as he guided her limp hands onto the saddle. "Why did you lie for me? And why did Kevin congratulate us?"

"Up now. We can talk safely at my home." He kept his voice low.

"You have steered me enough, thank you very much!" Lindsay hissed fiercely, and took her hands off the saddle to ball them into fists. "Now what did I agree to back in there?"

David's face and tone remained pleasant, though his words were anything but. "If you value your freedom and perhaps your life, you will be quiet. You are a foreigner with nothing, not even any clothes, and the people here have little tolerance for individuals who flout the rules. It is clear that you have been attacked once. Do you wish to be attacked a second time?"

Lindsay's face paled and she swallowed down the fear that made her throat tight.

David read her expression and shook his head, and his voice, though low, became intense and deadly serious. "You have nothing to fear from me, but I lied for a reason. I do not want you to be attacked. I will protect you. I will not hurt you, and I will not let anyone else harm you either. I swear my life on that fact."

There was nothing Lindsay could say to that really. She was out of her depths and alone.

"Please mount. I promise I will explain back at my house."

Lindsay put her hands where he had taught her to put them and mounted, more successfully this time than at the last. David gently arranged her blanket around her legs, making sure no skin could be seen, but also ensuring that she would be as warm as possible, and then mounted behind her once more.

David guided Bruce further down the main street. Soon, he pointed to a metal pole with a green sign. Its white, machine made letters read, "2nd St." A familiar looking sign surrounded by an unfamiliar setting.

"My house is down this street."

Lindsay didn't reply. She was too mad, too scared, and too exhausted to say anything. It didn't help that tears were gathering in her eyes and a lump in her throat made it feel closed off and tight.

As the shadows lengthened, the air turned from chilly to icy, and Lindsay began to shiver under her blanket. 2nd St was filled with houses, a mix of old yet familiar looking homes with sad, sagging vinyl siding, and new houses made from hand-made bricks and roofs covered with live, growing grass. Front yards were filled with harvested, empty gardens that were wet from the thin layer of snow that had fallen and melted that day.

So it early winter here, perhaps. It had been summer outside Bob's house, Lindsay remembered.

The asphalt road here was in better condition than any she'd seen thus far, but the gutters were deep ditches lined with gravel; a common sight in rural areas in the Oregon she was used to. Usually rain water flowed down them, but here it was raw sewage that assaulted her nostrils and made the bile of her stomach rise in her throat.

"Breathe through your mouth. It helps with the stench," David advised her.

Lindsay obeyed and he was right. Her gag reflex calmed.

They stopped in front of a giant building halfway down the street with a sign that said General Stalls. Lamps had been lit on the street, and Lindsay peered through the flickering light to try to see down the path that led to wide, open doors. It was a barn.

"Time to dismount," David said. "Bruce stays here. It's the communal barn. My home is farther down the street."

Lindsay slid down the horse to the ground, refusing to accept David's outstretched hands for assistance. He shrugged and handed his horse off to a girl who had come out of the barn to meet them. She was dressed in pants with a long leather apron covering her front. She smiled at him and took his horse away as she talked to it like it was her friend.

David took Lindsay's elbow after checking her blanket. "We're going to pass a few men on our way to my house," he breathed into her ear as they began to walk. "I'm going to tell them a reason as to why you're with me. Just be calm and smile."

"Okaaay."

David led her and smiled as they passed his neighbors, men mostly heading to their homes and wives, who looked at her with curious expressions.

"My wife," he said to the first man they passed. Lindsay stiffened. What?! Her stride halted, but only momentarily. David had an iron grip on her elbow which moved to her waist. He all but dragged her forward for a moment.

"Shhh," he said, so low only she could hear. "We're almost there," he said louder. "Only a few yards ahead. It's the house with the evergreen tree towering above the roof."

It was all Lindsay could do to simply not explode in a public tirade. Again, fear for her life kept her silent. That and the fact that David's story was working. The men's expressions, upon receiving David's simple explanation for her presence, cleared and they went on their way.

Never mind that I'm dressed in a blanket, Lindsay thought bitterly, or that I'm covered in dirt and blood and bruises. Does the little woman have a man? Yes? Okay. We can wash our hands of her. It's none of our business, anyways.

What had happened to equality and women's suffrage in this crazy place? She was still in America, wasn't she?

David's house was a single-story brick cube with small, shuttered windows and two chimneys. He opened his front door, revealing a mud room lined with shelves for boots and hooks for hats and coats. He closed and latched the front door. "Take your shoes off," he said and he bent to unlace his boots. "The floor inside will be cold, so keep your socks on."

Lindsay obediently pushed her muddy and blood spattered tennis shoes off with her toes and placed them carefully on a shelf near David's shoes. David looked at them curiously.

"I've never seen shoes like that before," he stated.

Lindsay looked up at him. His eyes were on her, not her shoes but what could she say? Yes, he had lied for her, but he was still of this crazy, messed up place. The last thing she could do was tell him the truth of what had happened to her. So, she smiled thinly but said nothing.

David nodded in some kind of acceptance, but didn't press her, and again Lindsay wondered why. His lack of curiosity seemed almost abnormal and she distrusted it.

David didn't remark on her frown either but instead he simply turned and opened another door, then twitched aside a curtain that covered the opening.

"This is the main room," he explained as he held the door and curtain open for her. Lindsay walked in, the chill of the floor tiles seeping quickly through her thin ankle socks. From the outside, the house was big square. The inside was divided into two halves by cloth partitions. On the left side, there was a kitchen at the far end, or what passed for a kitchen here - a few cabinets, some shelves, and a huge table. In the center of the left wall was a wide fire place where banked embers faintly glowed.

David walked around her and picked up a padded chair from what looked like a sitting area/library/random storage area and set it near the fireplace. "You can just sit down and rest." When Lindsay didn't move, he came back and gently drew her away from the door. "It's cold in here. I've been out all day, scouting." He pushed her gently in the chair and tucked her blanket around her. "I'll get a fire going. Soon, this'll be the warmest part of the house."

So, Lindsay sat down and took a deep breath and relaxed because despite the fact that her situation was precarious at best, for the first time in who knew how many days she felt safe. The questions that were burning inside her felt like they could keep for a little while. Her brain felt muzzy, her eyelids drooped...

"Lindsay?"

Lindsay's eyelids shot up as she jerked back to consciousness.

"Easy, easy," David said. He was sitting at her feet and put one hand out to barely touch one of her own hands. "I've got some hot water and garlic to wash your cuts." He gestured to his clean floor, where a bowl of steaming water and a stack of clean cloths waited to be used.

Lindsay swallowed and willed her racing heart to calm down. Collecting herself together as best she could, she asked dumbly, "Garlic?"

"It's antiseptic. For your cuts."

"Oh," she said limply, her energy seeming to drain out of her again. The room was no longer cold, she noticed. A fire was blazing. Water was boiling in a kettle that hung over the hearth. How long had she been asleep?

David gestured to her blanket. "May I?"

Lindsay nodded and twitched opened the blanket she had kept a death grip on when she'd been outside. David inspected her arms and legs in a dispassionate manner.

"From the pattern of bruising, this doesn't look like a beating, nor a fall," he finally said, looking into her face questioningly.

Lindsay bit her bottom lip and didn't answer, looking down at her hands instead. They were dirty, her fingernails broken.

Again, David easily accepted her silence and slipped her socks off of her feet. They were manicured, the nails painted a glittery pink. He paused, cupping one of her feet in his hands for a moment's examination, but didn't comment. Then gently, very gently, he began to wash the crusted blood and dirt off of her legs.

She watched him work. It was very quiet in the house, only the fire speaking to them in little snaps. "Why did you lie to Kevin?" she asked finally, her voice sounding small.

David replied, not pausing in his work except to pick up a new cloth. "I told you. I do not want to see you hurt. Again."

"But why? You don't know me."

David was quiet for a few moments, and Lindsay simply waited, a bastion of patience for the first time in her life.

Finally, he said, "I'm interested in old things."

"You're an archaeologist?"

David smiled, but it was not one of humor. "Something like that. And those doors you came out of -- they are something I'm interested in."

He paused. "And," Lindsay prompted him.

"And the people here do not like the old things. You saw the ruins of the building?"

Lindsay nodded.

"Many years ago it was destroyed; an act of revenge, you could say, and desperation. They could not break through the doors you came out of, though. They hate that place. It would be dangerous for you, a stranger with the name of Cunningham, to say that you were there, that you came out of those doors."

Warning received. She'd keep her mouth shut about that. "If it's dangerous, why do you go there?"

His mouth lifted in a half smile. "Because I am interested in the old things."

"But why?"

He didn't answer her question. It was a habit of his, she noticed. So, she changed the subject, slightly. "Why are you helping me?"

"I told you, because I'm interested in the old things."

Lindsay blew air out her nose in frustration. "That is not an answer."

David paused in his work to look her in the eyes. "Yes, it is. You see, there is a place east of here, several day's journey away, over the mountains and in a valley, where there is a town called Barlowville with a very strange, antisocial population. It's almost a cult. They don't do well with change or strangers there. They keep to themselves and look down their noses at the rest of us. A very self-righteous lot. Educated, but close-minded. They have a nice little military that they are very proud of, and a harsh judiciary system. Anyone that doesn't fit into the little world they have crafted is labeled a witch or a deviant or a non-conformer and they have a shaft that they throw their criminals down into. It's an odd-looking shaft, concrete all around, with little black glass domes dotting its sides at regular intervals. And at the bottom of that shaft if you look very carefully, you'll find a set of doors that face east. And if you had map, as I do, and you drew a line, as I have, between those east facing doors to the west facing doors you say you came out of, which incidentally are identical to one another, you could draw a straight line."

Lindsay stared at him for a several heartbeats before whispering, "I'm not a criminal." Her face was pale, her body stiff with tension.

"I believe that," David said gently. His eyes searched hers, then he abruptly cut the contact and looked down at her legs. "Well, this isn't so bad. I don't think we'll need to bandage your legs. Just keep them clean and let them scab over."

Lindsay looked down. Her legs looked terrible. They were badly bruised, but the cuts weren't bad, as he said. But they hadn't received the brunt of the stoning either.

David got up and dumped the now pink tinged, used water into a nearby empty bucket and filled the pan with new, hot water and more peeled garlic cloves.

"Let's look at your arms now," he suggested.

Lindsay bared her arms, and David winced as he began dabbing at them with a clean, wet, garlic soaked cloth. "I was trying to protect my head," Lindsay explained.

"You were stoned?"

Lindsay nodded, her lips thin with emotion.

"They threw you down that shaft, didn't they?"

She nodded.

"It's very deep. How did you survive the fall without a broken bone at the least?"

Tears formed in Lindsay's eyes and she shook her head. She couldn't tell him.

"Why were you in Barlowville? How did you get past their gates? And where are you from?"

Lindsay bowed her head and shook it even as her stomach lurched and she shivered.

David considered her for a moment, then sighed. "Your arms we should bandage. It's too late to try to stitch them up. There will be pretty bad scarring."

Lindsay shrugged. Scars didn't matter to her.

Again, David gently cleaned them, and when he paid particular attention to one of the deeper gashes, Lindsay had to look away. She studied his house instead.

In his sitting area where chairs in a circle around a low table. A gathering area for conversation, perhaps. Shelves lined the walls, packed with books, baskets, rolled up maps, equipment, and tools of all kinds. A very masculine place. Everything was handmade and very clean.

When David was done with that particularly nasty gash, Lindsay asked the next question on her list of things that needed answering. "Exactly what did I agree to back in Kevin's office? You promised to give me an explanation once we were in private."

David looked up, his nose only inches from her own. Lindsay leaned back slightly in order to create some space, to feel like she was in control.

Of what?

"I'm foreign like you. When I first came here, I didn't know all the rules either. And I am interested in the old things, like I said."

He paused. Lindsay waited for him to continue.

"And if I wanted to keep you alive, then I had to make up a good story. And women don't just wander around the countryside alone. We're pretty isolated here, but we do have contact with people from Bend, for trade. However, Portland is a big place with a large population, a progressive city with industry due to being on the river. Portland was far enough away from here that no one will question your lack of contacts. Kalamanth Falls is similar. Near enough to be known; far enough away and big enough that if no one we come in contact with knows you, or your aunt, no one will think twice about it."

"That doesn't answer my question. What did I agree to back in Kevin's office, David? And why did you tell people on the street that I'm your wife?"

"Because you agreed to marry me."

Lindsay just stared at him. "Our word is enough," she quoted the mayor. "The paper we have to sign tomorrow?"

"A marriage agreement."

Lindsay pushed his hands away when he tried to dab at her arms again. She held up a hand when he tried to speak, and he closed his mouth. Deciding to wait must have seemed like a wise choice to him that moment.

Lindsay's jaw worked. She swallowed down her anger and tried to think as dispassionately as David seemed to be doing. "I suppose," she said slowly, her voice low and still angry. "That getting under your roof as supposed to anyone else's protects me from questions I don't want to answer."

David nodded.

"Why don't you ask the same questions everyone else would?" she pounced.

"I have my reasons," he replied cryptically.

Lindsay's lips thinned in frustration. "Which are?"

"None of your business at this moment." His statement was kindly said, and therefore did not sting, but still, his unwillingness to be forthcoming was frustrating.

Lindsay glowered at him. "I don't want to marry you."

"We're already married in the eyes of the community. You gave your word, and I took you home. People saw us. I said we were wed. It's public now. Done."

"Done," Lindsay echoed tightly. Her hands curled into fists.

"Yes," David said firmly. "You are protected. And I won't touch you, if that's what's worrying you. Is it such a bad circumstance to be in? Compared with-" and he gestured at her limbs. "Compared with what you have experienced lately?"

Lindsay looked away from him and towards his shelves full of books and stuff. "No. I suppose it is not so bad," she said stiffly.

"There you go," David said positively. "Now, let me go get some bandages."

He got up and rummaged through a cabinet near the kitchen while Lindsay's brain worked furiously even while her body sat perfectly still.

