Back to the Future Part II (20 page)
Read Back to the Future Part II Online
Authors: Craig Shaw Gardner
Marty looked down, and saw Biffs astonished face as his old Ford sped through the space where Marty had been only a second. By the time Biff had turned his eyes back to the road, and saw that slow-moving fertilizer truck just ahead, it was much too late for him to put on the brakes or get out of the way.
‘Shit!’ Biff screamed as the Ford smashed into the truck.
Then tons of manure fell down to silence him.
Twenty-two
The wind was picking up.
Marty hung onto the pennant rope as Doc flew the DeLorean a safe distance away from Biff - even if the burly teenager was currently covered by manure, neither one of them wanted to take any chances. But the increasing gusts of wind were blowing the rope back and forth in ever bigger and more dangerous arcs. There was no way Marty could call Doc on the walkie-talkie, either - he had to use all his strength just to hang on.
But Doc must have seen Marty’s problem, too, about the time the Lyons Estate billboard came back into sight. He brought the DeLorean down low enough for Marty to jump from the rope - and Marty decided he’d better do just that. The hoverboard helped to break his fall, anyway. Marty put his free foot on the ground and slipped his other foot out of the hoverboard strap. He looked up at the DeLorean as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.
That’s right! In all the excitement, Marty had almost forgotten - this was the night of the big lightning storm - the same night Doc had last sent him back to the future!
The wind was nearing gale force. Marty could see the DeLorean rock overhead, buffeted by the turbulence.
He pulled out his walkie-talkie:
‘
Yo,
Doc! Is everything all right - over?’
He saw Doc slam the car door firmly shut overhead, with the pennant cord still hanging down. There was a burst of static on the radio.
‘Ten-four, Marty,’ Doc answered on the walkie-talkie. ‘But it’s pretty miserable flying weather - much too turbulent to make a landing from this direction. I’ll have to circle around and make a long approach from the south.’
There was another burst of static as lightning streaked the sky.
‘Have you got the book?’ Doc asked.
Marty could still feel the Sports Almanac inside his jacket.
‘Check, Doc!’ he called back.
Another burst of static, then Doc’s response:
‘Burn it!’
Burn it? Wasn’t Doc overreacting a little? Why burn a perfectly good key to the future? But then Marty realised that Doc was right - it was because this book was a perfectly good key to the future that it had to be burned! As long as this book existed where it shouldn’t be, there was always a chance that Biff, or somebody even worse, could get hold of it, and change the future back into something like that terrible version of 1985 they had so recently escaped.
So he had to burn it, but in this wind? Marty decided he’d better go over and use the billboard as protection against the storm. He could feel a match-book in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. It was the same black and white book he’d picked up when he was back in 1985 - the bad 1985.
He looked at the matchbook in his hand, and the bold black letters on white:
BIFF’S PLEASURE PARADISE
So he was going to burn up the sports almanac with a matchbook advertising the business empire that very same almanac had made possible? Marty liked that. There was a certain justice there.
He struck a match, and held the flame under one corner of the sports almanac. The paper caught right away, and a moment later, the book was in flames. Marty let the burning book drop as he glanced at the matchbook in his other hand.
The lettering on the matchbook had changed. It now read:
BIFF’S AUTO DETAILING
Biff’s Auto Detailing? But that was what Biff had done in 1985 - that is, the real 1985, the 1985 Marty had come from when this whole thing started!
Did that mean other things had changed, too?
Marty reached into his back pants pocket, and pulled out the folded piece of newspaper he had ripped out of that bound library volume.
No. The smile left Marty’s face. Maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. There was the headline, still:
GEORGE McFLY MURDERED
But, as Marty stared at the page, the headline changed.
GEORGE McFLY HONOURED
The picture below changed too. It now showed his father accepting the book award!
They’d done it. They’d changed the future! 1985 had gone back to the way it should be!
‘The newspaper changed. Doc!’ Marty yelled into the walkie-talkie. ‘My father’s alive! Everything’s back to normal!’
Could it be?
