The night wind gently blew, as a man trudged through the brush, pistol belt and off-white cotton drawers, a hunting knife on his side. The breeze was comfortable, if not slightly brisk, as the flicker of a pipe in the dark illuminated a slightly chubby face with a full dark blonde beard. The night bug's gentle chirping was pierced by the sound of a sigh and the man pissing on a nearby tree. He puffed his pipe and grit his teeth through a yawn as he finished buttoning up and stared at the moon. A bright quiet peaceful moon, gleaming like a silver coin floating in a sea of stars, reflecting off his glasses, and all was serene…and then suddenly there was no ground beneath his feet.
A frantic flail of panic did nothing as his scream of shock was muffled by freezing cold water and the sudden thud of hitting it, after a good ten feet of free fall. He frantically swam parallel to the current and reached soil, crawling out and looking back at the river running behind him that wasn’t there before. He brushed water from his mustache, salty as hell from the river. He looked up at the skyline above the trees for his direction, and for the life of him, he couldn’t find the damn moon. Now freezing and trudging through snow that wasn’t there before, his confusion grew, and he realized he must be dreaming, and his glasses were long gone. The air was piercing and icy, and the now soaked cotton drawers did nothing to help. His footing was oddly foreign, his boots feeling somehow different and loose as he headed for the treeline and hoped to find his camp and his men somewhere.
For what felt like hours, he wandered through the woods, shivering to the bone, before finally reaching the light of a fire. He rushed in and huddled to get warm, and was greeted with the strange click of a pistol at the back of his head. The click sounded dark, muffled somehow, like it was wrapped in cloth or caked in mud. A soft click, void of the high ping steel usually makes. He unbuttoned his holster and went for his revolver to find it was gone. He sighed dramatically, realizing he was done for.
“Okay!” he said, “I’m just tryin to get warm.” He carefully added, realizing he may be about to die, or worse. Footsteps circled him and the glint of glasses under a hat shone in the firelight, as a dark skinned man, with a bushy white beard and blue goggles, turned to grin. His almost sinister smile curled up as if he struck gold, the rather hefty sized revolver still aimed at his belly. Dark matte black and almost invisible in the moonlight.
“Well, you just got here, didn’t ya, boy?” the old man asked.
“I don’t rightly know where I just got.” He shakily admitted. “I’m not armed.”
“Oh, I know it. Boy do I know you ain’t armed for shit. Fell in your sleep, I take it?” he said, referring to the long underwear. The younger man sighed, embarrassed.
“I was takin a piss. I don’t know where my gun went. The holster button is still snapped, I don’t understand how I could have lost it. Lost my glasses. Lost my hat.”
“Oh, your gun’s there. Dig deeper in that holster.” Chuckled the old man, like a kid waiting for the punchline of a joke. The younger man dug in and pulled out 2 pieces of brass and some wet wood grips. He went back in and lifted 6 loose 38 caliber lead balls in his hand, and a baffled look of silent disbelief.
“I must be dreaming.”
“No, but it’s our lucky night.” Grinned the old timer.
“What do you mean, OUR lucky night, old man?” he nervously asked.
“You’re lucky to be alive, and have 2 working feet after landing in the river and hiking here soaking wet. I’m lucky because for saving your life and letting you get warm, and the dry drawers I’m gonna give you, you’re gonna give me them brass pieces and bullets. Let’s see what’s left of that knife ya got.”
“Savin my life and then robbin me…well ain’t that a peach of a greeting.” He said pulling out of the broken sheath only remnants. 2 wooden handle grips jangled together on 2 loose brass pins; nothing else.
“Well, I was hopin for a big brass hand guard and end cap in that, but I guess you can’t win every card game. The brass buttons on them drawers too. Every shred of metal you got on ya. That’ll be mine now. Let’s get you some dry clothes. We’re goin for a walk.”
