Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [13]
He kept walking.
After a while, he parted company with the brook. The sun was rising higher in the branches, and he heard the sound of a plane. It passed overhead and droned on and droned on and finally began to fade. Moments later he came on a half-buried plow that looked as if it had been out there for a century. A fence appeared, and he followed it, but saw no buildings anywhere, no cows, no plowed fields, nothing.
Finally, he heard a car.
It was ahead somewhere, its sound receding. He broke out of the woods and stood at the side of a highway. The car was climbing a hill. It reached the summit and slowly dropped out of sight.
The road was a two-lane. A stretch about a mile long was visible. Over the hill in one direction, around a curve in the other. He wrapped his arms around himself and waited.
A pickup appeared. Coming around the curve. Shel waved. Please.
The pickup slowed while the driver looked his way. Thought about it. And elected to keep going. Their eyes met as the truck bounced past. The driver was bearded, with white hair, probably in his sixties. Shel watched it start up the hill. Two more vehicles passed, one going each way, before a Prince electric came over the rise and pulled off the road in front of him. Two guys were inside, both in work clothes. Each looked about twenty.
“Where you headed, pal?” asked the driver.
He had no idea. “Any town with a restaurant.”
The right-side door opened and the passenger looked back. “Sheffield’s about four miles ahead.” He nodded toward the curve. “Hop in.” He scrunched over to make room.
Gratefully, Shel climbed in and pulled the door shut. He closed his eyes momentarily as a wave of warm air engulfed him.
“You okay?” the passenger said. “You look half-f rozen.”
“Yes. Thanks. It’s cold out there.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Broke down.”
“Not the best weather for it.”
THEY left him at a Chevron station with a convenience store that served hot dogs. And good coffee. But they didn’t have a public phone. Probably nobody had a public phone anymore.
The only resource he had was the few bills folded into a pocket. About thirty bucks. He didn’t have his wallet with him, so he had no credit cards, no identification, nothing.
“You all right, mister?” It was the clerk, an older, gray-haired woman, who doubled as a waitress. She looked at him with concern as she refilled his cup.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good. Umm, where am I?”
“You mean where are we located?”
“Yes. Please. I’ve gotten lost.”
“You’re in the Allegheny National Forest.”
“You’re kidding.” He wasn’t sure where that was, but he knew it wasn’t near Philadelphia. “This is Pennsylvania, right?”
“Sure.”
A large wall clock, the kind you get at a discount store, showed 11:45. His watch read a quarter after four. “Miss,” he said, “could you do me a favor?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Access to a phone. I need to make a long-distance call. I’ll pay for it.”
“Hold on a second.” She left. The classified section of a newspaper lay on an adjoining table. He reached for it and checked the date. They’d gone to the show Tuesday evening. It was now Wednesday morning. He’d lost almost eight hours.
My God.
She came back and handed him a cell phone. He thanked her.
“It’s okay,” she said.
HE set his watch to the correct time and called Dave.
“You’re where?” he asked.
“The Allegheny National Forest.”
“What the hell are you doing out there?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I guess.”
“Can you come get me?”
“Sure. Where are you, exactly?”
“Hold on.” He asked the clerk.
“Sheffield,” she said. “On Route Six.”
He relayed the information.