The Time-Traveling Outlaw Page 2

“Just one more thing,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “We need a proper introduction,” she said, stepping down off the wagon and walking to him. He was sweaty now, spotted with blood, but God did he look handsome. She put out her hand. “Sally Macintosh.”

  He reached out and took her hand, his callous grip tightening. Some men, when they shook a woman’s hand, they kept their grip limp, like a dead fish, maybe afraid of being too rough. She hated that. But this man didn’t do that. His grip was firm.

  “My name is Logan,” he said, a little grin crossing his lips. “Logan Carver.”

  2: Logan

  “Inmate number 6707,” the robotic female voice said. “Logan Carver.”

  He stood before the gate, its top ringed with barbed wire. His hands were bound with plastic zip cuffs. He was flanked on either side by two guards of Wicklehut Corporate Penitentiary. One was young and skinny, the other middle-aged and fat. Both probably earned minimum wage. Maybe a buck over if they were lucky.

  “Raise your head,” the voice said.

  Logan lifted up his face so the scanner could positively identify him. As he did, he looked past the barbed wire into the night sky. All those stars. He wondered if there were life on any of those stars, and if there were, whether things were as fucked up there as they were here.

  “Identification positive.”

  The gate buzzed and began to open. Not many prisoners left the main facility to come through this gate. On the other side was a corrugated Quonset hut. The prisoners could see it from the yard of the main prison, but nobody really wanted to go there, because nobody ever came back.

  “Some spooky shit goes on up in there,” Terrance had said to him one day in the yard. He’d been standing by the fence, just looking at the building through the chain links.

  “Do you know what’s in there?” Logan had asked.

  “Man, you don’t want to know,” Terrance had said. Logan had only been at Wicklehut for six months then. Terrance was working on his tenth year. “Pray you don’t ever find out.”

  The inmates called it The Icebox, though Logan never found out exactly why, and Terrance didn’t know. All he knew was that everyone considered it bad news.

  And now Logan was headed there himself. Two weeks prior, he’d been pulled out of his cell with no warning, taken to the infirmary, and gassed unconscious. He had resisted, but that had been pointless. He’d woken up with the worst headache of his life. They’d thrown him back in his cell with no explanation. He’d gone over his body in the shower that evening and found three new scars, each about an inch long: one behind his left knee, one under his right armpit, and the last on the back of his neck, at the base of his skull.

  He didn’t know what they’d done to him, and he didn’t expect an answer. All of this was illegal, of course. But he wasn’t allowed phone calls, and his lawyer, some court-appointed lackey, just ignored everything he said with a tight-lipped, condescending smile.

  As the gate clicked fully open, Logan saw a short Asian man standing on the other side, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and slacks. Another guard? He didn’t look like one. Logan wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he could tell the man had military training. His eyes were alert, unblinking, and his body held the posture of someone coiled and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

  The guards pushed him forward. Now there were no more fences between him and The Icebox, just a gravel yard with a short, winding sidewalk.

  The gate began to close behind him, and the Asian man, expressionless, began to walk toward the building. Logan stayed by the fence.

  The man stopped and turned to look at him. He took something out of his pocket, a small black plastic device. He pressed a button on it and Logan’s world filled with pain. His knees buckled, and he nearly fell to the concrete. A fire had erupted down his spine. He would have screamed, but he couldn’t find his voice. His eyes filled with tears.

  The man let go of the button and the pain stopped, though the aftermath lingered. Logan felt like he was going to throw up. His heartbeat pulsed in his head.

  The man put the device back in his pocket and lifted a hand toward him. With two fingers he motioned toward Logan. Follow me. Then he turned and began to walk again.

  Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He staggered forward, falling in behind the man. At the door to the hut the man lifted his face for the recognition systems to kick in. He also placed his palm on a flat panel near the door, and breathed into a small tube. Tight security.