Doc Brown ignored the wind rocking the DeLorean long enough to pull out the newspaper article he’d saved from that awful 1985. There it was, his none-too-desirable future:
EMMETT BROWN COMMITTED
But, wait a minute! The last word wasn’t ‘committed’ anymore! No, his article had changed, too! It now read:
EMMETT BROWN COMMENDED
and beneath that, in a sub-heading:
‘Local Inventor Receives College Grant.’
Really? A college grant, hmm? Oh, that’s right! Doc remembered now. There he was, with those two fellows handing him that handsome placard, as recognition for the years he had spent as the professor of physics at the local University.
Doc sighed with relief. Everything had been corrected. The future was now restored to the way it was supposed to be, and the proof was right there in the newspaper. Had he not been sitting in the car, Doc would have jumped for joy! Mission accomplished!
All that remained was a simple matter of logistics. Doc would pick up Marty and they would go back to the future . . . actually their own present, October 26 1985. And this time it would be the same 1985 they had left from on the morning of October 26 1985.
Doc again sighed with relief. Finally, the adventure was over!
A bolt of lightning streaked through the sky. much too close to the DeLorean. It hit a tree across the road from the billboard. A large branch crashed to the ground.
Marty pressed the ‘talk button’ on his walkie-talkie.
‘Doc! You OK?’
Doc’s voice replied through the ever increasing static:
‘That was a close one, Marty!’ Doc laughed ruefully. ‘I ALMOST BOUGHT THE FARM!’
The DeLorean started to move overhead, as Doc turned the flying car around to begin his approach. Marty knew just what Doc was thinking - they had to get out of here before something serious happened!
The DeLorean started towards Marty, swooping down out of the sky.
Then a bolt of lightning, even bigger than the last one, streaked out of the sky to hit the DeLorean.
There was a noise even louder than a sonic boom! Marty threw his hands in front of his face, temporarily blinded by the light.
But when he uncovered his eyes and looked up again, the sky was empty. Oh, there were the heavy clouds and the lightning, but the DeLorean, flying toward him only a second ago, was gone!
The pennant cord fluttered to the ground in front of Marty. The upper end of the cord was still burning, a minute ago, it had been hanging out of the DeLorean’s door. Was that all that was left of the time machine?
No! Marty thought. That was silly. This was a time machine we were talking about here! A time machine didn't just disappear, did it? It had to be around some-place, didn’t it? Even if the car had somehow gotten zapped and pushed into the wrong time, all Doc had to do was reset the destination display and bring the DeLorean back, didn't he?
Well, Marty added to himself, that should make sense. So where was Doc?
He yelled into his walkie-talkie again:
‘Yo, Doc! Come in Doc!’
There was no response.
Marty tried again:
'Hello, Doc, do you read me, over?’
There was nothing on the walkie-talkie but static.
‘Doc, answer me, please!’
He was answered instead by another blinding flash of lightning, followed by a great boom of thunder and pouring rain.
This stuff was coming down hard! Marty had to find cover somewhere! He ducked quickly behind the Lyon’s Estate billboard. There was just enough of an awning overhead to leave a couple of feet dry back here.
Somebody had also left a bicycle behind the billboard. It still had the price tag on the handlebars.
That’s right! Doc had gotten around town on a bike, hadn’t he?
Doc, Marty thought. What had happened to him?
Marty stepped out from behind the billboard.
‘Doc!’ he yelled one more time, but his voice was lost in the storm.
Through the rain, Marty saw a pair of headlights coining down the road from the direction of town.
Maybe, Marty thought, he’d better get back out of sight - he didn’t want any more complications than he already had. He stepped behind the billboard again, and leaned the hoverboard against the sign, right next to the bike.
The car stopped on the other side of the billboard. What was going on now? For a wild second, Marty was afraid that Biff had somehow gotten out of the manure! Marty peeked around the edge of the sign - no, the car was some kind of dark sedan. Marty didn’t recognise it.
A man wearing a hat and trenchcoat stepped out of the car.
‘Hello?’ the guy with the trenchcoat yelled. ‘Anyone here?’
