Chapter 4

"Well, you didn't waste any time." At Frank's voice behind him, Joe started, and turned around quickly. On seeing Frank standing there with a smirk on his face, Joe narrowed his eyes just a little and gave him a look. "Gotta be more observant than that, bro," said Frank.

Joe snorted, seeing the barely-concealed smile on his face. "We'll see about that," he muttered. The three pilots stood there also, looking distractedly amused, except perhaps for Porter, who looked rather disapproving. Joe didn't like Captain Porter a whole lot, but he was used to that. He met a lot of people on his and Frank's cases that he didn't like, and half of them weren't even the criminals.

"Find anything out?" asked Frank.

"Nothing you likely don't know," said Joe. "They're from 1966." He'd heard similar phrases in a dozen movies and books, Back to the Future being one of his favorites, but saying here, in the middle of the Omaha airport, they sounded completely insane. They sounded even more insane when Joe reminded himself that they were true words. "They rode above the storm on the way here and landed in 2006, basically. Talk about a long trip; it took them forty years to get here."

Frank was nodding, all trace of humor or teasing having left his face. "That's pretty much it," said Frank. "Captain Young seemed to remember seeing a bright light flash as he was coming in, but couldn't say exactly where it came from. I'm thinking that it was that lightning flash we saw right before the ear-numbing thunder that ended the storm."

Joe glanced out the nearest window, frowning as he peered at the pavement. It was dry. Joe supposed that warm summer wind could have dried the pavement in the hours since the storm stopped, but that didn't explain the lack of puddles anywhere...surely not all could have dried out! A crazy idea began to swirl in his head...but not any crazier than a Boeing jet from the sixties cruising into Eppley airfield. "Frank...what if we're in a different time zone? Time, I mean."

"How could that be?" Frank asked, shaking his head slowly. "We haven't moved anywhere like Captain Young's flight did. We've stayed in the same place."

"Right, right," said Joe, feeling feverish. "But Frank, the dawn...dawn did—" As Joe's eyes swept the large terminal, his eyes happened to catch the sight outside one of the east-facing windows, and he stared; the sky was gray, a faint, yellow shimmer gracing the horizon. Sunrise, then. Joe looked down at his watch and saw that it now read 8:30 in the morning. A ludicrous time of day for a mid-summer sunrise. "It's rising now." Joe was suddenly absolutely certain his hunch was right. "Frank, it makes sense! I mean it's not far away from our normal time, I dunno, a week or so? Because the building hasn't changed...but it would explain everything. The flash that ended the storm...it didn't end the storm. It just zapped us back to some time where there wasn't any storm. There're no puddles outside, dawn came late..." He looked again at his watch, and saw that several others were doing the same.

"It makes a crazy sort of sense," murmured Captain Porter, also looking at his watch. "The timepieces didn't stop, but that makes sense. They're not tied into some cosmic timekeeper...they're constructed to move their hands at a certain speed, so a sudden time change wouldn't affect them. An atomic clock, now...maybe...but..."

"Someone pass out the straight-jackets," someone from flight 133 muttered, and the crowd laughed. It was a nervous laugh, but it lowered the tension level a good deal.

"So what do we do about it?" asked Joe.

"Well," said Captain Thomas, stepping forward, "We've been talking about that, too. We're going to check out outside, and see what we find. If we can get any kind of communications up and running, we can go about seeing how far-spread this thing is. And if we can pinpoint some kind of origin..."

A sort of exotic, terrifying exhilaration began to worm into Joe's chest at the idea. He and Frank had faced down people with guns, arrows, poison darts, tasers, and all manner of other random weapons. They had been in a whole lot of tight spots, and completed missions in nearly every part of the world. But this...this was something impossible, a thing that Joe could never have expected to be involved with in a million years. The idea of even stepping outside, after all of this weirdness scared the hell out of him, but that only added to the attraction. Finally he laughed. "Count me in."

Captain Porter frowned, his expression concerned. "Now, son, I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Honestly, Captain," said Frank, "You'd have to lock him in a cage to keep him from going out there. Not that it's a bad idea." He grinned at Joe, who sent a glaring look of indignation his way.

Choosing to ignore his brother for the moment, Joe said, "Well, so long as we have some kinda plan, there shouldn't be too much danger, really. The airport personnel have been outside to check the planes and the generators, so we know we won't be zapped the moment we step outside at least." Ironically, once he remembered that, some of his own fear eased.

"That's true," said Captain Thompson, running a hand through her hair once in a gesture of distraction. "There's that at least."