  Electronic bolts on the door unlocked, swinging open into darkness. The man stepped in and Logan followed. The inside was sparsely lit, the space mostly empty. In the center sat a few tables with computers, some chairs, and what looked like a dental chair. They’re going to put me in that, thought Logan. They’re going to put me in that thing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  A young, fat man with a full beard sat at one of the terminals, furiously typing. He wore a white lab coat, stretched around his stomach and sides so tight it looked like it was about to burst. He looked up and smiled nervously as they approached.

  “Ah, Kazu,” he said. “You brought the next subject.”

  “Subject for what?” Logan asked.

  Kazu reached into the pocket of his slacks and took out the device, looking at Logan. Logan held up his bound hands. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I get it. No talking.”

  Thankfully, Kazu tucked the device away again. The fat man got up from his chair and walked to Logan.

  “I’m Sam Tidwell,” he said. “You can call me Sam or Doctor Tidwell. Whatever you like.”

  “How about asshole?” Logan asked. Kazu gave him another zap, no warning this time. Logan's knees buckled as pain ripped through him.

  “Is that really necessary?” Sam asked the Japanese man, who looked at him implacably.

  “Sorry about that,” Sam said to Logan. “If you’ll just step this way.” Logan groaned and staggered to his feet. Sam led him to the thing that looked like a dental chair and motioned for him to lie down. Logan looked into the hard eyes of Kazu. He thought of trying to run. Of course he did. He thought of trying to fight. But he felt like he been fighting his whole life. First in the Army, then on the job, then for Natalie’s life. And for the past six years he’d been in prison, which was a whole new kind of fight. He was done. It was time to acquiesce.

  He sat in the strange chair, then stretched out. It was actually very comfortable. He just tried not to think about the horrors they were probably about to inflict upon him.

  Sam motioned to Kazu, nodding towards the plastic cuffs on Logan’s wrists. Kazu produced a black switchblade from his other pocket, snicking it open. He sliced through the plastic like butter, the bonds falling to the floor with a light clatter. Logan rubbed his wrists.

  Kazu put away the knife and stepped back.

  “Just put your arms on the rests there,” Sam said. Logan complied. Sam walked back to his chair and sat down, wheeling it close to a computer and clacking on a few keys. Metal braces slid up soundlessly over Logan’s forearms, wrists, and ankles. He waited, patiently. Maybe this was the end. Maybe, if he were lucky, it would be quick.

  He heard a clicking sound, footsteps approaching from a dark corner of the warehouse, leather shoes on the concrete floor. As the figure emerged from the shadows, he couldn’t retain his stoic composure anymore. His eyes widened and he let out a gasp.

  Harken Sturgess. His former employer stood before him, wearing a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, a white shirt, and a canary yellow tie. His gray hair was slicked back straight from his vulpine face: small, dark eyes, a slender blade of a nose, and a grinning, thin lipped mouth.

  “Good to see you again, Logan,” Sturgess said. “Been a long time.”

  “Not long enough,” Logan said, not really caring anymore if the Japanese thug shocked him again. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Now, now,” Sturgess said. “That’s no way to talk to someone who�
��s about to make you famous. Well, either that or kill you. Either way works for me.”

  Logan had no idea what he was talking about, but if he had known who was lurking in the shadows he would’ve put up more of a fight. If the bonds holding him were loosened for just a second, he would leap at the man before him and drive his fists into that bloodless smiling face until the skull caved in.

  Sturgess looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll bet you didn’t know I owned this prison. How could you?”

  Other than the fact that Logan knew he was a billionaire. But no, there was no way of knowing he owned Wicklehut.

  Sturgess spread out his hands. “I own a lot of companies, including tech companies and military contractors, some of which experiment in some pretty fringe R&D. This prison was actually a perfect fit for some of my other holdings. It supplies a steady stream of human experiments for the less… ethical research. But you never quite know what’s going to pay off. And this, this could be my greatest investment of all. How ironic would it be if you, of all people, where the first successful traveler?”

