Story 1: Open Season

Coniferous forest surrounded the 1983 road he walked along, their towering presence casting eerie shadows in the moonlight. The air surrounding him was crisp, carrying the fresh scent of pine. The sky above was a vast canvas adorned with countless stars. Owen’s only reason to be here was to prevent a supposed murderer from taking place. The suspect was a cattle farmer named Rhett. The victims were a few unnamed transients, but as far as he was concerned, there would be none at this farm when his job was finished.

Like a watchful eye, the full moon gave Owen some much-needed light on his solitary journey. It allowed him to view a photo of Rhett he’d just taken from his pocket. The man was a bulky, tall, wrinkly man with dark brown hair and a curly mustache wearing farm clothes.

Silence surrounded him as if he were on a carless state road in Idaho, and he was. After he’d walked a mile, he noticed the sign for Hudson’s farm. The road leading him there was just ahead. Far behind him, the rumbling of a car got his attention. He turned, noticing a pair of headlights in the distance heading his way. He jumped into a ditch, hiding behind some shrubs. The car passed by, thankfully not stopping for any reason.

He’d grab a cold RC Cola while he was here. How long has it been since I’ve had one of those? He couldn’t remember. He had his prison sentence and World War Three to thank for that. It’d left most US cities and their suburbs in ash and rubble. The survivors of the final battle, named the Battle of Armageddon by the mainstream media, got together to live in compounds in small communities where they all grew plants, hunted for food, and even started some small manufacturing in some cases. One good thing about the breakdown of American society is that it allowed prisoners like him to escape their confines and find new life. He was captured by a female soldier who knew of his past after he’d fled to Idaho. He’d been locked up since then until they offered him this opportunity as a way of absolving some of his previous crimes.

Tonight, he’d go in, find old man Rhett, pop him with two bullets to the head, and then return to 2100, where he came from. The whole thing would be simple. He trudged forward confidently, reaching a “Hudson’s Farm” sign; his stomach churned with nervousness. The farm would be just down this long, winding road.

When he noticed lights on in the distance, he cut through a small meadow and finally arrived at Hudson’s cattle farm. He crouched behind a small hill to observe the area and see if he could guess where Rhett might be. The traditionally shaped barns and storehouses were dark, but a light lit up the inside of one of the cattle houses.

A light was on inside the main house, but checking there would have to come second since the likelihood of the old farmer being in the cattle barn would be more significant. Treading lightly, Owen headed that way. Once he was close enough, he stayed out of view of the entrance and headed for the side of the building. He put his body flat against the sidewall and listened. No one seemed to be stirring on the other side. Staying close to the wall, he headed towards the front of the building; he kept the magnum inside his leather jacket. He understood what a deadly mistake it’d be to have the gun outpointed in front of him. Doing that would be an automatic death sentence if he were to bump into Rhett or anyone else who happened to be armed.

Livestock ate inside the barn, but no one else seemed present. He went in, observing every nook and cranny for a sign of Rhett. Nothing.

On the other side of the shelter, he noticed a small room with the light on, but the door was closed. He tiptoed over and put his hand on the knob, ready to pull out the magnum and surprise the old man but stayed and listened carefully for a moment for any sound of him. Someone or something was likely on the other side of the door. He could tell by the sound of running water. His pulse started to race as he twisted the knob and flung the door open. He redied his magnum, ready to fire, but the room was empty. Instead, there was a group of troughs on wheels slowly filling with water. He was dumbfounded. He thought for sure someone would be there. Making his way inside the room, he put his magnum back into his jacket pocket and started to twist one of the faucets when he heard someone coming behind him. He froze in place.

“Hands up,” the voice of a man said.

Owen put his hands in the air. “What’s the matter?”

“Turn around slowly.” He turned around. A tall, burly man who must’ve stood about six feet four and weighed in the range of four hundred pounds stood at the doorway holding a twenty-two-caliber rifle.

“You must be Rhett,” Owen blurted out.

“I am. I’m guessing you came about the job I posted in the paper.”

Owen cleared his throat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You’d better believe it. It’s the farmhand job, right?”

