Written: August 1992 - May 1993
Word Count: Approximately 72,000 words
Background Notes: Gooood Lord. This story embarasses me. It shows off all my early (misguided) notions in the BTTF universe. My prose is awkward and inexperienced. And I believed things in the Animated Series way too much. (Jules and Verne's personalities, etc, were stolen from that; I later tamed that down when I did my revisions of my stories, by that point old enough to realize that the cartoon series wasn't necessarily canon.)
According to my little "author notes" on this tale, I had originally wanted to set this story during the Revolutionary War, but I "couldn't find anything on it," so the Civil War it became. I have no freakin' idea why I set the story in this time and place -- I've decided pretty much to avoid setting time travel stories during wars because they were so gawdawful gorey and sad. I did conduct research on the history, though I'm sure my anachronisms are numerous and blatant.
Anyway. This was my first ever BTTF tale. I was an eighth grader. I never wrote it for anyone to read it, since I didn't even know what fan fiction was at that age, let alone any other BTTF fans. (The Internet in 1992 was still pretty much a dream....) Keep that in mind when you read. And that I had -- still have -- a thing for Marty sleeping. And that I wasn't entirely logical with some of the things that happened. Oh boy....
But, hey, at least I didn't Mary Sue myself in this thing!
Saturday, November 2, 1985
2:38 A.M..
Hill Valley, California
Tap, tap, tap.
Marty McFly awoke with a start. He sat up in bed and looked around his room, puzzled at what could have woken him up. Everything looked the same and in place in his darkened room. He glanced at his clock, seeing it was a little after 2:30 in the morning. Then he heard the noise again. It was a tapping on his window. But who would tap on his window at 2:30 in the morning? A dumb burglar perhaps. Marty silently opened his nightstand drawer where he kept a flashlight for emergencies. He thought this qualified as an emergency, especially if a burglar was on the other side of the window with a weapon.
Marty swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up. Creeping almost on tip toe, his finger ready to hit the flashlight button, he went over to the window and grabbed one edge of the curtain to pull back. As soon as Marty heard the three sharp taps again, he yanked back the curtain and turned on the flashlight to blind whoever was out there. The person out there gave a gasp of surprise and fell backwards. Marty, his own eyes dazzled by the sudden light, took a few steps back from the window and shut off the flashlight. The person, however, didn't seemed at all discouraged by the light and, a minute later, was once again tapping on the window. "Marty," the person said in a hushed whisper, "It's me, Doc."
"Doc?" Marty asked in surprise. He hadn't heard from Doc Brown in a week, and assumed he would be too busy traveling through time with his new family to visit for a while. But then again, if you had a time machine, you could visit anyone, anywhere, anytime.
"What are you doing here," he asked Doc, opening his window and doing a double take at his inventor friend.
Doc was dressed all in a gray color, with high boots, baggy pants, and a long gray jacket. "Why are you wearing awful that color?" Marty asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
Doc, however, ignored Marty's question and got right to the point. "You've got to help me," he whispered urgently.
"What's wrong?" Marty asked, leaning on the windowsill, wondering if one of his future relatives was in trouble again or Doc had another bullet aimed for his back.
"I'll explain it to you momentarily," Doc replied, checking his watch. " Will you meet me where the DeLorean was wrecked in about ten minutes?"
"Uh, sure," Marty said slowly, puzzled. What could Doc want with him in the middle of the night anyway?
"Good," said Doc Brown creeping back into the shadows. "I'll see you in ten minutes."
Marty shook his head in disbelief mixed with puzzlement as he shut his window. He briefly wondered if he would be traveling through time again, but then remembered how paranoid Doc was about time paradoxes and things like that, which came from time traveling.
Ten minutes later, after changing into some jeans, a dark navy blue sweatshirt, and his denim jacket, Marty found himself alone right where the DeLorean was totaled about one week before. It was definitely the same spot, since the wreckage was still scattered about, but where was Doc?
He got his answer less than a minute later when swooping out of the dark sky came the train that Doc had modified into a time machine. It silently lowered itself onto the train tracks and as soon as it touched down, Doc opened the door and hopped out.
"Good, you're here," he said motioning for Marty to come over to the time machine. "We haven't a moment to loose."
"What are you talking about Doc?" Marty said, more confused than ever.
"I'll explain it too you in the simplest and shorted of terms," Doc said hurriedly while he got out a pile of clothes from the train. "But first, change into these."
"Uh... does this mean that were going to another era?" Marty asked uncertainly as he took the clothes from Doc.
"Another century," Doc said grimly.
It was then Marty noticed how sad Doc looked. He wondered if that had anything to do with why he was going with him somewhere. Whether it did or not, he decided to find out now!
"Doc, please tell me what is going on," Marty pleaded.
"All right, " Doc said wearily. "You see, while we were staying in Virginia during the Civil War, Clara was taken prisoner by the Confederate army. It seemed an Abe Tannen, who had a high rank on that side, had a crush on her, and when she refused to have anything to do with him, he found reason to take her captive."
Marty was confused. "Then what has this got to do with me?" he asked, not seeing any connection.
"You see," Doc explained, "I am too old to join the Confederate army. Jules and Verne are too young, but you are the perfect age." Doc once again pointed to the clothes and continued.
"When you join the Confederates, you must be extremely careful to blend in and to do everything the group wants you to do, so they wouldn't find you trying to get a prisoner freed. If you were found a traitor, you would be hung at once."
"Okay...," Marty said uncertainly.
"Now, as I said before, you must change into those clothes so we can be on our way," Doc said, pointing in the train. "I'll be out here doing some things in preparation for the trip."
Doc disappeared around the side of the train. Marty climbed up the steps and looked at the clothes. The pants were a light gray color and looked baggy. They were made out of a rough material, for wear and tear, Marty guessed. The jacket was a darker gray color with a row of silver colored buttons running down on the front and it was made out a scratchy material, which reminded Marty of wool. The shirt under it was a faded gray color and it felt like it was made out of cotton or flannel, with some old fashioned black suspenders on top of it. The boots were made out of another sturdy material. The whole boot was a blackish color. There were buttons on the side of it that started at the ankle and went up to where the boot ended, about halfway to his knees. The last thing in the pile was a hat. It was grey too and it looked like the front had been sat on and had what looked like two swords that x-ed on the front over the brim.
After putting on the clothes, which were slightly loose, Marty looked around on the inside of the train. It looked much different from the inside of the DeLorean. The dials, or whatever controlled the train and the time circuits were up at the front, where there was one seat. At the back of the train were three other seats and various pictures and posters hung on the wall all over the interior of the train. One was the picture of him and Doc in 1885 standing in front of the new clock that was to be on the courthouse. Doc must have had copies made or something, since Marty had that exact same picture that Doc had given to him hanging above his desk. The pictures were quite interesting to look at, since it seemed they came from almost every century. There was what looked like a photograph of Doc and Clara that showed them in what looked like a fifteenth century ball in medieval England. Sure enough, when Marty lifted the photo away from the wall to see if there was a date or anything written of the back, it said in unfamiliar elegant script 'Emmett and Clara, Dec 8, 1460, Nottingham, England'. Another picture showed Doc's two sons, Jules and Verne, sitting in a covered wagon. That picture was labeled 'Jules and Verne, July 3, 1854, Oregon'.
There were many other photos, and other things that looked like postcards and posters tacked on the wall, but Marty didn't have time to look at them all then, since Doc came in about the same time Marty had finished reading the back of the second photograph. Doc looked him over, as if to make sure that Marty looked like a Civil War Confederate solder. Apparently satisfied, Doc walked over to where the controls for the train were and began to type in something. Marty walked over and stood behind him to read where and when they were going. The time display looked like the one in the DeLorean except for a change or two Doc had made. Now in addition to the date and time there was a space for a city, state, and/or country under the day, month, and time. Doc typed in July 23, 1861, 4:00AM, Manassas Junction, Virginia.
"This is a few minutes after I left," Doc explained to Marty. "If anyone saw the time machine I would probably be arrested or worse, so I left an hour or so before dawn. Everyone would think the train was a war weapon or alien if it was seen."
Marty nodded and walked to the back of the train, where he had stacked his 1985 clothes. "Where should I stick these?" he asked, picking up the pile.
Doc, busy with the controls, gestured over his shoulder. "There is a closet in the wall at the back," he said, still fiddling with some buttons and knobs. "Just stick your clothes in there."
Marty stood next to the back wall and looked carefully at it. As far as he could tell, there was no closet door back there. Then he noticed a white button in a corner of the wall with the word 'closet' engraved in a metal plaque above it. He hesitantly pushed the button and a part of the wall slid back to reveal a small walk-in closet, stuffed full of different clothes from different eras in various sizes. There were long dresses from victorian times and clothes that looked like something out of a old Shakespeare play. There were even some clothes from the future that Marty recognized, like the jacket and shoes he wore when he had to save his future son from a life of crime. The hoverbored that had helped Doc and Marty more than once was in the closet too, sitting on a shelf looking a bit battered.
Marty set his present day clothes on the floor of the closet, stepped out, and pressed the white button again. The closet door whooshed closed and the only way you could tell a door was there was from the faint outline of it in the wall.
The train jolted forward suddenly and Marty grabbed on to the back of one of the chairs to keep from falling. He quickly sat down in the chair as the train picked up speed and he felt it lift off the ground as it rushed up to 88 miles per hour. There were the three sonic booms and three flashed of light, then they were in the past.
Tuesday, July 23, 1861
4:00 A.M..
Manassas Junction, Virginia
After the three flashes of light, darkness appeared once again. The train stopped almost immediately and Marty was practically thrown across the room from the force of it. Grabbing on the side of the seat last minute saved him from doing so. Doc guided the train silently through the air until they were over some makeshift railroad tracks next to what looked like an old barn. It was there Doc finally landed the train.
Marty waited until the train had come completely to a stop before standing up. Grabbing his hat, which had fallen off during the sudden jolt forward, Marty climbed out of the train. Doc shut the door behind Marty and backed the train into another building that Marty hadn't noticed earlier. A minute or so later Doc came out of that building and locked the door behind him. Walking towered the barn he gestured Marty to follow him.
Slowly creaking the barn door open he spoke to Marty in a hushed whisper. "I left Jules and Verne asleep so be very quiet--" he was interrupted by a loud shout behind them.
"Hey Pop, is that Marty?" A boy of about eight with messy blond hair shoved under a raccoon skin cap and blue eyes stood behind them in a long white nightshirt, squinting at them from the shadows.
Doc jumped about a foot. "Great Scott Verne!" Doc exclaimed and turning around to see one of his sons behind him. "What are you doing up so early?"
"I heard the time machine leave a few minutes ago," Verne replied stepping back into the barn and continuing. "I thought I might be able to see it return. You must be Marty," Verne said, looking him over.
"Uh, yeah. We met once before," Marty replied a bit bewilderdly. He couldn't believe this ball of energy was one of Doc's kids. He expected two brainy kids, who would be just like there father.
"I remember," Verne said and then addressed his father. "Jules got up too and is working on the DeLorean in the stable."
Marty looked at Doc in disbelief. "Did I here him right?" he asked in astonishment. "Jules is working on the DeLorean?"
Doc nodded. "I bought another DeLorean to make it into another time machine," he said, "but there are still a few glitches in it that must be worked out." Doc turned to his son again. "You should be in bed young man," he said as sternly as he could.
"Aw Pop," Verne moaned. "I can sleep anytime. I wanna go with you and Marty to see the fighting," he added enthusiasticly.
Doc sighed as if he had been through this argument a million times. "We aren't leaving until this evening and anyway, there is no fighting. The Battle of Bull Run was over on Sunday. The soldiers are just there to make sure the Union soldiers do not come back. Now off to bed. Marty will be here all day and he'll be back on Sunday too."
Verne groaned, but obeyed his father and sulked back to bed. Doc sighed and shook his head. "That boy," he muttered under his breath, then in a normal voice, "we better go see what Jules is up to."
Marty followed Doc through the interior of the barn to where the stable area was. Instead of horses, though, there were dozens of different inventions strewn about, including a brand new DeLorean that looked almost exactly like the original, except this one didn't have everything on it as the other one did. Marty figured it probably would eventually.
"Jules," Doc called out, "come on out for a minute!"
The DeLorean's gull wing door popped open and a boy of about ten crawled out. He had straight brown hair cut in what looked like a style from the early 1900's that was neatly combed, and brown eyes. Jules was dressed in some loose pants with an old shirt over it and suspenders. A miniature lab coat was over that. He looked, Marty thought, like Doc must have at his age.
