“Hi, I’m Chura.”

“It’s my pleasure,” said the boy. “I’m Nathan, but please call me Nate. All my friends do.”

Chethra stepped up and put her left shoulder between the two youngsters, her right hand outstretched. “Hello, Nathan,” she said. Nathan offered his hand and they gave each other a customary two or three pumps before letting go.

“You have to watch her. She’s not big on nicknames,” I said. “Are you, Sweet Bread?”

She appeared to ignore me. “Nathan, I’m Chethra, Chura’s mother. That’s my sister Danetta, and our esteemed guide here is Billy Boy,” she said.

Chura worked to move her mother aside, but she was too slight to budge her. “Nate, that’s Falcon.”

“Cool name,” Nate said.

Danetta, oddly working to tie the canoe’s lead rope to a tree, chimed in. “Excuse me, but now that we’re all monikered up, and my sister has established that she’s the mother, the father –”

“And the Holy Ghost?” I finished.

Chura and Nate laughed.

“My point is, let’s stop talking and start moving,” Danetta said.

Nate left his bike and led us up the steep bank. It was hard to find solid footing on the ground’s thick blanket of old, dry leaves. We had to grab saplings to keep from sliding into each other. Once we topped the first eroded, earthen overhang, we adopted a zig-zag travel pattern to minimize slippage and to keep ourselves from tiring too quickly.

Chura and Nate walked point with Chethra close behind. Danetta and I hung back a bit and helped each other. We weren’t in shape like the others. After about 20 minutes of that, I spoke up. “So, Nate, you said that a trailhead is ‘real close.’ Exactly what did you mean by that? I haven’t even seen a trail yet.”

“Oh, we aren’t gonna use the trail. It shouldn’t be more than about ten more minutes.”

“People from the past should get a new definition of ‘real close,” Danetta muttered.

She and I discussed Nate’s motorcycle, imagining him making several trips back and forth to ferry each of us to our destination. That created two undesirable situations: drawing attention with the engine noise and splitting up the group.

“And there’s no guarantee that once he got Chura on the bike he wouldn’t try to whisk her away,” Danetta said.

“You told me about the other ladies’ past. What about yours?” I asked.

“It’s checkered.”

“I knew that much. I meant with men.”

“I never married. I guess in a way I was a spoiled princess, and when men I dated felt like they knew me well enough to stop treating me like one, I dropped them.”

“You bitch.” There you go, deflecting a serious moment with humor.

“Thanks.”

We walked for a minute with only the crunching leaves interrupting the awkward silence.

“I do feel like there’s something between us, but I can’t talk about that right now,” she said.

“I understand.” Experience with former girlfriends had taught me that using as few words as possible was the best course.

Finally we reached a narrow forest road. Tall grass growing between its tire ruts, it looked like a lonely path. One vehicle was parked in a small clearing. Large patches of rust interrupted its oxidized blue paint job. On the rear, in raised lettering, were the words “International Scout.”

“You folks are in luck, if you can get her started.”

“No problem,” I said. Chethra rolled her eyes.

For seating, the Scout offered only a bench seat across the width of the narrow cab, and nothing in the back. Unlike the Jeep, it was more like a shortened pickup.

“Four of us can’t fit in there,” Chethra said.

“You folks ain’t had much experience with trucks, have you?”

“Some much less than others,” Chethra said.

“A couple of us will have to ride in the back,” Nate said.

“Us?” Chura asked. Her tone rose in hopeful anticipation.

While Nate spent all of 20 seconds convincing us to take him as our guide, I got started hotwiring the Scout. A rusty toolbox behind the seat, while not as well-stocked as the one in the Jeep, provided the tools I needed. Apparently owners of four-wheel-drive vehicles in that era knew that even a small complement of tools could mean the difference between making it home for supper or taking a very long walk.

The engine turned over several times, but it would not start. “Dammit!” I shouted. We were under more pressure than merely answering the evening dinner bell.

“Did you choke it?” Nate asked. He showed me a pull-choke on the dashboard. I used it and got the engine running.