She was married, lost in a strange reality, had no clear way to find Bob, no clear way to find out what he had done or where she was at. No clear way to get back to what was familiar and right and hers. She was stuck in a foreign place with no cars, no machines, no sign of modern industry. No modern technology.

Nothing technological, except for the tunnel, and the computer that recognized her. By name. Why did the computer recognize her, and how? Why was the rest of the world seemingly reversed back into the pre-Industrial era? Why had the people here destroyed the building that held the entrance to that tunnel? And why was David so different?

Lindsay eyed David suspiciously as he came back to her, clean bandages in hand. "Where are you from?" she repeated her question from earlier as he began to wind a cloth around her arm.

"Canada," David said easily.

Lindsay frowned. "Canada?"

"Canada," he said firmly. "Where are you from?" David's green eyes held hers intensely, as if in challenge.

"I actually am from Portland. You got that part of the story right."

David said thoughtfully, "Barlowville is pretty far away from Portland. There's a day and half worth of walking between them."

Lindsay swallowed. "Is that so?"

One corner of David's mouth lifted in a rueful smile. "You really don't need to worry. You can keep your secrets."

Lindsay looked up at him quizzically. "Why don't you care about them?"

"Because I have secrets too," was his simple reply.

Lindsay had nothing to say to that, so they were both silent then. David finished bandaging her arms and then busied himself cleaning up. He was a tidy man, putting things away just so, quietly and efficiently. Lindsay just sat and watched him, all her energy gone.

"You could wash your hair, if you'd like. There's enough warm water. And I have soap."

Lindsay was tired, but not so tired that she wanted to ignore her itchy, gritty scalp. "That would be nice," she said faintly.

"You could have something to eat first, if you like. Bread, cheese. I've got some dried meat."

"That would be nice," Lindsay repeated.

David frowned at her, but not in displeasure. "I'll get that, then set out the water and soap here at the table. While you're washing, I'll start a fire in the bedroom. You can have my bed. I'll sleep out here."

"Alright," Lindsay said simply. "Thank you."

"Are you tired?"

Lindsay nodded, fighting back tears that she couldn't explain and desperately didn't want to fall. David was being too kind, too hospitable. All she really wanted was to just be left alone.

David looked at her searchingly, then nodded. "Okay. I understand. I'll get you clothes of your own tomorrow morning; tonight, you'll have to wear my spares, for warmth. After breakfast, we'll have to go the government office, and then visit the Professor. He'll be eager to meet you. He's like me. Like us. Foreign."

Lindsay's interest perked. Hadn't David mentioned this person before? "A professor?"

"Yes. And he's been waiting a long time to see you."
Chapter 5

When Lindsay opened her eyes, she was in a warm bed piled high with blankets and clothed in oversized night clothes. Above her was a roof made of rough lumber and sealed with mossy chinking. She was in David's house. It was quiet, with only the crackle of the kitchen fire and chirping of birds through the closed wooden shutters to greet her. Lindsay sat up, and groaned. She ached everywhere, including her inner thighs from riding on Bruce.

Stretching judiciously, Lindsay spied a pile clothes at the foot of her bed. Gingerly, minding her sore muscles, Lindsay bent over and picked through them. They were women's clothing in the weave and cut of the local style; a heavy looking blue dress, tapered wool pants, leather boots, house slippers, thick socks, a coat, and a matching cardigan, knitted gloves, and a hat. At the bottom of the pile lay a woven piece of cloth that had straps, and two darted cups. It buttoned up the front with... surprise! Tiny annoying plastic buttons. A bra? Under that were matching shorts that Lindsay assumed were underwear. She looked around. Her old clothing was nowhere in sight.

Pushing back her covers, Lindsay eased out of bed and tiptoed to the cloth partition. "David?" Lindsay called out timidly.

No answer. The house was quiet. Her... whatever he was - she refused to call him her husband - was out.

"Well," Lindsay said to the air, turning to look at the pile of clothing. "When in Rome. And at least I'll be warm."

The fire in the bedroom's hearth had been banked and Lindsay's bruised skin goose pimpled as she pushed down her borrowed pants and used the chamber pot that David had showed her the night before was tucked under the bed. The contents of that would have to be poured into the "piss bucket," and get taken out to the neighborhood's cesspool. There was no running water here, no working sewer system, no electricity, no long-distance communications.

Lindsay looked down at her neatly bandaged arms. Where was she? She still had no real answer to that question.

She dressed in the clothes, which fit her surprisingly well. The skirt went down to her mid-calf and the tall boots would cover her legs up to her knees. They were fur lined, as was the coat David had left her. Lindsay put her slippers on and, carrying the boots and coat with her, padded from the bedroom to the kitchen.

The fire in the big room's hearth was still going, but it burned low. Lindsay smiled as she peered inside the pot that hung from the pole over the fire. It looked like cream of wheat bubbling away inside it. Lindsay's stomach growled and she wondered where David kept the bowls and spoons.

Then she heard the front door open and close. "Lindsay?" David called through the thin inner door as he stomped his boots in the mudroom. "Are you awake?"

"Yes. I'm in the... kitchen."

He stuck his head in the big room as he took his boots off. "Good. You look good, too. The clothes fit?"

She nodded.

"Good. We don't have a lot of extra clothing laying around, but a girl about your size died recently and so I traded some stuff for that at Tim's Mercantile."

Lindsay gaped at him. "I'm wearing a dead person's clothing?" Ew.

"Yes. Don't worry, they were cleaned. We're not barbarians, you know."

Is the underwear hers too? Lindsay wanted to ask, but didn't. She was a guest. She had a part to play, and that was to blend in. If he didn't care, then neither should she. Shaking her head, she changed the topic. "Where are the bowls? And spoons?"

"Here," David said, and showed her where things were kept, and how to unhook the ladle from the hearth wall and scoop porridge into her bowl without spilling any or burning herself. He sat her down in a chair at the table and scooped up her boots and coat in his arms. "I'll put these in the mudroom. Do you like tea?" he called over his shoulder. "There's some hot boiled water left, or you could have a beer."

"Beer?" Lindsay called after swallowing a hot mouthful. Beer in the morning?

David came back into the main room. "The water here is not always safe to drink due to the sewage situation, unless you boil it first, which is a real pain. So, people have gone back to drinking beer or wine. It's not that potent. We're not a bunch of alcoholics, you know."

Lindsay looked down at her bowl to hide her blush. Twice now in less than 30 seconds she'd said something offensive and ignorant that would mark her as different. Not good. "Tea is fine for breakfast," she said in a small voice.

David showed her where the leaves were kept and how to steep them, and then as she gulped down hot porridge and tea, he showed her all the contents of his kitchen, and talked about how to go about fetching water. He showed here where the larder was - which was a hole cut through the floor at a point farthest away from the fireplace. "This is where the perishables are kept, even in summer, but only for the day. There's milk, cheese, butter. No meat. It's not cold enough yet. That's either fresh or dried right now. The eggs we keep in a box of lime."

Lime? She had no idea what he meant by that. Everything was so foreign because nothing came automatic and packaged to go like it did in her... world. But there were more important things to ask about at the moment.

Lindsay put her spoon down in her empty bowl and looked David square in the eye. "What did you mean when you said that the town's professor has been waiting for me?"

"You'll see," David said, as put the larder's lid back into place. "I can't explain. But he can. And he'd prefer to explain. He should be up now. He usually stays up late into the night, you see. We'll see him after Kevin."

Lindsay breathed a sigh of frustration. Why wouldn't he just tell her the answer?

"Are you finished? Let me show how to take care of the dirty dishes, then we can go."

"David?" Lindsay still lingered by the table as he rushed around.

"Yes?"

"When we sign that paper, will we be legally married?"

He stopped to look at her. "You mean in the eyes of the law?"

She nodded.

"Yes. We will be. Every six months or so there is a circuit judge that comes through, and Kevin will file all contracts and certificates with him, along with hearing court cases that we can't handle. Now, what I did, bringing you here last night, that was informal, but socially binding. The paper however will hold up in any court of law."

She watched him move around the room with what seemed like nervous energy. "Are you nervous? Have you ever been married before?"

"No, I'm not nervous."

Again, he'd left a question unanswered. "And have you ever been married before?" she pressed.

He frowned. "Technically? I don't think so."

Lindsay gaped at him. "You're not sure? How can you be not sure? Marriage is usually a pretty straightforward deal."

"Usually, it is," he agreed, enigmatic per the norm.

"Ugh," Lindsay said rolling her eyes. Whatever.

"Do you think you'll be able to live with the fact that you're under my protection and have to stay with me if you want to live?"

Stated like that, it was almost a threat. Stated like that, it sounded as if he knew more about her situation than she did. Distrust settled in the pit of her stomach and lay like lead. "I can live with it," she said gravely. For as long as it takes me to find Bob and get back to where I belong. She saw an image of her baby's grave in her mind's eye. She had she missed the anniversary. Was anyone back home missing her? Probably not. No one would know anything was amiss until the UPS guy found there was no one around to sign for packages.

David smiled at her. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," Lindsay said simply, turning her mind away from her depressing thoughts. "I'm ready."

"Good afternoon, Patty," David greeted a middle-aged woman whose sparse hair was done up in a bun. She sat at Mayor Kevin's desk and there was a plaque on the desk that said Council. "We're here to sign our marriage paper."

Patty smiled. "I know. Kevin told me. Is this the bride?"

David put his hand on the small of Lindsay's back. "Patty, this is Lindsay. Lindsay, this is the town Council, Kevin's wife."

Lindsay pasted a pleasant smile on her face. "Nice to meet you."

Patty looked her up and down. "My pleasure, and you are a deer, aren't you? Pretty, trim, and such nice teeth. Kevin mentioned you're a widow. You haven't had too many babies, have you?"

Lindsay's smile faltered. "N-no. Few. Just... one."

"One? Oh, and did it die, dear? I'm sorry. I've lost three myself, out of five. Life is hard, isn't it? They're working on getting immunizations out here, but it takes time. Everything takes time."

Lindsay nodded, not knowing what to say. She didn't want to talk about her baby... about Peter. Not to this woman. She prayed that David wouldn't care enough to ask later on either.

Patty was still talking. Lindsay yanked her attention back to the woman in front of them.

"...getting such a late start on the day. Tammy Nylstroom told me that your lights were on quite late into the night."

Lindsay's eyebrows rose high on her forehead while David blushed. "We barely know each other, Patty. We were just talking."

Patty looked askance at them while smiling as if she knew better. "I have the papers right here. I just need you to fill out your given names, and Lindsay, I'll need the name of your late husband too. Then I'll sign and date it, and that's it. You'll be official."

While Patty's back was turned to fetch the paper out of an envelope, David breathed into her ear, "Lie about Trevor."

Why? Who cared that her ex-husband's name was Trevor?

Who cared that her own last name was Cunningham?

Undercurrents. There were undercurrents here that she didn't see. Politics, old grievances, whatever; she didn't know it and David did. So, Lindsay ever so slightly gave a nod.

Patty turned around with the paper in hand. David beamed a devastating smile at her. "You look so happy David," Patty said. "Sign down here now. Have I told you how happy I am to finally see you married?" She looked over at Lindsay. "He's the oldest eligible, unmarried man we've got in this town. It was starting to worry us all, him staying single all this time, always wandering around, looking at those horrible buildings, asking about \- well you know who. Now with a wife, he'll have to look to the future now. Wives have a way of doing that for men."

Lindsay leaned in to read the signature that David had written. The name David Delachet was scrawled messily on the line. "How old is the next oldest unmarried man?" she asked Patty.

"Eighteen. He's betrothed. I've never seen you at the county gatherings. Where are you from?"

"Portland."

"Oooh, that is far. Kevin told me what happened to you, dear. I'm sorry. It is hard for a person to be all alone in the world. What is your aunt going to think when you don't show up?"

David interjected smoothly, rescuing Lindsay. "There's the letter service."

"Yes, the letter service."

Remembering the words Kevin had used the evening before, Lindsay spoke up. "My aunt wasn't too sure of my- uh, prospects done there. I'm sure she'll be happy I did find some up here."

"I don't know how they do things in Portland - it's so far away! - but here prospects can be slim when everyone gets married so young. Sign here, dear. Here for you, here for deceased husband's name."

The pen was made of wood with a metal tip. A fountain pen. Patty had set out a small jar of ink. Gingerly, Lindsay dipped the tip in the ink and wrote as neatly as she could, Lindsay Cunningham. And below that, she wrote Timothy Cunningham.

Patty's gossipy chatter died as she picked up the card and blew on it gently to dry the ink. "Unfortunate family name your husband had," she said coolly.

"Yes," Lindsay nodded. "Timothy was a good man though. It more than made up for the name."

It was not a total lie. Trevor had turned out to be a coward. Timothy was her own father's name. He had been a good man, and the best father.

Patty nodded sympathetically and patted her hand. "Well, welcome to Grass Valley. It's good to have some fresh blood in town. We ladies have several nice crafting circles on the weekday evenings. They're posted on the news wall at the Mercantile. You'll be welcome at any of them."

"Is the Professor awake?" David cut in before they were dismissed.

Patty nodded and rolled her eyes. "One of the ladies dropped his breakfast off just a few moments before you came in. He'll be awake, but I won't vouch for his level of dress."

David smiled and wrapped an arm around Lindsay's waist. "I'll protect Lindsay's more delicate sensibilities."

Laughter bubbled gaily out from Patty. "Oh shoo, now. Say, what do you want to visit the Professor for on your wedding day?"

"I found something I want to show him."

"Hmm, to each his own. Dear," Patty said pointedly to Lindsay as she was led away by David, her hand in his. "Make him take you on a picnic or something."

Unable to keep her lips from curling up into a smile at Patty's charming chatter, Lindsay followed David past a cloth partition into a big room that could only be the school. A big chalkboard dominated one wall, and row after row of desks were filled with boys and girls of various ages writing on giant sheets of paper. They all, along with their teacher, looked up to look at them as they passed along the back wall, or rather they all looked up at the stranger that had just married the oldest eligible bachelor in town.

