Chapter 14

Monday, September 7th, 1885

Hill Valley

7:11 A.M.

Future clothes?

Check!

Blanket?

Check!

Marty's guitar?

Check!

"Ugh. . .it's too early for this."

"If we want to be properly accurate, it's too late," Doc corrected, glancing anxiously at his watch for the third time in five minutes. "We should have never slept in like we did. It's severely cut into our prep time. We'll be lucky if the train is late now. Besides, by this point in our timeline, you should be used to getting up early."

"Not when we didn't get to sleep until after midnight," Marty objected, yawning. "We got any coffee?"

"Yeah," Jennifer said, taking the pot off the fire. She poured him a cup and handed it over. "Drink up."

"Thanks, Jennifer." Marty blew on the steaming liquid, then took a big gulp. "Whew! Better. Though I think I burned my tongue, damn it. . . ."

"Marty, please," Clara said, looking up from where she was helping Doc do a final check of the luggage. "There are ladies present."

"Clara, trust me, Jennifer's said 'damn' – and a lot worse," Marty replied, clearly in no mood for a manners lesson at this time of morning. "You're gonna have to brace yourself when you get to 1986. 'Damn' is tame."

Clara frowned and shook her head. "You would think proper conversation and etiquette would survive over the century."

"They have, more or less," Jennifer reassured her. "Just – teenage boys."

"Hey, I've heard you get going pretty good sometimes," Marty protested, poking her.

"Not as good as J. J. on a bad day."

"Even still!"

Clara leaned on the DeLorean, leaving Rosie to pick up a few small items and store them away as she watched the teens. "This is going to be quite the adjustment."

"It won't be that bad," Doc said, patting her on the back. "The three of us will be with you every step of the way. And it's not like anybody's going to force you to swear." He smirked. "A few minutes with modern technology, and it'll come naturally."

That got a giggle. "All right, so I'm not perfect either," she admitted. "I indulge in the occasional swear word – but only under the greatest duress, mind."

"Getting a stubborn TV to change channels might end up qualifying," Marty said, taking another sip of coffee. "Maybe not as much as nearly plunging over a cliff, but. . . ."

"We'll see."

Doc chuckled and went back to his cataloging. Money case?

Check! Jules declared, holding it up before putting it in the trunk.

Presto Logs?

Check, check, and check, Albert, Verne, and Tommy went, holding each up in turn.

The remains of the hoverboard?

Che – uh. . . .

Doc's spine stiffened. Boys? Where are the remains of the hoverboard?

Um. . . . The tentacles started riffling frantically through the luggage. We – seem to have a bit of a problem finding it. . . .

Doc slapped a hand against his forehead. "Seriously?! Damn!"

The others turned to look at him, startled. "See? Even he does it," Marty said to Clara, not wanting to miss the opportunity. "Heck, you should hear him after he hits his thumb with a hammer."

"Did you drop something on yourself?" Clara asked, scanning him for injuries. "Or was that in response to something else?"

"Something disastrous!" Doc said, spinning to face them with arms windmilling and eyes wide with horror. "We forgot the hoverboard!"

"What?!" Marty scrambled to his feet, suddenly very awake. "No way! How the hell did we forget the hoverboard?!"

"What does it look like?" Clara asked, Rosie extending a set of tentacles of her own. "Perhaps you just missed it in the search."

"It's bright pink and green with 'Hoverboard' written right on it!" Doc replied, grabbing at his hair. "How could I have?"

"You never know! It's been a crazy time, and we're all running on not enough sleep," Clara pointed out, coming around to lay a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Come on, one more search. I'm sure we'll be laughing about this in just a few minutes."

Doc had to admit, she had a point. "All right." He and the tentacles plunged back into the mess of luggage, with Marty, Jennifer, Clara, and Rosie helping him sort through everything. The group scoured through all their belongings, leaving nothing left unturned – but three minutes later, had to admit defeat. There was simply no sign of the board among their things. "Damn damn damn!" Doc yelled, slamming one fist into his palm. "How the hell could we have forgotten it?" He suddenly turned on his teenage friend. "Marty, it's your board – why didn't you pack it?"

"Me? I thought you packed it!" Marty protested, holding up his hands. "You're the paranoid – one. . . ."

He trailed off as it hit them both what must have happened. Jennifer folded her arms and glared at them as the tentacles made their complaints known. "See what happens when you two fight?"

