Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series (16 page)

Sunday, June 8, 1947

It’s almost been a month since Grant bailed on us. His departure has had a significant impact on the morale, on the attitude of the group as a whole. Chalk it up to guilt or concern, or a little bit of both, makes no difference. Ken has really taken it hard. He and Grant had a lot in common.

We’ve needed something positive to rally around ever since. Well, yesterday X may have given us that rallying point. As we work through the dilemmas of physics and the barriers of language, it appears that he is confident that we have reached a major breakthrough.

As best as I can make out, our biggest problem now is power. The potential temporal device he is constructing will require almost unimaginable amounts of energy. A nuclear power plant small enough to fit in half of my garage might do it, but I’ve looked in all the stores, and even the Sears Roebuck Catalog and I can’t find one.

Aside from nukes and the sun, the only source of power that can deliver what we need is lightning. Lightning has a lot going for it.

Think about it:

1. It’s pretty common. I think I read somewhere that it strikes the Earth about 100 times per second!

2. It’s FREE

3. Extremely powerful

Sounds great. Come to think of it, lightning and earthquakes share many of the same characteristics: pretty common, very powerful, and absolutely free, but there is one major problem:

YOU CAN’T PREDICT THEM ACCURATELY.

There’s the rub.

But there is a key difference between earthquakes and lightning: you can’t attract an earthquake. But Ben Franklin demonstrated that you can attract electricity in the atmosphere. There are no “earthquake rods,” but there are lightning rods. In the movie
Dune
the natives used thumping rods to attract the giant worms and then harnessed their great power. Maybe we can use rods to harness nature’s big bolts as well. I will probably have to buy a large pickup truck to haul the equipment.

It’s the right time of the year—we have about 6 more weeks of thunderstorm weather in the Great Plains. I always wanted to be a storm chaser, but that was out of pure curiosity, now I may have to be one out of cruel necessity.

Surreal.

That’s how a still-recovering Denver Collins described the scene to Leah a few days later.

He surveyed the large conference room at Nelson Manufacturing, taking mental inventory of all twelve of his fellow time Jumpers gathered around a spacious table, with the exception of Chief McCloud. A few of them he had never met, period, and this was certainly the first time he had seen all of them gathered together in one, safe place.

A few of them couldn’t help but gawk at Denver as they took long drags on their cigarettes. First off, he was the newest Jumper. Secondly, he was still sporting quite a few bandages and visible injuries. He was the biggest freak in the freak show.

Surreal
.

He tried to keep the smile to himself as he contemplated just how crazy this whole arrangement was. He looked around at the improbable mixture: different races, different decades, different vocations, different ages, probably even different religions. It was a motley conglomerate that surely had far more fundamental differences than even the most generous list of similarities.

Ten years
, he thought.
This group started over ten years ago. Well, not all of them, but still—this is absolutely amazing.

He concentrated on the faces least familiar to him.

Now she is new. Must be what—in her middle to late seventies? She looks very proper.

Whoa, that guy stands out. Bald…body builder by the looks of it. A good guy to have your back in a firefight, I imagine. Who else? Move aside, Doc. I don’t think I’ve met her. There. Oh, a young, black girl. Probably early twenties. Cute. Seems nervous. There’s that French guy. Patinow or something. Mr. Magoo.

Ellen leaned over and whispered in his ear. “You doing okay?”

He thought for a moment. “About as good as a guy with third degree burns and a gigantic head gash would be doing surrounded by complete and total strangers.”

He grinned and she gave him a quick hug. “Don’t worry, time will heal all of that. Always does.” He had too much male pride to admit to her that the squeeze hurt.

The background chatter died down as a very rushed and flustered Chief McCloud made his grand entrance. He started apologizing even before he was finished tossing his hat onto the table. “Sorry, sorry, folks. Had to make a last minute drive out to the McCallister’s.
Again
. Need I say more?”

He hurried across the room and placed his hands on Denver’s tender shoulders. “Most of you have had the pleasure of meeting the latest addition to our, uh, family, but, for those who haven’t, this is Mr. Denver Wayne Collins.”

A sporadic round of applause filled the room. Denver smiled self-consciously and waved. The Chief continued, “Mr. Collins arrived to Normal from the year 2014. He is our second Jumper from the twenty-first century. He is our newest Trailer, even beating Doc by almost ten years.”