"Father, I think I have figured out the problem with Mr Fusion," Jules said calmly walking over to Doc and Marty. He looked at Marty, noticing him for the first time. "You must be Martin," he said grabbing Marty's hand and shaking it. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Marty's eyes widened when he heard what Jules called him. No one he knew ever called him Martin, except for his great aunt who died when he was ten and brand new teachers. This kid seemed to be a total opposite of his brother, who seemed a bit on the wild side. It was hard to belive they had the same parents.
"Please to meet you too," Marty told Jules. "You can call me Marty though. Everyone else does."
"That's okay. I do not mind using your proper name," Jules replied and spoke to Doc again. "The problem with the fusion generator seems to be with the transfer unit. It wasn't functioning properly because one of the parts was loose, but I tightened it and it should cease malfunctioning now."
Doc patted his son on the shoulder. "That's great Jules," he said proudly, "but I think you should go back to bed now. We have a long and busy day starting in a few hours."
Jules gave a gusty sigh. "Yes father," he muttered, glancing at the DeLorean with a look of longing, then leaving the room.
Doc chuckled softly. "He reminds me of I when I was his age. So does Verne in a way. Even though he isn't as inventive or scientific as Jules, he does have a kind of mischievous spark in him that I had. On him, however, that spark is magnified a zillionfold."
Doc looked at Marty. "You should get some rest too. Starting in a few hours, we have to show you everything you should know on the battlefield and, most importantly, how to load and fire one of those guns."
Marty looked at Doc in disbelief. "Do you mean I'm going to have to actually kill people with a gun while I'm here?" he asked astonished.
Doc shook his head quickly. "Certainly not. You could cause a paradox if you hit and killed someone who wasn't suppose to die, since your not here in the original history. Anyway, their is no fighting taking place now. I'll give you some blanks that I picked up that will fit that gun though, just to be on the safe side. Everyone will assume that you have real bullets. I sincerely hope, though, that they won't use your gun to try to kill someone at an execution. I don't know how you could explain why your bullets had no effect on that person."
Doc pulled a watch from his pocket. "Sunrise is in about an hour and a half. We can begin practice then. In the meantime you can rest. Tonight I'll give you a ride in our wagon to where the campsight is, about 10 miles away. You can sign in, and then you're on your own until Sunday, which is when all the solders can visit there friends or relatives. Before Sunday we can use these to keep in contact." He handed Marty a walkie-talkie he took off a table behind him. "Keep this well hidden and use it only when your sure no one else is around."
Marty examined the walkie-talkie Doc handed to him. It looked almost the same as the ones they had used in 1955 and 1885. Marty stuck it in the deepest pocket he could find in his jacket, until he found a better place for it. He looked back up at Doc as a frightening question ran through his head.
"Doc," Marty began hesitantly, "I know you said that I can't hurt anyone if I fire a gun, but what if I get shot? I mean, everyone else out there has real bullets."
Doc shook his head. "You shouldn't get shot since the battle is over. But, on the other hand, soldiers are still practicing. It is very doubtful that you could get shot though."
"Yeah...," Marty murmured, but he wondered if he was making a mistake. If he remembered correctly from his history classes, millions of solders died during the Civil War, most though, from sickness or infections of wounds. Marty just hoped he'd be able to get Clara and go back to his time as soon as possible and not be killed first.
Tuesday, July 23, 1861
4:05 P.M..
Twelve hours later, Doc Emmett Brown was driving himself and Marty to the camp. It had been a long and exhausting day for both of them. Marty, aside from a few textbook facts, hadn't known one thing about the Civil War. He didn't know how to use the guns, which were more like rifles with the bayonets on them, or how many different ways to use coffee boiler, which was one of the most important things for a solder to have. Usually a Civil War solder had to go through a week or so of training before going out on the battlefield, but since they had no time to spare, they had to cram all that training in one day. Right now he still needed to tell Marty some things he should know.
"...And when you get there, go straight to the captain to sign in. You'll recognize the captain because his uniform is more elaborate than the solders, who will be dressed like you," Doc instructed Marty from up at front.
Marty nodded wearily from the back, where he was stretched out on some old horse blankets that Doc kept back there. "I know Doc. You told me that a few minutes ago," he explained trying not to yawn. Marty had never thought that Civil War training could be so exhausting.
"So, now you shouldn't forget it," Doc said trying not to let his nervousness show. He hoped everything would go according to plan and there would be no complications. They couldn't afford one minor mistake, or the confederate soldiers might kill Marty, thinking he was a traitor. That was one of the most important things not to be. Doc wondered if he was making a big mistake bringing Marty here. But the way he saw it there was no other way to get Clara back but to have Marty join up with the confederate army and try to have him sneak her out right from under there noses. It wouldn't be any easy job.
"The first battle of Bull Run was on Sunday," Doc told Marty. "Basicly the camp is just some tents and wagons in one large group. Everyone has to sleep on the floor, on one blanket. It'll be uncomfortable, but you'll survive. Do you understand?"
Marty, who was folding up a blanket, nodded. "Where do they keep the prisoners?" he asked, sticking the folded up blanket behind his head to prop him up in a comfortable, half sitting, half lying position.
"They keep them in a tent under guard, at most times," Doc replied and began on another subject, this one about the solders and how they acted most of the time. "...You must be able to blend in at all times. I know I have said this before, but I cannot stress enough on how important it is." Doc finished his speech.
"Doc, I'll try to blend in as much as I can," Marty said softly from the back, with his head resting on the blanket and his eyes closed. "But from my experience, people are always suspicious of newcomers."
They were indeed. Doc remembered all too well his experience with it when he first arrived in 1885. It took almost a month before people stopped staring suspiciously at him whenever he walked down the street. "Just make sure that no one has reason to believe that you're trying to help a prisoner escape. If they think you're like everyone else, they won't be suspicious of you and keep and eye on you at all times, which is what you don't want happen, since you will be doing exactly what they don't want you to do. Understand?" asked Doc, breathless.
"Yeah, I guess," Marty murmured from on top of the blankets, sounding far off.
"Good," replied Doc and was silent for awhile while trying to think if there was anything else Marty should know. Then he remembered something of extreme importance.
"Marty, " Doc said urgently and continued, "while I was retracing your family roots, to double check that there were no other McFlys at this place and time, I came across something having to to with your maternal side of the family. I believe that it was your great-great-great-grandmother who helped out during the Civil War, so you better be careful and try not to run into her. We don't need anymore time paradoxes then we have caused all ready. Are you listening? Marty?"
Marty wasn't listening. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even. There was about a half hour drive left until they reached the outskirts of town, so Doc decided to let him sleep until they reached the solder camp. In a way, Marty had had the most exhausting day of them all, doing the same things over and over again, so it would look like he had been trained a week or so instead of a day.
About five minutes before they would reach the Confederate camp, Doc leaned over and shook Marty's shoulder gently. "Wake up, we're almost there," he said in a low voice.
Marty's eyes snapped open in surprise and he sat up quickly. He glanced around at the scenery they were passing. "I'm sorry Doc," Marty said yawning,
"I must have fallen asleep for a minute."
"It was more like half an hour," Doc said, smiling kindly. "We're about five minutes away from the camp. Do you remember everything we discussed?"
"I think so," Marty said stretching. "Look for the captain, who should be in fancier clothes, and sign in with him. Be careful and blend in."
"That's basicly it," Doc said and stopped the wagon abruptly. "This is as far as I can go, until Saturday night. I'll pick you up around ten that evening." Doc looked at Marty, who was trying to get out of the wagon without dropping the gun. When he was finally successful, Doc stuck his hand out for Marty to shake it. "Good luck," he said as they shook hands.
"Thanks. I'll need it I'm sure," Marty replied nervously as he looked around him in awe, where groups of solders were talking in huddles and giving him curious looks.
Doc turned around the wagon and looked behind him one last time as he drove off. Marty looked a little lost as he walked down the road to toward the direction where the camp and battlefield were located. Doc turned back around toward home, once again hoping everything would work out okay.
He was halfway home before he realized he forgot to tell Marty about his great-great-great-grandmother.
Marty glanced behind him one more time at the retreating wagon that Doc was in before beginning the walk down the road that Doc had told him earlier led to the camp. He felt really uncomfortable with everyone staring at him as he walked down the road, as if he was intruding on their territory or something. Marty had to also continually shift the gun from shoulder to shoulder because the sucker was so heavy. It felt like their were lead pellets in it instead of wax covered wood.
After walking for about five minutes, Marty finally reached what looked like the camp. It looked exactly how Doc had described it, with tents and wagons all in a large area. There were hundreds of solders dressed as he, talking and laughing with their friends. There was only one man who stood out from the rest and, even though his back was turned, Marty could tell he wore fancier clothes than the others. Marty guessed he was the captain whom he was suppose to sign in with. He had just began to walk off the road toward the man, when he turned around. Marty stopped dead in his tracks and stared in shock. Standing about 12 feet in front of him was another Tannen. It had to be. The resemblance the man had to Biff Tanner and Mad Dog Tannen was uncanny. Marty began to feel the now familure feeling of deja vu. It seemed real eerie that Doc and Marty always had to run into a Tannen through there travels in time. He then remembered what Doc had said earlier, something about a Tannen having a high rank on the Confederate side. Marty wondered why Doc had failed to mention that he was a captain.
Marty walked toward the captain, who was given plenty of breathing room by all the other soldiers. A minute later he found out why. Not only was the captain's looks like his relatives, his expression was too. A large scowl was on his face, as if this was the last place he wanted to be, and a cold, mean look was in his eyes. Marty wasn't surprised that the jerk had taken Clara prisoner for no reason at all.
The captain glared down at him. "Whadda you want," he spat out, as if Marty was some sort of slime that had crawled out from under a refrigerator, and who wasn't worthy of his time.
"I.. uh.. was told to sign in with you," Marty said nervously.
"By who?" the captain asked rudely.
Marty had to think fast. "Uh.. my uncle, um.. told me to sign in with you," Marty said looking straight at the cold stone eyes.
The captain looked back angrily at him. "If you haven't heard by now, my name is Abe Tannen, Captain Tannen to you people," he sneered. "You are in tent 19. Take the first empty space in there."
Captain Tannen started to turn around. "Wait!" Marty cried, grabbing hold of his dirt covered sleave. "Where is tent 19?"
Captain Tannen smiled an ugly smile just like the Tannens before, or after, depending how you looked at it, him. "It's that way somewhere," he said waving vaguely to the south. "You should find it eventually, but don't spend too long lookin'. Supper's in an hour." He sauntered off.
Marty gazed around him. There were tents everywhere. It would take forever to find the tent he was assigned to. Marty hoped Captain Tannen was telling the truth when he said what direction it was in. As he walked towered where the vague direction of the tent was, he caught sight of a number, stenciled on the tent closest to him. It was 147. Marty groaned as he balanced the heavy gun, for the long walk toward his tent.
Wednesday, July 24, 1861
9:36 A.M..
"Doc, come in Doc, this is Marty," Marty said in a hushed whisper from in the leaves of a large tree. "Do you read me?"
The walkie talkie crackled to life. "Marty, this is Doc. Anything to report?" he replied back.
Marty looked cautiously around him from his perch, a good fifteen feet off the ground. He had had a dickens of a time crawling up here. The tree appeared to be in someone's yard, since there was a house about one hundred and fifty feet away from the tree, but no one had yet noticed him among the leaves. No one else was even around him so Marty figured it was safe to answer Doc.
"I'm just checking in," Marty replied. "I'm pretty sure that no one is around and can see me right now, since I am sitting in a large oak tree and lots of thick, green leaves are around me."
"What's happened since yesterday?" Doc asked, his voice blending with some static.
Marty thought back. After hiking for what seemed like an hour, he had finally reached his tent, only to find that he had missed dinner by twenty minutes. Their was no more food, and wouldn't be until morning, so Marty had gone to bed with an empty stomach, and a head full of warnings about Captain Tannen given to him by the six other solders in his tent.
Marty hadn't been able to sleep well either. Each solder had one blanket and it didn't make the hard lumpy ground any softer. Each position he had tried it seemed that there was a rock or stick jabbing him somewhere. It also wasn't that quiet in the tent. Someone in the tent snored like a chainsaw, and Marty could here all sorts of rustling sounds outside and what sounded like a wolf howl in the distance. He had finally dozed off around sunrise, only to be awakened a short while later by a loud bugle from outside of the tent. After a short breakfast, Marty had snuck off, and spent ten minutes trying to scale the tree. He had finally made it and was able to call Doc.