Rhett lit up a cigarette, offering one to Owen, who declined. “You a transient, son?”

Owen nodded. “I’ve been moving around, trying to find work here and there. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

Rhett lowered his rifle. “Not a problem at all. If you take the job, you’ll help me around the farm. You’ll take care of the cattle and all the other animals, and you’ll help grow the crops and move stuff around. And let’s not forget milking the cows. I’ll give you fifty bucks a week, including room and board. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a deal; when do I start?”

Rhett walked towards him. “You can start right now.” Then he stuck his hand out.

Owen took his hand and shook it. “Okay, just show me what you want me to do.”

Rhett headed out towards the door of the water room. “Go ahead and start by putting these troughs before every other stable. If you have any weapons, better give them to me now.”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “Do I have to?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rhett said. Owen hesitated, reluctantly handing over the weapon. “State law, you know.” He didn’t know if that was true, but since the man had a gun.

The work wasn’t finished until about ten pm. Rhett showed Owen to his living quarters afterward. The house they had him in sat about an acre from the main house. It had electricity, which, judging by the flickering of the lights, was somewhat unreliable but better than nothing. The whole place had a musty-stale scent, which indicated poor ventilation, and was only one story, no basement. The front room was a community room with a small TV, a few couches and chairs, a ping pong table, and a soccer table to entertain the farm hands. It had a full bathroom down a separate hallway, along with several rooms. It also had a full kitchen. Every room was lined with an ugly wood grain finish that made Owen laugh.

He had some time to enjoy these accommodations until he could figure out how to kill Rhett. It was also possible he wouldn’t kill the man at all. The old guy was soft-spoken and on the quiet side. It occurred to Owen that Rhet may well be innocent. But he only had a few days to confirm it. The scientist who sent him here, Dr. Kira Sokolov, had the female guards attach a special GPS ankle monitor to keep track of him so he wouldn’t try to run away. They’d arrest him if he stayed here too long or went out of this vicinity. The device was also capable of keeping track of vital signs. Dr. Sokolov included Rhett’s known body shape and description. It likely picked up the old guy’s vital signs after he came within a few feet of him. Once Rhett died, the retrieval program would run and return him to his own time. But that wouldn’t be happening tonight.

The following day, he woke up at the crack of dawn courtesy of the resident rooster. Farmer Rhett instructed him on what to work on, which was feeding the animals. Then he could clean up and head to the main house for a complimentary breakfast, where he’d meet Mrs. Hudson.

A half-hour later, he knocked on the door. A woman answered, greeting him with a weak “hello,” and invited him in. The woman made little eye contact with him, which he found strange, but what did it matter? He’d be out of here within a day or so.

He returned the greeting, making himself home by sitting on the couch and folding his hands behind his head. He could only assume this was Mrs. Hudson, but there was a chance it could be his daughter. It wasn’t known to Owen whether the old man even had a daughter, but this woman was much younger than he’d expected. He guessed her age to be late thirties or so. She had long brown hair tied up and braided. Her face, which he found pretty, was thin. She was a few inches smaller than him and thin as well. Her purple sweater complimented her hair color and style well, as did the ripped blue jeans and tall leather boots she wore.

Owen looked over as she stood in the living room doorway. “You must be Tracy.”

“It’s Mrs. Hudson to you, and come to the table, please. Breakfast is ready,”

Owen stood up abruptly. “Yes, mam.” He was close enough to notice a small bruise on the side of her face and couldn’t help but stare.

She quickly noticed, which felt awkward to him. “Haven’t worked on a farm, have you?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

She shook her head in dismissal. “Trust me, you’ll find out. I’ve gotten many bumps and bruises doing what we do here.”

Rhett appeared in the dining room doorway. “Come on, Tracy! Are we eatin’ or what?”

She wrinkled her nose at him and walked to the kitchen without saying anything.

Rhett slapped him playfully on the back and then lit a cigarette. “Hey, ain’t she something?” Then he laughed. “Loosen up a little, Owen. Ya like coffee?”

Owen nodded and then sat down at the far end of the table.