  “I have no idea what the hell you’re babbling about,” Logan said. “But could you do us all a favor and just get on with it?”

  Sturgess laughed. “A man after my own heart,” he said. “You just want to get down to brass tacks. I admire that, actually. I acquired the prison not long after you were incarcerated here. I set up this testing facility not long after that. At first, I had a company in here testing cryogenic storage. Some of the initial subjects are still on ice. But I’ve since moved on. Sam here has come up with something quite a bit more exciting. He’s going to give you some instructions, and I suggest you follow them. You’ll be the ninth human subject we’ve tried. Only two of the eight made it back in one piece. One of those died shortly after returning. The other went completely insane. Chewed off his own tongue. Clawed his eyes out. I do hope you fare better, my boy.” With that, Sturgess leaned forward and patted Logan on the chest. It was like being touched by the leg of a giant spider. Then Sturgess walked back in the shadows, the sound of his leather shoes fading away.

  Sam’s doughy face filled Logan’s view. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I really am.”

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  Sam looked genuinely surprised. “Science doesn’t move forward without sacrifice,” he said. “Unfortunately for you, you are that sacrifice. But then, there’s a chance you’ll make it. I’m calculating your odds at around eight percent.”

  That sounded about right to Logan. “Make it where?”

  A goofy grin spread across Sam’s face. “That’s the exciting part,” he said. “Not where...when.”

  It took a moment for that to register with Logan. He looked down at the armrests, at the chair that held him. He laughed, a full-bellied laugh, something he couldn’t remember doing in a long, long time. It felt strange, but it felt good, too.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Logan said. “I’m sitting in a goddamn time machine? Like in the movies?”

  Sam looked confused. He glanced at the Japanese man, still standing stoically to the side, then back at Logan. “Oh no,” he said, nodding at the chair and letting out a little giggle. “That’s not the machine at all.” He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a tiny blue capsule. “This is.”

  Kazu stepped forward, his steely hands grabbing Logan by the head, one hand on his forehead, the other his lower jaw. Like a vise, he pried open Logan’s mouth. Sam leaned forward and popped the pill down Logan’s throat. Kazu pushed Logan’s mouth shut, pinching his nose.

  Logan squeezed his eyes shut, bucking against the restraints and the man’s powerful hands. But it was all in vain. Eventually he swallowed the pill.

  Sam clapped his hands together, and moved back to his computer. “Technically,” he said, “the trans-temporal particles in the pill you just swallowed are what we’re sending back in time. You’re just going to be along for the ride.” His fingers clattered across the keyboard, then he slid his chair to another computer and typed a few more things, numbers scrolling across the screen. He swiveled back around in his chair to look at Logan.

  “I’m only going to send you back for a short interval of subjective time,” he said.

  “Subjective time?” Logan asked, swallowing hard. The pill had left a chalky tickle at the back of his throat.

  “That’s what you experience,” Sam said. “Relative to us, you’ll only be gone a few seconds. I’m going to send you, then pull you right back. But while you’re there, several hours may pass. Don’t interfere with anything. If you can, just sit or lie down somewhere and wait.” He moved back to the first computer and typed some more. “I’m not exactly sure how this all works, whether changes can be made to affect the timeline permanently. But until we know, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  Right, Logan thought. He didn’t feel very safe. This whole thing sounded like lunacy, but in a way that sounded just like Harken Sturgess. The crazy son of a bitch probably wanted to travel through time to manipulate the stock market, maybe cripple his competitors financially, or maybe even physically. Logan didn’t plan on playing along. The minute he found an opening, whatever it was, he was taking it.

  “Okay,” Sam said, rubbing his hands together. “Here we go. Are you ready?”

  “Fuck you, pal,” Logan said.

  The man looked a little sad. “Well, not exactly ‘One small step for man’ but I guess it’ll have to do.” He turned back to the computer, typed a few more keystrokes, then hit Enter.