"Good afternoon, Teacher Wills," David said genially.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Delachet, Mrs. Delachet," the teacher replied.

It was apparently completely normal for random townspeople to traipse through the large open classroom. The children went back to their assignments and the teacher turned to write on the blackboard. David took Lindsay's hand and led her along the back wall, then through a door in a solid wall that David closed firmly behind them.

"These are where the apartments are. Kevin and Patty live there," David nodded to the first door they passed. "They're children are grown and have families."

"David?"

He glanced at her, then stopped when he saw the smirk on her face. "What is it?"

"Did you marry me to get the gossiping biddies off your back?"

A blush heated David's dark cheeks, and Lindsay's smile grew, then faded. "Why do you investigate the old places if it's so dangerous?" she whispered. "If people here are so against it? Is marrying someone - a stranger at that - worth it just to get people to stop focusing so hard on you and what you're doing?"

She searched David's green eyes, which softened, then hardened as she watched. "Yes. It is worth it," he said firmly. But he didn't explain.

Secrets. She had hers, and he had his.

He began to walk again along the narrow corridor, still holding her hand. "The Professor's apartment," he nodded as he stopped in front of the second door in the hallway. David knocked.

"What is it? I'm not decent!" shouted a voice through the door. It was gruff and gravelly, and sounded vaguely familiar, but clearly belonged to an old man.

"Professor? It's David. Can I come in?"

"What do you want, David? I told you I'm not dressed. I haven't even finished my breakfast!"

David stepped close to the closed door. "You know that thing you've been looking for all these years?" he said in a lower tone. "I found it."

Something thumped behind the door, the old man cursed, and then the door was swung violently open. In its frame stood a stooped old man, probably somewhere in his late seventies, with wispy gray hair that stood out in patches on the sides of his head. His eyes, a watery blue, were half hidden behind thick glasses that were patched together with string and what looked like tree sap. He was dressed carelessly, with a robe haphazardly draped over a wrinkled pull-over shirt. His pants were also made of cloth, a rough weave that was worn and frayed at the seams.

He stared at Lindsay with a shocked expression on his face. The old man's eyes roamed over Lindsay while his mouth opened and closed. He seemed unable to make his voice work, and had to swallow several times before he whispered hoarsely, "Lindsay?"

Lindsay raised her eyebrows. "That's me."

"Let me bring her inside and close the door," David said quietly, urgently.

"Of course," the old man said a little dazedly, and stepped aside to admit them in.

The apartment was a disgrace. Books and loose papers were stacked on every surface. The walls were covered with chalkboards filled with equations. The floor was scattered with more books, many of them historical by their titles, and clothes in varying degrees of cleanliness were dropped here and there. It was a pigsty.

"I'm sorry Lindsay," the old man said, wonder still filling his face and voice. He reached out to take one of her hands in his. "I never did learn to pick up after myself, and I haven't had you around to spoil me."

"Spoil y-" Lindsay stopped and questioningly peered into the old man's face. She looked past the wrinkles, the age spots, and the sagging jowls... and recognized him.

"Bob?" she asked, even though she thought she must be crazy. Bob was in his fifties. Not an old man at all.

But the old man nodded. "Yes. Lindsay!" Bob threw his arms around her then and hugged her desperately. "Oh Lindsay! Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

He began weeping quietly, murmuring apologies. Lindsay looked helplessly at David, who stood off to one side, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the old man's dresser with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Lindsay, this is Professor Robert Field. He's been here for twenty-two years."

Lindsay looked down at the man who was still holding her. At Bob, her employer. "Twenty-two years? Bob, how? I just got here a -"

She remembered abruptly who it was that was watching them. She looked at David apologetically. "David? W-would you mind giving us a few minutes in private? We need to catch up." And in more way than one, she thought.

David nodded. "I have to ride out east and do a job. Wait here for me to come get you, Lindsay."
Chapter 6

When they were alone, Bob cleared off a chair, and Lindsay sat down heavily in it while the old man perched on the edge of his narrow bed.

"Bob," Lindsay said, her voice breaking. "What happened? What did you do? Why are you so -" but she couldn't say it?

"Old?" Bob finished for her. He sighed and ran a gnarled hand over his mostly bald head. "It's a long story."

"I think we have time," Lindsay urged him bluntly.

He sighed again, then spoke to her in a low voice. "I was researching wormhole theory, looking for a way to create stable, short-lived wormholes that could allow an object to go back and forth from point A to point B on earth, unscathed, numerous times."

"Wormholes?" Lindsay asked disbelievingly, though she kept her voice equally low.

Bob nodded. "Crazy, I know. But I did it. Or I thought I did it. But I didn't, not quite. I opened up a wormhole, but what pulled us through was not that. Somehow, that wormhole connected to a- a tear, I think."

"A tear? In what?"

"Our reality. I think I found a tear in our reality that opened up access to this reality. To this earth."

Lindsay blinked at Bob. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that this is not our earth? That instead we're on a freakish copy of our earth?"

Bob nodded. "Yes. That is what I'm saying. This is a parallel earth. And..."

"And what?" Lindsay asked suspiciously.

"And we're ahead of our own time lines, as well."

Lindsay sat back, stunned momentarily. What he said made a lot of sense. All the odd things she'd seen fell neatly into place with that theory. "So, by accident, you tore a hole between our two realities, except that this reality is running ahead of our own? How do you even know that? It's an alternate reality."

"First of all," Bob defended himself, "I don't think I did the tearing. I've checked my math over and over. I didn't make that tear. I think it was there first. And second I know we're in the future because in this reality Lindsay Cunningham and Professor Robert Fields died a long time ago." He gestured to the books around them. "It's in the history books."

Lindsay blinked and turned that over in her mind. "My death is recorded in a history book? Why am I in a history book?" She wasn't anybody important.

Bob waved her question away. "That's not important right now. Lindsay, do you remember the time dilation? Do you remember the way sound and then time slowed down, and we were stretched till it felt like we were breaking?"

Lindsay shivered and wrapped her arms around her torso, then winced and let go because it hurt her arms to put pressure on them like that. "Yes. I remember."

"Lindsay, I'm old because I went through first. I've been here for 22 years, just as David said. I'm 77 years old now."

Lindsay heard herself whisper, "I just got here. Two... or three days ago. I'm really not sure."

"You went through second. I wasn't sure when you'd come. I landed here. I thought you would too." Bob reached out and touched a cheek gently. She had bruises on her face, but thankfully no cuts. "Have you had a rough time, my dear?"

Lindsay flinched away from his touch, and Bob lowered his hand slowly.

"I woke up in... in Freakville. David says the town's name is Barlowville. They talk oddly, and they live... conservatively," Lindsay said hotly.

"I went there once," Bob interjected. "I never went back. It's a backward place run by zealots. Very unbalanced people."

"Well, I appeared there in public during the day, in shorts and short sleeves, unaccompanied - un-everything. I was arrested and tried as a prostitute and witch!"

"Oh Lindsay!" Bob cried in dismay.

"I was condemned to death and thrown in a pit, but I didn't fall. Bob!" Lindsay cried suddenly, unable to keep inside what had happened to her. She reached out and fell to her knees in front of him, his hands grasped tightly by hers. "Bob, I didn't fall! I didn't fall. The pit was a shaft, a modern shaft with working technology. It floated me down. The people - they started throwing rocks at me. They thought they had proof I was a witch. But Bob! I didn't fall! Why didn't I fall? There were dead bodies at the bottom. Those people fell! Why didn't I fall?"

With that, Lindsay burst into the tears that she had been holding back for two - or was it three? - days. Bob tried to comfort and quiet her, but she wasn't finished.

"They stoned me! They tried to kill me! And when I reached the bottom alive, they were going to come down and slit my throat!"

Lindsay cried for a while as Bob stroked her hair. "There, let it out. You're safe now."

After a while, Lindsay's tears subsided to painful hiccups. Bob quietly asked, "How did you get away?"

"There was a working computer in the shaft wall," Lindsay said raggedly. "It knew who I was! It knew my name! It scanned my palm and ID'd me!"

Bob stopped stroking her hair. "Really? A working computer?"

"Really. The doors opened to a tunnel with a moving sidewalk, and it took me here. It let me out on the side of a hill, in a ruined office building."

"Magyar Hill," Bob said. He knew what she referred to. "It's a ruined laboratory, actually. That is where David found you, isn't it?"

Lindsay nodded. "He found me. He recognized my name. Now I know why. You told him about me, didn't you?"

Bob patted Lindsay on the back. "Not everything, but yes. I've been working these 22 years on what went wrong, where you were, when you were, and the strain of it... I needed someone to confide in. And David was there. He's not superstitious Lindsay. He's a very good and useful sort of man, and a bit of a historian and an archaeologist in his free time. The fact that he's Canadian and likeable help the people here forgive his hobby of searching out the old Cunningham ruins. I'm glad he was the one who found you."

Lindsay wiped her nose and eyes on the back of her hand. "Cunningham ruins?" David had never called them that.

Bob couldn't seem to meet her eyes at that moment. "Yes. Old buildings tied to a name that people would rather forget."

"Why?" Lindsay demanded to know, fire rising in her eyes as she took her seat once more. "Why do people hate that name? Who is this Cunningham, and why is my name in history books?"

Bob's expression was pained when he looked back up at Lindsay. "He - I... I don't want to tell you yet. I can't tell you yet. Not today. You've suffered a lot of shocks Lindsay. I don't think you could handle this one, as well. Don't ask me to tell you today."

Lindsay shook her head. "I don't understand. You're as secretive as David is."

Bob gripped Lindsay's hand. "What do you mean? He has his oddities, but he's a very accepting, easy going person."

"It's just that, though. He's too accepting, considering what I've run into since landing here. And I'm married, you know? To David. He tricked me into marrying him. He wanted to protect me, he said."

"Well, that is a protection. He's given you his name. No one will think of you as Lindsay Cunningham now. Plus, you said the tunnel doors scanned your palm and ID'd you?" Bob said, curious instead of outraged. "Well, I suppose he thinks that if you could open one door, you could open others as well. He's quite dedicated to finding out the real story behind what happened here."

Lindsay stared at Bob with an open mouth for a moment. The thought, so obvious, had never crossed her mind. "Why is he so interested in the Cunningham ruins when the name itself enrages people? You know he told me to lie about my husband's name? He lied smoothly for me to Kevin too. Too smoothly, Bob. And our stories don't quite add up either. We don't add up. He's got to be wondering why you would wait here, instead of leaving to find me, for 22 years, and when I do show up, you know exactly who I am, as if I haven't aged a day, while I'm shocked that you obviously have. He's got to be wondering how I don't know anything about this culture, and I think it's odd that he just patiently explains everything as if women that are ignorant of chamber pots and wells are a normal occurrence for him. I don't think we can totally trust him."

Bob sighed. "You make good points, and David isn't stupid. He's remarkably observant, in fact. Perhaps he does have an ulterior motive. But I can't fathom what it would be Lindsay, and he's never turned on me, never turned me in, after that time I confided in him. He's been a good friend to me these last five years since he came to this village. He may well have secrets, but what can we do about it? Really, there's nothing we can do. You need a place to shelter where you'll be left alone, and in this town I can do my work without interruption."

Lindsay couldn't argue with that logic. "So, we trust him, to an extent, for now. But what do we do? Where are you in your work?"

Bob got up and began to pace, slowly, frustration his roughening his voice. "Honestly, I'm stuck. I've come to the point where I am positive that my math, my engineering, was sound. I should have opened a wormhole, stable or otherwise. I believe the tear was already there, but I can't know if my wormhole was attracted to it... I don't know because I have no way of recreating the experiment, and no access to the computer data that would have been recorded. I just don't know. And since I don't know, I can't find a way back."

"Yet," Lindsay said, trying to sound confident.

"Yes," Bob said, patting her shoulder and offering her an encouraging smile that he didn't believe in himself. "Yet."

David had come to get her before the dinner hour and escorted her back home. She had walked away feeling ambivalent about leaving Bob. They had just found each other, but Lindsay couldn't stay with him. Bob had said her place as David's wife was, in the eyes of the townspeople, with her husband. She couldn't stay the night with Bob if she didn't want to be ostracized. That had upset the feminist in her.

David had not helped her mood by showing her off to anyone they passed by on the street. Lindsay had tried not to cringe when he had happily introduced her as Mrs. Delachet. She could only hope that she had convinced the townspeople that she was a happy bride. Once they were back in his house, their conversation had been mainly one sided. All she could manage was a short "Yes" or "No" to his questions about her day. After a while, David had left her alone. Now though, as they sat at his table eating a simple dinner of roasted carrots and beets, with boiled potatoes and a bit of dried meat on the side, David tried to draw her out.

"How old are you Lindsay?"

"33."

He smiled. "You're older than I am. I'm 30."

Lindsay smiled back wanly.

"How do you know Professor Fields?"

Lindsay's smile faded and she bit her lip. The tines of the fork she held in her hand dropped down onto her plate. She'd thought up a story to tell him, but before she could get the words out, David raised his hand up to stop her and shook his head. Lindsay looked at him in confusion.

"I don't want a lie, Lindsay, and that is what you were going to tell me, wasn't it? A lie."

Lindsay's face reddened in embarrassment, but she nodded. "I was."

"Don't lie to me. I've never lied to you. If I ask a question you can't answer, or don't want to answer, then just don't. Or change the subject."

Lindsay's eyes narrowed. "That's what you do."

"And I've never lied to you. I don't want to. I figure, if we're all lucky, the truth will be revealed gradually."

"What could you have to hide from me?"

David smiled a sad smile and took a bite of dinner by way of reply.

He was silent, but he wasn't lying to her. "You know, I've never found myself in the midst of so many secrets before in my life. I'm used to things being pretty straightforward."

David smiled ruefully. "I know how you feel."

His words gave her no comfort because they held no answers.

"Would it be alright if I went to visit Bob tomorrow?"

"Yes. It must be hard, considering you haven't seen each other since you were a child."