"It's kind of a long story Doc," Marty said and was distracted by a movement he noticed out of the corner of his eye. A young woman of about his age had come out of the house with a basket, and was hanging out clothes to dry on a clothes line. There was something vaguely familure about her, but Marty couldn't put his finger on it. It was as if he knew her from somewhere, but that would be impossible since they were over one hundred years in the past. Marty decided to ignore it for now.
"Is anyone suspicious of you?" Doc asked, sounding slightly nervous.
"Not yet," Marty replied and once again looked at the woman, still wondering where he had seen her before.
"Marty," Doc began, "there is something extremely important that I must tell you about--"
Doc's voice was interrupted by a loud, sharp crack. Marty first thought it was a rifle shot, but that was before he felt himself falling. He was too stunned to try to grab a branch above his head or to cry out and so he fell the fifteen feet silently. Marty hit the ground at the same time as the branch he was sitting on, striking his head on a large tree root at the base of the tree.
Marty lay on his back looking up at the leaves and the place he had just descended from. It must have been a very rare tree, Marty thought, since all the leaves were getting darker by the second, along with the sky. Marty could also feel himself growing drowsy. Maybe the sleepless night was catching up to him. He closed his eyes.
Marty could here light footsteps running toward him, but they sounded like they were miles away. He could also faintly here Doc saying something, but that was impossible since Doc was ten miles away. Marty sensed someone standing above him, but it seemed like too much trouble to open his eyes and see who it was. The person put a cool hand on his forehead, then grabbed him and pulled him into a standing position, though the last thing Marty wanted to do was stand. The person swung one of his arms around their neck and began to pull him somewhere. The last thing Marty remembered was dimly hearing Doc say something about a relative.
Then he fell completely into unconsciousness.
Doc Brown turned the walkie talkie off and on over and over again in hope of reaching Marty. All he got was the ever-present silence. What had happened to that kid? One minute Marty was on the walkie-talkie sounding perfectly clear, the next minute, all he got was silence mixed with static. Doc wondered if the batteries wore out on the other walkie-talkie, but he had bought new batteries at the same time he bought the walkie-talkies.
Doc looked out of the window in his workshop. The sun had just begun to set. He had been trying all day with no luck in contacting Marty. What if something happened to him? He would never be able to forgive himself if Marty had gotten seriously hurt or worse. Doc sighed and turned away from the window. There was no use in worrying. Perhaps Marty had gotten pulled away suddenly from the conversation they had been having earlier or someone was coming toward him. The best Doc could do for the time being was keep his walkie-talkie on, in case Marty tried to contact him, and try to contact Marty every so often. The only thing Doc could do was wait.
* * *
Marty opened his eyes in the pitch blackness. His head ached at the back and he felt disoriented. But there was something in the room that seemed familure to him. He started to sit up, but lay back down and shut his eyes again when he felt the room seem to spin around him. There was a rustling sound from a corner of the room, and he heard someone sit next to him.
"Mom," Marty whispered, "is that you?"
"Just relax now," a soft feminine voice said with a slight southern accent, as she dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth. "You've been asleep for almost ten hours."
Marty relaxed. It was his mother. But since when had she gotten a southern accent? "I had a horrible nightmare," he said groaning. "I dreamt I was back in time and was caught in the middle of a war."
His mother lightly stroked his hand, which was lying on top of the blankets. "Well, your safe and sound now, here in Manassas Junction, Virginia."
Marty's eyes flew open. "Manassas Junction Virginia?" he asked in surprise and sat up, as the other person in the room struck a match to light a candle.
The flickering light reviled a young woman, who looked exactly like his mother, Marty noticed in shock. She was in a long blue-grey calico dress with an apron tied around her waist and her long brown hair was pulled up in a bun. Even with those changes, there was no doubt about it that she was the spitting image of his mother.
Marty gasped at her. "Who are you?" he asked, still shocked.
She smiled kindly at him. "My name is Lauren Smith. What is your name?"
Something about that name rang a bell with Marty. Then he remembered. Lauren Smith was the name of his mother's great-great-grandmother. Marty's mother would love to tell stories about her relatives, and if Marty remembered correctly, Lauren helped out during the Civil War by helping to nurse in the makeshaft hospitals. That was how she met her husband, Alexander Baines. They had four boys, and the boys all married and had sons of their own. One of those son's was Marty's grandfather, Sam Baines. Marty couldn't believe it. First a Tannen, and now this.
"My name is...." He thought fast, choosing the first name that he had heard in a movie that took place during the Civil War. "Uh, Rhett Butler."
"Nice to meet you Rhett," Lauren said, as she smiled at him. "You fell out of a tree and struck your head. I couldn't just leave you there so I managed to get you over to my house, to keep an eye on you, since I have some medical training. Although I am quite curious what you were doing in that tree."
Marty thought back. He knew that she would not believe the truth, not that he could tell her it. "I was uh... birdwatching," he said, then noticed something which disturbed him.
It wasn't only the looks Marty's mother, Lorraine, and Lauren shared. There expression was the same. In 1955 when Marty had first met his mother, who developed a major crush on him, he had noticed her eyes held a kind of adoring and dreamy look in them whenever she looked at him. Marty found the same expression in Lauren's eyes as she gazed at him. Uh oh, Marty thought.
"Did you see any interesting birds?" she asked leaning toward him, her eyes bright with curiosity and something Marty could recognize all too well.
"Uh yeah, they were all interesting," Marty said nervously. "Listen I, uh, better go now. Everyone must be wondering where I am and it's probably past curfew." He threw back the blankets and stood up, eyeing her suspiciously as he walked toward the door.
"Oh, you don't have to leave," Lauren said standing up. "I have already contacted the captain and told him you were hurt and will be staying the night here."
Marty groaned inwardly. "Perfect," he muttered sarcasticly under his breath.
"What was that?" Lauren asked coming over toward him, still smiling, along with that look in her eyes.
"Ah, nothing. Listen, I'll be right back. I need to get something that I think I left at the tree," Marty said, suddenly remembering dropping the walkie-talkie in his fall.
"All right," Lauren said pleasantly. "I'll have dinner ready for you when you return."
Marty walked out of the room and found himself in a narrow hallway with two other doorways on a second story. Down the stairs there were three other rooms, a dining room, a living room, and a kitchen. The front door seemed to be next to the living room, with a wall separating it from the living room. As he was about to exit it, he gazed around the living room, and tried to remember if his mother had said anything about Lauren having parents. Lauren, who had followed him down the stairs, answered his question for him.
"My parents went to Williamsberg for some supplies and they should come back tommorow," Lauren said, noticing his puzzled expression. "They trust me at home alone, since I am almost 18."
"Yeah," Marty said softly, hoping her parents were right in trusting her. He spun around and walked into the cool night.
It didn't take him long to spot the tree. It's large dark silhouette cast a long shadow across the lawn in the dusky twilight. Marty hurried over to the tree and scouted the area around where he had fallen. The walkie-talkie was about 5 feet away from where he had landed. Marty bent over and picked it up, checking it over for damage. Except for looking a little dirty, it was fine. Marty switched it on - the walkie-talkie had automatically switched off after 10 minutes of no use - and spoke into it softly.
"Doc, this is Marty. Come in," he said as loudly as he dared. There was a burst of static, and then Doc's frantic voice came on.
"Marty, what happened? I have been trying to contact you all day. Where have you been?"
"I guess I have spent the majority of the day unconscious," Marty said, and quickly explained to him what had happened.
Marty heard Doc groan after he finished his speech. "I was about to tell your great-great-great-grandmother when the branch broke. Oh well. As long as you didn't do anything to change history much."
"But Doc," Marty said urgently, "I think Lauren has a crush on me, just like my mom did."
"Great Scott, are you sure?" Doc asked Marty, sounding extremely concerned. Marty didn't blame him. They both knew what had almost happened last time with his mother.
"Pretty sure. Lauren has the same look in her eyes that my mom did whenever she looked at me," Marty replied.
Doc sighed heavily. "If this is the same thing we had to deal with earlier, it could cause a major paradox," Doc said grimly.
"What exactly do you mean?" asked Marty uncertainly.
"If Lauren is infatuated with you, than she won't fall for Alexander. If they don't get married, they don't have kids, the kids are never born so they never have kids, your mother never gets born because your grandfather will never be born, which means you will never be born so that you could never come back here and mess things up in the first place." Doc sighed heavily as he finished his speech.
Marty leaned against the tree, casting a look at the jagged place where the branch had broken off. "This is heavy," he said groaning. "How can I get everything the way it is supposed to be?"
"I'll have to do some more research to figure out how, where, and when they met. I don't suppose you know do you?" Doc asked hopefully.
Marty thought as hard as he could. "All I know is that they met when Lauren was helping out as a nurse at the Confederate hospital near the battlefield, and Alexander was brought in for some injury. I have no idea when it happened though," Marty replied, feeling hopeless.
"It's not a lot to go on, but I think it'll be easy to find in the records. I'll call you back tommorow with the information I have found. In the meantime, try to get away from Lauren," Doc advised.
Marty sighed. "I wish I could," he said longingly, "but she had already told the captain, who happens to be a Tannen, that I have to stay at her house overnight."
Doc sighed again. "Hang in there kid," he said. "I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible. In the meantime, you better keep an eye on her."
"You can be sure I will," Marty said firmly, as he caught sight of her coming out of the house. In a lower voice he said, "I gotta go now Doc. She's coming this way."
"Good luck," Doc said and signed off. Marty knew he was going to need it.
Wednesday, July 24, 1861
10:03 P.M..
Marty sat up in the bed and looked out the window. There was a full moon out that night and all the stars looked large and bright, much brighter than the ones in his present day sky. They shone on the landscape, making everything look ghostly and unreal. Marty lay back on his pillow and stared out the window at the moon, trying to get tired. After dinner, Lauren had given him something she had said would help him get to sleep, but so far it must have not kicked in. He thought about the way dinner had gone and groaned.
The food itself, which was some sort of stew, was quite good. But all during dinner, Lauren stared at him, her eyes never leaving his face. It was not only uncomfortable, but it worried him. Even Marty's mother hadn't stared at his face all during dinner when he had eaten at her house in 1955. Or maybe she had and he hadn't noticed, since she was sitting next to him instead of across him and he had been too preoccupied with trying to get over to the 1955 Doc Brown.
Marty wondered how in the heck he was suppose to get Lauren and Alexander together, and break him and Lauren apart. On top of that mess, he realized he still needed to get Clara freed. Neither job would be easy, that much Marty knew.
Marty could feel his eyelids growing heavy. Perhaps that stuff Lauren had given him was finally working. He decided to worry about those problems later. Maybe when he woke up, he would find out this all a bad dream. Marty closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
Lauren Smith opened the door to Rhett's room a crack and peered in. Good, he was asleep. Lauren was beginning to wonder if that opium she had given him would have ever started working. She opened the door all the way and stepped in, carrying an oil lamp with her. She wasn't too worried on Rhett noticing it and waking up. Whenever a person at the hospital took some opium, it would take something like an earthquake to wake them up.
Lauren gazed for a moment at Rhett. The moonlight fell on his sleeping face and made her knees grow weak. He looked so handsome lying there, Lauren felt that she could stare at him for hours. But she averted her eyes after a moment. She had a job to do and it wouldn't do for her to spend the whole night watching Rhett sleep.
Lauren crept over to the chair at the foot of the bed where Rhett had set his coat, hat, and boots. Lauren kneeled down next to the chair and set the oil lamp on the wooden floor. She carefully lifted the heavy coat off the back of the chair and set it on her lap. Sticking her hand in a pocket, she felt around until her hand brushed against something hard and smooth. It had felt like nothing Lauren had ever felt before. She carefully lifted it out, but just as it was almost completely out, an edge of it caught on the pocket, yanking it out of her fingers, and clattering it on the hard wooden floor.
Lauren froze and stood absolutely still as she waited to see if the sound had woken Rhett. His eyes were still closed, his breathing slow and deep, so Lauren figured he had slept through the disturbance. The thing, whatever it was, had landed under the bed, so Lauren stretched out and grabbed it, nearly knocking the blasted thing across the room.