"You could have double-checked," Marty pointed out.

"It's hard to concentrate on stuff like that when you think your boyfriend and his best friend are being idiots!"

"Everyone calm down!" Clara shouted, Rosie raising a bunch of her own tentacles for silence. "Let's not waste time trying to figure out whose fault it was that it was left behind. Where is the hoverboard now?"

"It has to be back at my shop," Doc said, looking in the general direction of Hill Valley. "I'll have to go back for it."

"I'll come with," Marty volunteered. "It's half my fault too – and we should check to make sure we didn't forget anything else while we weren't talking to each other."

"Good idea," Clara said. "Will this ruin your schedule, Emmett?"

Doc did some quick mental calculations, double-checking them with Jules. "We won't be able to return to the camp, but if we go straight from my shop to Coyote Pass and cut the train off there. . .we should be fine," he reported.

"Great. You boys go get the hoverboard and Jennifer and I will wait here and make sure the DeLorean's all settled."

Doc couldn't help a frown of concern. "Will you two be okay out here alone?"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Emmett. . . ." Rosie flowed over her head, transforming her face back into a fanged mass of blackness. "I'm think I'm perfectly capable of defending us."

"Yeah, Doc, your very scary girlfriend should be able to handle anything this place throws at her," Marty agreed, shying away a little on instinct.

"We'll be fine," Jennifer confirmed. "You two go."

"Right." Marty gave Jennifer a quick kiss. "We'll be back in a few. Love you."

"Love you too. See you after you 'borrow' the train."

Doc leaned toward Clara's toothy mouth, then paused. "Er – do you mind?"

The goo receded back into her neck and shoulders with a ripple that suggested a giggle. Clara leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. "I love you," she said as Rosie gave the tentacles a few farewell pats. "Good luck."

"Thank you. I love you too." The tentacles let out soft cheeps of agreement. "We'll be back as soon as we can. Marty! Come on!"

"Right!" Marty clambered onto Doc's back, hanging on tight as the tentacles stretched to their limits. "Stay safe, guys! Hi-ho silver!"

The tentacles sprang into motion, carrying the pair away as fast they could. "Safe trip!" Clara called after them, marveling. "Well. . .I'm stunned you ever bothered using horses."

"Couldn't exactly travel like that where anybody could see us," Jennifer pointed out. "Though it is pretty fun." She sighed and twisted her hands together. "I just hope we've got everything after they come back."

"I don't see why we–"

Clara stopped abruptly. Jennifer eyed her, one eyebrow raised. "What is it?"

Clara gave her a sheepish smile, cheeks turning pink. "Um – my house isn't too far from here. Mind if I take a moment to get my telescope?"

". . .Am I the only one who knows how to pack?!"

"And – down!"

The tentacles dropped Marty and Doc to the ground, hastily retracting into Doc's coat just in case there were any townspeople about. "Thank God no one usually comes behind the shop," Doc said, yanking out his pocketwatch as they hurried inside. "Seven minutes before eight. Let's grab the hoverboard and meet our train."

"Gotcha," Marty said, looking around. "Where'd you last see it?"

"My workbench," Doc said, pointing. "I had it covered by a cloth."

Jules and Verne shot out, searching the area with a speed unknown by human hands. Got it! Verne declared after mere seconds, holding up his prize.

"Perfect! Now, have we finally got everything?"

Marty, Albert, and Tommy joined the two top tentacles in doing a quick sweep of the shop's interior. "We're cool, Doc," Marty said, the tentacles nodding agreement. "Let's split."

"I concur," Doc said, taking the hoverboard and tucking it under his arm. "At least Coyote Pass isn't–"

The sound of galloping hooves cut him off. Startled and curious, he hurried to the nearest window, Marty trailing in his wake. Buford Tannen and his gang were outside, bringing their steeds to a halt outside the Palace Saloon. Buford jumped off and glowered into the window. "You in there, Eastwood?" he demanded, eyes dark. "It's eight o'clock, and I'm calling you out!"

"Shit!" Marty hissed.

Eight o'clock? It's seven fifty-five! Tommy protested with a small screek. We've got five minutes!

"I doubt Buford cares about such niceties," Doc muttered. "All right, nobody panic. He doesn't know where we are, so we should be able to sneak out the back, just like we came in." He jerked his head toward the back of the shop. "With any luck, we'll be gone before his dim brain prompts him to search the shop."