The breakfast was about as country as he’d imagined it would be. Home fries, cheesy scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon, along with butted toast and cowboy-style coffee, all sat in front of him.

Owen couldn’t remember a time he’d eaten something this good. It was likely at least ten years ago when he was still just twenty years old, before the war.

Mrs. Hudson looked over to Rhett. “Are you taking him to Grace?” Rhett dropped his fork, which clanked loudly as it hit the plate. He stared at her, seemingly annoyed, without saying anything.

Owen suddenly felt sick but was too hungry not to eat. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but it dawned on him that he was there because Rhett had murdered someone, at least according to history. The idea of him being their victim occurred to him. What kind of mess exactly had he gotten himself into already?

Rhett looked over to Owen and smiled. “I haven’t told you yet. I’ve gotta go into town to do a few things and would like you to come with me.”

“Do I have a choice? Maybe you two can get out for a while,” Owen asked. He thought about looking for his magnum while they were gone. Then, after they returned, he could do the job he had come for, to return to 2100 before he might change his mind. He’d let this go far enough already, and within a few days, if he hadn’t finished the job, they’d come looking for him.

“I’m afraid you don’t,” Rhett said. Tracy has enough to do around here. Besides, I’m assuming you need some money, right?”

“Money,” Owen said with hesitation. He’d used money before, but that was so long ago that it was the last thing on his mind. However, a thing like the dollar would be crucial to survival in this period. “Oh right, Money. I sure could use some.”

Rhett nodded. “Well, I’ll forward a bit so you can get some things you might need at Marge’s General Store.”

“Alright, I guess I can’t argue with that.”

When they finished breakfast, Owen got in Rhett’s Ford F-100, which, by the look of it, appeared to be old. The drive to downtown Grace took about twenty-five minutes, primarily due to Rhett’s slow driving.

When they got to Grace and were out of his truck, Rhett handed him two fifties and two weeks’ pay and headed inside Margie’s General Store.

Owen brought several sets of clothes, food, and bottles of his favorite drink, RC Cola. He also bought the most essential amenities.

When they finished, he thought they’d return to the farm, but Rhett walked out of the store and crossed the street, waving him to do the same. After they’d gone a few blocks, they stopped at Primo Bank.

Rhett opened the door and waved him inside. “Come on, Owen. You’ll want to open a bank account to keep your money.”

Owen hesitated. “I won’t need one. I’ll find somewhere safe to put it.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. I’ve got more farmhands to hire. The last thing I need is a bunch of guys fighting over stolen money.”

Owen turned around and started to cross the street but was stopped by Rhett’s words. “Listen, if you work for me, you need a bank account. Now, I’m assuming you don’t have one here, and by the looks of it, I reckon I’m right, but I can’t always hand you cash. Sometimes, I’ll need to write you checks. These banks won’t just cash a check for some transient like you. So get in here, and let’s do this.

As Owen entered the bank, Rhett patted him and laughed. Thankfully, there were no hard feelings about his hesitation, and Owen had to admit that his explanation of why he had opened an account was sound.

As soon as they entered the bank, a man dressed in a suit greeted Rhett. He was short and stocky, with salt and pepper-colored hair and a spray tan that’d make George Hamilton jealous.

The man emerged from behind the counter and raised his hand. “You must be Owen. I’m Vince, the bank manager here at Primo Bank. Step inside my office, and we’ll get you all set up.”

He filled out all the required information using his last known address, hoping for the best. The town in his own time may or may not have even existed in 1983, so there was risk involved, but what else could he do? When it came time to show his ID, his belly ached with fear. He pulled out the wallet he’d been given back from his personal belongings when they took him out of lockup, then handed it to Vince. Vince took the card and looked it over carefully with squinted eyes. It felt like he waited for a lifetime as the bank manager seemed to scrutinize it before he finally set it down in front of Owen. He wasn’t sure what to expect next. Vince had a severe look, not one of hostility but of concern.

Then the man suddenly stood up and walked to the door. “I have to talk to one of our tellers. Be right back.” The man was gone. Owen squirmed in his chair, his pulse racing. Would there be trouble for him?

