Willie's Redneck Time Machine (18 page)

YOU’VE JUST THOUGHT
of a way to persuade Si to come home when you hear something familiar. Now that the ship’s engines are quiet, you can make out a song that sounds like the music from one of your favorite movies.

“Wow. That music
 
—it’s totally the way I’d imagine the future sounding,” you tell Uncle Si.

“Oh, that? I downloaded the sound track to
Blade Runner
. For free. All art is free in the future. You can download music from artists before they release an album. Or watch a movie
while
they’re making it. How cool is that?”

It sounds crazy to you.

“Look, Si, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“I’m already living in a world without sunlight
 
—how can it be much worse?” he asks.

“I’m afraid I have to let you go from Duck Commander.”

His mouth opens. “You can’t do that, Jack!”

“Yes. It’s been a hard decision to make.”

“But you said you just got here,” Si says.

“I know. That’s why it’s even more difficult.”

“Well, I’ve never been fired from a job.”

You shrug.

“I can’t let that go on my record,” Si continues.

“Yes. It would be tough to get future employment.”

He nods. “If I go home with you, will you reinstate my job?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Fair enough.” He pauses for a moment, looking at the falling rain on the windshield of the aircraft. “So we’re going to have to get to the time machine. It’s in this building.”

“Then let’s go.”

“The only thing is this: it’s currently being guarded by almost a hundred men. They’re all carrying automatic laser rifles, and they’re also trained ninjas.”

“That might be a problem,” you say.

“We could enter the building with guns blazing. Like
Young Guns
. In a hail of glory.”

“You’re no young gun,” you tell Si.

“Speak for yourself, Jack. I feel young.”

“Are there any other options?” you ask.

“We can blow the place up and hope the time machine survives.”

You shake your head. “Too risky.”

“Look. We can dress up like them. They’ll never know.”

You know he’ll be as blind as a bat if he takes off those glasses. But if he keeps them on, so much for your disguise.

“I have these bombs that stun men with smells. We could try that out on them. I think I have one that smells like pig guts.”

You let out a laugh. “What will that do? Make the men sick to their stomachs?”

Si lets out a sigh. “I don’t think we can get past them, then. It’s impossible.”

“There’s nothing else we can do?” you ask.

“Well, we could make ourselves invisible.”

You look to see if he’s joking, and he’s not. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Oh, that’s so cliché. The whole invisible act.”

“It’ll work, though, right?”

Uncle Si nods.

“I like that a whole lot more than smelling pig guts.”

It’s a wild thing, being invisible. Walking so close to big, dangerous-looking men carrying guns and not even being glanced at. You and Uncle Si can see each other, but no one else is aware you’re there. Si is leading you through various hallways, all lined with men standing guard and patrolling the area.

You arrive at a closed doorway that’s guarded by a man with a large rifle. Si motions toward the door and gives a thumbs-up. You’re not sure how you’re going to get in without being noticed.

Si puts up a hand as if to say,
I got it.
Then he walks right over to the muscular guard. Without pause, he sticks his finger up the man’s nose.

The guard jerks his head away and rubs his nose as if some bug flew up it. He’s looking around for something, anything, but can’t find what touched him.

When the guard finally stops messing with his nose, Si touches it again. Now the man starts slapping his face. Uncle Si is laughing silently.

Now Si sticks his finger in his own mouth.

“No,” you whisper.

He just nods. Then he places the wet finger in the man’s ear.

The guard loses it, pounding at his head and running down the hallway.

“That was easy,” Si whispers.

You open the door and creep into the room, shutting the door behind you.

Sure enough, there’s your outhouse, with the carving of the duck on the door and the antennas on the top. You never thought it would be such a welcome sight.

“Let’s get inside,” you say.

Someone knocks abruptly on the door to the room. Si looks over his shoulder.

“You get in,” he says. “I can fight them off.”

You press the button on the time machine door and pull on the handle to open it.

“Si, come on.”

“Seriously. Only one of us will make it. Go ahead. Clearly the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

You just stand there staring at him. “You’re not
dying
, Si. You’re not Spock. Come on; get in there.”

Si gives you a long look before heading into the time machine. You follow him.

Once the door shuts, both you and Si get behind monitors, trying to figure out how to set the machine.

“How’d you get to the future, Uncle Si?”

“I was just pressing every button I could find.”

Now you hear angry knocking on the time machine door.

“Is that locked?” you ask.

“I don’t know!”

You pull up a screen full of about a hundred different images. None of them look familiar.

More pounding.

You guys have to leave this place.

You have to leave before they break open the door.

Do you press one of the images on the screen?
Go here
.

Do you hope Si does something to save you both?
Go here
.

Do you wait and think of a better plan?
Go here
.

JOHN LUKE DISAPPEARS
when the door opens. He was right there, but suddenly . . .
boom
. He’s gone.

Maybe it’s some kind of weird time travel thing. Maybe he’s back in your home. You don’t know.

You step out, expecting to be inside the warehouse again. But instead you’re in a small, square yard with a fence around it. You take a couple of strides and step in a big pile of poo. You glance around and see them everywhere. Wherever you look, you see more droppings. It’s disgusting.