Lindsay's head shot up, and she was about to protest that that was not correct, but stopped herself in time. Her mouth worked for a moment and David watched her. Her lips thinned with annoyance. "Don't bait me, David. Don't pry unless you want the favor returned, alright?"

He cocked his head in assent and continued to eat. Lindsay just pushed her food around in front of her. Bob's unwillingness to be forthcoming on why she was in history books had disquieted her. He had refused to tell her what he knew that day, so she would go to him tomorrow and make him tell her.

"David?" she asked suddenly, looking thoughtfully at the books in his sitting area. "Do you have any history books?"

"I have a few. Why?"

Lindsay sidestepped his question though. "Can I look at them?"

"Are you interested in the recent past or ancient times? I have a few of both kinds."

Lindsay hesitated. "Recent past," she said slowly. I think.

"You want to know about Cunningham, don't you?"

Lindsay shivered at his perceptiveness. "Yes. The person and the buildings he or she left behind. I know you won't say why you're interested in looking, but can you tell me the history of them?"

"You don't know?"

"No." Lindsay looked at him steadily, wondering if he'd ask why.

He didn't. David took a breath and looked at her thoughtfully. "Well, the history books say that about 100 years ago, there was a man, a scientist by the name of Cunningham, who made some terrific breakthroughs in energy technology that had the potential, over time and with management, to change civilization for the better. He made an awesome fortune, over the years, but he's said to have been ruthless and competitive and secretive. He didn't like being told no, or to back off, so he took his money out into rural areas, like here in Oregon, and in other states, and went off the grid with some of his work. Very private, with no oversight. One particular experiment went a little... out of control. The effects of that last experiment couldn't be stopped or countered. Civilization as people knew it then started to break down. Cunningham became a target for the media, for vigilantes. Not long after that, he was murdered. He was 42 years old."

"What did he do?"

"There were things orbiting the planet called satellites, did you know this?"

"Yes."

"Well, there was also a station up there which he built to conduct experiments to further his energy goals. No one knows exactly what he did, but a massive CME came straight at Earth and rendered all the satellites useless and took out the power grid. The stationers, Cunningham included, had to live in EV suits for days till they could manage an evacuation. On Earth, there was chaos. The markets collapsed, international communication and commerce halted, and the usual panic and disorder in the streets ensued. The CME disrupted life, but had that been all that occurred, they would have rebuilt the grids, sent up new satellites and life would have gone on as usual. Except that within a few months, another CME hit Earth."

"That doesn't sound normal," Lindsay breathed.

"It's not. No one could access his research; his buildings were sealed. No one could launch a mission to access the station in orbit. And the Earth continues to be bombarded by CME's often enough that the people have abandoned electricity and are focusing on mechanical, steam and hydraulic industries. Along the Columbia River, and in other places accessible to water, there is more education, more ideas. Here, there are still the old buildings and old signs up. It is not quite so backwards as Barlowville. They tore down all that was old and built up a new place and control all the ideas. But even in Barlowville, they couldn't erase what Cunningham had built."

"Yes." Lindsay poked at her food again. Then, "David?"

"Hmm."

"What year is it? What's the date?"

"November 13th, 2156."

Lindsay took a deep breath and tried not to react. 2156? She'd been flung 135 years into the future. And if Bob was right, that this was an alternate earth, which meant that in this universe she had already lived and died a long time ago. That meant she had a grave somewhere. She wondered if she was buried alongside her son.

"Lindsay?"

"What?"

"You look pale. Are you okay?"

Lindsay swallowed and nodded. "Yes." And to prove it, she picked up her fork and took a few bites. David watched her for a few heartbeats, concern showing in his eyes, then nodded and began to eat. His easy acceptance of her ignorance however couldn't go unquestioned.

"David?"

"Hmm?"

"Why doesn't it bother you that I don't know these things?

He pursed his lips. "All these questions you have? I think I'll be able to answer them in a few days, but not tonight. And vice versa."

Lindsay frowned. "Why in a few days? That makes no sense."

"Patience. Now, finish your dinner. We have to get up early tomorrow."

"Why?"

"We're going out on Bruce. I want to show you one of the intact and impenetrable Cunningham buildings."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You want to see if I can open it, don't you?"

"Yes I do," he said bluntly with a smile. "Lindsay, you are the best thing to happen to me in five years. I'm not going to waste a moment of the opportunity you've given me."

"I suppose you'll tell me what you mean in a few days?"

He nodded. "In a few days. I promise."
Chapter 7

"Get up! Lindsay! Get up!

Lindsay shot upright, nearly smacking her head against David's. "What is it?" she asked grouchily. "It's not morning, is it?"

"No, now hurry!" His voice was low and urgent and he threw her clothes at her. "Get dressed. We have to go now!"

"Why? What's going on?" she asked blearily.

"Apparently, I'm not the only person able to connect dots on a map."

"Huh?"

David pulled her covers back and yanked her to her feet. "There are men from Barlowville come just a few minutes ago demanding to speak to Kevin. So, get your head on straight. We have to leave. Now!"

Barlowville? Those crazy, backwards, judgmental people had figured out where she had disappeared to. "Holy God!" Lindsay grabbed her clothes up as David, seeing that she was moving, left her to get dressed.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Lindsay muttered to herself as she threw her clothes on. David had figured it out. He wasn't the only person with a map and a thinking brain. She'd been a fool not to have realized that she was wasn't really safe.

30 seconds later, Lindsay flew around the cloth partition, every piece of clothing she owned on because a run through the night would mean being out in freezing temperatures, and ran smack into Bob.

"Bob! What are you doing here?"

Bob was dressed for travel and held a tiny candle in his hand, his face flushed with exertion. "I live next to the mayor's apartment and I'm usually awake this time of night, working. Five men from Barlowville showed up a few minutes ago at the government building door, demanding to see the mayor on a mission of 'public safety and justice.' I listened as long as I dared to their tirade, then sneaked out and came straight here." He picked up a sack with his free hand that lay by his feet. "I have some food. David is getting the horses saddled. He said he's going to take us someplace we can hide."

"Why are you coming? Won't you be safe here?" Lindsay asked as she pulled on her boots and coat.

Bob shook his head. "It's public knowledge now that I know you from long ago. And I'm a foreigner. Besides, now that I've found you, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Lindsay smiled gratefully and Bob and clasped his arm since he wouldn't have tolerated a hug. A clattering of hooves on crumbling asphalt and a soft nicker announced the arrival of horses outside. Bob looked out the small front window. "It's David! Come on." He blew out his tiny candle, and Lindsay followed him outside.

"Professor," David whispered when they came out. "I've got your horse. Lindsay." He came to her and wrapped a scarf around her neck, then checked her hands to make sure she had her gloves on. "You'll ride double with me on Bruce."

Lindsay glanced over at his white horse, which had dark blanket thrown over its back, no doubt to hide its color. "Double? Won't that tire him out?"

David knelt down and fairly threw her into the saddle. "You can't ride by yourself, and now is not the time to learn how."

He looked at Bob, who was already astride his horse. Apparently, sometime in the last 20 years that he'd been in this earth, he had learned to ride.

"Ready?" David asked him.

Bob nodded. "I have everything I need."

David took Bruce's reins. "Okay. We're walking out then."

And they did. David led the way on foot to keep the noise from the horse's hooves down to a minimum till they were well past the last house on the street. Once they were at a point he deemed safe, David swung up in the saddle behind Lindsay. He gripped her tightly to him in one hand, his other hand holding the reins. He nodded at Bob, then kicked Bruce. They shot off at a gallop across the empty, icy, grassy hills.

"Where are we going?"

Lindsay had no idea how long they traveled before stopping to rest the horses at a stream. The horses were both lathered with sweat but not in distress from their hard ride. Bob sat on the ground, his old body tired and sore, his eyes closed as if he was trying to nap upright. David stood by the horses holding their reins to keep them from drinking too much.

He glanced at her. "To a Cunningham building. The one I was going to show you."

"Why there?"

David led the horses away from the stream, took out a cloth, and began to dry their coats. He looked as exhausted as she felt, but it wouldn't do the animals any good to be wet in the icy predawn air. "It will hopefully be secure. They won't be able to get in, but we should. If my hypothesis is right."

"About me being able to open any of the Cunningham buildings?"

He nodded.

"Why can I open those buildings? Who is this Mr. Cunningham, and why does his security system recognize me? I asked Bob, but he wouldn't tell me who he is. He said it would be a shock. Do you know why?"

"He's right," David said, not looking at her but instead keeping his eyes on Bruce's coat. "It would be a shock."

Bob's eyes popped open. "What do you know about it?"

"I can read, Professor. I've shelves lined with history books. Your name and profession is an interesting coincidence. Her name, her husband's name, cannot be a coincidence. In this place, no one names their children after those people. Those names get you killed, even by mayors as progressive as Kevin."

"And you, the ever so understanding historian - too understanding considering all that has gone on since you found Lindsay - are not answering my question. Why do you know that it would be a shock for her to know who Cunningham is?"

"Why didn't you tell her?" David shot back.

"Dear lord, it's not Trevor, my ex, is it?" Lindsay interjected.

"Because she'd just been stoned," Bob snapped, ignoring Lindsay's question. "Now answer my question."

"I've always told you I was a student of history."

"Yes, that is what you've said for the past five years. Why do I find myself thinking that that's one giant lie?"

"I have never lied to you," David ground out, putting the damp horse cloth away in a saddle bag.

"Perhaps, but since Lindsay has shown up there are too many unanswered questions about why you are so accepting of her lack of knowledge. I was willing to let it go before, let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. But no more, David."

David took a deep breath. "I have never lied to you or ever given you a reason to distrust me. Can you honestly say the same, that you have never lied to me or anyone in Grassville? I have questions myself Professor, but now is not the time or the place for answers."

"I am not-" Bob began but Lindsay cut him off.

"Stop it!" Lindsay interjected. "Just shut up, both of you! Everyone here has secrets. Alright. We can hash it out later. But I want one answer Bob, right now. Who the hell is this Cunningham?"

Bob was silent. Lindsay ground the palms of her hands into her forehead in frustration.

Lindsay." That was David. Lindsay look at him. "Mr. Cunningham is Peter Cunningham. Your son."

Lindsay's face went white as a sheet. "My son is dead," she said protested, feeling pained and insulted. "He died as a baby."

David came over to stand in front of her and touched her cheek, gently, tenderly. "Not on this Earth."

Suddenly Bob was between them, pushing him away from Lindsay. "This Earth? Who are you? What do you know about what's really going on here?"

David only looked at Lindsay. "I'm like you. A foreigner, pulled away from my home, and out of my time." He cocked his head as if hearing something in the wind. "And we are out of time. We need to get moving."

Bob was red faced and stood as if he was ready to pick a fight. "Now listen here young man-"

"No! You listen. I mean listen!" David yelled. "Do you hear that? Hoof beats. We are being followed remember? Now we need to mount up now and go, or we will be killed as witches and witch sympathizers. We can argue and explain all we want later, when we are safe!"

Bob let out a stream of air; he was not happy, but he was not stupid either. He nodded. "Alright. But when we get to this building, all cards are on the table."

"Yours too?" David asked challengingly.

"Yes," Bob ground out. "Mine too."

Bob turned away and painfully pulled himself into the saddle.

Lindsay had not moved during their verbal altercation. Her face was still white as a sheet. Her son? Peter Cunningham? Grown to become a man who ruined the world? It was too much.

"Lindsay," David said, his voice gentle. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. But we have to go." He reached out and took her hand in his. "We have to go now," he urged her, and pulled her toward Bruce.

Lindsay blinked as if waking. "I know."

David knelt down to help Lindsay mounted, then settled behind her again. "You okay?" he asked as he held her and the reins.

She shook her head. "No."

"The horses are almost done!" Bob yelled as they charged along, the first suggestions of light from the approaching dawn just starting to turn the sky light.

"It should be just over this hill, not far!"

Lindsay turned her head to peer as best as she could over David's shoulder. Their pursuers from Barlowville were right behind them by only a few minutes. David whipped Bruce with his unstrung bow to get the last ounce of strength out of the poor beast. She hadn't noticed before, but he was armed with a full quiver of arrows and his long knife.

They came over a rise, and there it was, seemingly in the middle of nowhere; a building, white and low to the ground, covered by an inch of dazzling snow. "There! The entrance is on the south side!" David yelled, leading the way.

He'd obviously been to this place before.

It took only moments to cover the final few yards, and David reined Bruce to a jarring halt in front of a very familiar looking set of white doors. Poor Bruce was breathing heavily, streaked with sweat and foam dripping from his mouth. David dismounted quickly and pulled Lindsay down from the saddle. He thrust her at Bob, who was right behind them.

"Lindsay, the scanner is right there in the wall." He grabbed a pack from off Bruce and threw it at Bob. "Food and water. Leave the horses out here." In a moment, he had his bow strung up and a long arrow notched, ready to fly. "Get her inside no matter what happens!"

Now that they were stopped, they could hear the hoofbeats of their followers.

Lindsay was exhausted; they were all exhausted. She was confused and scared, but adrenaline pumped through her tired veins and Lindsay scurried in the direction of the doors, forcing her stiff and sore muscles to obey her.

The scanner was intact. Lindsay slapped her hand onto it.

"They're coming!" David yelled, lifting his bow up and taking aim at the oncoming riders.

"It's working!' Lindsay yelled as it leisurely scanned her palm.

"Oh my God," Bob said suddenly. He was staring behind him, and Lindsay looked back too, just in time to watch a Barlowville soldier fall from the back of his horse and hit the ground hard with an arrow sticking out of his neck. David quickly notched another arrow and let it fly. He hit a horse. It reared and stumbled, and its rider tumbled out of the saddle.

David shot another arrow off as Lindsay heard a familiar voice, "Welcome Mrs. Cunningham."

"David!" Lindsay screamed. "The door's opening!"

He let a last arrow fly and moved, quick as lightning. Lindsay and Bob shot through the opening doors, David hot on their heels. The soldiers, not skilled enough to shoot mounted apparently, had dismounted and were finally taking their own aim at their little group.