“Mister, I don’t even know what’s going on. One minute I was tuckin my dick back in my cottons, and it was nice outside, and then I was falling in a river colder than winter tit itself, and now my gun is missing, my knife is missing. I didn’t grab my damn cavalry sword, and you want me to walk…where? Why?” he asked.
“Because there’s never just one of you showin up at a time. There’s 2 to 4 usually. So that means other people out there freezing or dead, either way, something shiny to take home. Damn shame you didn’t bring that cavalry sword on your piss break. Them guards got a looootta metal in em.” He chuckled.
“It’s just brass dumbshit, it ain’t made a solid gold.”
“It may as well be here. Brass is worth more than gold is.” He said going to get dry clothes. He returned and tossed them down as the younger man quickly swapped the frozen cottons for warmer ones and a blanket, a fresh pair of boots, and a hat. Taking his boots off, he noticed the iron studs missing, and the heel shorter, like some of the boot parts had just evaporated. “Now those are on loan till your stuff dries out, you know? You don’t get to keep em.” He said, the younger man suddenly grabbing the gun and turning it, looking even more confused as the old man pulled a knife to defend.
“You robbin me old man, with a fake gun?” he chuckled, tossing it down as the old man grabbed it back with a big smile. “Damn thing’s just painted wood.”
“Boy, you are dumber than horse shit, tossing that pistol back. You don’t realize you had my ass with that fake gun.” He said, holding it like it was still a threat. The younger man squinted in the dark, noticing the knife he was holding was fake as well. The knife made of nicer wood, dark red and slick to the touch from the look of it. Shiny in the light.
“Fake gun and a fake knife. Hell, you’re not robbin anyone.” He scoffed as the old man reached out and lightly cut his arm with the wooden knife.
“Cuts like butter for a fake, don’t it? I’d shoot you with the gun to prove that’s real too, but bullets ain’t cheap here.” He said de-cocking the hammer and clicking the chamber around to prove it worked. “Quit dickin around. We got people to find, dead or alive, before someone else does.” He said as the young man noticed a strange shiny white edge on the wooden knife.
“The hell is your name, old man?” the confused young man asked.
“Hudson Galloway. What the hell is yours?”
“Tom Hawthorne” he replied, “Pennsylvania light Cavalry.”
“Well Tom. Lace up them boots. We’re about to make new friends, or I’m about to collect some more brass off some dead folks. Either way, it’s a good night for me, and you’re still real lucky to be alive. Lotta men would have just killed you for it. You are welcome as hell, my friend.” Hudson chuckled, in a jolly yet vaguely psychopathic manner.
“I don’t rightly know where I just got.” He shakily admitted. “I’m not armed.”
“I know it. Boy do I know you ain’t armed for shit. Fell in your sleep, I take it?” he said, referring to the long underwear. The younger man sighed, embarrassed.
“I was takin a piss. I don’t know where my gun went. The holster button is still snapped, I don’t understand how I could have lost it. Lost my glasses. Lost my hat.”
“Oh, your gun’s there. Dig deeper in that holster.” Chuckled the old man, like a kid waiting for the punchline of a joke. The younger man dug in and pulled out 2 pieces of brass and some wet wood grips. He went back in and lifted 6 loose 38 caliber lead balls in his hand, and a baffled look of silent disbelief.
“I must be dreaming.”
“No, but it’s our lucky night.” Grinned the old timer.
“What do you mean, OUR lucky night, old man?” he nervously asked.
“You’re lucky to be alive, and have 2 working feet after landing in the river and hiking here soaking wet. I’m lucky because for saving your life and letting you get warm, and the dry drawers I’m gonna give you, you’re gonna give me them brass pieces and bullets. Let’s see what’s left of that knife ya got.”
“Savin my life and then robbin me…well ain’t that a peach of a greeting.” He said pulling out of the broken sheath only remnants. 2 wooden handle grips jangled together on 2 loose brass pins; nothing else.
