“You son of a bitch,” Pamela screamed as she kicked at Ginter again. “You and your fucking pervert friends slipped me some sort of date rape drug, that’s it, huh? Did you all have a good time with me? Asshole!”
Pamela drew her right leg back again but Ginter was quicker. He caught her foot on the back swing and tumbled the woman to the ground.
“Nobody drugged you, damnit!” Ginter growled as he sat up. Next to Paul, Amanda stirred and opened her eyes. Paul’s body felt heavy and his head was pounding. He pushed his hands into the soft earth and tried to push himself up.
“Where are we?” Amanda asked, her eyelids flickering.
Paul gave a final heave and sat up. “More importantly, when are we? Holy shit, Lewis, did it work? Lewis?”
Lewis Ginter let go of Pamela’s leg and stood up. “The computer read August 5, 1963 when I pushed ‘enter.’ I had the wormhole targeted for a park in the northeast United States. Deerfield Park in Manchester, New Hampshire.”
Paul rubbed his forehead and looked around. He was in a grassy clearing. To either side he could see a tree line about 100 feet away. Between the tree lines the clearing sloped downward. He was on a hill and in the distance he could make out the skyline of a small city. He looked behind him. About 30 feet away, two black 19th century cannons stood mounted on cement bases, their mouths pointed toward the city.
Amanda groggily studied the cannons. “Lewis, you put us back to the Civil War.”
Paul shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “I know this place. I’ve been here. It’s Derryfield Park. Not Deerfield. You’re right. In Manchester, New Hampshire.”
“You know this place?” Amanda asked, turning back from the cannons.
“I grew up one town over, in Bedford. I went to high school here, West High School. And,” he chuckled, “I know that parking lot.” Paul pointed to the bottom of the clearing. Approximately 300 feet away a gravel parking lot stood empty.
“I used to come here with my girlfriend back in high school, in the late eighties. Nineteen eighty-nine I think. Yeah, that’s it.”
Paul jumped to his feet. “It actually worked, Lewis. We moved through space and time.”
Paul squinted at the low sun behind him. “It was evening when we left. We’ve definitely moved through time.” He turned to Lewis. “Do you know what time it is? I mean, in the day?”
Ginter rubbed his eyes. “The computer said the wormhole at this end would be open for just over five hours and thirty minutes starting at 3:38 a.m. Since we left at the end of our opening it should be about 8:30 or maybe 9:00 in the morning.”
Paul nodded. “Judging from the sun I’d agree. What was the date?”
“August 5, 1963. Monday.”
Paul bent down and grabbed a handful of grass. He pulled it up by its roots and pushed it to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“We’re here. It’s physical,” Paul said. He looked back up at the sky and let out a whoop. “We did it!”
He turned to Lewis. “Is it really 1963?”
Amanda raised herself off the ground and sat up.
“What happened to 1962?” she asked.
“I think the real question,” Lewis answered, icily turning to her, “is why Natasha and her friend were there? You mentioned a trip wire in your computer. What was that all about?”
“Someone hacked my computer,” Amanda answered. “Must have gotten details. You ought to be thanking me for installing the trip wire. It let me know they were on to us.”
Ginter didn’t take his eyes off her. “What was anything doing on your hard drive? Didn’t we tell you not to enter ANY details?”
“Paul said not my MIT office computer. This was my home computer.”
“Goddamnit, your home computer is linked to the office through the university circuit and can be hacked,” Ginter exploded. “Are you THAT stupid?”
“Me?” Amanda was fully awake now. “What about you? We’re supposed to have gone back to 1962. What the hell happened to that? You screwed us up. You put us into 1963. We’re now ten months too late to invade Cuba.”
“Ah, excuse me, are you guys serious or what? This wasn’t one of those date rape drug things? ‘Cause that would sound better right about now.”
The three turned to stare at Pamela who still sat on the grass. Paul had forgotten she was there.
Lewis shook his head. “No, no drugs. Not like I ever had to use them.”
“You three are shitting me, right?” Pamela asked. “You’re not trying to tell me we went back in time? Back to 19 fucking 63? Are you?”
Pamela paused, her eyes desperately moving from Ginter to deVere. “What about the bombs? Are you saying that you were building a fucking time machine all the time and you were lying to me? To us? Is that what you’re saying? Are you serious?”
When no one answered, Pamela jumped to her feet and staggered forward. “You’re crazy. You’re all fucking crazy. You drugged me and you’re all crazy. And who was that wacko with the gun to my head? Another escapee from the lunatic asylum? Part of Lewis’ scam plot?”
Pamela wheeled on Lewis. She was lurching forwards and back. She raised a hand to her forehead and tried to steady herself.
“Nice try, Lewis!” Pamela screamed. “Nice scam, asshole. Hire some bozo with a Russkie accent to scare the shit out of me with a toy gun, then drug me, bring me God knows where to some hill and tell me you have a time machine?”
She laughed hysterically. “It ain’t gonna’ work, Lewis! I’m not that stupid. Eckleburg ain’t that stupid. Lorrie ain’t that stupid. You and your pervert friends aren’t getting another fucking dime for you and deVere and, and you!”—Pamela pointed at Amanda still on the ground—“to stuff in some Swiss bank account!”
Pamela lurched forward and fell to her knees, still holding her head. Without standing up Amanda scrambled over and put her right arm around Pamela’s shoulders.
“It’s O.K.,” Amanda cooed. “I’ve got you.”
“Aw shit! This sucks!” Ginter said.
“It’s O.K.,” Paul said. “Just give her a few minutes. This is a shock to all of us.”
“Not her,” Lewis said. “That!”
Ginter pointed down the hill to the parking lot. A black and white four-door sedan with a red bulb light on the roof had entered the parking lot and was slowly crossing to the far side. Even from this distance Paul could see the word “POLICE” on the right front door. Ginter and deVere instinctively dropped back down.
Lewis scrambled over to the two women and pulled them lower. “Get down!” he commanded.
Paul lay back in the tall grass.
“Quick, the woods,” Ginter hissed. “Crawl! And keep down. Pamela, just shut up and trust us.”
Pamela and Amanda began squirming along the ground to their right toward the tree line. Paul deVere grabbed the duffle bag. He and Ginter crawled along behind. When the two women reached the trees they crawled past into the forest underbrush before turning and rising to their knees. Ginter and deVere scrambled past them and did the same.
All four watched the cruiser that had now stopped. A man in a blue uniform emerged and began searching the edge of the clearing.
“What’s happening?” deVere asked. “Why are we hiding? We haven’t done anything.”
Ginter leaned back against a tree trunk but kept his eyes on the officer.
“Well, let’s see. This is supposedly 1963 and by the look of that cruiser I’d say we hit it pretty close. We’ve got two white women and one white male and a black guy—and we’re rolling around in the grass in a park with no explanation as to why. When that cop asks for some ID, which one of you innocent geniuses is going to show him your Northeast District driver’s license with a birth date of nineteen seventy something? You, Paul? Or maybe you could show him your MIT faculty ID? Heck, he can call down to the school to check you out and well, just who would he ask for down there?”