Out of Time - Ryan Matthew Harker (short books to read TXT) 📗

in its already effective effort to rob my lungs of oxygen and their ability to draw in more. All I can do it lay here hugging the duffle and desperately gasp my best impressions of a fish out of water. Yep, a fish in the time stream stranded without air on foreign shores. Poor little fella, I sure hope I make it.

Typically, just as I don’t think I can take it any more my lungs start working again. Fighting for shallow draws of air subsides slowly into steadily deeper inhalations. Many moments after I can breathe again I push the duffle bag off my chest and struggle to an upright position. My body hollers its protest throughout this all but can do nothing except obey. The grass that surrounds me still towers above my head so it looks like I need to stand if I want to see anything. No time like the present, it has to happen sooner or later.

I’m standing in an immense plain of tall grass stretching to the sky on three sides and all the way to the mountains on the other. To the north of me is some kind of civilization, some distance off yet so I begin walking in that direction.

I don’t know why I’m in this mess but I know I can’t do much to change my situation the way things are. I’m smart enough to realize that at this point I’m in too deep to do anything but what I’m doing and what I’m doing is surviving the time stream.

The time stream, ha! These raging rapids are certainly taking a toll on my body if nothing else. My mind, although weary and in need of a nap, is doing okay for the moment. My spirit is bouncy, trouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun; or at least I keep telling myself so.

If not for the Tigger in me I don’t think I’d go any farther. Hefalumps and woozles are dragging me down, down, down. I feel like Owl flying into a headwind without making any headway. Oh if only I had some honey maybe my brain could ponder on the philosophy of my situation until it makes sense.

I’m not sure where all the Pooh references are coming from but they’re a welcome distraction from the heat exhaustion creeping through my soul. I feel sluggish and slow instead of my usual manic melancholy but I’m not ready to allow the facts to dictate my reality just yet. I drag my feet and tell myself it’s just the alcohol and acetaminophen causing a touch of dehydration, maybe I’m groggy from the codeine.

The buildings off in the distance simmer and dance to the rhythm of my pulse pounding in my head. Partially delirious I admit they may be a mirage and my lies cease to be enough to convince my feet to keep going. As pitch black darkness descends over my vision I’d bet it don’t take two seconds for my melon to join my boots in the dust, probably only a second and a half.

Nope, two seconds.

 

I wake to find I’m in a comfortable bed. The blankets that surround me are soft, thick and the pillow under my head is fine goose down. I can smell mouthwatering aromas drifting past my nose and can’t help but smile. They smell good!

A soft rustle accompanies the sweet smells and I ease my eyes open against the light. Through the glare I make out a faint hint of what appear to be honey tresses swishing across finely woven white cotton. The distinct sharp rap of a knock on a door draws the shining locks away from my vision. I do my best to follow their departure but a creaking portal of brilliant sunlight blinds me further.

Squinting barely allows me to make out two silhouettes standing in the doorway but my ears super tune and hone in.

“Good day Miss Maybelline,” a man drawls. Those four words are enough to confirm he’s an Adder. His voice drips venom.

On the other hand honey blonde Miss Maybelline’s voice is tense with controlled disgust. “And what can I do for you today Mr. Hamerstock.”

“Well, Miss Maybelline, word’s been going around town you’ve taken in a new boarder,” Hamerstock’s drawl is slow and insidious. “Been said you found him on the plains half baked with heat exhaustion.”

“And what’s it to you if I did Mr. Hamerstock?”

“Nothing Miss Maybelline, nothing at all,” the shadows shift. “Except as Marshall of this province I felt it to be my duty to inquire after the health of this stranger in person, wish him a speedy recovery and all.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to pass that on to him as soon as he wakes,” Maybelline says and the shadows shift again. “As you can see he’s still unconscious.”

Again shadows dance and I concentrate every ounce of will I possess on appearing unconscious.

“Indeed,” the Adder hisses. “Well have him come introduce himself when he’s up and about.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Maybelline assures. “Good day Mr. Hamerstock.”

“And a good day to you Miss Maybelline,” the closing door creaks on its hinges.

“And good riddance,” There’s a definite emphasis on ‘And’.

“Who was that?” I ask.

Maybelline’s hair swishes prettily as she starts. My eyes aren’t as sensitive after their exposure to the outside light and her eyes are beautifully full of surprise.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were awake,” Maybelline steps closer and comes into better focus, the blurry edges of her light softened contours sharpening into full clarity. God, this woman is gorgeous. “Are you thirsty? Do you want some water, or whiskey?”

I smile at her concern. “No, no thank you,” I assure her and repeat my question. “Who was that?”

She glances at the door and the disgust returns to her voice, “Him? That is our esteemed peacekeeper the honorable,” she spits out the word. “Marshall Clarence T. Hamerstock.”

“It doesn’t sound like you think very highly of him.”