Another weaker outburst of clapping erupted, and Doc Stonecroft stood and bowed towards Denver across the table. Denver wasn’t sure how to react, so he just sat there without making specific eye contact, or at least, avoiding it when possible.

The Chief patted Denver on the back. “As you can see, Denver’s had a pretty rough first week here in Normal.” McCloud bent over and glanced down at him. “I promise you, Mr. Collins, things will get better for you here, much better. I guarantee it.”

Everyone smiled and a few laughed in good fun. Denver just shook his head. He couldn’t imagine how it could get worse, so odds were the Chief was right.

“Actually,” McCloud said, “even though he’s only been here less than a week, this great guy’s already impacted this here group; in fact, he has impacted this whole community.”

Ellen jumped up. “
Impacted
? How about
saved
the group, and
saved
the community?” A third, louder round of applause exploded, and all stood up.

Awkward, freaking awkward.

A strange, uncomfortable silence followed, and everyone stared at him then each other. He looked around. Clearly he was expected to make some version of an acceptance speech.

“Uh,” he began, “I just did what anyone would’ve done. I’m not a hero. Really. Thanks.” He looked around. “Please, sit. Please.”

He was thrilled when they did, and the Chief took the spotlight once again. “What I tell ya? What’d I tell ya? One great guy. Well, as he finishes healing up, spend some time with Trailer Collins.” He looked down again. “But, I gotta ask, Mr. Collins, do the Red Sox ever break the famous Curse of the Bambino?” The Chief roared and a few joined him. “I’m just kiddin’, I’m just kiddin’. Can’t be teaching our newest family member to be breaking the Second Accord in the first week!”

By the reaction on his hardened face, the bald body-builder didn’t seem to be finding any of the light banter to be amusing in the least. He cleared his throat and cut through the din. “I can’t believe you’re tellin’ baseball jokes, Chief, when there are far more important matters to be discussed tonight!” The chit chat in the room died an instantaneous death. “Can we get on with the
real
business?”

McCloud composed himself and moved back toward his own chair. “As delicate as ever, Mr. Frazier.”

“Who cares about being delicate?” Frazier growled. “Our lives are on the line here people.”

Denver was stunned.

Lives on the line…did I miss something?

The Chief arrived at his seat but remained standing. “I think everyone has been privately briefed, with possibly the exception of Mr. Collins, about our latest…
situation
.”

“It’s not a situation…it’s a
threat
!” Frazier shouted, veins pulsating.

Denver could tell that the Chief was exercising extreme restraint, but only out of necessity. McCloud’s response was measured and firm. “Regardless if we characterize it as a
situation
, or a
threat
, or a
whatever
, it does not change the fact that we need to collectively discuss and collectively arrive at a solution.”

Frazier wasted no time. “There is nothing to discuss. I think we all can see the cold, hard facts here: as long as Betty has those items in her safe, then none of us are!”

Terrance Gaines, the head of maintenance, countered. “Look, Garrett, we don't even know what she really has! It might be nothing.”

“Uh, I don't think it takes a rocket scientist, Tee, to figure out that she has enough to get this whole freaking town crawlin' with suits!”

“And once that happens,” Shep offered, “it's only a matter of time. The Feds know how to get what they need.”

Side conversations and outright accusations began to rebound around the room. The noise and tension rose exponentially. Denver observed that the young African American girl was trying to get everyone’s attention. He tapped Ellen and pointed towards her.

Ellen stood up and shouted, “Hey! Hey, listen. Listen.” It took far longer than it should have, but the group subdued. “Thank you. Listen, Alexus wants to share something.” Ellen sat down and whispered in Denver’s ear, “Daniels. Alexus Daniels. She’s from 1973. Good kid.”

The young woman rose in a timid manner. “There is a chance that the newspaper editor’s collection could bring us unwanted Federal attention. I just want to remind everyone that, uh, these kind of witch-hunts don't end so well for people that look like me and Terrance.” She stared at everyone with real fear in her eyes. “I don't think America is ready for Dr. King's dream, at least not just yet.”

There was a short pause and the Chief spoke up. “Careful with that information, Lexi.
Priors
.”

Alexus acknowledged as she dropped back down. Leah Swan jumped in. “Listen. Lexi is right. And with World War Two and the Korean War, a lot of people don’t give Asians like me too many chances either. If they start asking questions and running background checks, it's…it's over. I mean, less than half of us even really
has
a background. Think about it.”