“Well, I was hopin for a big brass hand guard and end cap in that, but I guess you can’t win every card game. The brass buttons on them drawers too. Every shred of metal you got on ya. That’ll be mine now. Let’s get you some dry clothes. We’re goin for a walk.”
“Mister, I don’t even know what’s going on. One minute I was tuckin my dick back in my cottons, and it was nice outside, and then I was falling in a river colder than winter tit itself, and now my gun is missing, my knife is missing. I didn’t grab my damn cavalry sword, and you want me to walk…where? Why?” he asked.
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“Because there’s never just one of you showin up at a time. There’s 2 to 4 usually. So that means other people out there freezing or dead, either way, something shiny to take home. Damn shame you didn’t bring that cavalry sword on your piss break. Them guards got a looootta metal in em.” He chuckled.
“It’s just brass dumbshit, it ain’t made a solid gold.”
“It may as well be here. Brass is worth more than gold is.” He said going to get dry clothes. He returned and tossed them down as the younger man quickly swapped the frozen cottons for warmer ones and a blanket, a fresh pair of boots, and a hat. Taking his boots off, he noticed the iron studs missing, and the heel shorter, like some of the boot parts had just evaporated. “Now those are on loan till your stuff dries out, you know? You don’t get to keep em.” He said, the younger man suddenly grabbing the gun and turning it, looking even more confused as the old man pulled a knife to defend.
“You robbin me old man, with a fake gun?” he chuckled, tossing it down as the old man grabbed it back with a big smile. “Damn thing’s just painted wood.”
“Boy you are dumber than horse shit tossing that pistol back. You don’t realize you had my ass with that fake gun.” He said, holding it like it was still a threat. The younger man squinted in the dark, noticing the knife he was holding was fake as well. The knife made of nicer wood, dark red and slick to the touch from the look of it. Shiny in the light.
“Fake gun and a fake knife. Hell, you’re not robbin anyone.” He scoffed as the old man reached out and lightly cut his arm with the wooden knife.
“Cuts like butter for a fake, don’t it? I’d shoot you with the gun to prove that’s real too, but bullets ain’t cheap here.” He said de-cocking the hammer and clicking the chamber around to prove it worked. “Quit dickin around. We got people to find, dead or alive, before someone else does.” He said as the young man noticed a strange shiny white edge on the wooden knife.
“The hell is your name, old man?” the confused young man asked.
“Hudson Galloway. What the hell is yours?”
“Tom Hawthorne” he replied, “Pennsylvania light Cavalry.”
“Well Tom. Lace up them boots. We’re about to make new friends, or I’m about to collect some more brass off some dead folks. Either way, it’s a good night for me, and you’re still real lucky to be alive. Lotta men would have just killed you for it. You are welcome as hell, my friend.” Hudson chuckled, in a jolly yet vaguely psychopathic manner.
The sharp gasping of a frantic woman sitting up from the ground broke the silence in a dense wooded area, She stood up and took a step, falling back over as her right leg seemed to give out. Something was off. She brushed her long butterscotch blonde hair out of her face, silvery gray eyes dilated, sacred and alert. She staggered to her feet, brushing off the snow and noticing her corset disconnected, looking for a weapon to defend against whoever had disconnected it. There was nobody, just the rustling of small wildlife and her own poor footing. She looked for her tent and turned several times around, realizing it was far colder than it was when she went to sleep. Her camp was completely gone, not even tracks in the snow she didn’t remember being there. She began walking, scared and alone, as the sound of people got her attention. Part of her wanted to run away and part of her wanted to run towards them for help, finally deciding it was better to not be alone. Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder and she let out a muffled squeak as she noticed a familiar face.
“Oh God, Jen, I thought I was alone.” She sighed.
“We are. I’ve been walking for ten minutes, where the hell is the camp? Where is literally anything?”
“Normally I’d be annoyed that you brought your stupid phone, but…use it.” the blonde whispered.
“I am, as a flashlight. There’s no signal, no service, no Wi-Fi, it keeps glitching up on me. I think it’s broken.”