"A group of us could sorta scout out the area while the others work on establishing some kind of communications," began Frank, but he was cut off by Captain Porter.

"I think that we can manage to put a game plan together without your help, young man." He turned to the other two pilots, who looked a bit taken-aback, and said, "We shouldn't be discussing this in front of the crowd, anyway. That was a mistake."

"Oh, bullcrap." The fat man from the Chicago flight stepped forward then, a new (though unlit) cigarette in his mouth, and a scowl on his face. "This affects us as much as it affects you. And I don't care just how much flying experience you've got under your hat, captain, I'd say that none of it prepared you for being thrown into a time warp." There was a general mutter of agreement, from both the 2006 passengers, and the ones from the Boeing.

"Seems to me," said a young woman carrying a toddler in her arms, "that we all should help in making these plans. There're plenty of folks here who could be a lot of help to you. My husband fought in Korea, and he's still in top physical form. Those two young men seem to have this thing half figured out already." She indicated Frank and Joe, and Joe felt himself flush. But he was pleased. He wasn't used to people standing up for him in this way.

Porter's own face was reddish purple, and it was obvious he was about to lose his temper. He took a big breath, forcing himself to calm down. Joe suspected he wasn't used to being talked to like that, nor having his opinion so blatantly contradicted.

Captain Young laid a hand on his shoulder. "Can't hurt, friend," he said. "Maybe these folks can come up with some ideas."

Porter threw his hands up finally in a gesture of sheer exasperation. "Fine," he said curtly. "Let's bring everyone into it. Why not? If what that kid says is true, I can't see how anyone could possibly make it worse." With that, he fell silent, choosing to watch the proceedings from the edge of the group.

"Nice guy," Joe muttered as Frank and Captain Thompson approached.

"He's not a bad guy," said Thompson. "He can get a little bossy at times, and doesn't like his authority being challenged, but I imagine he'll be in here making plans with everyone else soon. What we have to worry about now is who's gonna go on this little expedition."

"We're in," said Joe and Frank immediately.

"Well, I was wondering, Frank, if you might not be of more help with the computers. It was obvious up there as we were talking about the failed communications that you know your way around them." But Frank was shaking her head, and Thompson frowned, trailing off.

"We work together," said Frank firmly. "We're a team, and work best that way. We've run into enough problems by getting separated, and avoid it whenever possible. Within one building is one thing, but I don't want to separate quite that far."

The woman blinked, but shrugged in an agreeable sort of way. "All right. Well, I suppose we put together a small group, say half a dozen people, to scout out the surrounding blocks?"

"Sounds good to me," said Frank. "For a start, that's really all the plan we need."

"Do we have to clear it by anyone?" asked Joe.

"That'd be me." The new voice made them all look up to see that Caleb Brown and the two male pilots had joined their conversation. A navigator from United had also joined in, listening with interest. Caleb Brown was the man they had met in the control tower, and Joe was glad that he was in charge, not Porter. Brown was a lot more personable, no to mention less narrow-minded.

"Well, we figured a group of six or so could take a little walk," said Captain Thompson. These two boys, myself perhaps, and one of the security crew. Perhaps one or two people from among the passengers. We could bring radios, and the security guards are armed."

Caleb brown gazed at them all for a few moments, looking at Frank and Joe, then at the adults gathered around. Finally he shrugged, then sighed. "It's as good a plan as any," he said. "I'm honestly out to sea on this. Let's track down that lady's husband, a military man's a good sort to have on this kind of expedition. See if there's anyone else who might be of use in a short expedition. Meanwhile we'll see what we can do in the way of communications."

"Good," said Thompson quietly. "We'll do that now, then."

Young spoke up, sounding a little apologetic. "If it's not too much trouble, and you've the resources, we'd not mind a good meal. Our flight was not of the type that serves one, and it's been a long day. Promises to be an even longer one."

As Joe looked at him, then at Thompson and Porter, the differences in the uniforms struck him. Young seemed so archaic...like something from an old movie. Joe almost expected his colors to be washed out, like the movies from that era, but of course they weren't. His uniform was no replica, but the real deal, brand new and crisp in color. But it was still old! Joe could see it, even smell it and feel it. His mind reeled with the ideas that time periods could be so fundamentally different.

"It's about time for breakfast, anyway," said Thompson. "We'll see to that, get some food in us—"

"And coffee," Brown broke in, and she chuckled.

"Yes, that too. Then we can head out."

