Tear In Time (40 page)

  David
nodded in submission. He was too torn to do anything else.

  “Ok,
blue belly. Drop the holster and step away from your pistol and sword,” the
guarding Confederate ordered. “Do it slowly. I'd hate to shoot off your hands.
It’d make riding more difficult.”

  David
swallowed hard again at the harsh, threatening language. He could feel the
sweat building on his brow while his heart pumped wildly out of control. He
slowly reached down and unbuckled his belt, and let his gun and sword drop to
the ground. David could almost smell the emotionally charged atmosphere as he
breathed heavy and exhaled in defeat.

 
“That's right, blue belly. Take your last breath as a free man, ’cause after
today, you'll be breathing the air of Andersonville,” Seymour said.

  The
two Confederates looked at each other with ominous overtones, then began to
laugh maniacally.

  David
stood, stunned. He remembered Andersonville from his history class in high
school. The disparity of the violent living conditions there served as a high
watermark for one of the worst atrocities against humanity. The death toll from
disease and starvation were staggering; not to mention torture and unprovoked
shootings by their captors.

  David
looked down for a moment. He could see his heart heaving his chest cavity,
pushing him to the brink of cardiac arrest. His mind was a trough of emotion
mixing together, confusing his logic, taunting him with irrational ideas of
escape, as his captors continued their sadistic laughter.

  A warm
balmy wind began to blow on that cold November’s eve as the three stood in
their own world, each man sending an emotional charge into the air. While the
air electrified, David's mind began to sharpen. With the two Confederates
reveling in their good fortune and jeering David's bleak future, David quickly
reacted.

  With
the two Confederates’ rifles less than two feet from his stomach, he darted
forward in one quick step and stood between the two weapons. Instinctively the
two Confederates tried to point their rifles at David, but he was too close.
Their rotation stopped as their barrels contacted David’s waist, one on each
side. Their quick movements caused them to fire with a terrific roar of smoke
and lead. In a split second, David's horse dropped to the ground, dead.

  As the
balmy air continued to blow stronger, David lifted his arms, and with every
ounce of strength he could command, he stepped forward and elbowed the two
stunned Confederates in the face, breaking the nose of one and knocking out the
front teeth of the other. As they fell over backwards in pain, David ran
between them and raced toward the cover of the Aspen forest off to his right.

  The
sprint to the trees was long: approximately thirty yards. David would need to
expend every ounce of energy getting to cover if he were to outrun the two men.
With the balmy wind pushing him from behind, David pumped his arms and legs
wildly as he quickly came up to full speed.

 
Closing the distance to safety, David noticed a strange anomaly in his path.
The ground in the distance was now moving slightly. At first, he thought it was
just the grass blowing in the wind, but as he raced closer, the ground began to
undulate, as if in waves.

 
Suddenly, David saw it. The time portal appeared, translucent at first, then
took a more permanent form as he ran toward it. The thought of returning to the
Great Depression was not appealing to David, but was certainly better than
dying in the Confederates’ Andersonville prison.

  As
David ran toward the time portal, he looked over his shoulder. In shock, he now
could see the one Confederate aiming David's rifle at him, ready to fire. The
other Confederate, Seymour, had pulled David's Colt revolver and was cocking
the hammer. With fifteen yards to go, David knew it was going to be close. He
looked back again and could now see the two Confederates’ movements had slowed
down considerably. David dug deep within him, pushing himself harder. As time
slowed, just feet from the entrance, a loud shot rang out.

  David
felt it like a sledgehammer to his lower back. The rifle bullet had hit its
mark and David fell forward, just inches from the portal opening. Lying on his
stomach, David reached back and tried to touch the wound, but excruciating pain
stopped him short. He looked back to see his wound and watched in horror as the
two Confederates were now running toward him.

  Even with
time and the Confederates’ movements slowing, David knew it was going to be
close. He had very little strength left, but began his crawl into the time
portal. With each flexure of muscle, horrific pain coursed through his body.
David screamed in agony as he pulled himself forward, hand over hand.

  As he
dragged himself into the elevator, he felt his legs go numb and useless.
Looking back, as time and motion continued to slow to a crawl, the Confederates
were mere yards and closing fast. As David rolled to his side, he reached down,
pulled his legs through the doorway and waited a moment for the doors to close.
Now only feet from him, as the two Confederates neared, Seymour aimed David’s
pistol and pulled the trigger. David raised his hand over his face,
instinctively trying to shield the bullet in a last desperate attempt to save
his life.

  The
steel doors to the elevator started to close. As the bullet traveled through
the air, its path could be seen as time and motion slowed its speed. David closed
his eyes and waited for the impact. He heard a low 'thud' and opened his eyes.
There in front of him were the two steel doors of the elevator. He had made it.

 
Suddenly, the elevator started to move. David cried out as the movement sent
sharp pains down his spine. As David laid on his side, he began to lose
consciousness. He fought his eyelids open and tried to look around him, but
with the loss of blood and trauma, his strength failed him. His eyes closed and
his body went limp.