"Get in and find cover!" David yelled, running after them. One soldier let loose an arrow just as the doors began to close on their own, as they had in the shaft in Barlowville. There was no cover in the large foyer they entered. Bob dove to one side of the doors and David, who barreled through the doors hot on Lindsay's heels, pushing her in Bob's direction as that arrow streaked through the nearly closed doors and found a resting place in David's back.

"David!" Lindsay cried as he grunted through bared teeth and arched back at the impact before falling to his hands and knees on the floor.

Lindsay and Bob scrambled to David's side as the sound of something heavy battering the door caused her to jump in fear. "We'll be safe in here," David said raggedly, finding Lindsay's gaze. "The doors won't open for them."

"Hang them!" Lindsay said, fear making her voice warble. "What do we do to help you? Bob?"

"We have to get his coat off," Bob said, his anger at David gone, or at least buried for the moment. "We have to see how deep it went."

"Maybe we can pull it out," Lindsay said. "Can you lay down on your side David?"

"No," David pushed them away and began to get to his feet. "We need to get to a computer console, and then we need to get to the roof. The arrow can wait."

Bob stopped him. "David, this cannot wait. We have to get the bleeding stopped. Whatever historical data you want to mine from this place can wait."

David shook his head. "Not historical. Scientific." He looked at Lindsay, who had her hands on his coat to try to take it off. "On Peter Cunningham's key experiments." She flinched at the sound of her son's name. "Hopefully it will include data on the phenomenon that brought us all here to this Earth, and the reason why Peter Cunningham's tech works, when the electrical grid and infrastructure are gone." He pushed Bob's hands away and began to struggle to his feet again. "I need you to help me, not argue with me."

After a moment's hesitation, Lindsay said quietly, "We'll help you," and lent David her arm and shoulder and got him on his feet.

"Lindsay," Bob protested, but she cut him off with a glare.

"I want answers. Don't you?"

Bob, who had exhausted all his resources in trying to solve the problem of how his wormhole had dragged Lindsay and himself to this place, nodded tiredly. "Alright."
Chapter 8

"I need a computer console with a retinal or print scanner," he said. His voice strained. "And I need a chair."

Bob darted off ahead of them and Lindsay took a good look at the building they had flung themselves into. It was white and sterile, just as the Barlowville tunnel had been, and cavernous; the building was huge and felt mostly empty. There was an elegant lounge area, a circle made up of curved desks, and low hanging teardrop lamps suspended from the ceiling by silver wires. Servers stood at the far end of the building. It was pristine, dust free and eerie.

David stumbled as they followed slowly behind Bob, and Lindsay gripped David more tightly, though it was hard for her to keep his bulk upright. "When we get whatever files we came here to get, we are going to see about that arrow."

He shook his head as Bob inspected a computer console to see it matched David's requirements. "When we've got the files we need, we'll make our way to the roof."

"Why the roof?"

"I have people on the way to come rescue us. No doubt those soldiers from Barlowville will be able to rustle up some support from the people in Grassville. They will most certainly leave at least one man to watch, and he'll be armed. Exiting out the front door would be suicide. There's no cover. No. We go to the roof and wait to be picked up."

Lindsay spied an office chair with wheels and hauled David over to it. "What people are coming to rescue us? How? In what?" He sat down gingerly in the chair.

"David, this one's a good bet, and I've it booting up," Bob called from where he stood in front of a computer.

"Wheel me over." David told Lindsay, his voice made rough by pain.

Lindsay's lips thinned in frustration, but she did as he asked and wheeled him over to the desk, ignoring the arrow that grazed her left hand as it steered the chair. The computer Bob had found finished booting up and presented them a sign on screen.

"Lindsay," David said. "See that black box by the mouse?"

Lindsay nodded. It had a lens in its center.

"It's a retinal scanner. It's on, just line up your eye with the lens."

Lindsay opened her eyes wide, starting when the machine beeped and then scanned her eye. All three watched as it processed her retinae pattern. The computer beeped happily and the sign on screen changed. The words, "Welcome Mrs. Cunningham," flashed across the screen briefly before taking them to the home screen.

"Recognize the operating system?" Bob asked David.

He shook his head, and grasped the mouse in order to start navigating the system. He leaned heavily on Lindsay, who knelt by his side and braced him upright, as he began to search.

"How long will it take to find what you're looking for?" Lindsay asked.

"Only a couple of minutes, hopefully. We don't have much time."

She studied his profile as he hunted. David didn't look so good. Still, she needed to know. "Yesterday you said that soon we'd both be able to tell each other our secrets. Will you tell me, please, who you are and what is going on here?"

He nodded and swallowed as Bob went around his back to look at the arrow wound that was still seeping blood, though he didn't take his eyes from the screen. "My name is David Daniel Delachet. I was born in Canada. That was all truth, as I said, but I was born in the year 2203."

Lindsay took in a breath of surprised air. "You're from the future."

"Our future and this one's as well," Bob said gruffly as he took off his own coat, sweater and finally his undershirt. His body was thin and white with sagging skin, but the shirt was clean, made of cotton and, after he put his sweater and coat back on, he pressed it around the arrow in David's back. The white cotton absorbed the blood well.

It also hurt David, whose brown face turned gray and he sagged in his seat as Bob pressed carefully. Lindsay reached around David's waist to help hold him upright. "Easy," she murmured.

One of David's hands came down to rest heavily on her upper arm. He took a deep breath.

"Don't pass out on us," Lindsay whispered fiercely.

"I won't," but his fingers dug into her skin painfully as Bob pressed harder to try to stop the blood seeping out of his back. He let go the moment she hissed in pain.

"I'm an electronic engineer for a company called Novaco," he said, taking a gasping breath, then speaking through gritted teeth. "It's leading our Earth's explorations beyond our solar system. Many have looked into FTL, but while that makes for good science fiction, it is not really a viable path of research. What we developed is a kind of workaround, a bridge."

"Wormholes," Bob interjected flatly, and David nodded.

"Einstein-Rosen bridge theory combined with some old, half completed experiments done by a Professor Robert Fields, a crackpot according to his former colleagues, who died in a natural gas explosion in his house in 2014 before being able to go public with the proof of his work. His calculations, however, were stored on a university server and saved. They were rediscovered by accident by a grad student who later became the founder of Novaco."

"That's not right," Lindsay cut in, murmuring, "I remember that gas leak. I called the power company and they came and fixed it." That had been only a few weeks ago.

"In your Earth, in your universe. In mine, Professor Fields never knew a woman named Lindsay Cunningham."

Lindsay met Bob's eyes for a grave moment and she swallowed. What had happened to her in David's reality that caused her to never meet Bob?

David went on, opening and skimming files. "After several successful runs were completed with an unmanned craft, I volunteered to be part a crew of four to do a test run for this new technology."

"Where are your crew now?" Bob demanded to know.

"In our ship. They're the ride we're waiting for, the reason we need to find a way to the roof. They need a landing pad, and we need to keep out of range of any arrows or guns that might be fired at us."

Both Bob and Lindsay turned to look at the double doors behind them. They couldn't see or hear anything that was going on outside, but it was easy to imagine what could be happening. They had run away under the cover of dark, wounded 3 men, if David hadn't actually killed them, and had gained access to a building no one was supposed to be able to access, the building of a man who was universally hated by all. If no one came to lynch them all, Lindsay would be highly surprised.

"Our course started us out just beyond the far side of the moon and we were supposed to emerge out beyond Pluto, in a relatively empty area. We created a wormhole, except that instead of being able to enter it in a controlled manner, as the unmanned craft had done, we were pulled in, and time slowed down. We realized later that we went through a tear in space itself that drew us here. It drew you here, and no doubt others as well. Our hope is that there is some data here on the object that Peter Cunningham sent into the CME. It's our theory that there is a connection between that object, the recurring CME's that this earth experiences, and our being drawn here by creating wormholes."

"I have had 22 years to work on my math," Bob interjected. "It was correct, as no doubt yours was as well. There must be an anchor that pulls objects from other realities to this one."

"I concur," David said faintly. He concentrated on what he was reading before sighing and moving on to another file. "While I'm doing this, I need you two to go and look for a way to the roof. There must be some emergency or maintenance access somewhere."

Bob hesitated. "David, I've trusted you in the past, but this has been a shock. All this time... you never said anything. How can we trust you?"

David looked away from the screen and at Lindsay, though it hadn't been her that had spoken. His complexion was ashen and sweat dotted his brow. "I gave you my word, the day I found you. I will not harm you. I will do everything in my power to protect you." He finally looked up at Bob over his shoulder, though moving like that pained him. "Both of you. You have my word."

Lindsay swallowed. "Does your crew have a medic?"

"There's a full outfit on board."

"Okay." Lindsay took the edge of her shawl and dotted the sweat from David's brow. "We trust you. No lies."

"Never lies. And no ulterior motives. I want to go home just as much as you do."

"Okay," Lindsay repeated. "Bob, let's split up?" He nodded. "David, if something happens or you feel like you're about to tank, you make some noise, okay?"

He nodded. "Roger, ma'am." He managed to pull a smile.

"Okay." She knew she was repeating herself. "Bob? Let's go."

David watched them split up and search for a roof access. When they were beyond his line of sight, he turned back to the computer screen and continued opening files.
Chapter 9

"David? David?"

David jerked upright at the sound of Lindsay saying his name and tapping his cheek. The movement pulled on his back, and he winced and saw black spots dance in front of his eyes.

"David, we found a maintenance access hatch in the back of the building. Are you done here?"

David looked at the computer screen for confirmation. "Yes," he said shortly, and then reached out to turn the machine off. Lindsay began to quickly wheel him to the building's rear. "I need you to listen to me now," he said tightly.

"I'm listening," Lindsay said mildly.

"You will get on that ship, Lindsay, no matter what happens. My friends' futures, Bob's future, and you own, depends on you getting on the ship."

"What about you?" she demanded.

"My job is, and always has been, to find a way to get access, to find answers. I found you. Now my job is get you on that ship." He hesitated. "You are indispensable."

Before Lindsay could argue about her level of dispensability, they made it to the back of the building and the maintenance hatch in the ceiling.

"Where's Professor Fields?" he asked, looking around.

"Looking for a step ladder for you to climb. I don't think you can manage the rungs they have attached to wall here."

David grunted in agreement. Bob turned up a few short moments later with a step ladder which he climbed to get a better look at the locking mechanism. He looked down at them with a frustrated expression on his face. "It's got a keypad and a voice activated lock. There's no screws, no obvious way to just break our way through."

Both David and Bob looked at her expectantly.

"Voice activated?" Lindsay stopped, her voice sounding odd in her own ears. "As in password, voice activated? I don't know any of- of... his passwords." She couldn't bring herself to say her baby's name, not in this context, not inside this building, where he had lived as an adult and she had been part of her his life.

David smiled thinly despite the pain he was in. "A genius he may have been, but Peter Cunningham, and his mother, had their passwords written down just like anybody. Or rather, saved on the computer. Lindsay climb up there and type in 07/06, then say 'My Boy'."

Lindsay's face lost all color but she nodded.

"July 6 is Peter's birthday, isn't it?" Bob asked quietly as he got off the ladder.

"Yes," Lindsay replied hoarsely, and climbed up. She did as David told her to do. She typed in the date of her baby boy's birthday, then pressed the voice button, and said through a throat that wanted to clog with grief and guilt, "My Boy."

The hatch hissed open, and for Lindsay, watching it open felt as if a knife was being run through her heart. She remembered how David had described Peter the night before at dinner. Ruthless, secretive, competitive.

Hated.

Murdered.

Her baby.

Lindsay choked back tears as she backed down the ladder. Now was not the time to fall apart. Bob took one look at her and said, "I'll go take a peak. See what's what."

"Be alert to anything that a person could hide behind, and stay away from the edges," David advised him. "They probably left a person to watch, if they didn't all stay, and someone could have found a way to scale the wall to get up here."

Bob scrambled up. Lindsay leaned against one leg of the ladder and stared into space, her eyes seeing not the present, but the past.

"What are you thinking?" David asked gently.

"The day my son was born was the best day of my life," Lindsay whispered. A tear slipped down her cheek and she scrubbed it away. "He lived for three months. He died of SIDS. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The day we buried Peter was the day my marriage died. Trevor and I - I couldn't look at him. I couldn't bear to be touched by him. And I just couldn't move on. I needed to have my baby back. It didn't register that Trevor needed me. I was blind, and Trevor found someone else to talk to... to comfort him. Seven months later, we divorced. It's been 7 years since that day." Her voice cracked. "I still just want my baby back. But to see what he did here, what he lived to become... I-" Her voice broke, and she was beyond words.

Bob reappeared above the hatch. "The roof is clear. No one's up here. But I can't see if anyone is waiting down below."

David nodded. "Okay. Let's get up there."

Lindsay stirred herself to action and helped David to stand and stagger to the ladder. Before putting even a foot on the ladder, David reached out took Lindsay's hand, gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry," he said simply, knowing the words weren't enough, but needing to acknowledge her pain in some way. "I'm so very, very sorry."

Lindsay nodded jerkily, not quite able to look him in the eye. "Thank you."

With effort, Bob and Lindsay got David up the step ladder and onto the roof. The sun was fully up as David, sitting down heavily on his backside with Lindsay behind him checking the soaking cotton shirt Bob had tied into place, pulled a scope out of his pocket and handed it to Bob.

"There's some dust raising from the direction of Grassville. Look see what's there."

Bob looked, staying low and mindful of the fact that there was likely someone watching from the ground, and whistled at what he saw.

"A posse?" David asked, grunting and wincing at Lindsay's ministrations.

"A posse," Bob confirmed. He looked over at Lindsay as he handed the scope back to David. "How's the bleeding?"

"It's sluggish," she replied. "The blood is drying and trying to form a scab, but every time he moves, it opens up cracks in the crust and blood oozes out."

"That's to be expected, I supposed," Bob said. He squatted down next to David. "I don't suppose you have any idea of an ETA on your friends? Because I'll bet my life that posse coming will have brought rope and a grappling hook or two."