Breakfast was not complicated; an array of individual cereal boxes were brought out, along with plastic bowls and small cartons of milk. Ten minutes later, everyone was sitting down, talking excitedly and eating their cold breakfast. Joe and Frank sat with the others who would be a part of their little scout group; the ex-soldier was a man of thirty-five or so named Henry, and one of the people from the Hardys' own flight had asked to join as well. He had a camera, and thinking that a picture-record would be a good thing (and the man knew how to take good pictures), Brown had okayed him.

When breakfast was finished, the Hardys went to their corner, looking through their carry-on bags for anything that could be of use. Joe took the cell phone and his own camera, and grabbed the light jacket he had brought...just in case. Frank brought his notebook and a pencil, making sure he had an eraser as well. "Enough for a short trip," he said, and Joe nodded.

When they all met at the security checkpoint, Caleb Brown was there, looking oddly reluctant. But he said nothing about changing his mind, only told them to be careful. "Keep in touch with these," he said, handing everyone a two-way radio like the ones security used. "Thompson's going to be the only one doing most the communication, but if someone gets into any kind of trouble, use the radios. They're working okay within the building, and we figure so long as nothing really weird happen, you should be able to use them to contact us here."

'Good idea,' Joe thought, taking his and clipping it onto his waistband. That giddy excitement was taking hold of him again, and he couldn't wait to get started. It seemed about an hour before they were finally ready to leave.

As Thompson began to lead her group out of the terminal, everyone was silent, watching. Joe scanned their faces and saw expression ranging from nervous to excited, even some that were utterly bored with the whole affair. Joe himself was nervous and excited both as he walked lightly behind Frank, his sneakers making little noise on the tiled floor. The scout group was quiet, too, perhaps dealing with their own nervousness.

The sun had risen completely by the time the group stood in the lobby downstairs, a lobby normally bustling with activity. Joe looked at the deserted baggage check-in counters, all watched over by the airline logos that decorated the walls behind. Creepy, indeed.

"All right," said Captain Thompson quietly, startling Joe out of his heebie-jeebies. "I want Jake up front." She nodded to the grim-faced security guard who had volunteered for escort duty. "And Lieutenant? Is that correct?"

The military man from the 1960's American Airlines flight smiled slightly and nodded. "That's correct, ma'am."

"All right, if you'd take the rear guard, I'd appreciate it. Once we're outside and things seem okay, we can walk as a group, but for now, we'll stay in a single file line. And everyone be ready."

The young man with the camera nodded nervously, looking briefly down to his photo equipment and making some kind of adjustment to the lens. Joe knew very little about photography, so he had no idea what the guy was doing; that was more Frank's thing. Joe preferred the digital kind that didn't take a technical degree to operate.

He didn't know about anyone else, but Joe held his breath as Jake the security guard first stepped out of the revolving door that led into the airport. Frank's expression was as tense as Joe felt as the guard stepped out alone with his sidearm drawn – he had to force the revolving doors open, and it would have been very difficult to get more than one person in the tiny space – but nothing horrible happened. In fact it seemed a perfectly normal morning as Jake stood blinking in the light, then turned and made a "come on" gesture to the rest.

One by one the group pushed their way past the powerless revolving doors and into the bright sunshine. Nothing seemed amiss; the sun was summer-warm, the buildings seemed undamaged, and there were even some people in the streets, now, Joe saw. What disturbed him was that it wasn't nearly as busy here downtown as it should be, and those people he did see seemed dazed or confused. At the sight of the scout group, in fact, most of them walked away as quickly as they could.

"I bet most people are hiding," murmured Frank. "They'll not like all this weird stuff any more than we do."

"Yeah," Joe said. "I'd say you'd win that bet."

Except for the cautious behavior of the people, and the inexplicable lateness of the sunrise, they found nothing of much interest. Captain Thompson managed find a few people who would stop and talk to her, but no one had any kind of idea what had happened. If it were not for Joe's own memories of the previous night, and the presence of a man from a flight that had come straight from 1966, he would have thought nothing did happen. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

Until they reached the center of the downtown area, that was.

Omaha was no New York City, but it had its share of tall buildings and visual obstructions. These buildings were the only reason the little group didn't see it sooner, which made it that much more of a shock. The first of their group, the captain and the guard, stepped around a whole, intact building of four stories or so then stopped short with a gasp of shock. Frank and Joe rushed forward, and Joe half expected to be stopped by the security guard, but he, too, was gaping in horror.