He wasn’t sure, but he was half relieved when Rhett came into the manager’s office with a crooked smile. Rhett took the form he’d filled out and held it up. “Why’d you put your old address on here? Just put mine; you live on my property, right?”

The bank manager followed him. “Okay, gentleman, we’re just about finished. I’ll get some checks ordered for you, and we’ll be finished.

After loading Rhett’s truck with farm supplies from another store, they returned to the road and headed back to Husdon’s farm. About three-fourths of the way there, the truck started to sputter until it finally stopped.

Rhett slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “Doggonit!” he shouted. Owen watched as smoke rose from the car’s hood. They both got out, Rhett going directly to the hood and popping it open. “I’ve got a jug of water inside the truck; go ahead and get it for me.” Owen grabbed the jug from the truck and handed it to Rhett, who poured it into the coolant chamber. “Might be a while before we can get going. You can wait, but we aren’t too far from the farm.”

“I’ll walk,” Owen said, then headed down the road. Along the roadside were giant pine trees, but that changed sometime later when he hit grasslands and hillsides. Eventually, he arrived at a rocky hillside that was climbable. He hadn’t even considered going over until he thought he heard voices from somewhere in the distance on the other side and was curious enough to check it out.

He climbed the hillside, which only led to a barren wasteland. He decided to continue onward, hoping to find what it was her heard. Many rocks and dry dirt were before him; he kicked the ground, sending a billow of dust into the air. This land seems familiar, he thought. The wasteland continued for another few miles; his throat was dry, and sweat dripped from his face onto the ground, but he was determined. Once he reached a forest of pine trees, he knew exactly where he was. This was his home, but how? This entrance brought back the memory he had when he was captured and held prisoner by that community.

He’d just stepped inside the forest entrance when footsteps came behind him. He kept pressing on, ignoring them, pretending they weren’t there. If it’d been someone out to kill him, it would’ve been too late anyway. But when he felt two rifles being pressed into his back, followed by someone speaking. “Hands up,” he knew it was over.

“You got me,” he said, raising his hands. Sneaky little tricks, aren’t you?”

“Keep talking, give me a reason, and I’ll shoot,” the female guard said to him. He didn’t respond with words but laughed it off.

But now he was already well inside the forest, the smell of pine permeating the air. The terrain would become dangerous, with steep downhills he had to traverse, but he knew he’d come close to a clearing when sunlight greeted him fifty feet ahead. Somehow, he’d made his way through without a trail to guide him. He walked through this forest all the time, with the force of the community’s guards to do the forced labor he had to endure daily.

Once out of the forest, he stood at the top of a steep hill, stunned by the sight before him. At the bottom of another steep rocky hill was a barb-wired fence, and behind that was a building Owen was familiar with. It was made of brown bricks, the first floor being the most vast with a second one smaller than that, and in other places, a third floor emerged here and there. This appeared to be the same compound where he’d been held captive for the past six months, but how could it have appeared here? Had he traveled back to his own time? With Rhett Hudson still alive, he doubted it, but the possibility of the man dying in a wreck on his way home was there, so he couldn’t completely rule it out. He stepped onto the hill, putting a hand over his forehead as a visor against the sun. He saw no one walking on the grounds, so he waited a bit but could still see no one. Stepping a bit further, a rock slid, causing him to lose footing. He slipped onto his back and slid down the hill before rolling the rest. He lay there wincing in pain, his whole body throbbing. After a few minutes, he considered getting up but was still hurt. Eventually, he was able to sit up. He moved both arms and legs; luckily, he hadn’t broken anything.

The only thing left was to climb up the steep hill and find his way back to the farm. With his firm hands on the ground, he started to climb back up, but a woman’s voice got his attention.

“Halt!” she shouted. He turned to see if he recognized her. The girl had a dark complexion and wore a plain green soldier uniform, but he could still see how strong she must’ve been. In her hand was a rifle pointed at his back. With fury, he used the adrenaline the heat of the situation had given him to climb the hill. Her further warning was ignored as he continued to climb. I’m not going back, he thought. He was about to reach the top but had pressed himself against the hill when he heard a shot. Thankfully, the shot had missed, indicating any lack of sharp pains. He pulled himself onto the top of the hill and ran into the forest, not bothering to look back at the guard or the compound.