Marty nodded, and together the pair began to creep toward the rear door, moving as silently as they could. "Where are you?!" Buford yelled from outside, sounding more agitated with every passing second. "You yellow, Eastwood?!"

"Damn right," Marty muttered, forcing Doc to bite back a laugh.

Jules opened the door for them, and they slipped outside without a fuss. But just as Marty was about to climb on Doc's back, there was a sudden whinny from the horse paddock. Horrified, the pair saw Joan galloping toward the fence in a happy fuss. "No! No! Shhh!" Marty hissed, waving his arms. "Calm down, Joan! Shut up!"

Joan paid no heed, trotting up and down the fence next to him and whinnying her head off. The other horses, disturbed by her activity, began snorting and stomping. Stop that! Tommy yelled, shrieking at the herd. Quit it, all of you!

Tommy, you're just making it worse! Albert snapped. Let's just go before–

"Whoa, you hear that ruckus? They must be in the shop!" one of Buford's cronies cried.

The sound of running feet destroyed what little quiet there was between the snorts and neigh of the horses. "Hey! I hear you, Eastwood!" Buford yelled. "Get out here!"

"God damn it! Thanks a lot, you stupid horse!" Marty snarled, throwing his hat at Joan, who jumped back in hurt surprise.

If we go now, we might still be able to – no, of course not, Albert commented irritably as one of Buford's lackeys appeared around the corner, gun drawn. The tentacles vanished beneath Doc's coat, taking the remains of the hoverboard with them, before he could get more than a glimpse. Lucky he's dumb enough to not pay much attention to us.

The man – Ceegar, Doc thought, though he'd never really paid them much attention – did look puzzled for a brief moment, but then shrugged off his confusion and aimed his revolver at Doc's chest. "Reach, blacksmith!"

Doc reluctantly raised his arms in the air. Buford and the other two appeared a moment later, panting a little from the exertion. Buford promptly aimed his gun straight at Marty's chest. "All right, Eastwood," he said, lip curled under his mustache. "Let's settle this!"

Marty gave Doc a look that was half-terror, half-apology, then turned back to Buford. "Uh – I'm not really feeling up to this today," he said, swallowing back a slight tremor in his voice. "So, um, I'm going to have to forfeit."

"Forfeit – forfeit?!" Buford yelled disbelievingly. Then he turned to one of his cronies. "What's that mean?"

The man's brow wrinkled with the effort of thought. "It means that – you win without a fight," he explained.

"What – without shooting? He can't – You can't do that!" Buford jabbed a filth-encrusted finger at Marty's face. "You know what I think? I think you're just a gutless yellow turd! And I'm going to give you to the count of ten to prove me wrong! One!"

"If I agree I'm a gutless yellow turd, can I go?" Marty said desperately.

"Two!"

Marty groaned, pressing his face into his hand. "Shit shit shit. . . ."

"I hate to say this, but it's your own fault," Doc whispered to him, hands still raised.

"I know, I know, I'm an idiot! But I didn't think we'd have to come back!"

"Three!"

"Well, that's why you try to plan for all contingencies when you do these sorts of things!"

"You don't think about that sort of stuff when your best friend's about to get shot!" Marty ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn it. . why can I just smash his face in and be done with–"

He stopped, a sudden look of hope blossoming across his face. "Marty?" Doc said as Buford called out "Four!"

"I got an idea," Marty whispered. "Just work with me here." He raised his voice. "Hey! Tannen!"

"Fi – what, runt?"

"I ain't got my gun on me," Marty said, indicating his empty waist. "So why don't we have it out like real men. Mano-a-mano!"

Buford's face twisted in confusion. "Real men?" he repeated. "What are you talking about, Eastwood?"

"Fists only. Good old punch-up." Marty smirked, mentally crossed his fingers, and took a gamble. "Or are you afraid you couldn't beat a runt like me without your gun?"

The lackeys gasped, clearly unused to anyone talking like that to their boss. Buford himself gawked at Marty, as if doubting the evidence of his ears. Then his face turned an interesting shade of purplish-red. "I – you – I ain't afraid of nothin' runt!" he yelled, ripping off his gunbelt and throwing it to Ceegar. "'Specially not you!" He strode forward and grabbed Marty's arm. "Come on! You and me, front of the Palace Saloon – mano-a-mano!"

