The Time-Traveling Outlaw (3 page)

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, figure 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.”

The shock of realizing he’d traveled over a hundred and fifty years through time sank in. He looked up at the woman, only now seeing her clearly for the first time.

She was wearing work boots under a denim skirt, along with a rough cotton blouse. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. And she was beautiful, with bright hazel eyes and a button nose. She looked like—

“Natalie?” he said. “It can’t be.”

She started to say something else, but he wasn’t listening to her. He was focused on the sound of approaching hoofbeats. 

Logan turned his head to look up the road, where three riders approached.

Sally watched Logan as he rode beside her on the dead man’s horse. He was bloody from the fight, still wearing her blanket around his waist, still naked from the waist up. The bloodied bandanna was wrapped tight around his right hand, holding the horse’s reins. He looked strangely at ease.

“Logan?” she asked.

He turned his head.

“Just before I met you,” she said, “there was a strange light by the road, almost like lightning. Did you see it?”

“No,” he said.

Well, okay then. She didn’t ask a follow-up, and he didn’t offer any. She had so many other questions, though. But he had just saved her life, and she reckoned the questions could wait.

They rode in silence until they reached a pair of twisted mesquite trees that had grown together. There was no proper road to her land, and no marker. Those were things she and William meant to do together.

She turned Maisy off the left side of the road, and Logan turned as well, falling in beside her. Approaching her home made her happy and sad at the same time, but these days mostly sad, filled with thoughts of what could have been mixed with fears of losing the place. 

The world was hard. She could deal with that. She didn’t mind the struggle or hard work. But the world also seemed increasingly ugly and cruel. Out here, the powerful could do what they wanted with little or no oversight. Out here, the sheriff wasn’t the law. The government wasn’t the law. Powerful men like Camden Sturgess were the law. They did what they wanted and they got what they wanted. And she was afraid that soon enough he would get this land. Then she didn’t know what she would do.

Until then, it was still hers. As they approached, she saw the small house and the barn off to the left. The sun was starting to set, basking the whole scene and soft orange light. She felt the heaviness set into her chest, tears starting to well in her eyes. But she forced them back. She had to be strong. There was no time for all that.

She looked at Logan again. She found herself doing a lot of that since he first appeared on the road. Sitting astride the horse like that, wearing her blanket like a kilt, he should have looked silly. But he didn’t. He looked perfectly natural, like some kind of ancient warrior returning home after a battle in a faraway land.

Maybe this strange man coming into her life was some kind of sign. Maybe he would stay, help turn things around. But she knew better than to get her hopes up, to fantasize like a little girl. He had surely saved her life, and she would mend his hand, cook him a hot meal, and put him up in the barn loft for the night. But if he left in the morning, that was his right, and she couldn’t expect any more from him than that.

They rode together down to the barn, and pulled up to stop.

“Do you mind unhitching Maisy from the wagon and putting the horses up in the barn?” she asked. “I can go in the house and start some supper. Do you like fried chicken?”

Logan seemed lost in thought, but when he realized she was talking to him he gave his head a little shake and turned to look at her. Every time their eyes met she felt a little shiver down her spine.

“Oh,” he said, looking from one horse to another. “Sure. I can do that, I think.”

He certainly was a strange man, she thought. The little strangeness never hurt anybody, and he was certainly fine to look upon.

“Well then,” she said, climbing down from the wagon, “just come in the house when you’re ready.”

She had killed and plucked the chicken that afternoon before heading into town, and she retrieved it from the hook where it hung near the door before heading inside.

The wagon would need to be unloaded, but she could take care of that later. She was hungry, and she didn’t know if Logan was, but she was eager to cook for him. She fancied herself a reasonably fine cook, and William had always said her fried chicken was the best he’d ever tasted. 

She got the stove lit and put the cast-iron skillet atop, scooping in a hefty dollop of lard. She chopped the chicken, then set to making a pan of cornbread to go along with it. 

Sally looked out the window as she cooked, marking Logan’s progress. He had seemed to know how to ride a horse well enough, but watching him now, he didn’t seem to know much about unhitching or unsaddling them. 

She wasn’t so sure about the theory that he’d been waylaid on the road anymore. He didn’t look hurt when she’d come across him, just disoriented. And he hadn’t said a word about being robbed. She would ask him about it later, after he had some food in his belly.

She got the cornbread baking and the chicken frying, the comforting smells of food filling the house. The sun had dipped nearly all the way down, so she lit a lantern and placed it on the sturdy wooden table. She lit a few candles spaced around the house as well.

The front door opened. “Smells great,” he said.

She turned and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Sorry about the horses,” he said. “It’s uh, been a long time since I owned one.”

So you just walked here from wherever it is you came?
She wanted to ask him that, but bit her tongue. Dinner was almost ready, but the dirty bandana around his hand was soaked through with blood. A drop hit the wooden floor as he stood there.

“Don’t mind that,” she said. “Here, sit down.” She pulled up a chair by the table. He looked at it for a second, then sat. 

Sally knelt down and gently took his wounded hand in both of hers. “Let’s have a look,” she said.

She untied the bandana and unwrapped his hand. He let out a little hiss, the first expression of pain, or anything really, that she had heard him make. She winced a little herself. The gash was deep, right down the back of his hand between his middle two fingers. The flesh was exposed, fresh blood oozing out.