It was leveled. The entire area before them, and what might be miles' worth of city blocks lay in ruins, crumbled to the ground as if a terrible earthquake had rumbled through, toppling the buildings and burning half the area.

"What happened?" Joe heard someone whisper, the kid with the camera, he realized.

"I dunno, son," said the army lieutenant, who had stopped up with the rest. His tone was calm, almost matter of fact, but his expression was dismayed and unbelieving. "But you might want to snap a picture or two."

The boy blinked. "Huh? Oh! Yeah. I-I'll...I'll do that." He raised the camera he wore around his neck and stepped away from the others a bit to get a clear shot, and Joe wondered if he would get any clear shots, the way he was shaking. He decided to snap a few pictures of his own.

"What could have done this?" Frank asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's impossible, only...only some...some kind of natural disaster or bombing could've done this. Do you think it was the tornado that came through? Did that cause all of this?"

"It's an awfully wide swath of damage for a tornado," Captain Thompson murmured. "And that tornado was over on the Iowa side of the river, anyway, in Pottawattamie County. Since it's so close to us, the warning extended to Douglas county as well."

"Which is what we're in," finished Frank. "But then...what?"

"Well, I reckon there's only one way to find out," said the lieutenant. "Let's go and check it out."

They moved slowly, far more slowly than they had been walking a minute before, and Joe didn't blame them. Aside from the situation itself being terrifying, the ground itself was littered with debris of all kinds. And he was beginning to notice something that disturbed him even more than the idea of some tornado tearing down several city blocks. Frank obviously noticed it, too.

"Um, guys?" he said, looking down between his feet. Everyone stopped as Frank knelt down and tentatively touched the ground they were all standing on. What had at first seemed like rock wasn't rock, after all. The dark soil was littered with large chunks of concrete, overgrown with weeds and grasses, and eroded so badly it was no wonder they all thought it was stone. "This wasn't done recently."

"What do you mean, not recently?" asked the kid with the camera uneasily. "Of course it was done recently. I was only here a few days ago with my parents."

"He's right," murmured Captain Thompson, also kneeling. She grasped a chunk of concrete, fighting with it for a few moments before she was able to pry it out of the ground. "Look. Look how deep it's been buried, look at the grasses!" Her tone was taking on a sort of sick quality, and her face was pale. Joe didn't blame her; he felt sick, himself!

"So, what happened?" asked Jake, the guard. He was not kneeling down, apparently wanting to stay alert in case of trouble, but his distracted glances at the ruined sidewalk were uneasy. "You saying that, I dunno, we all got thrown back in time, or something?"

"More like forward," Frank murmured, peering into the dark hole left in the ground after Thompson removed the concrete stone. Bugs Joe couldn't identify were crawling around in the soil. "After...after a disaster, maybe."

"It all looks aged," said Joe, looking down. "As if they just crumbled on their own. Look, only a couple of buildings are even halfway standing, and even those look like they could fall down at any moment. Just what in the hell happened?"

"It couldn't have been everywhere," said the kid with the camera nervously. He was taking the finished roll of film out and putting it into his camera bag. Fishing around for a fresh roll, he said, "I mean, if that was so, we'd all be dead, and Eppley would be dust."

Everyone exchanged a startled glance; the kid had a point!

"Not necessarily, son,' said the lieutenant thoughtfully. "You're right about the airfield, sure, but the people? My year is 1966. That area of town back there looks to me like something out of Buck Rogers, especially the cars we saw. But me? I'm still at my right age, not forty years older. There's a woman who was on our flight that's got to be at least eighty, and she's not dead. Whatever...whatever this is, it's worked around us."

Joe was astonished by how casually they were all talking about this, as if coming upon the ancient ruins of a city that had been just fine a week ago was an everyday thing. He supposed that once you were right there in it, it became more difficult to deny.

"Where are the people here, then?" demanded the kid, sweeping an arm at the mess that lay before them. "And for that matter, how come the airport wasn't affected?"

No one answered the questions about the people, but Joe had a sinking feeling that he already knew. If it was true, and whatever this phenomenon was working around the people, then those buildings had probably been occupied when they were aged into the ground. Anyone who managed to survive had likely fled.

Joe's horrified realization was cut short by Frank's sudden warning cry, "Joe, look out!"

Instantly alert, ready for anything, Joe dropped to the ground and rolled, noting the army guy and the captain had done the same thing. The kid with the camera ducked behind a half-crumbled statue, and Jake whirled around, his handgun crashing in his hands. Joe looked around wildly as something made a horrid screech and landed with a heavy thump on the concrete.