Denver studied the shy teenager sitting to Leah’s left.
Birthday calculating girl, what was her name…Laura? Lori? Tori. Was it Tori?

Ellen stunned everyone with a bold pronouncement. “Maybe we should disband, or, or maybe move on to a new town.”

Denver caught the tail end of a long, hard stare between Shep and Finegan.

“Conservatively speaking,” Doc Stonecroft explained gravely, “it will take weeks to disassemble just the reactor chamber, not to mention the Jump Portal.”

For the second time in the short meeting, the chatter ratcheted up to a deafening level. Leah turned to Tori and helped to cover her ears.

The Chief whistled. “Hey, look.” He whistled louder. “Nobody is—
hey
! Listen. Nobody is gonna disassemble anything or move anywhere.” He paced as if trying to slice through the tension with his physical presence. “We haven't worked all these years,
together
mind you, and got to where we are today, to just throw it all away because of a small town newspaper editor with a box full o' goodies!”

Shep had to rain on his parade. “Those goodies
,
Chief
,
could get us all killed or at least hauled off like lab rats in some government facility!”

McCloud spun around. “No one is being shipped anywhere. Nobody’s gonna be anybody’s lab rat. We just need to do what we've always done, folks: create a plan, then
execute
that plan.” He glared at each of them.

Garrett spoke up. “I think execution
is
the plan.”

Denver couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Actually, he doubted that
anyone
could believe what they had just heard.

“
Excuse me,
Frazier?” the Chief asked. “I hope I'm not following you.”

Garrett was defiant. “And why not? What is the life of one woman compared to all of ours?”

“I can't believe this!” Leah exploded. “Are you suggesting that we...that someone
kills
Miss Larson?”

Every eye was fastened on Garrett’s unrepentant face.

“Not suggesting, Miss Swan.
Recommending
. Maybe even volunteering.”

Leah jumped up and grabbed Tori’s arm and fled from the room. Officer Billy chased after them.

Ellen was livid. “What’s your problem, Frazier? We don't joke about people's lives! Especially in front of Tori.”

“Like she would understand anyway. And who said I was joking?”

Ellen stood and pointed at him. “We don't know
what
she understands, Garrett!”

Dr. Papineau struggled for clarification. “
Excuse moi. Assassiner?
” He drew a finger across his neck with a puzzled look.

Garrett nodded. “Better her than us—it's simple math.”

“Murder, Mr. Frazier, is
not
an option,” the Chief barked. “
Period
. No discussion. Off the table.”

Shep shook his head. “Uh, I don't see too many options
on
the table, Chief.”

“There are always options, Mr. Sheppard,” offered a platinum-headed, elderly woman three spots to Denver’s right. “There are always options—especially when violence masquerades as the only one.”

Ellen leaned in once again and whispered, “Grandma Martha. Martha Tomlin. Class act. 1989.”

Denver sensed a change sweep over the group. A quiet seriousness descended.
Impressive lady
, Denver thought. Some low-level murmuring eventually returned, but Chief McCloud had one more bomb to drop. “Uh, folks. Folks, there is another complication.”

The room fell silent again.

“Denver's identity may be compromised,” he said. “He lost his wallet. He told me yesterday that the last time he had it for sure was on the bus to Chicago. It had his driver's license, military ID, and some cash.”

Shep threw up his hands. “That's not a
complication
, McCloud. That’s...that's one helluva
train wreck
!”

Martha offered more wisdom. “We must operate under the assumption that it will end up in the hands of the authorities, and I am not referring to the boys in blue.”

Shep rose from the table and paced the length of the floor. “She’s right! The boys in black have it. Guaranteed!”

Denver felt sick. His status had flipped from community hero to local villain in less than fifteen minutes. “I'm...I'm sorry,” was all he could say. He wasn’t sure if anyone even heard it.

McCloud walked over. “Hey, look, Denver. What's done's done. It wasn't on purpose. Now we need damage control.”

“It's hard to control this much damage,” Shep retorted.

“He’ll need a new name,” Frazier proposed. “Maybe even a new look.”

Denver found the strength to speak up. “I, uh, I had a beard on my driver's license photo. It was a few years back.”