“Damnit. I hear people. Maybe they know what’s happening.”
“What the hell, Carol! Don’t just go darting off in the-” said Jen, rolling her blue eyes and following.
Carol darted from the tree line and almost ran into Hudson, wielding a stick like a baton and losing her footing again.
“Well looky here. We got us some ladies in this batch. My night just gets better and better. You carrying anything pretty with you two? Jewelry, weddin ring, knife, pistol, canteen? Anything metal at all?” he asked. She looked nervous and shook her head no. “Not a hair pin or a locket, or a brass button on ya?” he asked again, flashing the pistol.
“Antler buttons. They’re time period. Are you going to kill us?” Carol asked,
“Fucking try it.” Jen said, battering up with a frozen tree branch.
“No. Not unless I gotta defend myself. I’m not gonna hurt ya, I’m just stealin your metal, and in return for it, you get to not freeze or starve to death. Got a fire and some chili back at camp. I just want the metal.” Hudson said calmly.
“I just got this.” Jen said, holding her phone. “And you can’t have it.”
Both men looked perplexed and interested as they got closer.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“It’s…my phone?” Jen squinted.
“What’s it do?” Hudson asked. She pondered the question.
“Only everything, it’s the latest model. It’s a Smartswipe 13 in carbon fiber.” She scoffed. Hudson stared blankly.
“I’m just gonna keep that for now, you may get it back or not. Now that nose ring looks shiny.”
“Dude, it’s a 15 dollar used piercing. It’s not silver, it’s titanium.”
“Young lady, the man has a gun, just give him the jewelry.” Tom said, looking worried.
“Okay…but I need everyone to turn around.” She said, looking nervous.
“No.” Hudson said bluntly.
“Carol, block me.” Jen said, scrunching down as Carol provided some form of privacy coverage as Jen spent a good 2 solid minutes fiddling around behind her, returning to the front and handing him 6 piercings. Hudson looked comically bewildered.
“I’m not even gonna ask what I’m thinking, just gonna ask if that’s everything.”
“Yea…that’s everything. Again, it’s just normal jewelry, it’s not gold or silver or platinum, do I look like a bitch wearing platinum studs?” she asked.
“I don’t think you want my opinions right now or my concerns. How bout you, Blondie? You got a pound of jewelry where the moon don’t shine, or anything else?"
“I dot have any metal. I took my ear rings out when I went to sleep. I was tending my fire in my sleeping clothes. I had a fire-poker in-hand and I just blacked out. I couldn’t find it when I woke up. Carol sighed.”
“You never black out. You always have to guard my shit when I do.” Jen muttered.
“Wrought iron poker?” Hudson asked.
“Yea. I think.” Carol nodded.
“Well it’s gone then. Anything iron you had when you left, is gone when you get here. Pistols, knives, fireplace pokers, corset loops. You pay the price in iron as your ticket to get here, and you don’t get it back. Didn’t have a brass handle did it?”
“No.” she sighed.
“Well shit the bed.” He huffed. “I guess you two the lucky one then, cuz that makes my service cheap. Lotta men finding you two out here would be takin way more than metal from ya, and leavin you for dead or keeping ya for later. You’re welcome. Well, here’s a blanket and some boots, make it quick, we got one more potential person to look for. Maybe they got somethin worth stealin. Hurry up Missy.”
“My name’s Carol, not Missy.” She scolded, taking the boots and the blanket almost aggressively. “My boots are fine, I’ll take the blanket.”
“Don’t really care.” He said cryptically, turning and heading back to the camp, taking the wide arc to look for anyone else.
The 3 strangers sat by the fire eating chili, featuring…some kind of meat. Carol picked around it, trying to avoid the chunks as Jen eagerly swiped them.
“For a skinny thing you sure do eat fast.” Tom said.
“It’s really good meat.” She said, looking guilty and ravenous.
“It is?” Tom asked.
“It ain’t” Hudson clarified. “Girl must just be mighty hungry.”