"I don't know," David shook his head and tiredly reached inside his coat and into an inner pocket. He pulled out a small square device the like of which she'd never seen before. "I couldn't carry much tech on me. This is a homing beacon and distress signaler in one. I activated it before we left. They have no way to signal me back, but they will come here."

"Before or after we all get killed by our wonderful neighbors?" Bob asked, gesturing at the swiftly approaching cloud of dust.

"They must have left Grassville soon after we did," Lindsay said softly.

David nodded. "Kevin is a forward-thinking mayor, but he's no different than the Barlowville lot in their hatred for Peter Cunningham. You asked me why I married you, why I asked you to lie about the name of your ex-husband? That posse right there is the answer. I've lived with those people for five years; Bob for 22 years. But it doesn't matter. We broke the rules by being able to enter this place."

"And no doubt the men from Barlowville didn't hold back in proclaiming me a witch." Lindsay sat down beside David, who was shivering.

"No doubt," was his clipped reply. "Bob, do you still have the water?"

Bob opened the bag that David had thrown to him at their arrival. "One canteen and a loaf of bread is all we have." shook his head.

Lindsay placed her hands on David's cheeks and forehead. "You're cold. Give him a drink, Bob. I think he's going into shock."

"Most likely," David said matter-of-factly as he watched the dust cloud the posse was making grow larger and closer. He took a sip of water, then passed it Lindsay. "Either of you know how to shoot a bow?"

Bob and Lindsay looked at each other. "No," Bob answered for them. "Is your ship armed?"

"No." His eyes turned up to search the sky.

Lindsay passed the canteen to Bob, not liking the feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. "Then we have to keep them off roof. I can cut ropes and remove hooks, kick back ladders if they really came prepared for a siege. I'll stay low and try to not get shot."

Bob didn't like that idea. "No Lindsay. I don't want you to put yourself in danger. If it comes to that, I'll cut the ropes and you will take yourself and David back inside the building to hide."

"And do what? Wait while you get killed, and then starve to death ourselves? There's no food or water in that place and no way to see what's going on inside."

"By all accounts Peter Cunningham was a paranoid man. There's got to be security cameras or something that could be activated. David would know how."

"David's about to pass out from shock and blood loss, Bob!"

"Look, I know it's not the best plan, but if you find a camera system you could see if they leave, and then leave yourself."

"And what about David?"

"I don't know Lindsay!" Bob shouted at her. "I don't know and we don't have a lot of options here! If you have a worthwhile suggestion-"

"My ship is here!" David cut Bob off, and stopped the argument. He pointed into the sky at the bright speck that was quickly descending through the atmosphere.

The posse didn't see the ship descending and were closing in on the building at breakneck speed. David gestured at Lindsay. "Help me up! They'll land on the roof if they can, but if they can't they'll land as close to one side as possible. Either way, we need to be ready to move!"

Lindsay and Bob heaved David to his feet and moved as close to the edge of the building as they dared, remembering that there could be an archer in the grass below them.

Lindsay looked up. The ship was close now, with a definable shape. It was white and aerodynamic in shape, with a blunted, round nose, gently rounded top and belly, short wings that flared up the tips and a tail that gradually came to a point. Accompanying it was an engine roar, which drew the attention of the posse. Lindsay looked back at them. They were so close now that she could make out the expressions on the men's faces: incredulity and, on the faces of the soldiers from Barlowville, fear at the sight of the flying craft. They were pointing and shouting, slowing their horses down, then suddenly someone in charge yelled and the horsemen kicked their horses back to a gallop and continued their headlong charge towards the building.

She turned back to look at the ship, but something caught her eye. The access hatch was still open. She broke free from David, ran across the roof, and slammed it shut, because if there was anything in her power to do, it was to keep those maniacs from Barlowville out of her - out of that building. She ran back to David just as he and Bob were shouting at her to get back, the ship needing that space to land. Lindsay came to a halt in front of David just as the ship touched down at what seemed to her a dangerously fast speed and grabbed hold of David's hand. He gripped hers back as she and Bob about drug David to the ship's opening hatch. A woman in a navy-blue jumpsuit poked her head out and yelled something, waving at them, but they couldn't understand over the roar of the engines. The woman stepped back and they rushed inside the ship.

Then they were all inside, the hatch door quickly closing behind them, as they stood, sides heaving, adrenaline pumping, knees shaking.

The uniformed woman spoke into the air, her eyes widening as she saw the arrow sticking out of David's back. "Marcus, we got'em. Let's pick it up and head back to orbit."

"Yes ma'am," came a voice from above. Lindsay couldn't see a speaker to know where it came from.

The woman rushed to David's side, grabbing his arms above where Bob and Lindsay held him. "David! What happened?"

David grunted a reply as his eyes rolled back in back in his skull and he collapsed in their arms.
Chapter 10

"Hands off him! Now!" yelled the woman while at the same time Lindsay shouted, "Help him, please!"

David was heavy, but they all maneuvered him so that he landed on his stomach, which exposed the arrow and Bob's blood-soaked cotton shirt to the horror of the uniformed woman.

Lindsay turned a fierce expression on the woman. "Look. We don't think the arrow pierced him too deeply, but he's lost blood and is at risk of infection at the least."

The woman, who had short, blonde hair, blue eyes and was rather pretty in a delicate sort of way, swore like a sailor and barked out to the air, as she gently probed the area around the cotton shirt. "Gerry, you following this?"

"I am."

"Get the med bed prepped for David and scrub down for an arrow extraction."

Gerry swore but was silent afterward, and the woman barked again, this time at Lindsay and Bob. "If you people aren't on the up and up, you'll be out the airlock. You copy me?"

Lindsay nodded. Bob managed a yes from where he crouched on the other side of David.

"Then help me carry him. We don't have a stretcher."

Lindsay and the woman each hooked an arm under one of David's arm pits since he was still lying on his stomach while Bob took David's legs and they heaved him up. It was only three steps to another door; the room they were in - the airlock, Lindsay could only assume - was small, its walls lined with what she guessed were EV suits, extra air tanks probably and a few boxes labeled with acronyms she couldn't identify. The woman unlocked the door by placing her palm on a scanner pad on the wall, and the three of them carried David into another room, a cabin, probably 12 feet by 8 feet.

"Here, lift him up," the woman ordered. "Gerry, you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied an older woman whose long black hair was streaked with white. She wore wrinkled coveralls but was all business as Lindsay, Bob and the woman settled David on the bed, face down. Lindsay gasped and took a step back as the bed lit up and scanned David's body like a copy machine. A moment later, tubes with needles on their ends stuck themselves into David's arms and straps snaked over his back and legs, automatically cinching to hold him in place.

"Wh- what's it doing?" Lindsay asked, not taking her eyes off of David's still form.

The gray-haired woman answered her, because the short-tempered woman everyone called "ma'am" had moved to the front of the cabin. "It scanned David's vitals, and now is injecting him with surgery grade sedative, antibiotics, and fluids to keep him hydrated. The bed will keep him warm. The restraints are just a safety measure in case of turbulence as we leave the atmosphere."

Lindsay looked at the gray-haired woman then. "You're a doctor?"

"Not in the slightest," she said without missing a beat. "But the med bed will do most of the work, so no worries. Now, if you don't mind, would you two sit over there so I can get to work removing this arrow?"

"Right," Lindsay said hoarsely, and she felt Bob's hands on her shoulders, turning her away. There was a metal bench along the wall that had a set of safety straps hanging from one end. Lindsay sat down hard, exhaustion suddenly hitting her hard. Next to her, Bob groaned a bit as he sat down.

"Are you alright Bob?" Lindsay asked, remembering that he wasn't young anymore. "You didn't get hit too, did you?"

He shook his head and smiled thinly at her. "I'm an old man now, Lindsay. I always make noise when I sit down or get up, but the last eight hours haven't helped my old joints. I can't even remember the last time I rode that long and that hard. If ever."

Lindsay turned her tired eyes back to Gerry. She had gloves on her hands and a mask over her face and watched as the medbed cut away not only the cotton shirt but David's coat and shirt as well, exposing his entire back.

His very broad, muscular, very fine male back.

Lindsay realized with a start that she was ogling David, and felt herself go hot with embarrassment. She chided herself silently and made herself look at Gerry, who was watching a screen above the bed that showed the inside of David's back where the arrow was imbedded. The medbed meantime washed David's skin around the entry point and sprayed the area with what Lindsay guessed was probably antiseptic.

"It's a good thing you didn't pull this arrow out," Gerry said to Bob and Lindsay without away from the screen. "The blade is serrated. It would have done more damage pulling it out than it's done already."

Lindsay nodded silently and folded her arms over her chest. She felt shaky now.

"The adrenaline is wearing off," Bob said her quietly, patting her awkwardly on one knee. His own hand shook as well.

Carefully, Gerry took a pair of spreaders and inserted them on either side of the arrow, then opened them up slowly as wide as the wound would allow, then very carefully extracted the arrow with a pair of forceps. Blood began spurting up onto her mask and coveralls immediately.

Lindsay began to panic silently, but the medbed jumped to action, sending a tube into the wound that began to suck his blood up while another arm thrust a pen-like device into the wound. And just like that, the flow of blood stopped. Another tube came out of the wall and stuck itself into another spot on David's arm, and his own blood flowed back into his body.

"Amazing," Bob murmured. Lindsay could only swallow and nod, her face pale.

Gerry dropped the arrow down into a container that bed supplied and took the spreaders away, leaving a red hole in David's back. She pinched the skin around the hole closed with her fingers, and the medbed sealed the wound shut with a blue glue, washed the area again, sprayed his skin with a clear substance that made his skin shine...

And then it done.

The mechanical arms of the medbed retracted back into the wall, tubes were retracted while new ones were inserted into David's arms, and Gerry took off her bloody mask and gloves and threw them into the canister that held the arrow, which then retracted back into the wall. Gerry threw David's cut up shirt and coat into a plastic bag, then stripped out of her own bloody coverall, revealing modest underwear and a body that looked like it had skipped a few meals. The coveralls were thrown into the same plastic bag, which she tied off and shoved into a corner.

The woman who barked orders came back over and handed Gerry a clean pair of coveralls, which she took with a smile of thanks, then lay a gray blanket across David's still form.

"He'll be alright," Gerry told the woman. "The arrow had nicked a vein, but also helped keep the blood loss to a minimum while it remained there."

The woman took a deep breath and nodded. "Good. Good work." Gerry simply nodded in return. Then they both turned to look at Lindsay and Bob.

"Who are you?" the younger woman asked pointedly.

Lindsay answered. "This is Professor Robert Fields. I'm Lindsay Cunningham."

The two women blinked. "Say again?" demanded the curt woman.

"I'm Lindsay Cunningham." She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak confidently and not hitch her breath in front of this woman. "The mother of Peter Cunningham. But we're not from this Earth. Or this time. And from what David has told us, neither are you. Who are you?" she asked the woman boldly.

"You're Lindsay Cunningham?" the curt woman repeated. Lindsay gazed at her levelly. Of all the things Lindsay might have expected her to do, the smile that grew on her face was not one of them. Even her eyes sparkled. "Well praise the Lord and pass the peanut butter. You're really a Cunningham?"

Lindsay nodded. "With the DNA to open all the doors."

The smile widened and a satisfied expression settled on the woman's face. "Well, then. Welcome aboard."

The curt woman was Madeleine Omaphrey, captain of the ship and navigator, which meant she was half mathematician, half dictator. Gerry was actually Geraldine Sairam, and, when she wasn't acting as field medic, was their resident astrophysicist. At the fore of the cabin, seated in one of the two real chairs, was the pilot, Marcus Quinn, who had a helmet on his head and his hands encased in what looked like clear gel that glowed at the movement of his fingers. Then there was David, their electronic engineer and undercover agent.

As Gerry and Bob swapped stories about being sucked into their own respective wormholes, Lindsay looked around while keeping one ear tuned in. The ship was small and overcrowded now that it contained two extra bodies. And it was well lived in. Stacks of roughly woven blankets and pillows were tied up in one corner, along with baskets of food and sealed containers of water, none of which looked like standard issue Novaco gear. Damp clothes hung from a makeshift line in front of a vent, a mixture of futuristic uniforms and present-day homespun. The whole place smelled slightly of old sweat and mildew.

Omaphrey, who had been silently watching Lindsay's inspection, spoke up. "This is a test ship, meant to be flown for a few hours, not lived in for five years."

"You all live in here?" Lindsay asked. It had to be cramped. How had they not gone crazy from cabin fever by now?

"It helped to have David on the ground. It will be uncomfortable to have six in here now. But," she looked Lindsay over, nodding. "Now that we have you, I think we can finally go home."
Chapter 11

Gerry took the reins of the conversation. "There are some things we know, and some things we don't know. We know that Peter Cunningham put a small station in polar orbit around earth. From local gossip, we know that he was conducting an experiment on CMEs, or coronal mass ejections, and we are pretty sure that it had nothing to do with wormhole generation-"

Lindsay interrupted her with a half-raised hand. "What's a polar orbit?"

Gerry looked at her like she was dense, and Lindsay mentally shrugged. Science wasn't her thing.

"It's an orbit with an inclination of near 90 degrees. That allows the satellite to see pretty much every part of Earth while the planet rotates beneath it." She cleared her throat and got back on topic. "Now, we know that the station launched an object into the path of the original CME that hit this Earth, that the object is still sitting stationary out there, functional, and periodically sending a coded data stream to the station, which is also functional. The fact that they still operate despite being bombarded by the high-energy particles caused by each CME is frankly amazing."

"The tech on the ground that Peter built," Lindsay said evenly, proud of the fact that she didn't stutter over the last name, "is also functional."

"Really," Gerry said, interested. "Hmm. Well, we also know that the object is composed of independent segments, and channels each CME to this Earth. A new coronal mass is ejected about once every 3-5 years."

"What's causing that, since it certainly isn't natural," Lindsay asked.