She held the thing carefully in her hands, wondering what she held. It wasn't that large - about 6 inches long, and 3 wide - but it felt and looked alien to anything she had ever seen before. On the side were two knobby disks, one labeled 'volume', the other 'on' at one end, and 'off' at the other end. At the top there was a long silvery metal thing that Lauren thought it looked like a lightning rod. On the other side there was a long button like thing that when you pressed it, it would disappear inside the side of the strange box. On the front of this dark grey box was something black and gauzy behind a few rows of what looked like bars. And at the very top at this item, in strange, small silver colored letters was the word 'Sony'.
Lauren turned the item over and over again in her hands, trying to guess what she held. At the back of the strange thing was the outline of a box a small and the word 'open' next to an arrow pointing downward. Lauren pried the thing off with her fingernails and was greeted with the sight of two long round things decorated in bright colors, with the word 'Energizer' on the side. Lauren replaced the cover to the queer item and dropped it back into the pocket she had found it in.
Lauren found nothing else in the other pockets except for the last one she tried. She stood up, because her legs aching from from being down on her knees. The last thing she found was a square thing that was made out of dark blue material. It opened by pulling a small flap that made a odd cracking noise. In a long pouch that went in the very back was some strange paper with some numbers on it in the corners. It looked a bit like money, but not any she had ever seen, with pictures of some presidents she recognized, and other men she had never seen or heard of before. Putting that back, she found a little pouch, once again with a flap that made that cracking noise, filled with what looked like silvery coins in various shapes and sizes. At the bottom of each were numbers, like 1979 or 1982. In the middle of the objects were profiles of old presidents, except for one small silver one, that had a picture of an unrecognizable man on it. Lauren put the coins back and found a transparent pocket that held what looked like several things. They all puzzled her a great deal. The first thing was a small, flat card with what looked like one of those things called a photograph in color of Rhett on it. But on the card it said the name Marty McFly next to the picture. What did that mean? Beside it and under it, it listen Rhett or Marty's full name, height, birthdate, and a year of expiration, whatever that was. They must have screwed up the years, since it said Rhett was born in the year 1968, and whatever a DMV in California was, it expired in 1987. Lauren flipped the card up. Under the card was a another color photograph. This one showed three people - a young man of perhaps 22, Rhett, and a young woman of about 19. They were all standing in front of what looked like a wall covered with ivy, and a well. But something was truly wrong. All three people were dressed in weird clothes - the girl was even wearing pants! - and the girl's sweatshirt said 'Class of '84', whatever that meant.
Lauren began to feel an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. What did all this mean? Because she was thinking hard about this, she had a difficult time closing the strange folder thing. The thing slipped from her fingers, and landed right on Rhett's chest, since she was standing right over him. Lauren gasped in horror, and hitched up her skirts, climbing on to the bed and reached for the folder, placing her face about an inch over Rhett's. Just as Lauren had the folder thing in her hand, and was about to lean back, Rhett stirred and opened his eyes, staring right into Lauren's hazel ones.
Rhett's blue eyes widened. "YEEEEEAAAHHHHH!" he screamed, sitting up and scooting back a bit too far, which caused him to fall out of the bed onto the floor, bringing most of the blankets with him.
Lauren, just as surprised as he was, gasped and toppled backwards off the bed, knocking the oil lamp over with her arm, shattering the glass, and spreading the oil and fire in a long steak.
Lauren jumped up and yanked a blanket off the dazed Rhett, still lying on the ground. Spotting the water that was still in the bowl from earlier in the day, Lauren dumped it on the blanket and tossed the blanket on the flames, stomping on it. In less than a minute, the fire was out.
Lauren, weak with relief, walked over to the window and opened it, letting some of the smoke out of the room. Rhett slowly got up, still looking a bit confused on what just happened. He wasn't the only one.
"What happened?" he asked, staring at the scorched blanket, the shattered glass, and the smoke curdling out the window.
"Oh, we just had a little accident," Lauren said, trying to steady her voice, which was trembling a little.
"Why were you leaning over me anyway?" Rhett asked, looking at Lauren a bit suspiciously.
Lauren bit her lower lip, trying to think of a harmless excuse. "Ah... well, you see, I was cold and then I remembered I gave you my extra blanket off my bed earlier today. So I came in and was leaning over to get a blanket, when you woke up. I was just as surprised as you, so I fell backwards off the bed, hit the oil lamp, which shattered, and then had to put out the fire."
It was then Lauren realized that she still had the blue thing in her hand. Quickly she slipped it in her apron pocket, but Rhett didn't notice. He was still looking at the scorched blanket in amazement. Slowly he walked over to the blanket and lifted it up, coughing when smoke flooded the room. Rhett ran over to the window and tossed the blanket into the clear night air, and then went back over to the blackened floor, kneeling next to it. He ran a finger over the floor and looked at it to see if any ashes came up.
"The floor looks pretty safe -," Rhett began as he stood up and yawned in the middle of his speech. Lauren guessed that he still had some of the opium in his body.
"I'll be right back," Lauren said, running downstairs to grab a new oil lamp, since they were in almost total blackness, a broom, a dustpan, and an old rug. Returning upstairs, she found Rhett lying on top of the sheets - most of the blankets were still in a tangle on the floor - and staring at the sky.
Lauren leaned the broom against the wall and set the dustpan and the rug on the floor as she crossed the room. Having learned her lesson, she sat the oil lamp down on the nightstand next to the bed as she sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Rhett.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly, gazing once again at his features bathed in the moonlight.
Rhett jumped slightly, as if he didn't notice she was there. When he answered, his voice sounded drowsy. "I was just thinking how the moon and the sky always looks the same year after year."
Lauren laughed softly. "How can it look the same every year when things are changing all the time?" she asked, mildly curious.
"It just does," Rhett said closing his eyes. "I shouldn't be telling you this though. It might cause a paradox which, according to Doc, would end all life as we know it."
Lauren was puzzled. "What's a paradox?" she asked, a bit more than mildly curious now.
Rhett didn't answer. Lauren felt frustrated. She had to know what that meant. Perhaps it was a key to all that stuff she found tonight and what it meant. Lauren shook Rhett's shoulder softly. "Rhett, what is a paradox?" she said, whispering it in his ear.
Rhett groaned softly. "You don't want to know," he muttered and turned on his side, away from Lauren.
Lauren sighed and looked out the window. It was a clear night and all the stars were shining brightly. The moon was the brightest of all, and she had to squint to stare up at it. Lauren wondered if anyone was out there and feeling as confused as she was.
After a few minutes, Lauren got up and shut the window. After doing that, she picked up the pile of bedding on the floor and covered Rhett, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, with it. Her fingers brushed a lock of his straight brown hair out of his eyes as she finished tucking the blanket in around him. Lauren felt her heart pound, as it did when she first saw him lying hurt at the bottom of that oak tree. She had never felt this way about anyone before.
As she swept up the glass in the dustpan, she remembered that there was a dance coming up this Friday. Perhaps she would be able to work up enough nerve to ask Rhett to it, even though it wasn't proper for a girl to ask a boy. Before she left the room, she slipped the strange folder back into what she thought the correct pocket was in the jacket. Lauren went to sleep that night wondering how the words Lauren Butler sounded together.
Thursday, July 25, 1861
12:15 P.M..
Marty pulled back a tent flap for the umpteenth time and peeked inside. Again he was greeted by emptiness. Letting it fall back, he sighed. That seemed to be the one hundredth tent he had looked in today, in hope of finding the one where they were keeping Clara. So far he had had no luck and there were still hundreds of tents left to go. Marty had spent all morning, peering in and out of tents, escaping once again after breakfast before they could tell him to go and keep guard or train with most of the other soldiers. Marty was sure that if he had to go to train he might bump into Lauren again, who would be nursing the wounded that day. It was lucky for him that he had woken up at about sunrise and had been able to escape without running into her, whom he noticed, even in his half awake state the night before when she had practically set the house aflame, was looking at him with more tenderness than at dinner.
Marty decided it was time to call Doc. Maybe he would have some ideas on how to shorten this lengthy process. Plus, Marty realized, Doc hadn't called earlier like he had promised to the night before. He walked over to some woods and stood behind a clump of trees. No more climbing for him. As he pulled out his walkie-talkie, he noticed a small chip off one of the corners. He had never noticed it before, but he shrugged it off. It probably had happened when he fell out of the tree.
"Doc, come in Doc," Marty whispered into the walkie-talkie.
"Marty, this is Doc, what is it?" Doc answered, coming on after a minute.
Marty explained to him what had happened the night before first. Doc was silent for so long after he had finished, that Marty thought Doc had somehow turned off his walkie talkie.
"Doc? Are you there?" Marty asked, shaking his walkie-talkie to see if the problem could somehow been his reason.
"Yes, I'm here, " Doc replied sounding extremely worried. "This is worse than I had ever thought."
"No kidding," Marty said glumly. "If we can't fix this, I might as well have never been born."
"I have some information for you about Lauren and Alexander meeting for the first time," Doc said. "I found it in an old diary of Lauren's. I have it right here. Uh oh." Doc's voice sounded grim.
"What is it?" Marty asked, worried.
"You changed history. Instead of saying what it did earlier, it now says, and I quote 'Tonight I had a nasty scare. I knocked over an oil lamp, shattering it, and the floor caught fire. Luckily, I was able to put it out quickly and not much damage was done. Just the top of the floor was scorched, but Mother and Father will probably give me a good scolding.
"'It was all my fault that the lamp was knocked over. I was on top of the bed when Rhett Butler was sleeping in it.' " Doc stopped reading for a minute. "Rhett Butler?"
Marty could feel his face redden. "That's the name I gave her."
"I see," Doc replied. He continued reading. "'He awoke just when my face was above his, as I was trying to pick up this strange folder like thing that I found in his coat that I had accidentally dropped on him. He was startled, to say the least, to find my face above his. I was surprised too, and fell backwards off the bed, hitting the oil lamp, which I had sat on the ground, and knocking it over. Luckily, he never notice I had one of his belongings in my hand, and was able to put it back without him noticing. It has made me ever so curious of him, though. There was so many strange objects in this folder, including a card with a color- yes color!- photograph of Rhett's face on it with another name, Marty McFly, and along with strange years I can only dream of and odd writing. What is a DMV anyway?
" 'Another puzzling thing. What is a paradox? Rhett mentioned it earlier, unfortunately, I couldn't get a straight answer out of him.
" 'I am going to bed now, to dream of Rhett, whom I feel I could love deeply. Perhaps I might ask him to the soldiers dance on Friday(?). Yours, Lauren' unquote. Marty what does this mean?" Doc asked, sounding frantic and puzzled.
Marty sat down on an half rotted tree stump, feeling weak. "It must mean that she snooped through my things while I was sleeping," he replied, his mind whirling. What would happen if she guessed he was from over one hundred years in the future?
"That much I could tell," Doc said, "but what is this about you telling her about paradoxes?"
Marty had to think hard before he remembered, and then it was just a dim memory. "After the fire that she mentions, I was lying down on the bed, and she sat down next to me and asked me something. I can't really remember what I said, because I was half asleep, but then she shook me awake, and asked me what a paradox was. I said something back to answer her question, and that is the last thing I can remember happening until morning."
"It says in the diary that you didn't give her a straight answer, so perhaps she will give up on that subject," Doc said, sounding slightly hopeful.
"Maybe, but if she was gutsy enough to search through my things while I was sleeping, I'd think that she wouldn't give up that easily on finding out what a paradox is," Marty replied, sighing.
"True," Doc said and was silent for a while, during which, Marty guessed, he was leafing through the diary. "Here is something interesting," Doc said, breaking the silence. "This was written on a Saturday morning. Listen. 'Dear Diary- Last night was one of the worst nights in my life. Rhett, whom I finally mustered up enough courage to ask to the dance the day before, never showed up. I can feel my heart breaking...' It goes on for awhile about broken hearts and such, but the main point is, she asked you to the dance and you never showed up. I wonder why..." Doc said, his voice trailing off as he thought.
"Doc?" Marty asked. "Didn't you look at the diary before it changed?"
"Yes. I had to skim through most of it before I hit up on something describing how, where, and when Lauren and Alexander met," Doc replied, "which, if I remember correctly, is this coming Monday."
"How would I help them to fall in love?" Marty asked. "I mean, it was easy with my parents. One kiss locked them together forever."
"I know," Doc said thinking. "I guess I'll still have to do more research. Just try not to change much history so that this diary is accurate on what happened in the original history."