At some point, after he reached the other side of the forest, he looked back. No one had followed him, and if they had, he’d been able to lose them.

The journey back to the farm was long and arduous, but he made it, his shirt and face soaked in sweat. He was relieved when Rhett’s farm was still intact as he’d left it. Whatever he’d seen must’ve been a coincidence or possibly a hallucination. One thing was clear: he didn’t wish to return to find out.

Rhett came out of his house to meet him on the road. He puffed a cigar. “Where the hell’d ya go, son?” He said with a laugh and a big smile on his face. The man didn’t seem upset; it was clear that this was just him being chummy. This just shouldn’t be, Owen thought. He was supposed to execute this guy to prevent a murder, but on the day he’d known him, he’d been one of the most helpful human beings Owen had ever met. He not only refused to kill Rhett but would stay here and do this job until he could afford to get on his own two feet. This time was stable despite any flaws it contained. He could build a life here and never go back to 2100. Would they come looking for him? That was an easy yes, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

Rhett put his hand on Owen’s back. “We’ve got lots of work to do, and you already look exhausted. Go ahead and take a break.”

Owen smiled and thanked the man. As he headed for the farmhand’s house, something felt wrong. Something was missing, but he also noticed pain he’d neglected earlier. He stopped, lifted his right leg, and rolled it up. A bit of blood streamed down from a cut he’d received from the fall down the hill earlier, but that wasn’t the issue. The GPS unit was no longer there. He looked back at the road but saw nothing. The thing had to have come off when he fell down the rocky hill. For all he knew, it could be broken now, but this wasn’t bad. The people who sent him here couldn’t find him now, even if he wanted them to.

After a day of backbreaking labor, he made himself a bologna sandwich and sat on the couch to watch TV, which he hadn’t been able to do in a long time. Many people from his time believed the early 1980s was the peak of television and music. That might be true in some regards, but he was too tired to soak it up. Once he’d finished his sandwich and RC Cola, he fell asleep, exhausted from doing farmwork and that slight divergence he’d taken.

A clap of thunder startled him awake a few hours later. He stood up, stretched, then went to his front door to look out the window. The pitter-patter of rain could be on the roof above him, and outside puddles formed in the grass and mud. The main farmhouse could be seen from where he stood, and a spotlight lit up the driveway. Rhett’s truck wasn’t there, which meant he likely had gone out, but where was anyone’s guess? (He’d seen the garage earlier today, and it was already being used at storage, so there was no chance of it being parked there.)

Some lights were still on inside the house, and he could see Tracy’s shadow walking from the kitchen to the living room inside a window. Then she shut the curtains and turned out the lights. Owen wondered where Rhett had gone that he’d be still out at this hour, which, according to a clock on the wall, was past tem PM. But it wasn’t his business anyway.

For a time, he stood and watched the rain come down. A lightning strike lit up a group of clouds, and at that moment, he could see a figure walking towards the farmhand’s house where he stood. His heart suddenly pounded wildly. He backed away from the window, turned out all the lights, hurried into his room, locked the door, and turned out the light.

He quickly got into bed, pulled the covers up to his eyes, and trembled briefly before closing his eyes. He took slow, steady breaths to try and calm himself, but anxiously, he waited for whoever he saw to approach. Eventually, he heard someone pounding at the door to the farmhand’s house but was too afraid to answer it, too afraid to breathe. Had they found him already? It was a question not worth asking as he was already convinced it was someone from his own time looking for him. The only thing he could do now was try to fall back asleep and continue to ignore them.

The rooster’s crow woke him up at the crack of dawn. The events of last night weren’t on his mind; instead, he was dreading the long day ahead of him. As he stepped into the hallway, he froze after someone moved inside the room across the hall. He started breathing heavily as the doorknob twisted and the door began to open. He jumped back as someone stepped out into the hall. She was short and petite, with long, straight blonde hair. Her eyes were dark, and her cheekbones were high. She had on a plain t-shirt, ripped jeans, and pink tights beneath them.