Nate and Chethra, my two most reliable sources of navigation information, rode up front with me, while Danetta and Chura occupied the open-air truck bed.

It was slow going on the bumpy road, and the sharp turns and proximity of trees made it obvious that we had the right type of vehicle. We met nobody on the way out, but we saw several deer grazing on the grass in the middle of the road. I heard Chura give a shout of, “That sweeps!” after a particularly large group of the graceful creatures sprang away from us, seemingly oblivious to the obstacles that would have entangled a running human.

There was no sneaking up on wildlife in the Scout. Its exhaust system was very loud, and my frequent grinding of the gears frightened off anything that didn’t mind the engine noise.

“Are there many other roads like this one?” Chethra asked.

“A bunch,” Nate said. “Most of these old roads were made by loggers. This is all second- and third-growth forest.”

I was surprised to find myself growing tired of our sun-dappled surroundings. I longed for more stark, sterile environs, and became so immersed in the idea that I forgot my audience. “My kingdom for a skyporter in the clear blue,” I said.

“What?” Nate asked.

Chethra’s elbow stabbed my ribs.

“Nothing,” I said.

“What was it that lady was sayin’ about my dad? Like killin’ him would be the end of the world. Chura told me you folks ain’t from around here.”

I wondered what two teenagers from such distant eras would talk about on a stroll through the woods. How much had she told him? Whatever it was, she had fueled his fervor for our cause. Grilling him about it now would only make him question his wisdom.

“She was just concerned about any of your father’s potential descendants,” Chethra said. “We were there to help your family, and she obviously thought Mr. Falcon’s reaction was counterintuitive to that effort.” True enough.

“You probably think I can’t understand you, but I can. My parents made sure I ain’t gonna be some dumb redneck even though we live in the sticks.”

“I would never suggest otherwise,” Chethra said.

The look on Nate’s face told me he wasn’t sure how to take that remark. Given my short time around Chethra, I could have provided a clue.

The rutted way finally fed into a larger, gravel road that made for faster driving. Within a few minutes we reached asphalt. “Highway 21,” Nate said. According to his guess and Chethra’s memory of the map, we were only a few miles from the road that would lead us to the time chamber. I checked on Chura and Danetta before I turned onto the pavement. They said they would be fine.

The Scout’s engine screamed when I tried to make it go faster than 50 mph. Afraid I would damage it, I backed off a little.

“Okay, Falcon. Cave Mountain Road is just a little ways up,” Nate said. The road would be on our right, about 30 feet short of a bridge over the river, he said.

“The authorities will be waiting at that bridge,” Chethra said.

“They won’t know our vehicle, and I’m hoping by the time they realize who we are, we’ll have a large enough lead to outrun them,” I said. I downshifted to slow the Scout. “Nate, I can go ahead and pull over to let you out.”

“Why?” Nate asked.

Because we can’t have you seeing our time machine.

“It’s way too risky to take you with us.” That was true, too. It could be Nate, not his father, whose survival determined the eventual birth of George Beers.

“But I’m finally havin’ some real fun, Falcon.”

I pulled the Scout over and held the clutch down while I pumped the accelerator. Theo had taught me never to trust the idle when I was in a hurry.

“Trust us, Nathan. You need to get out now,” Chethra said.

He sighed, but did not whine; her serious tone and look had convinced him. He reached across Chethra to give me a firm handshake. “Good luck to you.” Then, to Chethra, “You too, ma’am.” He opened the noisy door and jumped out.

I glanced in the rearview mirror to see him shaking hands with Danetta. When he offered his hand to Chura, she leaned down and pulled him in for a quick hug. What had those two talked about during our walk? I definitely would have to bother her about that later, if we made it.

Chura and Danetta got up front and we all squeezed in tight to make a fit. As we pulled away, there stood Nate, waving his entire arm to say goodbye, getting smaller by the second.

I made out a Deputy Sheriff’s car parked at the end of Cave Mountain Road, apparently vacant. As we got closer, I saw two uniformed officers on the bridge, no doubt on the lookout for a canoe bearing odd-looking strangers. They didn’t look our way until I turned and headed down the dirt road. They showed no signs that we were any concern. I kept us moving, nice and smooth.