"Doc," Marty said, "before you go, I was wondering if you had any ideas on how to make finding where Clara is being held any easier. I have spent all morning looking in tents and if that keeps up, I'll be looking in them all night."
Doc chuckled softly. "That's an easy question," he said. "Just look for the tents that are under guard."
Marty felt like kicking himself. Why hadn't he thought of that? Hadn't Doc also told him that a few days ago too, when they were in the wagon on the way to camp?
"I think I'll keep that in mind," Marty said evenly.
"Good. Call me if anything else transpires," Doc said signing off.
"I will," Marty whispered and shut off his walkie-talkie, shoving it back into his pocket.
Friday, July 26, 1861
7:35 P.M..
Marty snuck off from where the dance was just getting underway and plunged into the woods. He had finally located some tents under guard earlier in the day and had decided that this would have been the perfect opportunity to check them out, since there would be less people around.
That day Marty hadn't escaped quick enough after breakfast and had been forced to go train. It was there, during lunch, that Lauren had cornered him and asked him, with hope in her eyes, to go to the dance with her. Marty had tried to think of a believable excuse to explain why he couldn't go, but couldn't come up with any, so he had said yes. As Marty crashed through the underbrush, trying to be as quiet as possible which was hard, especially when it was getting dark in the woods and he couldn't really see where he was going that well, he tried to convince himself that he wasn't going to kill Lauren by standing her up. In fact, he told himself, maybe this is what it would take to end this crush she had on him. However, he still felt uncomfortable standing her up.
After a few minutes of wandering around in the dim woods, Marty spotted light up ahead. He hoped he was in the right spot and not miles off his goal. Instead of striding through the woods, as he had been doing, he slowed down to a walk and tried to be as light on his feet as possible. He peeked around a large apple tree and let out a sigh of relief. Up ahead of him were the five tents with two solders at each tent, except for one, where there was just one solder. Now that he was here, Marty wondered how he was going to figure out which tent Clara was in. Luckily, he didn't even have to look in one tent. The only solder at the one tent went over to pull back the flap, and the light fell on the face of Captain Tannen!
Marty's eyes widened when he remembered what Doc had said about why Clara was taken prisoner. That had to be the tent she was in. Sure enough, as soon as Captain Tannen looked in, he heard her voice.
"Will you quit looking in at me!" Marty heard Clara snap angrily. "You know I am always here."
Captain Tannen chuckled. "I love to look in at you. You know, if you go to that dance tonight with me, I might consider letting you go." He grinned at her. "Provided you give me what I want."
"Never!" Marty heard Clara say. "I wouldn't go anywhere with you, even if you were the last slimeball left on earth!"
Captain Tannen shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said letting the tent flap fall back, "but you'll have to give in eventually, seein' you won't get out if ya don't." Marty heard him chuckle to himself as he resumed the position.
How could he sidetrack Captain Tannen into getting away from the front of the tent, while he stepped in there? Marty scanned the ground by his feet, looking for an answer. He spotted a rock the size of his hand near his feet. He picked it up, weighing it. Maybe if he threw the rock and it dropped into the bushes in front of the tent, it might distract Captain Tannen. It was worth a try.
Marty aimed the rock the large clump of bushes and let it fly. It landed perfectly, making a lot of rustling before it hit the ground. Captain Tannen was the only one who noticed it. With a suspicious look on his face, he slowly snuck up on the bush. Marty had to struggle not to laugh. It was pretty funny for a Tannen to be sneaking up on a rock with his gun. But Marty quickly pushed that thought out of his head. The distraction would probably last only a minute or so, and he needed to hopefully get Clara out of there by then.
Marty crept out from behind the tree and as silently as possible walked over to the tent and pulled back the flap, sticking his head in. Clara, who was sitting on a blanket on the floor reading, looked up angrily. When she saw it was Marty who stood there, instead of Captain Tannen, her eyes lighted up and she jumped to her feet.
"Marty," she said in amazement, "what are you doing here?"
"Doc sent me," he replied as he stepped all the way in the tent. The inside was small, but it was high enough for him to stand up straight. At the opening was a log holding that end up, with a thin branch that went to the opposite end of the tent, where there was another log. On that log was an oil lamp, that hung on a stick jutting out.
"Emmett?" Clara asked. "How is he? And the boys?"
Marty opened his mouth to answer her, but before he could get one word out he felt something hard hit him in the back of the head. Then everything went black.
Clara Brown gasped in horror as she looked between the unconscious Marty and the smirking Captain Tannen. She felt her blood boil when she gazed into that ugly face.
"What did you do?" she almost screamed at him, but was able to keep her temper, just barely, and keep her voice quiet and even.
"He was in my way," Captain Tannen said, looking down at Marty. "Plus he was talkin' to ya. And I can't have that."
"You could have killed him!" Clara yelled, struggling to keep her temper under control.
"But I didn't," Captain Tannen pointed out, kicking Marty none too softly. Marty moaned softly from his unconscious state.
Clara glared at him. "Get out of here," she said trying to calm down. "And don't come in here until morning."
Captain Tannen smiled, a twisted ugly one. "All right, but if he starts buggin' you later, just let me know. I think that he best stay here 'til mornin'." He walked out, letting the flap close behind him.
Clara let out a sigh of relief, and immediately knelt down next to Marty to try to revive him.
Clara shook his shoulder softly and called his name. When that didn't work, she sat down and put his head in her lap. She tried shaking him, yelling in his ear, and taking off his hat and waving it over his face. When none of those worked, she sat back, frustrated. It was then she caught sight of the glass of water she had left over from her dinner. That gave her a brilliant idea. Clara reached out for the glass of water. When she had it in her hand, she proceeded to dump it all in Marty's face. That worked.
Marty sat up, dripping water. "Why did you have to do that? " he asked groaning, as he rubbed the back of his head.
"It was the only way to wake you up," Clara replied sympathetically, handing him her blanket to dry his face off with, which Marty did then handed her back the blanket.
"That's the second time I have gotten hit in the head in the past two days," Marty complained as he lay back down, and shut his eyes. "Unless you want one whopper of a headache like I have, I don't recommend it."
"Wait!" Clara cried out suddenly, as she realized something. "Don't go to sleep."
Marty sat up again. "Why not?" he asked, looking at her puzzledly. "It looks like I'll be stuck here for a while."
"If you have a concussion, you shouldn't go to sleep until at least twelve hours later," Clara explained, remembering she had read that somewhere.
"I'm sure I don't have a concussion," Marty replied. "Just a bad headache."
"Just to be on the safe side, you shouldn't go to sleep until the sun rises." Clara said, catching sight of the dusk outside.
"Fine, but I'll need to keep pretty busy," Marty replied yawning, "because I'm really tired right now, and I have the feeling that it will get worse as the night wears on."
"I don't think that will be too hard," Clara said smiling, relieved that she had convinced him to stay up. Aside from that fact she had seen somewhere, she was also terribly lonely. "You can tell me all you know and what has been happening to you lately, and I'll do the same."
"That reminds me...." Marty began, taking off his jacket and reaching into one of the pockets. "Here is a walkie-talkie. You could call Doc with it and talk to him. It would be just like talking on a phone."
"You mean one of those contraptions in the future that allow you to talk to people across oceans without leaving your house?" Clara asked, taking the walkie-talkie.
"Exactly," Marty said nodding, than winced. "God, I wish I had some aspirin or something," he said rubbing his forehead. "My head feels like it was used as a baseball at the World Series."
"Close," Clara said, pulling up the anntene, like the ones on portable phones. "Captain Tannen swung at the back of your head with the back of his gun."
"So that's what happened," Marty said softly, sitting up straighter.
Clara tossed him two books. "You could read these while I talk on this contraption." Clara, noticing Marty's puzzled expression, on the books (one was a old school reader, the other a Jules Verne novel), hastily added, "Those were the only books I had with me when I was captured."
"Oh," Marty replied and opened one. Clara turned her attention back to the walkie-talkie and proceeded to turn it on. She then spent the next hour or so in bliss.
Marty slammed the book shut and stared off into space. He had been reading for what seemed like hours, while Clara talked on the walkie-talkie with her family. It wasn't that the books were boring, but the words had begun to swim in front of his eyes, and his headache had gotten worse. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, but he couldn't, not for over six long hours.
A few minutes later, Clara finally broke the connection and got off the walkie talkie. Though she looked thinner and paler than the last time Marty had seen her, which was the week before in 1985, her eyes were sparkling now, and her face was glowing.
"Oh it was so nice to here their voices," she said sighing. "I'm so glad that everyone is well and their have been no disasters. One time when we went back to visit my parents in 1897, Verne broke the water pump and there was no water the rest of the week."
Marty smiled faintly. "That must have been awful," he said, stifling a yawn, and forcing his eyes wide open, as he leaned sideways and rested his shoulder and head against one of the log posts.
Clara smiled. "It was. I thought Mother and Father were going to kill him. They were always like that...."
Clara proceeded to tell Marty about her childhood. Marty listened, but as her voice droned on, his thoughts drifted toward his own family. It seemed as if he hadn't seen them for years. Along with Jennifer, although they had had a date the Friday night before he left....
"Marty!" Clara's sharp voice brought him back to earth. He never even realized his eyes had closed until he had to open them to see Clara's face looking at him in concern.
"What did I miss?" Marty asked, feeling groggy. He was so exhausted and thought if he didn't get any sleep soon, he would keel over in a faint. He looked at his watch. Getting hit on the head must have taken more out of him then he realized, since he normally was not nearly this tired at 9PM.
Clara frowned. "Not much I guess," she said, than gave a little smile. "The only way I could tell that I didn't have your attention, was that you were snoring softly."
Marty felt his face redden. "I do not snore," he said trying to sound indignant, but he was so tired that it came out sounding weak.
Clara smiled. "Whatever," she said, than asked him, "Do you want to tell me about anything?"
Marty sighed wearily. "Sure," he said, and told Clara all about what had happened ever since he arrived in 1861 and how his great-great-great-grandmother had fallen in love with him, instead of his great-great-great-grandfather. It took him over an hour to explain to her what had happened to him in the past few days. When Marty was finished, he felt more exhausted than when he had started.
"That sounds pretty complicated," Clara agreed when he had finished talking. "Do you have any idea how to get them to fall in love?"
Marty shook his head, feeling mild pain when doing so. His headache had faded a bit, but it was still there. "Doc said he'd have to do more research to figure that out," he said drowsily and yawned. "But I don't even know if it was even documented anywhere."
Clara jumped up and clapped her hands suddenly, jerking Marty's eyes open, which had fallen closed again. "Instead of sitting here talking, why don't we play a game?" she asked, sitting back down and taking something out of her pocket. Marty leaned forward to see what it was. It was a deck of cards. "I had this with me at the time because Jules and Verne would love to play poker and gamble away money during the trips to town on the wagon," she said to him as she opened the box and shuffled the cards.
Ten long games and about two hours later, Marty leaned back against the post, drained of all energy. He had lost all but one game because he wasn't able to keep his mind from wandering, or his body from dozing off. Marty suddenly had a whole new respect for people who crammed for tests all night, something that he had never had to do.
"I can't move," he murmured to Clara. "I have no energy left."
Clara handed him one of the books she had. "Here read this," she told him. "Maybe that will keep you awake."
Marty propped the book on his knees and held the pages apart with his hands. He sat up straight against the tree trunk that propped up the tent, facing the door. Outside he could here the sound of crickets chirping, about the only thing awake out there. Even the guards had switched shifts, and their tent now had two people standing watch outside instead of just Captain Tannen.
Marty turned his attention back to the book, but the writing looked like scribbles of black pen. He yawned. He was tired, so tired. Maybe, Marty thought, if he closed his eyes for one minute, he would feel refreshed and be able to stay awake for the rest of the night. Marty let his eyes fall closed. He was so exhausted and it would just be for one minute. Then he would have some energy and be able to think clearly. Just one minute, Marty promised himself dreamily, one minute....
Clara finished cleaning up the scattered cards and sat back. The night seemed to drag on endlessly. Clara took out a watch she had in her pocket. It read 1:35AM. She put it back and looked around her for something to keep her busy for a while. She caught sight of Marty. He was sitting against one of the log posts with his head tilted back, his eyes closed, and was snoring softly, though he had denied it earlier. Clara walked over to him and plucked the book gently from his limp hands. She then took the blanket and covered him with it. She figured she'd let him sleep awhile.