“No,” she chuckles softly. “I suppose I don’t.”

“And why is that?” I ask her. With the vibe I got from the man and his obvious interest in me I want to know as much as I can about him.

“You sure do ask a lot of questions stranger,” Maybelline counters. “What’s your name?”

I crack my most winning smile. “Davey,” I tell her. “Davey Jones.”

She arches an eyebrow at me, “Like the pirate legend?”

“The very same.”

“Well, Mr. Davey Jones, I don’t think very highly of Mr. Hamerstock because he is a venomous snake of a man!” This comment could’ve come from my own mind and I laugh uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?” Maybelline even frowns prettily.

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that’s exactly what I was thinking,” I bring myself under control. “Harumph, I’m sorry.”

“Oh! No, that’s ok,” she laughs too. “So how do you feel?”

“A little tired,” I tell her and another waft of the good smelling stuff she’s cooking passes by my nose, “And hungry, what’cha cooking?”

Laughter tinkling Maybelline’s smile lights up her face. She positively glows. “If you can get out of that bed I suppose you can have some.”

Oh I like this woman. She’s got a bit of sauce.

I wonder about her circumstances and look around the room. Except it’s not a room, it’s a cabin, a one room cabin. The bed I’m in is tucked neatly into a corner and appears to be made out of whole logs; they still have the bark on them even. Four feet by six feet I can’t imagine a man sleeping in a bed this size if he were sharing it with a woman. Then again it would be rather cozy sharing this bed with Miss Maybelline, maybe even just right in fact.

Speaking of, Maybelline’s fussing in the kitchen which is right off the only door in the place. A huge affair the hinges are as big as my hand and it’s no wonder they squeak supporting all that weight. The door’s on the right side of the wall, kitty corner from the bed.

The only table in the house is made out of a slab of wood set on top of another chunk of wood. Several men would have been hard pressed to move either one and I wonder again about men in Maybelline’s life. Whoa there big fella, reign in your horses! You have a mission here, don’t forget! Yeah, yeah I know but that doesn’t mean I can’t explore some of the local wildlife. Does it? Does it?! I didn’t think so. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman and I believe it may prove beneficial to my stress level to enjoy this woman’s obvious charms. She seems to like me anyway and she did rescue me and take me in.

I move over to seat myself at one of the table’s equally massive chairs. I’m not wearing my own clothes and clearing my throat I try to sound casual when I ask, “Maybelline, where are my belongings?”

She sashays over to the table and deposits a ceramic plate of bread in front of me. (Ok, so she didn’t sashay exactly but my imagination runs a little wild sometimes.) “Your clothes I washed and are hanging out to dry. The rest of your things,” a glance askance with emphasis on ‘things’, “I put in a safe place.”

“Okay. Can I see?” I ask.

I’m sure she can see through the effort I’m making not to make a big deal of this but I can tell she’s also intelligent enough to know that the arsenal I was carrying, not to mention the technology, is like none known or seen before by the residents of this time period. But either she doesn’t care or has enormous control over her curiosity because all she does is toss me a smile over her shoulder and pull the lid off of the cast iron pot steaming on the wood stove sitting in the corner behind the table.

“Hold your horses partner. How about you get some food in your belly first?” Laughing she ladles some very delicious smelling stew into a wooden bowl and sets it next to my bread. “Eat up,” she commands. “I’ll go check your clothes.”

“Yes ma’am,” I obey and dig into the most savory, tasty stew I’ve ever eaten.

I just mop up the last drop of stew with a chunk of the equally tasty bread when Maybelline returns with my garments hanging from one of her pretty arms. I hear the door creak. Turning in my chair to look that way I’m just in time to catch a flash of one of her white ankles as her dress swishes to one side. I smile at her and stand up.

“Here, let me grab those for you,” I reach out to take my clothes.

“Thanks,” she says gratefully and shuts the door behind her.

I take my clothes and lay them out on the bed. Pants, shirts, boxers, socks, boots, coat; yep, everything’s here. The sound of wood grating against wood draws my attention away from the bed.

Maybelline is kneeling on the floor behind me with one of the heavy floorboards in her hands. She lays it to one side and reaches into the floor. My own curiosity draws me closer and she removes her arms from the hole in the floor with my AR in her hands. She sets it to one side and reaches back in bringing up the Colt, my wallet, cell phone and last but not least my black box baby… TRU. Oh thank God, I breathe silently and kneel down next to her.

I silently collect my proffered items, gratitude and relief paints my face I’m sure. “Thank you,” I whisper as I examine TRU.

“You welcome,” Maybelline tells me and I don’t fail to catch the uncertainty in her voice. “What is this stuff?” she asks.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I assure her.

Maybelline is not one to take assurances though. “Try me,” she challenges.

Heaving a heavy sigh I stand and turn back to the bed. I don’t know what to tell her