  Logan immediately felt something in the pit of his stomach, an unpleasant static crackling that began to grow. The pain he had felt earlier was nothing compared to what came next. Every nerve ending in his body began to light up with electric shock. He arched his back so hard, he wondered how it didn’t snap. His eyes squeezed shut and he screamed. Behind his eyelids and all he saw was bright white light. His entire body was on fire.

  And then, it all stopped.

  He was lying on the ground, warm dirt and uncomfortable sharp little pebbles prickled the back of his arms and legs. He opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it, squeezing them shut again. The sun was overhead in a cloudless sky, its harsh light burning his eyes. He held his hand over his face, and opened his eyes again, squinting this time. A strange smoke swirled all around him, all the stranger because it didn’t smell like smoke at all. An electric tang filled the air.

  He sat up, some of the “smoke” brushing against his cheeks, beads of moisture forming there. It wasn’t smoke at all, but water vapor. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the searing light. The land was mostly flat, reddish-brown dirt as far as the eye could see, scattered with scraggly brush and the occasional mesquite tree.

  He was naked. Before they’d sent him through, he’d been wearing powder-blue prison coveralls, his inmate number stenciled just over his heart. Now his pale skin felt the heat of the sun beating down. In a way, it felt good. He'd been penned up like an animal for the past six years, only to be let outside for an hour a day. But he also knew that if he stayed out here for very long he’d be burned to a crisp.

  Logan got shakily to his feet. Going through time had been the most physically agonizing experience of his life. He was still shaken. But had he really made it? They hadn’t told him what to expect. Maybe this was all some sort of trick, some new way of torturing him psychologically that Sturgess had dreamed up. Maybe that pill was a hallucinogenic, and this was all a dream.

  If it was, it was damn sure a vivid dream. But he would’ve expected something. In 2026, the highway wasn’t very far from the prison, a short road leading up to it. He certainly didn’t see any paved roads, but as he surveyed his surroundings, he saw where the dirt was driven flatter than it surroundings. Maybe it was a road.

  Sam had told him to stay put, to not go far. But fuck that guy. Logan headed for what he thought was the road. Walking was difficult. His whole body ached. But he had to do something, figu
re out where the hell he was, or as the fat man had said, when.

  When he got to the edge of the road, he looked up and down its length, first in one direction, then the other. And that’s when he saw it, a coach or a wagon, approaching from the left. He held his hand up to his eyes to shield the sun. Yep, a wagon, pulled by a horse. Someone was sitting up top, holding the reins.

  I don't know how far you meant to send me, pal, Logan thought. But this is pretty damned far from home.

  He headed up the road, toward the wagon, not particularly conscious of his nudity. And why hadn’t his clothes come through? Sam hadn’t said anything about that.

  He staggered up the road, already dizzy from having every cell in his body electrified then shipped through time, God knew how long. And he was starting to feel the sun as well, beating down mercilessly from above.

  Soon he heard the clop of the horse’s hooves on the dirt road, and as the wagon came more fully into view, he saw that a woman was driving. Yet the sun was nearly at her back, and he still couldn’t see her all that well.

  She was saying something to him. He squinted, trying to get a better look.

  “I said, are you hurt?”

  “When is this?” he said.

  “Pardon?” she said.

  “What year is this?” he asked. He knew what year it wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry about your clothes, Mister,” the woman said. “You can use that to cover yourself up.”

  She took a blanket from the seat beside her and tossed it at his feet. He bent down and picked it up, wrapping it around his waist and tying it fast.

  “It’s May fourth,” she finally answered. “1861.”

  Holy shit, he thought. “It worked,” he said. “They really did it.”

  “Mister, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m sorry you got robbed,” she said. “But I hope you’ll understand if a young woman doesn’t offer a strange man a ride. Besides, I’m headed that way.” She pointed down the road. “I suggest you head the other way, into Lockdale, and have Doctor Gleeson take a look at you. He’s a fine doctor.”