Gerry nodded. "You are correct. It's not natural." She took out what looked like laptop, opened it like a book and placed it on the floor. At the touch of a button, a 3D image of the solar system floated at eye level, along with mathematical equations. Gerry made a gesture where the sun floated, and the image zoomed in, showing them not only the sun, but the object that orbited it.

"We've been here for five years, and have witnessed one CME. We've been all over the object out there, trying to figure out what it is. So far, we know that it's partially damaged, yet is storing an immense amount of energy. It's also not totally inside this reality."

"Not totally -?" Lindsay said in confusion, but Bob cut her off.

"It's in another reality, or in-between realities?" he asked, sitting forward to analyze the math displayed in the air.

"In-between, I believe. And it's acting like a drain, affecting other realities."

"A drain..." Bob said thoughtfully. "The CME's hitting this Earth are not coming from this sun, but from other suns in other realities."

Gerry nodded, happy that Bob was following her. "We know that the CME's are coming through the tear. Here's what we theorize: Peter sent his device out into the path of the CME to gather energy, which seems plausible from the design of the thing, but we don't know why he wanted the energy. Anyhow, the object absorbed energy from the CME, like a battery charging up, but it malfunctioned. I know that an explosion occurred, based on damage patterns to the object, which somehow caused a tear in space. Energy could have escaped through that tear to almost anywhere. Since we know for sure that multiple realities are factual, I can only suppose that the energy blast might have punctured nearby realities."

"If that is true," Bob interjected, his face and voice growing excited. "If the object is designed to absorb massive amounts of energy, and it is sitting between realities, then every time a CME from a breached reality occurs, the Ejection would be naturally drawn to the tear and thus, to the object and to this Earth."

"Like water going down a drain," Gerry agreed. "We have our data recordings of our journey through the tear. Our original trajectory was out beyond Pluto. We were redirected to a collision course with Earth upon exiting into this reality."

"So no matter where a CME from a neighboring reality may be heading, it is drawn into the tear?" Bob asked.

Gerry nodded. "Straight at the Earth, as the original CME in this mess was heading. We don't know why. It could be because of the device."

"Wormholes take a massive amount of energy to form and to maintain their stability," Bob continued. "Whenever a wormhole is created in a breached reality, it would be naturally attracted like a magnet to this tear, which could explain the time dilation."

"That could be true, except that when unmanned tests were done, this ship didn't disappear from our reality. It's my hypothesis that perhaps it's not the wormholes by themselves that are drawn, but instead a double teaming of CME and wormhole, or smaller solar flares and wormholes. But I don't know for sure. We can't get inside the space station, we can't get into any of Peter's buildings on Earth, and therefore, we can't get into his computers to find out what exactly he designed and how to fix this whole mess."

Omaphrey at this point sent Lindsay a meaningful look. "But now we have you, Peter's Cunningham's mother. Have you unlocked any of his buildings down on the surface?"

Lindsay nodded and explained what happened in the shaft at Barlowville, and then the building where they were rescued from. "As long as there's a voice, retinal or palm scanner, I can get in. And David has some passwords in his head that he got from a computer, along with whatever else he read going through the files down there."

Omaphrey turned to Gerry, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "How long till David can wake up and we can pick his brain?"

"At least four hours."

"Okay," Omaphrey pointed at Lindsay and Bob. "You'll get some food and water, then rest." She turned to Marcus, who still sat in his pilot's chair. "Get us moving toward that station Marcus. I'll go EV to handle the manual docking, so let me know when we're close."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, then turned to concentrate on the ships controls.

Bob jumped up and asked Gerry if he could take a look at the data they'd collected over their five years here and Omaphrey followed, leaving Lindsay alone on the aft bench. She hugged herself and let her head rest against the hull of the ship. It was cold and hard. She looked at David. He slept still, but his color was back and he looked to be resting peacefully. He didn't need her. The brains up front didn't need her. She let her eyes close, telling herself to rest. She'd be needed soon.

She fell asleep sitting up.
Chapter 12

"Lindsay, wake up."

Lindsay groaned and snuggled deeper into the blanket that covered her. She was so sore and so tired.

"Lindsay, wake up. We need you."

In a flash, Lindsay remembered. She remembered the flight from David's house, the soldiers from Barlowville dying under David's arrow fire, and then his being hit. Her eyes opened and she focused on the ceiling above her, which was smooth and bare except where rivets joined the ceiling to the hull above - or so she assumed. She was on David's ship. Or rather, Captain Omaphrey's ship.

Bob's face came into view. "Time to get up, Lindsay."

Wincing, she sat up and automatically looked over to where David lay in the medbed. Except that he wasn't in the medbed. The bed was gone, folded up against the wall as neatly as if it had never been used.

"David?" she croaked anxiously, looking behind herself to the fore of the cabin.

He was sitting on a bench seat behind Marcus the pilot, speaking quietly to Omaphrey, dressed oddly in the leather pants and boots she was familiar with and a navy-blue uniform shirt that had a Novaco company logo stitched onto one shoulder. He held a hand thrown mug of something steaming in his hands. When he turned at the sound of her voice and saw her, he smiled. He looked healthy.

Lindsay was on her feet and standing in front of him before she knew it. "You're okay?" she asked unbelievingly.

"I am," was his reply. "I'm a little sore, but yes. I'm okay. That's the wonders of futuristic medicine for you."

A few hours ago, he had looked like death would come for him at any moment. Now, he was sitting, drinking, smiling, and ready to take on his next assignment.

"Cunningham, shake a leg and come sit down over here," Omaphrey said impatiently.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked Bob quietly as they took seats up with the others.

"About 4 and half hours."

Lindsay raised her eyebrows and glanced at David. He was supposed to have slept for 4 hours. If that was true, the last 30 minutes must have been busy, since he was the only source of new information amongst them.

Omaphrey made sure she had everyone's attention before she began. "Alright, everyone's been talking and sleeping in turns and we all need to be on the same page here because we all have the same goal: getting back to our respective homes. So, David you stumbled across notes from Dr. Cunningham's work on this project. Tell us the highlights, please, of what you read.

David nodded. "The object that Peter Cunningham made," he began, his eyes flicking quickly at Lindsay as he said her son's name, "is actually a series of giant energy storage cells designed to be charged via the sun's flares. A battery, if you will. Apparently, Cunningham was interested in clean energy."

Bob snorted. "Well that's ironic, seeing as what has happened to this Earth."

David ignored Bob's comment and went on. "He was expecting a large flare. What he got was a CME. The storage cells did their job, but several cells overloaded and then imploded."

Lindsay seemed to be the only one not familiar with this part of the story. "Imploded?" she repeated.

David nodded. "Yes. In Peter's notes, he lost contact with the object's computer after that, so they sent out a probe. He hypothesized that the implosion must have caused a tear in the fabric separating our realities, and so the battery was no longer completely in this universe, which Professor Fields and Gerry concur with."

"Yes," Bob jumped in. "The battery must be lined up with every sun in every affected universe, and every time any of those suns ejects a coronal mass, it comes through those tears and straight at this Earth."

"Does - he - say anything about wormholes being drawn and redirected to this universe and time?" Lindsay asked.

"He didn't," David shook his head. "I don't believe he lived to experience that particular repercussion."

Lindsay felt the eyes of everyone on her, the mother of a dead boy, the mother of a murdered grown man. Omaphrey cleared her throat and gestured. "Go on David. Give the report."

He let out a breath. "The battery was designed, and is in fact still able, to collect and send the energy it accumulates wirelessly to the station and all of Peter's buildings on Earth. As long as they have a functional collector, Peter's tech continues to be powered and functions, including protective and security measures. So, there's our answer to why his tech functions when everything else has decayed or been destroyed by radiation. He designed the battery and station to withstand high energy particles from CME's, and incorporated that into his buildings on Earth."

Gerry and Bob both just about fell out of their seats. "He figured out how to seamlessly transmit wirelessly energy from the sun," Gerry said in awe. "We haven't even figured out how to do that well."

"We didn't have a Peter Cunningham," Omaphrey said.

This time, no one looked at Lindsay, and she wanted to just melt into her seat. She didn't want their pity. She didn't want to be the mother of a boy who died before doing great things. And she certainly didn't want to be the mother of a man who people thought of as brilliant, but better off dead.

"Right," Omaphrey said awkwardly. "Yes. So, we've docked with Dr. Cunningham's station. Marcus, are we pressurized?"

Marcus, who never seemed to move from his pilot's chair, gave an affirmative, so Omaphrey continued. "Good, so Ms. Cunningham, you, David, Professor Fields, Gerry and I will head on over. Cunningham, your job will be to unlock the doors and say the magic passwords. David will access files with Gerry and the Professor, so you can find me an answer to our problem: how do we go home, each group to their prospective universes? I'll be inventorying the station. Everyone take a turn in the head, grab a biscuit for dinner if you haven't had it yet, and then let's move out."

The station was a series of narrow corridors and small, cramped rooms with every inch devoted to computers, wiring, buttons and machines that flashed and whirred as David, Bob and Gerry woke the sleeping station up. The inner airlock doors had easily opened up under Lindsay's scanned palm, causing Gerry to pound her on the back in happiness. David had put an arm around her shoulders and whispered a thank you into her ear, which had caused her stomach to flip a few times. The computers unlocked to her voice and retina quickly too. But after that, no one needed her. David, Bob, and Gerry hovered over computers and read charts and data that Lindsay hadn't the first clue about, and Omaphrey was somewhere poking around at anything that wasn't nailed down. So now she floated alone in a corner and shivered despite her coat in the cold, dry recycled air.

Weightlessness did not agree with her stomach, and she had to take deep breaths to keep the biscuit she'd just eaten down. She couldn't relax and she couldn't go back to the ship and its precious gravity because she might be needed to unlock something. Worst of all though, she was inside a station where a man who both was and was not her son had lived and worked for a time. She felt trapped and closed in, surrounded and overwhelmed, and then, to her horror, tears swelled up in her eyes.

Which made her angry. In the last few days, she'd been arrested, had her life endangered several times and had to worry about keeping her story straight in order to not further endanger herself. She was exhausted and felt alone and the last thing she wanted was to relive the fact that she'd had a son, a baby, who in her universe had died. He had no future. He was just bones in a box under the ground. Here, her son had lived but was painted as selfish. He'd been hated and murdered. Once again with no future, and who knew if he'd even been given a proper burial.

In every universe, she was the mother of a dead child.

Suddenly, she wanted to tear at her clothes, stomp her feet and hit something. She wanted to scream long and loud till her throat was raw. She wanted to beat the walls in anger over the unfairness of it all and then sleep and never wake up.

But she couldn't do that. She could only turn away to face the wall, one hand gripping the edge of a machine, her other hand firmly covering her mouth so that no sound might come out. She battled her body, blinking away the tears, willing herself to be silent and still.

She was sure she could be victorious.

She lost the battle the moment a hand touched her shoulder. She knew it had to be David whose grip tightened on her as her body betrayed her and a sob escaped her lips. Lindsay let go of the corner she was holding onto and pressed both of her hands to her face, unable to speak. She felt David move her, but she refused to open her eyes or remove her hands, even when Bob and Gerry's excited voices receded from her hearing.

"Here, it's a little more private here," David said, and then Lindsay opened her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths in order to get control of herself once more.

They were floating in another room close to where Bob and Gerry worked because she could still hear them, but they were no longer visible. She took another deep breath and dropped her hands.

"You okay?" David asked gently, picking up one of her hands to hold in both of his.

That gentlemanly gesture caused the little bit of control that Lindsay had regained over the last few seconds to fall away again, and her face crumpled, but before she could find a handhold to turn herself away, David pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. There was nothing else Lindsay could do but cry, her fingers clenched tightly to the front of David's shirt.

"I'm sorry," she managed to croak, trying to take a breath to stop her tears. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," David said. "This is a really crappy situation you're in. You're allowed to cry. Lord knows I have a few times over the years; even thrown a tantrum or two. We all have."

Lindsay laughed despite her tears and sniffed, then took a deep shuddering breath. "I think I'm suffering from PTSD."

"Of course you are," he said seriously, then loosened his hold on her to look at her searchingly.

"We're all suffering from PTSD," he continued. "So you're not alone. Okay? And we're gonna' figure this out."

She nodded.

"Feel better?" David asked, one corner of his mouth turned up a lopsided smile.

"Actually I do," Lindsay said, and sniffed. Crying had helped. Or was it the act of crying with someone that had helped?

David nodded. "My mother says that sometimes you need a good cry to let things out. Yelling and throwing things helps too."

Lindsay gave her own small, lopsided smile at that and she nodded. But then she froze. Using his thumb, David had reached out and gently wiped away a tear that lingered on her cheek.

What was this? This gentleness, this caring? And what was she doing looking up into his eyes like a drowning woman?

"Cunningham?" Omaphrey's voice called out from another room. "Where's Cunningham?"

Bob's voice answered her, and Lindsay pushed off and out of the room, hoping both that David wouldn't follow her and that she didn't look like she'd been crying.

"Oh good, there you are," Omaphrey said when Lindsay floated into her sight. "I could use your help down below. I think I found some launchable probes, but they're locked up."

Not since the shaft in Barlowville had Lindsay been so eager to leave a room to unlock a door.
Chapter 13

It was amazing the things that people say when they think you're asleep, Lindsay thought as she lay tucked into a corner of Omaphrey's ship. She had been dozing, but Bob and Gerry's hushed arguing woke her. Her ears perked up when they started talking about Peter.

"He must have been incredibly rich, to fund everything he did up here," Gerry was saying. "In all the years you were stuck here, did you ever hear of him having a partner or working for the government, or anything like that?"

"No," was Bob's answer. "He sounded like an independent businessman who headed his own research department."

"So he had all the patents, all the control, all this access, and shared none of it, even when everything was going to pot on this Earth. Do you realize that if he had just shared his shielding technology, the world would have been better off? The lives of so many women and children would be better off."

"The thought has crossed my mind. No doubt that is part of why he was murdered."

"I wonder what she's thinking about all this," Gerry said in a more hushed tone.

Well, thought Lindsay, I'm thinking that this sucks. And so do you.

