Willie's Redneck Time Machine (12 page)

YOU STEP OUTSIDE.

Really, do you need to be told the rest?

Seriously
 
—there’s an end-of-the-world sort of war going on outside your time machine, and you still step foot outside? Even after being warned?

And sure enough, you last as long as it takes to read this page.

These are your last words.

“Oh, man, I
 
—”

Then . . .

BOOM!

POW!

Ow!

Oh no.

And you’re back in the Duck Commander warehouse, your phone ringing on and on: “Oops! . . . I did it again.”

THE TRAGIC END

Start over.

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

YOU JOIN JASE
at the controls, determined to find a way home. Next to the screen displaying the Duck and Buck choices, you notice a reset button. You press it before Jase can object, and the screen changes. Now it displays the numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4. You try to get the screen to show time and place options, but you eventually give up and ask Jase how to get there.

“I don’t know what this screen does,” Jase says.

He presses 4 on the screen.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Why not?”

The shaking and spinning motion begins. You hang on to a chair that’s fixed in place while the machine continues to tremble for a few moments. Then it stops.

“Oh, boy,” you say.

“This is fun,” John Luke says.

“I hope this is better than the Civil War,” you tell Jase.

“There’s no way to know now that you overrode the system.”

“I was just trying to send us home!”

“Well, you get to go first.”

“You know we’re both still dressed as Confederate soldiers,” you say.

Jase nods. “There’s an intervention chamber in the back.”

“And what’s that?”

“You can explain your issue to the main computer, and many times it fixes the problem. In this case, we’ll say we need our old clothes back.”

Sure enough, minutes later you’re wearing your old clothes once more. They appeared in a box at the back of the intervention chamber, just as Jase suggested they would.

“Now we don’t stand out as much,” you say.

John Luke looks at both of you and laughs.

“What?” you ask.

“Come on,” Jase says. “You get out first.”

You stare at them. “Who knows what story this might drop us into.”

Then you step through the doorway.

Go to “Double Vision” . . . in
Jase & the Deadliest Hunt
.

“THAT HIT ON THE HEAD
made me forget my vital link and quadrant,” you say. “My brain feels foggy.”

“How did you get to the fields?”

“The fields. Oh yes, those. I just . . . I don’t know. It’s hazy.”

“You should have been killed sneaking past the security barriers.”

Your brain really is a bit foggy, and now you’re being forced to make up a story.

“I’m not a threat,” you say. “I just
 
—I’m not sure how I got to the fields, but I was
 
—I wasn’t going after anyone.”

“You had a system 5, class 20 high-velocity batter shatter in your possession. How did you get one of those?”

“You call that rifle a batter shatter?” You can’t help but laugh, and the woman doesn’t seem to like your laughing.

“I got it for a birthday present,” you say.

“I know of people like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re one of them. The rebels. The ones battling against the system.”

Finally you start to understand. “Yes, I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve seen the movies. This is a dystopian society. But that’s okay. I’m fine with dystopia. Totally fine.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s like
 
—a genre, right? The bad government
 
—I mean, the one that some people think is bad. But I’m sure it’s good.”

The woman slides out what looks to be some kind of CD and puts it in her palm. It begins to hover, and she speaks into it.

“This is a priority level 7 case with a threat level of 0 percent. Subject with mental impairment and a loss of the CDG component.”

You look around the confined room you’re in.

Priority level 7?

Zero percent chance of being a threat?

Mental impairment?

Loss of the CDG component? Whatever that means.

“What is CDG again?”

The woman smiles. “That’s funny. I do like your humor. It’s a lost art, I believe.”

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“You will be let go. You’re obviously not a rebel soldier. We will clean you up and then process you before leaving.”

“Cleaning up” means they shave you.
All
of you. Your beard. Your head.
Your body.

You had more hair when you were born.

You feel naked even after they give you the loose white pants and white shirt to wear. You feel like you’re in a kung fu movie.

Then they put you out in the elements
 
—on some crowded street that’s dark and rainy and resembles the set of
Blade Runner
.

You have absolutely no idea how to get back to the time machine.

You walk down a couple of blocks, your odd plastic shoes feeling wrong against your bare feet. The raindrops on your bald head make you cold.

As you are about to turn down another street, a figure in a recessed doorway grabs you. Before you strike back at the assailant, you see the glasses.

It’s Si.

“Is that you, Willie?”

“Yeah. Of course it is! What are you talking about?”

“It’s just been a while since
 
—well, since I’ve seen your face. And your head.”

You have to touch your face before remembering you’re as smooth as a newborn baby.

“Quick, we don’t have much time,” Uncle Si tells you. “We must do something, but you’re not going to like it.”

You notice Uncle Si is in black-and-gray battle gear, including a black military cap with a red fist logo. He’s carrying a gun on his hip and looks tanned and tough.

“What’s happened to you? Where have you been, Uncle Si?”

“I’m leading a revolution, man. It’s the sixties once again, and I’m John Lennon! I’m just looking for Yoko.”

It might be the future, but Uncle Si is still crazy.

“Look, no time to talk,” he says. “I gotta open up your skull.” He pulls out what appears to be a pen from his belt.

“What is that?” you ask.

“They call it a Split Pea. It opens your skull and takes out the implants they’ve stuck in your brain.”

He presses on it, and two long metal spikes come out of the end, then snap a foot apart.

“And you want to stick that thing . . . in my head?”

“Yes. Right now. Hurry.”

Do you allow Uncle Si to crack open your skull with the Split Pea?
Go here
.

Do you say no but agree to join Uncle Si, whatever he’s doing?
Go here
.

WHEN THE MACHINE
touches down with a jolt, you step out and feel the hot sun beating down on you. At least you know John Luke, Jase, and Si weren’t pranking you. The question now is where the time machine brought you and whether your family members are around here somewhere too. This must be a faraway place. It doesn’t look anything like West Monroe. Or even like America, for that matter.

You call out for Phil several times, but he’s not around. For all you know, he could be in a totally different year. You couldn’t find a time machine instruction manual inside and had no idea how to direct the machine.

You appear to be in a desert of some kind, walking on a dirt road that looks frequently traveled, but not by cars.
You only see footprints and animal prints, from horses and other creatures you can’t determine.

Maybe this is a different continent or something.

Just then, a figure in a long black robe approaches you. He’s wearing a hood, and you wonder if it’s Phil. But when he pulls off the hood, you recognize him instantly.

“Hey, aren’t you O
 
—?”

“Oh no, you don’t,” the old man with white hair and a beard says. “We don’t want to cause any issues.”

It’s totally him. Or someone who looks like him.

“What issues?” you ask.

“Licensing issues.”

You shake your head, not understanding. “Am I on a movie set?”

“No. Please. Listen to me now. You were meant to meet someone in the time machine, someone who would have explained the most important element of time travel
 
—the level 34-B bicode. But he didn’t arrive on schedule, so you have no way of knowing.” The man takes a deep breath. “The bicode ensures that you can’t die in other places and times. Anything can happen . . . but if you die, you’ll just find yourself back where you started.”

“Oh . . . uh, that’s great.” But you don’t plan to die anytime soon, for fake or for real. You glance around and finally get where you are. “Is this the planet of Tat
 
—?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts. “Please. You must choose right this instant. Will you go back to your time machine or won’t you?”

You consider it for a minute.

“What is your decision?”

“Will you tell me where to go?” you ask.

He nods.

If you choose to go back to the time machine,
go here
.

And if you decide to stay out here where something bad is obviously going to happen,
go here
.

“That’s certainly a difficult choice.”