They silently chewed, trying to stay warm as old Hudson counted his treasure.
“Okay what the hell is going on?” Carol asked discreetly.
“Shit if I even know.” Tom replied. “I was taking a piss on solid ground, and blinked, fell ten feet into a river that wasn’t there. My gun is gone, just the brass and lead left, knife gone except the brass pins and grips. My whole camp disappeared. This has to be a bad dream.” He sighed. Jen huffed in annoyance.
“Well, then why can’t you be more helpful? If it’s my dream then you don’t exist. Why couldn’t I dream up someone more useful?” she asked as Carol elbowed her lighty.
“If it’s MY dream, you’d be naked, and it wouldn’t be winter.” He muttered dryly.
“Charming young man.” Carol sighed. “Not that it wasn’t provoked, JEN! So either we’re sharing a very unpleasant dream or something happened. I assume you guys both were just setting up camp for the reenactment, and went to bed completely sane, and then suddenly ended up here in mid-winter? Questioning your sanity?” Carol asked.
“What’s a damn reenactment? Some kind of treaty papers?” Tom asked,
“The…civil war reenactment.” Jen said slowly.
“Look lady, I don’t know politics or who acted or reenacted in what manner, I just got drafted and didn’t have 300 dollars in my pocket to get out.” He said looking annoyed.
“What, year do you think it is?” Carol asked.
“1863, same year it was yesterday, ya crazy-ass woman.” He huffed.
“Oh god, you must have fallen hard. I think you have amnesia or a concussion.” She replied as Jen just blinked.
“I may not know what a reactment is, but I know what year it is.” Tom argued.
“It’s 2024, Jethro.” Jen said with a bewildered look as they all silently exchanged crazy skeptical shifting eyes.
“Well, well.” Said Hudson sitting down next to her and looking interested. “I believe you are the latest ones I have ever met.”
“Latest what?” She asked. “Nothing makes sense, start explaining it. Where are we” she ordered. Hudson kicked his boots up and lit his pipe.
“Real answer is nobody knows. People call this place Timber, Everyone here was either born here to relatives that dropped in here mysteriously, or they dropped in mysteriously themselves. Nobody came here willingly or knows how. Wadn’t any natives, nothing human anyway. Beast and wildlife. 102 years ago, 30,000 people woke up here, scattered for miles, not a damn clue how or when, nobody sure what year it was, everything from 1830 to 1880 argued as the date. Men and women under 30, every one of them missing all their iron and the last thing they remember was night-time and either going to sleep or blacking out mid-dickering when they were supposed to be sleepin. Few people claimed to be from much later times, like you ladies. They soon started makin claims about things that hadn’t been invented yet, magical shit that didn’t make sense, wars that never happened. They turned out to be the smarter ones.”
“How so?” asked Tom.
“Pretty soon leaders formed, and factions followed. Mostly people from later dates. People fought over things and eventually just started surviving. Surviving became thriving over some years. But new people just kept showin up, bout 30 every year, usually in groups of 2-4, mostly robbed and some of them killed for their brass. See you can’t get brass here. People mined the caves and looked for metals, iron ore, tin, and copper. Ain’t a damn shred of any metal anywhere in this place. Only metal is what comes with the arrivals, and they don’t keep it long. It’s probably for the better I found you. Metal is illegal. The smart people from further ahead started realizing the importance of metal and industry, so they made themselves sheriffs and made the laws. All metal found or stolen must be taken to a dealer, who pays a fee to be able to collect and turn in metals to the sheriffs handlers. Right now we got ourselves about 325 dollars in metal and that’s the same fine you pay for getting caught with it.” he said.
“That’s 6,500 dollars in modern money.” Carol gasped. “How would anyone arriving here know that or be able to pay that?” she asked.
“You don’t. You get robbed and they cash in. Why do you think I’ve been grinning since I found y’all. My happy ass bout to go shoppin.” Hudson chuckled.