Who was this guy? It was hard to tell in the darkness and the rain, but Marty could swear he’d never seen him before. And the trenchcoat and the hat - did that mean he came from the FBI or something?
‘Marty?’ the other guy yelled. ‘Marty McFly?’
The guy knew his name? Marty stopped an urge to run the other way.
‘Marty McFly,’ the guy called over the storm, ‘if you’re here, please show yourself.’
Still, this guy hadn’t threatened Marty or pulled out a gun or anything. Maybe, Marty thought, he should find out what was going on here.
He stepped out from behind the billboard.
The guy in the trenchcoat turned his head toward Marty he had seen him. The way the newcomer was standing in front of his car headlights though it was hard for Marty to get a real good look at the other guy’s face.
‘Is your name Marty McFly?' Trenchcoat demanded.
Marty almost said it wasn’t. But he’d gone this far.
He might as well finish this off and find out what was happening.
‘Yeah,’ he answered slowly.
Trenchcoat looked Marty up and down.
‘Five foot four, brown hair - uh-huh -’ he said, mostly to himself, and then added in a louder voice:
‘Marty, I’ve got something for you.’
He reached inside his trenchcoat. Marty took a step back. Did the guy have a gun after all?
He pulled out a long thin envelope.
‘A letter,’ Trenchcoat announced.
‘A letter?’ Marty asked, taking a closer look at what the other held in his hand. It was an old, yellowed envelope, with a red wax seal holding it closed.
The man reached back inside his trenchcoat again and pulled out a small clipboard.
‘You’ll have to sign for it first’ - he paused, reaching again inside his coat to search around in some inner pocket - ‘if I can find a pen.’
Marty couldn’t believe this.
‘You’ve got a letter for me?’ he asked incredulously.
‘That’s impossible! Who are you, anyway?’
Trenchcoat stepped behind the billboard to get out of the rain.
‘I’m from Western Union,’ he explained, still searching his pockets, ‘and actually, a bunch of us in the office were hoping you could shed some light on the subject.’
He smiled at Marty. Actually, the guy didn’t look at all threatening, now that he was out of the headlights’ glare - just an average guy, really, around Marty’s father’s age.
‘You see,’ the guy from Western Union went on, ‘this envelope’s been in our company’s possession for seventy years. It was given to us with explicit instructions that it be delivered to a young man with your description answering to the name of Marty at this exact location and at this exact minute on November 12 1955.’
The guy grinned as he pulled a pen from his pocket at last.
‘We had a bet going,’ he continued, ‘as to whether this “Marty” would actually be here.’ Trenchcoat sighed. ‘Looks like I lost.’
Marty looked back at the letter in the guy’s hand. This was still pretty incredible.
‘Did you say - seventy years?’
‘That’s right.’
He handed Marty the clipboard and the pen. ‘Sign on line six, please.’
Marty signed, and the other man handed him the letter.
Marty broke open the seal.
He pulled out the yellowed sheets and carefully unfolded them. It was quite a letter, handwritten, a good four pages long. Marty turned to the last page. There, at the bottom, was the signature:
And - if there was any doubt that this really was written by Doc Brown, below that was that ridiculously stylised ‘E - L - B’ that Doc always liked to sign all his memos and notes with.
‘Doc!’ Marty said aloud.
He turned to the beginning of the letter and started
‘Dear Marty:
‘If my calculations are correct, you will receive this letter immediately after you saw the DeLorean struck by lightning.'
‘First, let me assure you that I am alive and well. I have been living happily in the year 1885 for these past few months-’
Marty stopped reading.
‘1885?’ he said aloud.
The Western Union guy tried to lean over Marty’s shoulder to get a look at the letter. Marty turned around so the guy in the trenchcoat couldn’t see. After all, he remembered Doc’s rules about time travel. And rule one seemed to be: The fewer people who knew about it, the better!
Marty skimmed the rest of the letter quickly, muttering to himself over the good parts: ‘Too many jigowatts..
He turned the page.
Time circuits shorted...’
He reached the end of the letter again.
‘1885!’ he repeated to himself. Doc was stranded back in the Wild West. There had to be something Marty could do - and Marty realised just what it was!