 
Moments later, as David slipped into a dreamlike state, he felt a large jolt.
He snapped open his eyes and looked around through blurred vision. His pain was
now gone and his world now appeared white and brilliantly lit. A sense of
wellbeing overcame him as he saw blurry images staring down at him. With a
slight smile, he tried to touch his angels.

  They
returned his touch and he felt a warm rush race through his body. David smiled
once more and fell asleep.

TT:
Chapter 11

November
24th 2006

Elanger Hospital:
Surgical ward

  “I
can't figure it out. One minute he's here doing surgery, the next he's gone.
Then he shows up four years later wearing a pilgrim outfit,” Dr. Albert
remarked.

  “Civil
War outfit,” Nurse Richmond corrected.

 
“Whatever,” Dr. Albert retorted. “And look at this wound. It's like he was shot
with a damn cannon. I've never seen a gunshot like this before.”

  “How's
it look in there?” Nurse Richmond asked with deep concern.

  “There's
so much damage. He's lucky to be alive right now with all his blood loss,” Dr.
Albert replied.

  “Did
you see the size of that bullet? It looked like a boulder. What kind of gun
shoots a bullet that size?” Dr. Charles asked rhetorically.

  Just
then Dr. Phineas Morgan burst through the doors of the operating room. Dressed
in his OR scrubs, he quickly moved to the edge of the gurney.

  “What
kind of gun shoots a bullet that size? Probably an 1861 Springfield musket
rifle, I'd imagine,” Dr. Phin Morgan replied confidently.

  “A
musket? How do you know that?” Dr. Albert asked incredulously.

  “It's
a very long story. I'll tell you about it over lunch sometime. Right now, what
you have here is not your average garden variety gunshot wound. This is a wound
straight from the Civil War – 1863, to be exact – and requires special
techniques and attention if we are going to save Dr. Warner's life,” Dr. Morgan
replied. “So, gentlemen, if you don't mind me pulling rank on you, I believe I
can take it from here.”

  “Take
it from here? You old coot, don't you have family to go to something. You lost
again?” Dr. Albert said jokingly.

  “Dr.
Albert, I can assure you, this is no joke. I've been studying how to treat this
man's wound nearly my whole life. Again, another long story. So, let's get down
to brass tacks. Hand me a number eight and some clamps. Stand by with suction
and have at least three pints standing by. He's going to need it by the time
I'm through,” Dr. Morgan ordered with authority.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  The
sound of beeps and repetitive tones softly drummed the cadence of human life.
Peering into his room, Dr. Phineas Morgan watched the monitors for a moment,
ensuring his patient's progress. He then walked to the edge of David's bedside
and stared at the man he had heard about since childhood, and had befriended
since David took the job at the hospital a few of years before. He watched
David sleep, and laughed at the modest beard he had grown in his departure.

  “A
right handsome beard, I believe is the term great-great-granddad used,” Dr.
Morgan said out loud.

 
Suddenly, David breathed in an enormous breath of air. Instantly, the monitors
reacted. Dr. Morgan double-checked their readouts, then returned his gaze to
David. Satisfied with his condition, he checked the intravenous fluids and
adjusted the flow a bit.

  “I
increased your drip, David. Enjoy your refreshment. I'll be back to check on
you in a little while,” Dr. Morgan said.

  He
lightly laid his hand on David's shoulder, then turned and walked away.

  David
let out a large exhale and coughed. Dr. Morgan stopped in his tracks and
quickly returned to his bedside.

 
“David? David, can you hear me?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  He shook
David's shoulder lightly and asked again, “David, can you hear me? Wiggle your
fingers if you can hear me.”

  Dr.
Morgan watched with great anticipation, hoping for movement, but saw nothing.
Again, he lightly nudged David's shoulder, hoping for any kind of response.
Except for his chest compressions, David laid lifeless.

 
“David, I know you can hear me. Your levels are elevated when I speak. Try to
move your fingers,” Dr. Morgan asked once more.

  At first,
Dr. Morgan thought he was just watching natural movement caused by David's
breathing. But as he focused, he realized that David’s fingers didn't match the
repetitive movement of his chest. David was trying to move his fingers.

 
“That's it, David. Move those digits,” Dr. Morgan joked mildly.

  More
and with greater movement, David's fingers twitched; first on his left side,
then his right. With his fingers moving, David's eyelids began to flutter
slightly.

 
“David, can you open your eyes?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  Like
the dawn's first light, David slowly broke open his eyelids, only letting small
amounts of light into his darkness. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he opened
them more, allowing greater amounts of light in. With his vision blurred, he
struggled to make out the silhouette of the man standing at his side.

 
“Welcome back, David. Interesting vacation, huh? Meet anyone I might know?” Dr.
Morgan joked again.

  “Dr.
Morgan? Is that you?” David asked, his vision and his mind still in a fog.

  “If by
Dr. Morgan you mean Phineas, then yes. If you're referring to my
great-great-granddad, Jebadiah, then the answer is no,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  David
squinted, then brought his hand up to rub his eyes, his action causing him
slight pain.

 
“Careful, David; no sudden moves. You wouldn't want to disrupt my handiwork,”
Dr. Morgan said.