He greeted her shyly. “I’m Owen. I work here. Who are you?”

She rolled her eyes and walked away. “What’s wrong with you, dude? Are you afraid of a girl?”

She continued into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out some fruit: a pear, an orange, and an apple. He’d joined her. When she noticed, she crinkled her nose at him. “Whatsamatter, coward, don’t you have anything for breakfast.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that food you’re taking is mine.”

She bit into the apple and then spoke with her mouth full. “Really! Who paid for it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I did.”

The girl shook her head. “That’s not what Farmer Rhett told me. He said he gave you the money to pay for this. I’m sorry, but I work here, too, so we must share.”

He shrugged before sticking a few slices of bread in the toaster. “Sounds like communism to me. Doesn’t matter, though; I’m used to something similar.”

“What!” She said irritably.

Owen leaned against the kitchen counter and folded his arms together. “Haven’t heard of Karl Marx, that’s okay; some skip straight to Stalin. But don’t confuse it with Socialism. In this case, I usually point out Hitler’s crimes against humanity. The term Nazi means National Socialism. Both cases had a totalitarian dictatorship.”

“Stop talking,” she shouted. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He took his toast out and started to spread peanut butter on it. “Why’s that? Aren’t I good enough for another fellow transient?”

She slammed the apple onto the counter. “Did you hear what I said?”

He put his hands out in defense. “Alright, chill out. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

She rolled her eyes and blew out a deep breath. “Look, I’m having a rough time right now. If I’d appreciate it if you’d just let me be.”

He smiled. “My apologies. I’ll finish my toast in my room, but can I ask one thing? Did they send you to keep tabs on me?”

“Who the farmer and his wife?”

He put on some coffee before answering. “The people from 2100.”

“Huh? Are you nuts or just making fun of me?”

He smiled big. “Gotchya.” Then laughed.

She grunted in disgust.

“Can I at least get your name?” he asked.

“Call me Rain, but don’t call me at all. Get it.”

Once he made his coffee, he ate breakfast in his room. If this were his only help, it’d be a long day.

Rain surprised him with her helpfulness. He thought the day would be long, but she proved him wrong.

Rhett approached him while cleaning animal troughs in a waterhouse, and two men stood behind him. “Owen, I have a few more guys to help out. This is Butch.”

A middle-aged man stepped forward and saluted him. He had a brown and gray shaggy beard, mustache, and dark circles around his eyes. His clothes appeared to be rags. He was tall and lanky but also reeked of alcohol. “How’s it going?” Butch said, then hiccuped.

“Oh, it’s going. Lots of work to do around here.”

The other man wore an old suit jacket with a red T-shirt underneath. He was a short and stocky black guy.

This other man stepped forward and held out his hand. “Just call me Youssef. Are you enjoying this?”

“I’ll let you know tonight when I’m done and sitting down with a bottle of RC Cola in one hand and a remote in the other.”

Rhett laughed heartily and slapped Owen on the back. “This man loves his RC, I tell ya. Okay, gentlemen, I’ll show you to your rooms and get you out here helping Owen.” Rhett then turned to him. “Rain will be working my wife from here on out. Got that?”

“Sounds good,” Owen said.

The men got to work shortly after.

All four of them were finally together later that night. Rhett took all three out around four in the afternoon after they’d cleaned up so they, too, could open bank accounts and do some shopping. Owen was tasked with milking the cows, which had to be the most demanding job on the farm.

Their work day lasted until sundown, which was about eight that night. They all ate together that night at the house. Tracy had made an excellent pot roast to enjoy. She was her quiet, soft-spoken self but also respectful and kind.

Rhett and the two men had a conversation about Ronald Reagan. All three seemed to share the same dislike for the man. Owen had little knowledge of the guy, so he kept to himself, as did Rain. Tracy made one comment about him, but it didn’t stand out enough for him to remember. Overall, the lady didn’t seem to care in one way or another.

When they returned to the farmhand house, Owen and the other farmhands hung out in the living room. Butch challenged Owen to a game of table soccer which he was obliged to accept.