Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [50]
He put David’s unit into a box, padded it with newspapers, closed the box, and taped it shut. Then he wrote the following instruction on the front:
To: Adrian Shelborne
U.S. Post Office
Selma, Alabama
To Be Kept Until Called For
He clipped the other converter to his belt, put on a light jacket, and picked up the box.
SHEL arrived immediately behind the state police just as the front of the line was passing the midway point of the bridge. Some of the troopers were on horses. They were backed up by a swarm of men not in uniform but clearly looking for a fight.
The marchers kept coming. A deadly silence settled over the scene. Then John Cloud stepped forward and held up a hand. He looked like an ordinary guy. Shel wondered if he had a family. And that was what rendered this so chilling. Would Cloud order the unprovoked assault on the marchers, then go home and have dinner with his wife and kids?
Lewis and Williams were, of course, in front. Cloud moved directly into their path. The marchers slowed. And stopped. He spotted Dave, just coming over the rise.
“We don’t want any trouble here,” Cloud said. “You have two minutes to break this up and go back.”
Jay and another sergeant were standing with the city cops. Jay was looking around, making sure his men were doing their duty, and he caught Shel looking at him. He stared back for a moment, then turned away.
What had Jay said?
“You were out at the bridge. You were staring at me.”
The cops and their allies tightened their lines. Brandished weapons. He saw a few with tear-gas canisters. There must have been a signal, but Shel didn’t see it. Nevertheless, they moved forward as one and went after the front of the march, swinging nightsticks. The air filled with the sound of batons striking flesh and bone. The marchers broke before the onslaught, and the screaming started. Less than a minute had gone by since Cloud had issued his warning. By then more police had moved in, and the entire line of demonstrators was under attack.
Shel backed away. The TV people shouted directions. Someone was talking into a microphone.
SHEL lost sight of Dave during the attack, but when it was over he was lying in the roadway. He watched as two policemen hauled him to his feet and dragged him toward a waiting van. Shel tried to go to his aid, but again he was pushed back. “He’s hurt,” Shel told one of the officers. “He’s a friend of mine.”
“We’ll take care of him, sir,” the policeman said, with a warning stare.
When the roadway was clear, ambulances began to arrive. They recovered the more seriously injured and pulled away.
Shel set his converter to take him back two days. It deposited him again just outside the clothing store. On Friday. Twenty minutes later, he was at the post office. He gave them the package containing David’s converter, got a receipt, and returned to Sunday on the far side of the bridge.
When he was sure he wasn’t being watched, he strode off US 80 and into the trees that lined the river. He found a patch in a remote location, removed his converter, put it into the plastic bag, and hid it in a thick cluster of bushes. He marked the spot with a couple of rocks to ensure he could find it again.
He’d divided the units because if something went wrong and they disappeared, he and Dave would be stuck. This way, if either went missing, he could use the other to track it down and, he hoped, recover it.
Caution was the watchword.
HE flagged down a taxi. “The jail, please.”
The driver, a beefy red-faced guy who smelled of beer, laughed. “They’re pretty busy down there today.”
“Yeah. So I hear.”
“You get a chance to whack any of ’em?”
“No,” said Shel.
They pulled away from the curb. “I wish I’d been there. But I had to work today.”
“Pity. You know, I’d always thought that when everything else went to hell, we’d still have taxi drivers.”
The driver turned sideways. “What do you mean?”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Forget