Clara lay down and propped herself up on her elbow and read for about a hour after writing a letter. Then she figured she dozed off, because when she woke up, two beady eyes were staring at her, right in her face. She knew immediately it had to be Captain Tannen.
She sat up and glared at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked him, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.
"Ya said I could come back in the mornin' and, if I am not mistaken it's mornin'," Captain Tannen said, grinning at her as he gestured outside at the pale, early dawn light.
"I may have said that," Clara retorted, taking her watch out and glancing at it. "But I didn't mean you could come back at five in the morning."
"As far as I am concerned, it's mornin' when the sun is in the sky, and if that ain't the sun on the horizon, I don't know what it is," Captain Tannen said, leaning toward Clara, his lips coming toward hers.
Clara slapped him before he could get any closer. "Do you dare!" she hissed, standing up.
Captain Tannen pushed her down roughly. "Don't ya ever do that to me!" he yelled angrily, and went to the entrance of the tent.
He turned around. "You know, I can make your life ten times more miserable than it is right now," he said darkly, then turned back around, stalking out of the tent.
Clara let out a sigh of relief and gingerly stood up. Except for her arm being sore where Captain Tannen had grabbed it to shove her down, she was fine. But she knew one thing for certain. She had to get Marty out of here as soon as possible, because if Captain Tannen planned to make her life more miserable, he might decide to do the same to Marty, since he was in here with her. And she couldn't have that, because he was her only hope for a rescue. She walked over toward Marty who, amazingly, hadn't stirred once during the argument. In fact, he was still curled in the same position that Clara had left him in a couple hours earlier.
Clara leaned over him and shook his shoulder gently, while calling his name. She got no response. Right away she could tell waking him wouldn't be that easy of a job. Clara yanked the blanket off him and clapped her hands directly in his face. Marty still seemed to be sleeping soundly. She knelt down in front of him, taking both his shoulders in her hands and shook him hard. Marty groaned softly, with his eyes still shut. Clara leaned forward and hissed in his ear, "Marty McFly, you wake up this instant or I'll... I'll...I'll never speak to you again!" Clara said, still shaking him.
"But mom, it's not time for school yet," Marty mumbled in his sleep.
"You will be late to more than school, if you don't wake up now!" Clara whispered frustrated, wishing she had another glass of water handy. What could she do?
It was then she remembered the whistle lying in her pocket. Verne had been blowing it at the Fourth of July picnic and annoying everybody, so Clara had taken it away from him, intending to give it back to him later that night. However, she had forgotten about it, until that moment. Taking the whistle out of her pocket she put it right next to Marty's ear, took a deep breath, and blew hard into it.
Marty's eyes popped open in surprise and he toppled sideways. Clara stopped blowing the whistle and smiled down at him. "I'm glad you finally decided to wake up," she said sweetly to him.
Marty looked at her through his sleep fogged eyes as though she was crazy. "What was that for?" he muttered, sitting up and yawning.
Clara dropped the whistle back into her pocket. "I needed you to wake up and, since the old traditional methods didn't work, I had to resort to a more unusual way."
Marty sighed. "Can I go back to sleep, or do I need to still stay awake for my concussion?" he asked, mildly sarcastic.
Clara ignored the sarcasm. "I woke you up, because I thought it would be best if you leave," she explained and told him what Captain Tannen had said.
Marty sighed again as he stood up and put on the jacket, jamming the hat in a pocket. "I don't know if he would really try to make my life more miserable, but I don't plan to find out. Plus I'm suppose to meet Doc tonight and go back to your place over Sunday."
Clara took out a letter that she had written the night before, after she read a chapter in the book. "Will you give this to Emmett?" she asked holding it out.
Marty smiled slightly. "Sure," he replied and stuck it into another pocket, then asked in a low voice, "How do I get out?"
Clara pointed to the loose flaps. "Out there of course," she said and hugged him. "Hope to see you soon."
Marty nodded. "Me too," he said and vanished outside. Clara felt a dull, lonely ache in her heart. She wished she could get out of here as easily too.
Long after Marty left, Clara noticed that the walkie-talkie was still lying on the floor of the tent.
Saturday, July 27, 1861
9:55 P.M..
Marty looked up and down the road, searching for the familure shape of a wagon, preferably Doc Brown's.
The day had been hot and, while Marty was running laps and practicing marching with the other soldiers, he had been able to forget his fatigue. But after dinner, it all came crashing on top of him. He felt like he had only five minutes of sleep the night before and had spent the whole day running about. He couldn't wait to lie down somewhere and rest.
Besides his exhaustion weighing heavily on him, he was also being bugged by something else. While he had been at the training sight, he had caught sight of Lauren. Her eyes had been red, like she had been crying, and when she had caught sight of him, her face had crumpled, and she had hurried away in the other direction. Marty had started to follow her, but thought better of it and walked away. Even six hours later, the thought of hurting her was still nagging him.
A few minutes later Marty caught sight of a wagon in the distance. But what was wrong with it? Marty squinted at it, wondering if he was seeing things. The wagon appeared to have two bright circles of light shining out of the front. When it was about halfway toward where he was standing, the lights abruptly shut off, but Marty, not quite use to the sudden darkness, continued to see circles of light. However, he knew even before the wagon stopped next to him that Doc had to be in it. Who else would have had the technology to make headlights?
A minute later, the wagon stopped and Doc grinned out from the front wagon seat. Marty waited until he was comfortable in the back, among the horse blankets, and the town was out of sight before he asked about the lights.
"I constructed those with some batteries, and some old flashlights," Doc said in response to Marty's question. He switched them on, and the dirt road came into view. "It's easier for the horses to see where they are going, and there is less chance if them wandering off the road."
Marty nodded. "That makes sense," he admitted, and gazed up at the stars from on his back. It was a perfectly clear night, with not a cloud in the sky. The stars were bright, and Marty could see the big dipper. He closed his eyes, glad to finally be able to relax.
Doc pulled in to his garage, which was really an old carriage house, two hours after leaving it. He unhitched the horses and turned them loose into the pasture, because the stable area of the barn was being occupied by the construction of the new DeLorean. Before going into the house, he covered Marty, who was asleep in the back of the wagon, with a horse blanket.
As soon as he walked into the barn, Doc was almost knocked over by Verne and Einstein, Doc's sheep dog. Both were excitedly bouncing around. Verne had his pet snake Fang with him, a baby rattlesnake who had had it's venom sacks removed.
Verne looked up at Doc curiously. "Where's Marty?" he asked, draping Fang around his neck like a scarf.
Doc took off his coat and hung it on a nail. "Marty is sleeping right now," Doc said, than gave Verne the sternest look he could. "So don't you bother him."
Verne looked up at Doc innocently. "Why do you think I would do a thing like that?" he asked, his blue eyes wide with sincerity.
Doc smiled. "Because I know precisely how you think," he replied, then asked, "Where's Jules?"
Verne sighed. "Aw, he's in with the DeLorean. He told me to tell you that he found a new problem with the Y shaped thingy."
"You mean the flux capacitor?" Doc asked.
"Yeah that," Verne replied.
"Thanks for telling me," Doc said and hurried off toward the stables. What could have gone wrong with the flux capacitor anyway? Because his mind was pondering over this question, he never thought to look behind him, and never noticed Verne slipping out.
Verne Brown slowly eased the door to the carriage house Doc used for storing the wagon and stuck is head in. Everything was dark and silent, and looked eerily unreal in the moonlight that streamed in through the windows. Einstein whimpered at Verne's heels.
"Shhhhhh," Verne hissed to the dog. "Their is nothing to be afraid of." As if to prove this, Verne walked all the way across the room and climbed into the wagon, and almost tripping over Marty.
The dog hesitated in the doorway, then quickly ran across the room, and hopped into the wagon after him.
Fang, whom Verne had brought with him around his neck, had the bad timing to slither and drop off, right when he was leaning over, and trying to wake Marty. The snake gently fell down, right beside Marty. Verne noticed this, and make a quick grab for the snake, almost loosing his balance in the process. However, Fang was quick and by the time Verne had regained his balance, the snake had slithered up Marty's shirt sleeve.
Verne gasped and tried to think of something, anything, he could do. He didn't exactly want to imagine what would happen if Marty was to suddenly wake up and find a snake up his shirt. Einstein growled softly, eyeing the foot long slim shape that crawled steadily up Marty's arm.
It was at this point things began to go bad.
Marty began to toss and turn. The snake didn't seen to mind, and began to go down the right sleeve. Verne began to breathe again and thinking everything would be all right. The snake would get out and Marty would never know that a baby rattlesnake had crawled over him. Then however, Marty opened his eyes and found himself staring right at the snake shape. His eyes grew really wide and his body stiffened as Fang poked his head out of the shirt, right next to Marty's wrist. Verne opened his mouth to tell Marty to hold still and that the snake was harmless, when chaos erupted.
Before Verne could get one word out, Marty yelled at the top of his lungs,
"SNNAAAAAKKKEE!", stood up, leapt backward out of the wagon, and started shaking his arm and jumping around, trying to get Fang out of his shirt. Fang, who was just as scared as Marty was, if not more, held on for dear life. It was only because the snake was so scared, Verne guessed that what happened next happened.
Fang sank his teeth into Marty's wrist.
Marty felt the teeth go in and looked down at the snake, suddenly standing still. Fang, seeing his chance to escape, took his teeth out of the skin, and calmly slithered down, heading for some old junk piled up in the corner.
Marty looked down at Verne, his eyes wide and scared. Verne walked over and picked up Fang calmly. "This is Fang," he said to Marty. "He's a baby rattlesnake."
Marty looked down at his wrist, where there were two small, almost imperceptible, identical puncture wounds. "Rat-tt-le-sn-na-ake?" Marty asked his voice trembling, and the color draining from his face.
Verne nodded and noticed Marty didn't look too good. His face was so pale, he looked like a ghost. "Are you all right?" Verne asked, concerned.
Marty uttered low moan and fell to the ground. Einstein walked over to where he lay motionless and licked his face. When Marty didn't respond, the dog began to whimper. Verne, eyeing the snake, tossed him into the wagon and ran out of the garage to find his father. Only one thought ran through his head as he ran. Fang must have been poisonous and killed Marty!
Marty smelled something potent. He tried turning his head away from the smell, but it would follow him. He opened his eyes slowly and gazed up, blinking a few times before his eyes focused. Three faces stared down at him in a dim circle of lantern light. Doc's, Jules's and Verne's. Whatever was under his nose was removed, once he had opened his eyes. Marty closed them again, feeling his wrist throb, though he couldn't quite remember why.
"He's alive!" Marty heard Verne say, his voice sounding relived.
Marty heard Jules sigh, as if his brother was beyond stupid. "Of course he's alive," Jules said. "People don't die from fainting."
Verne sighed. "Well excuuuse me," he said sarcastically. "I thought Fang poisoned him when he bit Marty."
Marty's eyes flew open, it all coming back to him. He was bitten by a rattlesnake. Marty started to shake. "Oh God," he moaned. "I'm going to die."
Doc's voice broke into his thoughts of death. "You're not going to die," he said firmly, giving Verne a look. "The snake is perfectly harmless."
Marty propped himself on his elbows, ignoring the dizziness when he did. "Then why did I faint?" he asked, and showed Doc his wrist. "These teeth marks don't look harmless to me."
"You fainted because you got a big shock," Doc replied. "The teeth marks look worse than they are. You might have scars but I am sure you won't die because, even though the snake was a rattler, the poison sacks have already been removed."
Marty relaxed a little. "You mean I won't die?"
Doc shook his head. "Not unless the bite becomes infected and you get blood poisoning," he said, then asked, "Can you stand up?"
"I think so," Marty said, a bit uncertain. Even though he knew he wasn't going to die, his heart was still pounding, and he felt a little dizzy.
Marty slowly stood up and saw the room spin around him, like a out of control carrousel, and felt his knees buckle. He reached out for something to grab on to and his hand came into contact with the side of the wagon. When the room stopped spinning, Marty happened to glance in the wagon and saw Fang resting right next to the side of the wagon he had grabbed. Even though Marty now knew he was harmless, he felt his face begin to loose what color it had regained, and the room begin to go dark. Doc saw this and rushed over to Marty, practically holding him up, as they walked out of the garage and into the barn. Jules and Verne followed silently. Doc led Marty to a couch and told him to lie down. Marty obeyed, and saw Doc hurry off into where Marty thought the kitchen must be. Marty had the feeling that, from now on, he would probably be afraid of snakes. He never had been before, but then again, he had never been bitten by a snake before, aside from garter snakes.