"Lindsay is..." Bob began. "Lindsay has been hiding from life since her son died. It's part of the reason I hired her. No family messes. Her friends are casual. I could depend on her stay around and put up with me. Take care of things. We're a lot alike, in that way."

"So she's spent the last several years as your maid, basically? Doesn't she have an education?"

"I believe she has an arts degree."

"Well, that's useless. An arts degree. Huh. At least she's good for opening the doors."

"Um, guys." That was David's voice. "You don't realize that Lindsay's awake, do you?"

Lindsay opened her eyes and saw Gerry, with a stricken expression, and Bob who looked quite unapologetic, which was usual for him.

"Lindsay, I-" began Gerry, but Lindsay shook her head and levered herself up and stretched.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I'm not made of glass." She found David, who appeared to also have been trying to catch a nap. "Is there a way for girl to clean up?"

He unfolded himself from his spot, wincing a little as he stretched. "You know how to take a sponge bath?"

Trying to successfully wash herself in the ship's cramped little head was difficult, but in the end, it left her feeling a little more human and less like she'd been run over by an emotional lawnmower. Though the soap did threaten to take off a layer of skin and left her smelling like ammonia.

A change of clothes was brought by David, whom she refused to look in the eye, and after another biscuit and some very weak tea, she was ready for the meeting that Omaphrey called.

"I think we've gone over just about all the files that are relevant to our situation," she said. "And we've patched together an idea that can take us home. There's a serious decision we're going to have to make though, but first, Professor Fields, Gerry. Walk us through the plan."

"Well," Gerry began slowly, her brow creased. "The tear makes access to the different universes possible. The problem is figuring out how to get to the right universe. Luckily, each universe seems to have an ID tag that we might be able to hear using a probe."

"Each universe has its own unique radiofrequency," Bob said. "My universe has a frequency of 432 Hertz." He looked at Gerry. "Your universe has a frequency of..."

"430 Hertz."

"Yes. So, what we need to do is send out a probe that can attach to the side of the battery that is still in this universe."

"There's a fine margin of error, we think," Gerry interjected. "We need to get it close enough that it can pick up the radio waves of the different universes, but not so far in that we lose contact with it."

"And the station has 3 functional probes," Omaphrey pointed out.

Bob continued. "Once we can pinpoint the coordinates of where our universes' frequencies are coming from, we think-"

"Italicize 'think'," Gerry said.

"We believe that there is a high probability," Bob emphasized, glancing sideways at Gerry, "That we can open a wormhole, using this ship of course, set for the coordinates of the universe we choose, and we can get back home."

"But that's where the problem lies," Gerry said. "We have to choose."

Lindsay was not the only person to blink at Gerry's choice of words. "Choose what?" she asked. "Choose which universe to go to?"

Bob nodded slowly. "We have only one ship, one way of opening a wormhole. We will have to choose who gets to go home, and who become refugees in a foreign universe."

Silence fell on the small group, the crew of the ship looking uneasily at the two newcomers to their group. Lindsay crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the floor, which was scuffed from years of having three people living in a ship that was never designed to be a home. Feeling a little pity for the crew, she raised her eyes and looked at Omaphrey, who stirred first and took charge.

"Before we decide all that, let's iron out the last few details. Since we're not sure that a wormhole wouldn't be redirected back here, we need to close the hole in this universe behind us."

"We do that by destabilizing the wormhole at our entry point," Gerry said quietly. "Using a bomb that we send out attached to a second probe. The energy from that should cause an implosion in the tear, and theoretically-"

"Because this is all just math on a board at this point," Bob interjected.

Gerry nodded. "Theoretically, that will seal it shut, so our wormhole won't be redirected, no one will ever be drawn here again, and this Earth will stop being unnaturally bombarded by so many CME's."

"And this is where we answer our second hard question," Omaphrey said cautiously. "How do we fire the probe with the bomb without leaving one of us behind to starve to death on that station?"

"I'll take this one," David said, sending a reassuring smile Lindsay's way when he saw her round eyes. "So our systems don't talk to each other because there are no working satellites and no deep space antennas on Earth. Peter's systems are closed too, intentionally designed to be inaccessible to outside operating systems. High tech isn't going to work."

"What will?" Omaphrey said impatiently.

"A timer. I can set the station's computer to fire an armed probe to follow us into our wormhole and explode. But the timing will be critical. We'll only have seconds."

"We'll do it," Omaphrey said firmly. "And I can get a start on the bomb."

"What do we have around here that could possibly get the job done?" asked Lindsay.

Omaphrey tapped her thigh with a pinkie finger and smirked. "We found a nuclear bomb about 2 years back."

"What?" Lindsay asked, agog. "You found a nuclear bomb?"

"Yup. Just sitting around. Not the only one, either. We stored it somewhere safe."

"My God," Lindsay said faintly. Nuclear bombs were just laying around on the Earth below.

"Yeah," Gerry seconded. The same thought had obviously crossed her mind. "So, first we send out a probe to go listen to the frequencies of the universes accessed by the tear. We'll leave Gerry and Bob behind to take care of that task, while second, the four of us go fetch the bomb and then come back here to the station. Fourth, we hook it up, fifth, David makes his timer. Gerry, Bob, and I will go over the math, because let's face it - there's going to be nuclear bomb flying right on our butts. Then..." She looked at her crew, her expression so full of hope. "We'll leave. We'll get to go home."

"You're forgetting something Captain," Marcus, who had remained quiet throughout the whole discussion, pointed out. He jerked his chin at Lindsay and Bob. "We still have to decide who exactly gets to go home."

Omaphrey's face flushed and she cleared her throat. "Sorry. Right. I'm used to thinking on one track. Yes, we need to decide that. Now, before we start anything."

Lindsay caught Bob's gaze, held it for a moment and smiled a sad smile when he nodded. "It's a very easy decision, Captain, and it's been made." She took a deep breath. "Bob and I will go with you into your universe."

The crew seemed to hold their breath for a moment, then Omaphrey leaned forward. "You're sure?"

Bob and Lindsay both nodded. "Yes," Bob said. "You all have family that is waiting for you. Lindsay and I... well, there's no one waiting for us to come back."

Omaphrey's lips thinned and she nodded, as if she were too choked to speak. She looked over the five people around her and cleared her throat. "Let's go then."

Everyone got busy in their assignments, which left Lindsay, who had no great electronic, mathematical, or bomb making skills, to sit and wait. And while she waited, she tried and failed to not pity herself for the fact that Bob was right. There was no one waiting for her back in her own universe.
Chapter 14

"How are your cuts?"

Lindsay looked from David, who sat in the last remaining crash seat, over to Gerry, who perched on top of Bob's lap, professionally adjusting the straps around them so they'd be snug during the flight to come. There were only four such seats - Marcus and Omaphrey sat in the two up front that were also the flight chairs. But with six passengers, they had to double up.

"They're fine," Lindsay answered, distracted by the seating arrangement. "Why isn't Gerry sitting on your lap so that I can sit on Bob's?"

"Two reasons," David said, a smile on his lips as he lengthened the crash seat's straps so they'd wrap around the two of them. "First, Gerry weighs next to nothing and won't crush the Professor's old bones."

Bob heard that comment and cleared his throat while sending David a withering glare, which just made David's smile widen unrepentantly.

"And the second reason?"

"Sit down so I can strap you in first."

Lindsay sighed and sat gingerly down on his lap. Omaphrey and Marcus were almost finished checking the ships pre-flight systems. David put his hands on her waist and hitched her backwards till she sat squarely on top of him.

"Okay, I'm sitting," Lindsay said, not being able to help her blush as David buckled them in. "Now tell."

"Well," he said quietly, adjusting the straps around them as Gerry had. "I know the Professor's over 70, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let my wife sit on another man's lap."

He said that so matter-of-factly that it took a second or two for his words to really compute. "What?" Lindsay exclaimed. "Wife? We're not-. I mean, I know we-." She frowned as she twisted her head to look at his expression as well as she could. "Are you joking?"

"No," he said seriously, his voice still pitched low though there was a light dancing in his blasted green eyes. 'You sighed your name to a legal contract, remember?"

"But that was under duress!" she exclaimed. Then she lowered her voice to match his, not wanting to broadcast to the crew any more of her business than was necessary. "I didn't even write my ex-husband's real name down on it."

"Okay people," Omaphrey called back to them. "Everyone secure?"

"Secure," called David, wrapping his arms around Lindsay. To her, he said, "Still, you signed. So did I."

"It wouldn't stand up in a court of law!" she argued fiercely.

"Secure," Bob echoed, likewise wrapping his arms around Gerry.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But until you can get a judge to listen to your case, the only lap you'll be sitting on is mine."

"Okay, Marcus," Lindsay heard Omaphrey speak, her voice filled with restrained excitement. "Move us out and mark me."

"This is ridiculous," Lindsay muttered, even as she forced herself to ignore the fact that his sitting in his lap with his arms around actually did make her feel quite secure.

Marcus obeyed and a shiver went through David's body as the engines engaged and the ship moved.

"Mark," Marcus said calmly.

"Starting countdown to probe's launch," Omaphrey said starchily.

David's body felt tense beneath hers, and across the aisle Gerry looked it. Five years they'd been away from home.

"Gerry has a husband and grown kids," David said, as if he could read her thoughts. Heaven help her if he could. "Marcus has a wife, a sister, nieces and parents. Omaphrey left a fiancé behind and parents."

"Launching probe... now," Omaphrey said calmly. David took a deep breath behind her.

"Are you nervous?" she asked him.

"Extremely."

"Who did you leave behind?"

"My parents. A brother and his kids." He paused. "They'll be glad to meet you."

Her stomach clenched with a sudden pang of panic. "We'll talk about all this later. After," she said, her teeth clenched.

"Approaching battery," Marcus said. Lindsay took her own calming breathe, remembering there was a nuclear warhead racing just behind them.

"Coordinates check: 2257 by 345 by .301," Omaphrey intoned.

"Coordinates for the wormhole," David explained softly in her ear.

Marcus. "Check. It's good."

"Projecting magnetic field...we've got a wormhole. And it's stable!"

"Entering now!"

"Probe is right behind us... detonation in 5...4... hang on back there...2...1..."

Lindsay could see nothing, and the vacuum of space ensured there was no explosive sound, but shockwaves she could feel. The little test ship vibrated, then bucked violently. She clung to David's arms and cried out without realizing it. Then...

"Return to real space in 3...2...1," Marcus called, his voice strained.

And then all was still.

Everyone sat in shock for a minute, no one saying a word. Omaphrey moved first. "Coordinates check, Marcus. 2257 by 345 by 127."

"Check," he said after a second's hesitation. "We've exited out just beyond the Moon's orbit." He paused and grinned. "Right where we started out five years ago."

"Scanning for multiple universe frequencies," Omaphrey said. A pause. "Ship's just hearing our 430 Hertz." Relief colored her voice. She laughed, "We did it."

"Thank, God," Gerry said, her face pale from the intensity of the previous moments. But there was a smile on her craggy face. "We did it." She laughed too. "We're home." Then her voice cracked and her laugh turned into a sob. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"Gerry," David said, his own voice full of emotion.

"I'm okay," she said, waving his concern away with a hand. "Really. I'm just... happy. It's over." She wiped her face with her fingers.

"It's over," he repeated, giving Lindsay a tight squeeze. She smiled tightly, but had no words for him. He was home, but she wasn't, and the happiness of the crew made real the fact that she would never go home again.

"Hold our position. Sending a general shout-out now," Omaphrey rejoiced. "Let's let people know we're here."

"Why are we holding position?" Lindsay asked David.

"It's bad manners to just fly at a planet or installation without a warning or permission. Plus, with all the traffic that goes between the El-P - that's the elevator platform - and Luna Station, it's wise to have a flight plan, as well."

"Where's the DeiTR?" Marcus asked in sudden consternation.

"What's the DeiTR?" Lindsay asked David again.

"Daedalus Transmission Relay station," he murmured, his eyes looking up cabin. "DeiTR for short. It's on the Moon's dark side. It should be visible to the naked eyes out the front window."

"I don't know, but you're right. It's not there," Omaphrey said confusedly. "I'm not getting any reply from Novaco, from DeiTR... from anyone." A few silent seconds ticked by, then Omaphrey ordered, "Marcus, take us slowly around the Moon."

"Aye," was his reply.

"Still transmitting out," Omaphrey said, her voice tense, matching the mood that had taken over the cabin. Joy and relief had been replaced with unease and nervousness. They all listened with straining ears for Marcus and Omaphrey to tell them that everything was okay.

"Coming around to the Near side...There's Earth ahead of us now," Marcus stated, eyes busily scanning his instruments.

"But no Lunar Station. Where the hell is the Lunar Station?" Omaphrey demanded.

"No ships, but no debris either," Marcus reported.

"And no El-P. But there are satellites around Earth... Marcus, back us off! Back to the Far Side of the Moon!"

Marcus obeyed unquestioningly. "What did you see?" he asked calmly.

She waited to reply till they were safely hidden behind the moon. Then Omaphrey unbuckled and swiveled her chair so that she could see everyone in the aft.

"It seems we're not getting any comms because what's bouncing around Earth are old fashioned radio signals."

"Radio!" Gerry exclaimed. "But we have used radio in-"

"About 100 years?" Omaphrey said. "I know." She swallowed. "Another not in use in the last hundred years is the old International Space Station."

"But that's in a Lunar Space Museum," Gerry exclaimed in dismay. "Or at least, part of it is." She went on slowly. "O-on the Maginus Base."

"Which isn't there," Omaphrey told her, almost gently. "The ISS is in Earth's orbit, and functional."

"So what does all this mean?" Lindsay demanded to know.

David, who had sat quietly up till now, told her in a voice grave and rough, "The International Space Station decommissioned in the year 2025. The radio frequency of the universe we're hearing means we made it to the right universe."

He took a deep breath.

"We just didn't reach the right time."

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer.

Thanks!

Karen Reis

Discover Other Titles By Karen Reis

No Explanations