“Um, Falcon,” Chura said. “They’re walking to their car.” She had her head turned to track their movements. “Now they’re at their car. Okay. They’re getting in. Shit! Now they’re coming this way.”

I hit the gas on the Scout and went as fast as I could while retaining control. I hoped the police cruiser wouldn’t handle the narrow, winding road as well as our sure-footed ride.

I accidentally slammed the gearshift knob into Danetta’s knee while switching to third. “Ow. Shit!”

“Sorry. It’s a little crowded in here. How come everywhere we go, it gets so damn crowded?”

“Just go, Falcon. They’re coming after us!” Chura said.

I had been chased enough in two days to last a very long time.

“I’m ready for this to be over!” I hit the steering wheel on the last word. “No offense, ladies. You’re all just peaches, but this shit got old yesterday.”

“Hang in there, Falcon, please,” Danetta said.

The Scout was not a speedster, but I knew that we had a chance. The road’s hairpin turns and steep, washed-out sections would slow down the deputies while we kept a brisk pace. There were some spots I wasn’t sure a street vehicle could navigate at all. Our problem was the driver; I was okay, but I hadn’t driven those kinds of vehicles enough to know their limitations.

I took the first tight curve too fast. The Scout fishtailed and, panicked at the thought of plummeting into a ravine, I overcorrected and nearly sent us into the cliff wall on the opposite side.

“Alive. Get us there alive,” Danetta said.

We made it to the top of the mountain without seeing the cops again. We all relaxed a little as the road got straighter and smoother. I took us as fast as I could handle, covering a few miles with no pursuers in sight. I thought we were set. Just keep it on the road and get us the hell out of 1970.

“Falcon, they’re catching up to us,” Chura said.

“What?”

“They’re gaining.”

I gave it more gas.

“Falcon, give me your gun,” Chethra said.

“Chethra!” Danetta said. “We’re not killing anybody!”

“We might need to do something to slow them down,” Chethra said. “Mr. Falcon?”

“I’m keeping both hands on the wheel. Somebody’s going to have to get it.” I leaned to the right and straightened my leg as much as I could without putting the pedal to the floor. “It’s in this front pocket.”

“We’re not shooting at anybody!” Danetta said.

“I’ll just create a diversion. Just get it and hand it to me.”

Danetta was not backing down. “No. If you want it, you’ll have to get it.”

Chethra huffed out a breath of impatience, then leaned over Chura and Danetta and wrenched the BFG from my pocket. Her hand wasn’t very precise and I felt a bit violated.

The cops reached the tail of our dust wake.

“If you’re gonna fire that thing, you need to hold it with both hands,” I said. “Just like the real cops do in the replays.”

Chethra worked to turn herself around, stepping on Chura’s feet in the process. She leaned out the window and fired the BFG. I heard the crack of a large tree trunk, and in the rear view I saw an oak fall onto the roadway. The cops steered around it by going into the opposite ditch, but it slowed them down a bit.

“Damn nice shot, Sweet Bread!”

“Mom, that sweeps!”

“Thank you, but I was way off the mark.”

The cops shot back. Chethra ducked inside the cab, on the other ladies’ laps.

“My God, those things are loud,” Chura said. “Is everything in this era powered by explosions?”

“Pretty much, or by fire,” I said.

A shot shattered the passenger’s side view mirror. Everybody but me ducked their heads into their laps.

“Not far to the trailhead now,” I said. “They’re still gaining on us, but unless they get more accurate with their guns, I think we’ll make it.”

Chethra aimed the BFG straight out her window and fired. A huge tree split with a loud crack and fell behind us, crushing saplings, this time blocking the road and about 20 feet on either side. I was sure I felt the ground shake under its weight.

“A little close on that one,” Danetta said.

“Now that’s a diversion,” Chura said.

The cops stopped and backed up their cruiser, their only choice to leave the road and find a clear path back to it.

(continue to Part 19)