Jules, Verne, and Doc's dog Einstein all came into the room at the same time. Verne looked at him carefully, as if to make sure that he was really there. "Are you sure you are okay?" Verne asked Marty. "You're awfully pale."
Marty tried to smile, but it came out more of a grimace. "I think I'm fine," he replied, than held up his right arm and looked at his wrist. "Except for this thing. It sure hurts."
"Father will probably bandage it up soon," Jules said, glancing toward the direction that Doc had disappeared in.
At that moment Doc returned, balancing a heavy blanket, some bandages, a bottle of something, a glass of water, and a pill. Jules and Verne ran over and grabbed some of the things off their father, and dumped them in a heap on the floor next to the couch. Doc held out the glass of water and the pill. "Take this," he instructed. "It should help you relax."
Marty took the pill and the glass of water and swallowed them. He handed the glass back to Doc and lay back, not feeling any different. Doc pulled over a chair and sat next to Marty, covering him up with the blanket, then taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap off it. "Hold out your wrist, " Doc told him.
Marty did so and Doc poured some kind of liquid on his wrist. It stung horribly and Marty had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling out. After that was done, Doc took the bandages and wrapped up the snakebite. " In a few minutes the stinging will probably stop," he said, standing up and gathering the empty glass and bottle together. "I'll be right back," Doc added, going toward the kitchen or whatever it was that he had come from before.
"So Marty, how do you like the Civil War?" Verne asked brightly, as if nothing had happened.
"It isn't exactly what I pictured," Marty said, thinking back to the hard training and the strict generals that were ten times worse than the strictest high school teachers.
"I heard you have met our mother," Jules said matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I saw her last night," Marty replied, thinking how last night he had felt so tired, but now, because of the snake scare, he felt wide awake.
"How is she?" Verne asked, as he scratched Einstein behind the ears.
"She's fine," Marty said, then remembered the letter that he was suppose to give Doc, which was in his coat, which he had left in the wagon. And Marty didn't plan on setting foot in the garage, let alone the wagon until the snake was long gone!
"Verne," he asked, "could you go in the garage and get my coat for me?"
Verne's eyes lighted up. "Sure!" he exclaimed and ran out of the room, followed by Einstein. Jules followed too, after a moments pause.
Doc came back into the room with a pile of papers in his arm. "This is all the stuff I was able to find on your family," he said, setting it on Marty's lap, with the diary on top. "I think you should especially take a look at this," Doc added, pointing to the diary as he sat down in the chair next to the couch.
Marty opened it to where Doc had marked a page. Monday evening, the 29th of July, 1861, Dear Diary, it read, Today I helped a man who was shot in the shoulder. His name is Alexander Baines, and Rhett Butler was with him when he was brought in. If I wasn't so attached to Rhett, I might decide to fall for Alexander. He has nice clean blond hair
Marty's head jerked up. He must have been more tired than he had thought, because he had begun to doze off for a second. Doc looked at him, as if he knew what he was thinking. "It's that pill I gave you," he explained. "I was afraid you might go into shock, so I gave you a sleeping pill, to help you relax. It is probably kicking in right now."
Marty nodded and continued reading. Tommorow when I report to the hospital, I am thinking of bringing Alexander some flowers, maybe some carnations from Mother's prize garden. Speaking of Mother, I wonder where she and Father could be. They were suppose to arrive here a few days ago. I wonder what could have happened to them. They were, after all, just going on a routine drive to Williamsberg for some supplies and food. I sincerely hope nothing bad has happened to them. Yours, Lauren.
Doc nodded for Marty to turn to the next page. Marty, though his eyes were beginning to feel like they were holding up the world, did. The next page was written in large messy bold strokes and was smeared in some parts.
Thursday morning, the 1st of August, 1861, Dearest Diary, I had just received the worst news ever imaginable. Around three in the morning, I was awoken by a fearsome knowing at my door. I immediately ran downstairs and threw open the door. The sheriff from Williamsberg was there. He told me, with great sadness, that Mother and Father had been killed when they had both taken ill with fever suddenly, and only two days ago were they both found dead in their wagon, midway home. Oh diary, I am so distraught. Besides finding out Mother and Father are dead, I am now going to have to move all the way to a far off place called Florida to stay with my Aunt Doris, and Uncle William. I will have to leave at the end of next the week. I must say goodbye now friend. I am now going to weep out my tears for dear Mother and Father. Yours, Lauren.
"What does this mean?" Marty asked, lying back against the cushions and flipping through the diary randomly.
"It means that you have seriously altered history," Doc replied and pointed to the diary. "In the original history, after Lauren's parents died, Alexander proposed, they were married, and never left the area. Now, since Lauren is in love with you, even if Alexander did propose she would probably decline the offer, move to Florida, and that could destroy the space-time continuum!"
"How?" asked Marty, not seeing anything wrong with Lauren going to Florida. "I mean, why could she destroy the universe if she moves to Florida?"
"It was never in the original history," Doc explained. "If she met a young man, and he fell in love with her while he was suppose to fall in love with someone else it could cause a paradox if that man never got over his love for Lauren."
"Doc look!" Marty exclaimed suddenly, sitting up and pointing to the last entry. They read it together.
Saturday night, the 21st of April, 1862, Dear Diary, This shall be my final entry in you, old friend, for I plan on joining dear Mother and Father tonight, at precisely midnight. I miss them dreadfully and I feel like I do not belong on this earth anymore. Tonight I shall drown myself in the swamp out behind our house. Drowning seems like the romantic way to die; all the heroines do it in books. I know Aunt Doris and Uncle William shall be disappointed in me at first, but I am sure they will feel a blessed relief too, since I know I am an extra burden on the family, which now has seven kids, aged 10 to 1. Plus, Aunt Doris is expecting another one. I hope they find this after I am in my watery grave, and know I loved them dearly. So dear diary, I will now say goodbye. Goodbye forever, my life long chum. Yours for the last time, Lauren Anne Smith.
"Great Scott!" Doc exclaimed, putting a hand to his forehead. "This will change history so much and cause so many paradoxes, I don't even wish to think about it."
Marty felt chilled to the bone as he lay back against the cushions. "Does this mean I might fade away, like in 1955?" he asked, struggling through the waves of drowsiness to stay awake.
Doc nodded grimly. "Unfortunately, yes. Not only will you have never existed, but none of the relatives on your mother's side of the family, plus," Doc grew a bit pale, then continued, "I may not be alive. I would have died from those terrorists shooting me in 1985 if you hadn't warned me."
Marty nodded drowsily. "So what'll we do to get Alexander and Lauren together and not screw up the future?" he asked, fighting to keep his eyes open.
Doc frowned. "That is one thing I can't figure out." He was silent for a moment while thinking. "I got it!" Doc exclaimed suddenly.
"What?" Marty asked softly.
"You could plan a picnic for the two of you," Doc began, then continued,
"then, like the plan with your parents, you could -"
Marty groaned, interrupting what he knew Doc was going to say. "Doc, I seriously doubt that people acted that way in 1861. Besides, I saw her earlier today and she looked pretty unhappy to see me, because I stood her up at the dance."
"Nevertheless, she must have gotten over her disappointment," Doc said and gestured to the diary page about Lauren's dying that Marty still held in his hands. "Because it says in their that she might decide to like Alexander, if she didn't already like you!"
"Doc can't we talk about this tommorow?" Marty murmured softly, giving in to his drowsiness and closing his eyes. If Doc answered, Marty never heard it.
Doc Brown sighed. "We should come up with a decision tonight about what we should do about Lauren and Alexander," Doc said in response to Marty's question, then continued. "Now if we brought them together, perhaps in a traumatic experience..." he trailed off thinking. What could they do to scare them, but at the same time, make sure that no one was hurt? Doc suddenly had a great idea, but it would need some work.
"Perhaps we could use the time machine to show them there futures if they don't get together, like in the book 'A Christmas Carol'! That might frighten them so much, that they would fall in love and get married. What do you think of that?" Doc asked Marty, looking over at him.
Marty let out a soft snore for an answer. Doc had been so busy thinking, he never even notice that Marty had fallen asleep. He was relived to see that Marty was not nearly as pale as he had been earlier. Doc had almost dropped the flux capacitor that he had been removing from the DeLorean to fix a loose part, when Verne ran in yelling that Fang had killed Marty. Verne always tended to be melodramatic so, before panicking, Doc decided he should have a look for himself. Luckily, Marty had only fainted and, except for the snake bite, seemed fine until he caught sight of the snake in the wagon. Doc had noticed his face going white, so he rushed over and helped Marty to the barn before anything worse could have happened. Still, he seemed pretty pale, even in the barn away from snakes and he was afraid Marty might go into shock, which could be dangerous, so Doc had decided to give him a strong sleeping pill to relax him. It seemed to have done it's job. Doc leaned forward and took the diary from Marty, who still held it open in his hands. He browsed through it, for the third time, and noticed the name Alexander on a page. Doc read the entry.
Friday morning, the 9th of August, 1861, Dear Diary, Tommorow Uncle William is coming here to fetch me. I have all morning to pack tommorow, but come the afternoon, I'll be gone forever. Alexander Baines, when he heard the news, looked real sorry. I think he was hoping to court me, but now I'll never know. The house went up for sale today, and Uncle William seems to think he'll get a pretty penny for it. They plan on using the money for my bringing up, though I wanted to go to collage. They told me a women's place is at home, so for now I will have to help them raise their kids. I think this sounds so dreadfully boring. Yours, Lauren.
Right after Doc finished reading the entry, Verne, followed by Jules and Einstein, burst through the door. Verne was triumphantly waving Marty's coat in the air like a banner. "I got it!" he yelled, and tossed the coat on the couch on top of the wingbacked chair that was a few feet away, and continued. "Jules was chicken to even step in the garage, with Fang in there. I was the one who had to grab the coat alone, in the wagon."
"Why did you even get the coat?" Doc asked Verne, shutting the diary.
"Marty asked us to," Verne replied and, catching sight of him, grew slightly pale. "Is he dead?" he asked in a hushed whisper, his eyes wide.
Jules let out an exasperated sigh. "He is not dead if he is still breathing," he said, rolling his eyes at his brother.
Verne's eyes narrowed. "Well sorry Mr. I-can't-go-in-the-garage-because-the-snake-is-poisonous."
"Boys!" Doc said sternly, as Jules opened his mouth to answer back. "It is way past your bedtimes, so why don't you go to bed now."
"Father, can I try to fix the flux capacitor?" Jules asked hopefully.
Doc sighed. "I suppose so," he replied slowly.
Verne groaned. "That's no fair! Why do I have to go to bed, while Jules gets to stay up and work on the time machine?" he asked stubbornly.
"You can too, if you do everything your brother says, and be very careful," Doc said after a moment of thought. What was the worst that could happen?
Jules stared disdainfully at his younger brother. "Come on," he said sighing, as he headed off toward the stables. Verne followed happily.
Doc once again turned his attention to the diary. What did the last entry mean? Could Lauren perhaps be beginning to fall for Alexander? Doc picked up an old family tree of the Baines and studied it, almost dropping it when he noticed something. All the names of the children that Lauren and Alexander were suppose to have were all gone, as if they never existed. The names of their children were still there, along with the names of the spouses, but the four sons that Lauren and Alexander had had - or were suppose to Doc reminded himself- were all gone. He set down the family tree, and shifted through the papers, still lying on Marty's lap, trying to find some old photographs he had noticed earlier. Doc found two from that generation, and they were all blank, except for the background, where their had once been the sons. He found some more photographs, from decades later, and they still had the people who were suppose to be in them, in there, so Doc guessed the non-existence had not progressed far. However he wondered how much time they had left before Marty would fade away.
At that moment, Doc heard a loud crash, coming from the stable, and Jules yelling, "Father, Verne just knocked over the gas can!"
"I did not!" Verne retorted back. "You hit it while you were crawling from underneath the car!"
Doc hurriedly set down the papers and photograph. What else could possibly go wrong? Doc Brown thought as he rushed off to the DeLorean to settle the argument, before it got any worse, just like he hoped he would fix the Lauren and Alexander problem.
Sunday, July 28, 1861
6:36 P.M..