Whoever lives here is a slob.

The house behind you is a small one-story structure. There’s a sliding-glass door leading to a small deck. You’ve never seen this place, so you don’t know where you are.

You pull the phone out of your pocket but discover that
it’s not yours. It’s the old-school kind, a flip phone that can only call and text.

Where’d my phone go?

This is strange.

You knock on the glass door and see a face appear at the window. It’s a face you recognize. Actually, one you just saw back at your prom revisit.

Yet this face is different too.

Jill Baxter.

Wow.

Just . . . wow.

But wait a minute. You know this can’t be her because you saw her just a few months ago, before you ever discovered the time machine. She still acted all weird and creepy toward you, like she has since she started crushing on you in high school, but she didn’t look like this. But there’s no one else it could be.

“The door’s open. Stop your knockin’,” she says.

You turn the knob and enter a dim living room.

Jill is smoking a cigarette. Well, it’s more like a cigarette is hanging from her lip in a way that says there’s usually a cigarette hanging from her lip. You spot a tattoo of a bowling ball on her arm. She’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that says
Williebowl
.

For a second you stare at the image on the shirt because
the guy in the picture sorta looks like you. Except he’s about two hundred pounds heavier.

“Uh, Jill?” you say.

She turns and meets your eyes. “You tryin’ to be funny?”

“What?”

“Whatever.” She heads into another room while you look around.

The place belongs in one of those shows about people who hoard things in their houses. The room is a disaster. There are boxes and clothes and bags of food and shoes and appliances and more boxes and garbage bags everywhere. Everywhere.

“Jill,” you call after her, “I just need to explain why
 
—”

“Why’re you being so weird, Dad?”

A scrawny kid joins you in the living room. He’s wearing really, really loose jeans
 
—so loose they’re basically down to his knees
 
—and another Williebowl T-shirt. The boy kinda looks like you, but he also looks like . . . Jill.

Oh no.

“Hey
 
—let me see that shirt.”

It shows a bowling ball exploding into blood and guts.

“Where’d you get this?”

“You’re funny. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

You were going to explain about getting a birthday present for Korie, but then you realize something. Something terrible.

If this dippy-looking boy is your son, then you’re not married to Korie. There’s no John Luke or any of your other kids.

You must have made a mistake with the whole time travel thing. But what was it? What did you do wrong?

You start to feel a bit dizzy.

A gigantic dog smelling like onions comes up and licks your hand. You push him away, but not before he leaves thick spittle all over your fingers. You go to wipe it on your shirt, then notice what you’re wearing.

It’s a Williebowl shirt.

No. This isn’t happening.

You also notice something else. You’re a bit larger than you were before.

Like really,
really
out of shape.

You’re wearing the same outfit Jill has on: a Williebowl shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Really tight sweatpants that don’t feel good. The kind that give you a wedgie about ten minutes after you put them on.

You follow the kid (your son?) down the hall and trip over a bag of dog food. Actually, it’s about four large bags of dog food. The boy ignores you and goes outside, letting the door slam behind him.

Then you see a picture hanging on the wall. It’s Jill and you standing in front of a building with a sign that says . . .

Yep.

Williebowl.

You can’t understand what happened.

Shouldn’t you know since you’re living this life now?

Isn’t that how time travel works?

Something pops into your mind.
The note I left myself. About the Buffalo Bills.

You make your way through the tiny house and find Jill back in the living room, smoking her cigarette and watching a housewives reality show.

“Jill
 
—what, uh . . . ? Can I ask some silly questions?”

“Like what?” She doesn’t even look at you.

Friendly lady.

“Did I ever . . . ? Do you know if I ever bet money on football?”

Her head snaps up and she gives you a mean look. “That’s funny. What’s gotten into you today?”

“I’m just wondering. Just tell me.”

“Let’s see
 
—probably last week. Right? You don’t tell me, but I know you do.”

“Did I ever . . . ? Did I ever bet any on Super Bowls years ago?”

She stands and shakes her head. “When are you ever going to let it go? You made a lot of money. So what? We blew a lot of money. You and your
franchise
. You with all your branding ideas.”

You look down at your T-shirt.

Williebowl.

“So wait a minute,” you say. “I bet on the Buffalo Bills Super Bowls?”

Your “wife” laughs. “Yeah. The only bets you’ve ever made and won.”

You go to rub your beard but find only a lip ring and a nose ring instead.

This can’t be happening.

It was a simple, harmless note.

“Jill, I just
 
—there’s something wrong,” you start to explain.

“Yeah, I’d say. Kingpin threw up all over the kitchen floor.”

“Kingpin? That’s our dog, right?”

She nods, then tosses you a ragged towel. Guess she wants you to clean it up.

You look outside to the backyard but can’t find the outhouse. You’ve never wanted to see something more in your life.

So this is how it’s going to be.

Williebowl and Kingpin.

Wonderful.

THE END

Start over.

Read “The Morning Fog: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”