Marty stood at the edge of a swamp looking down, for a reason he couldn't seem to remember. All he knew is that something important had happened or was going to happen on the shore and water.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned around. Lauren Smith was slowly walking toward him, her features set in a grim determination that Marty could see clearly, even in the pale moonlight. She stopped at the edge of the swamp and gazed down, like Marty had been doing a minute before.
"I have to go through with this," she whispered under her breath.
"With what?" Marty asked, but got no answer. It was as if she didn't even know he was there.
Lauren slowly took her necklace off, which had a heart shaped locket on the chain. She let it slide gently through her fingers to the solid ground. Then, closing her eyes, she slowly walked off the shore, toward the center of the swamp. Marty stared at her, too shocked to say a word. It was only when she went completely under that he went into action. Throwing off his denim jacket
( for some reason he was in his 1985 clothing ), he plunged into the water and swam toward the center of the pond, diving under the water over and over again, trying to grab her. Just when he was about to give up, he caught something in his fingers and went to the surface, yanking it up with him.
Marty stared in horror at the skeleton he had just dragged up. "Nooo," he moaned, feeling sick.
"Yes," the skeleton whispered in a barely audible voice, and began yanking him toward the center of the swamp, puling him down. Marty struggled and yelled as loudly as he could, but no one came to his rescue. His last view was of the skull grinning at him, and shaking his shoulders with it's bony hands as it pulled him under.
Then he saw nothing else.
"Marty, wake up!"
"No! I won't die!" Marty moaned, his eyes shut tightly, still in his dream, and sitting bolt upright trying to push away the person who was shaking his shoulders.
"Wake up, Marty!" the voice said again, shaking him.
Marty slowly opened his eyes, looking right into Verne's face, which was pale and looked scared. He looked slowly around him, as if to make sure that he was really awake. Outside, the first rays of sunlight could be seen, and Marty could here birds chirping merrily. It seemed to be real, but so did that nightmare. He let out a sigh of relief and lay back against the cushions, his heart still pounding in his ears.
"What happened?" Verne asked slowly, getting off the couch where he had been kneeling.
"I don't know," Marty said, feeling groggy and confused.
"All I know, is that I heard you tossing and turning, while you were yelling something out. I came down to try to figure out what was happening, and then I tried waking you up," Verne said, still staring at him in amazement.
"Was I yelling that loud?" Marty asked feeling embarrassed. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, he knew.
"Naw, I was already up," Verne said and pointed upward. "Plus, I sleep in the hay loft and can hear everything that goes on in all the rooms."
"I thought you were a skeleton," Marty murmured under his breath.
"What?" Verne asked.
"Nothing," Marty said in a normal voice. "Listen, I was just having a bad nightmare, that was all."
Verne stared at him, wide eyed. "It must have been one bad one," he said. "You kept on pushing me away, like I was trying to kill you."
Marty remembered fighting with the bony hands that were trying to pull him underwater, and shivered. He hoped he'd never have another nightmare like that again. He sat up and threw the blanket back, scattering a dozen or so papers on the floor that had been lying on top of it. He stood up and quickly put his coat on. "I'm going to go for a walk," he told Verne, opening the door and stepping out before he had a chance to answer.
As Marty walked through the woods surrounding Doc's property, he took deep breaths of the crisp morning air, trying to push out the vivid memory of the nightmare, and trying to wake himself up. Whatever Doc had given him the night before certainly had relaxed him. He didn't think he had ever slept that hard before in his life. Marty wondered if that had any connection to the dream. Or maybe it was from reading about Lauren's suicide that would take place in about 9 months. Whatever it was from, Marty didn't think he wanted to go to sleep for awhile, even though he still felt tired and slightly groggy, for fear of repeating the experience.
The woods were beautiful, with the sunlight glistening off the dew on the trees. The sky seemed to have no clouds in it and it looked like it would be a beautiful day. Marty spent over an hour wandering through the woods, and thinking about the Lauren and Alexander problem. Coming up with no solution, he finally returned back to the barn. No one seemed to be around when he returned, so Marty sat down on the couch and leafed through the pieces of paper, which were still scattered about on the floor. They seemed to be things about his mother's side of the family. There were also a few photographs. Two had no one, just scenery in them, and the third Marty almost dropped in surprise.
In the picture appeared to be a family, with a husband and wife, standing behind three boys. But the picture was not normal. The father was gone, all the way down to his waist. Just like the picture that showed Marty, his brother, and his sister, that in 1955, when Marty's mother had fallen in love with him, showed him and his brother and sister slowly fade away as his parents never fell in love. Lucky for Marty, he had been able to correct things in the nick of time. But what did this photo mean, Marty wondered. He quickly took out the photo he had in his wallet, the one that had started to fade away in 1955. Marty sighed in relief when he saw that nothing had changed in it. As he put his wallet back into his pocket, his fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper. He pulled it out, suddenly remembering about the note he was suppose to give Doc from Clara. Marty stuck it next to the half faded picture, while he picked up some papers and flipped through them. All he found was a bunch of boring facts on when some of his relatives were born, died, who they married, and how many children did they have. He set the papers back down and stood up. He wondered where everyone was. Marty began to wander throughout the barn, searching for anyone. But everyone was gone. Where was Doc, Jules and Verne? Marty wondered.
A few minutes later he found himself in the stable/lab, where the DeLorean sat, silent. The outside looked the same as the other one, except it had a new Californian licence plate that read OUTATIME. The first DeLorean had had the same thing, but the plate had fallen off when Doc had sent the car through time for the first time and he had never put it back on because things had gotten very hectic after that. Marty walked over to the DeLorean and opened the gull wing door, climbing inside. He leaned back in the seat and looked around him. Everything looked almost the same inside as the original DeLorean did. The time display was the only thing very different. Instead of having the 3 different time displays, it now had just one with labels under blank digital screens that read year, month, day, time, place. It appeared that this Delorean could instantly transport you to any place, unlike the other one, which transported you only to the exact place you left. There were also two key pads, one with numbers, and the other with letters that were for, Marty guessed , the place where you wanted to go. The steering wheel was also slightly different. It now resembled one that you might find in an airplane. Marty wondered if this DeLorean would be able to fly, just like the train and the previous DeLorean.
Marty climbed back out and shut the door behind him. He walked over to a table, strewn with odds and ends. What was this? Marty wondered, picking up a large chunk of something, with wires coming out all over.
The door that led outside behind him slammed open. Marty was so startled, he almost dropped the wire thing in his hand.
"Out of my way!" Verne yelled, flying in on the hoverboard, heading straight for him. Marty dove to the ground, and shut his eyes, seeing Verne head straight for the car. When a few seconds passed, and no crash was heard, he cautiously opened one eye, expecting to see Verne as a new addition on the DeLorean or worse. Instead he saw Verne trapped on top of the DeLorean standing on the hoverbored and looking slightly panicked. "How do I get down?" he asked franticly, trying to keep his balance on top of the narrow bored.
Marty got up and walked over to the DeLorean. He reached up and gave the board a slight nudge. The hoverboard slid down the other side of the car, taking Verne with it, and ran into a pile of boxes.
Marty ran over and lifted some boxes of the pile. "Are you alright?" he asked, struggling not to laugh as Verne glared up at him from within a nest of boxes.
"Fine, no thanks to you," he replied angrily, standing up and picking up his coon skin cap that had fallen off in the crash, and sticking back on his head.
Marty continued digging through the boxes, searching for the hoverboard this time. "It's not my fault," he said, finding the hoverboard and picking it up. "You would have been stuck up there all day, if no one pushed you."
"Yeah, but no one else would have pushed me toward the boxes," Verne grumbled.
"Does Doc usually let you hoverboard in the past?" Marty asked changing the subject. He thought that was odd, since Doc usually had all these rules on not attracting too much attention or causing paradoxes, by doing certain things, like, perhaps, using things that haven't been invented yet.
"He's the one who brought it out," Verne replied and looked like he was about to say something else, when they were interrupted by a short figure clothed in a dark robe with a hood that hid the person's face. The person held a long stick in their hand.
"I am the Grim Reaper, coming to claim your soul," Jules said in a low voice trying to sound threatening, but not really succeeding. He walked over to where Marty and Verne stood, and pushed back the hood.
"You didn't harm that hoverboard did you?" Jules asked Verne in a normal voice, taking in the toppled boxes that were scattered on the floor.
"Nothing could break that," Verne said, taking the hoverboard from Marty and tossing it on the floor, proving that it still hovered six inches off the ground.
"I'm sure you could discover a way," Jules said as he pulled the robe thing off, and handed to Marty. "This is part of your costume, along with with the hoverboard device," he told Marty, pointing toward the hoverboard.
"What do you mean costume?" Marty asked puzzled, as he took the robe. As far as he remembered, Doc had never mentioned anything about having him wear a costume.
"Father has not informed you yet," Jules stated, just as Doc came through the doorway.
"Doc, what do they mean by saying I have to dress up?" Marty asked, walking toward him and carrying the robe.
"It's all part of the plan," Doc replied. "Try it on."
Sighing in frustration, Marty slipped the robe over his head, and pulled the hood on. "What am I suppose to be?" he asked, barely able to see a thing with the thick material covering his eyes. How was he suppose to walk with this on anyway?
Doc grinned broadly. "You're supposed to be a ghost from the future, " he explained, as if Marty should have known all along.
Marty didn't get it. "Huh?" he asked, looking at the costume and wondering if it was suppose to make him turn transparent or something.
"Step on the hoverboard and let the bottom of the costume go around it," Doc instructed.
Marty, though he could barely see the hoverboard on the floor with this hood on, did so.
"I still don't get what this what this had to do with anything," he told Doc doubtfully as he stood on the hoverboard and let the bottom of the costume go down over the board. Marty though he must look like he was hovering a few inches above the floor, like a ghost.
"Perfect!" Doc exclaimed, clasping his hands. "It'll be perfect for the plan. You look exactly like a ghost. The hoverboard makes you look as if you have no legs."
"Will someone please tell me what is going on here?" Marty begged, stepping off the hoverboard and picking it up. What did Doc mean, talking about being a ghost was part of a plan? Did it have anything to do with the Lauren and Alexander romance?
"Have you ever seen the play, movie, or read the book 'A Christmas Carol'?" Doc asked him.
Marty blinked. That was a strange question. "Our school put the play on one year, so I saw it then. But what's this have to do with me being a ghost or part of some plan?" he asked, literally feeling left in the dark, and realizing he still had the hood on. He pulled it back off his head, and stared at Doc, waiting for an answer.
"Do you remember in the play when the Ghost of Christmas Future visited Scrouge and showed him what his future would be, if he never changed?" Doc asked.
"Yeah, so?" Marty replied, still not seeing what Doc was getting at.
"Well, it is my plan to finish the DeLorean up by Friday so you, as a ghost from the future, can take Alexander and Lauren through time to see what would happen if they never married, " Doc explained, looking very proud of himself for coming up with a plan like that.
But Marty was confused. "Wouldn't that cause paradoxes in time?" he asked, puzzled. He couldn't remember the number of times Doc had warned him about interfering with the future or past. He had, more than once, screwed things up by just doing things that he would normally do, like saving his future father in 1955 from being hit by a car. Unfortunately, when he did that, he got hit instead of George McFly, and his mother ended up in love with him instead of George, who she was suppose to fall in love with. Marty wondered if Doc had thought out the plan thoroughly.
Doc shrugged. "Not if you are careful about being seen and interfering in the events," he said thoughtfully, then added, "Besides, we are running out of time to have them fall in love, and this is the only thing I could generate on such a short time span."
Marty shrugged. "You're the doc," he said. If Doc wasn't afraid of any major, universe ending disasters, he wouldn't be either.
"Jules and I will spend the whole day working on the DeLorean to get it finished by Friday, so Verne will help you rehearse your part outside," Doc said pointing to his second born, who grinned eagerly at this important task.
A few minutes later, Marty found himself in a small field near Doc Brown's barn. He still had the hooded robe on, even though the temperature was already climbing swiftly and black was not exactly a good color to wear on days like this. Verne was trying to demonstrate to him how to move on a hoverboard without touching the ground, but Marty's mind kept on wandering. He kept on remembering the nightmare he had had earlier. He hoped Doc wouldn't have him go to that time and show Lauren what would happen to her if she and Alexander never got married.
"Marty, watch!" Verne yelled, balancing on the hoverboard. Marty turned his attention back to the present situation. It wouldn't help anyone if he made the board glide by pushing it with his foot, like he normally did, and Lauren or Alexander caught him doing that, whil