Marty gave him a smile, then glanced at Doc. The scientist gave him a little shrug, as if to say, Well, if he's gift-wrapping himself for you. . . . The teenager nodded and let Buford drag him back around the shop, Doc following at the prodding of the lackeys.

Quite a crowd had gathered in Main Street in anticipation of the battle. To Marty's surprise, Seamus was in it, hanging out on the porch of the Palace. Wouldn't have thought he would have wanted to watch this, he thought as Buford let go of him at last. Then again, at least now he won't have to worry about seeing me shot. He gave his anxious-looking ancestor a quick reassuring grin. Don't worry, Seamus – I've got no intentions of ending up like Marty the first.

Buford let him go right in front of the Palace, then swung around, bunching his meaty hands into fists. "All right, Eastwood," he says. "I'm gonna show everybody that I don't need no gun to pound you flat!" With that wild boast in the air, he threw the first punch at Marty's head.

Marty nimbly dodged the blow. Buford blinked, surprised, then swung again. This second attempt at a hit was even clumsier than the first, and Marty barely needed to get out of the way at all. What was that about not needing a gun? he thought, unable to resist giving the outlaw a cocky grin.

Buford snarled and tried to slug the teen in the stomach. Marty danced away from the fist, then darted forward, throwing a solid left at Buford's jaw. The punch connected with a satisfying smack! of flesh against flesh. Buford stumbled back a couple of steps, then let out a near-animal noise of frustration before swinging again at Marty's face. Marty ducked, took the opportunity to nail Buford in the stomach, and then, as the outlaw doubled over, in the face again. Buford made a grab for him, but Marty just jumped out of the way, snickering. He was almost starting to enjoy himself! As dangerous as this was, it was also immensely satisfying to give the bastard the beating he so richly deserved.

Buford was getting wobbly now, his eyes not quite focused – though it was hard to tell through the grime. Still, he wasn't one to give up easily – forgoing any strategy, he charged at the teen like a rhino. Marty sidestepped him and let the outlaw drive himself into the saloon's porch instead. Buford's head bounced off the boards with a loud thump!, leaving him looking even dizzier than before. Ooooh – bet if I'm fast I can end this right now! Marty realized. Taking immediate advantage of the circumstances, he delivered his most powerful right directly into Buford's ugly mug. Buford spun around, teetered for a moment, dazed –

Then, slowly, toppled over right into the nearby cart of Jones the manure hauler, who'd just finished cleaning the street before the Palace. Marty burst out laughing with the rest of the crowd. Oh, that is just perfect! Like father, like son! Or, uh, I guess more 'like great-grandson, like great-grandpa,' but whatever. . . .

He turned to face Seamus, who seemed to be impressed despite himself. "I really did intend to be out of town," he said, not wanting his ancestor to think poorly of him, no matter how inconsequential that really was. "But we forgot something, and – you know."

"Aye," Seamus nodded, then gave Marty a little smile. "But you handled yourself well, lad. Never thought anyone would get him to give up his gun!"

"Me either." He started back down the street, raising a hand in farewell. "But I think I'd better get going while the–"

Rough hands suddenly grabbed him from behind. The stench of fresh horse manure filled Marty's nose as stronger-than-they-ought-to-be arms encircled his body. "Goddamn it, why don't you stay down?" Marty snapped, trying to elbow Buford in the face and free himself.

And then there was cold sharpness biting into his throat. Marty nearly stopped breathing as Buford chuckled next to his ear. "Got you now, runt."

Oh shit. . . . Somehow, in all the excitement, Marty had never considered the possibility Buford might carry a knife. And now that he'd just trounced the guy and gotten his blood up even more. . . . In his mind's eye he suddenly saw his gravestone set up next to the first Martin McFly's, identical except for the name of the saloon and the dates. I get it, universe! he mentally screamed, not even daring to swallow for fear his Adam's apple would slice itself open on the blade. No more letting people dare me into fights, no matter how pissed off I am at them or their families! I'll be the biggest chicken the West has ever known! Just let me get out of this alive!

"MARTY!"

Doc darted forward from his position in the crowd, eyes wide with fright and growing anger. "Let him go, Tannen!"

Buford smirked at him. "Don't think so, blacksmith," he said, pressing the knife even harder against Marty's throat. Marty let out a tiny whimper of fear as the blade began to cut into his skin. "Can't have this gutter trash ruining my reputation now, can I?"

"I said let him go!"

"Or else what?" Buford demanded, a cruel snicker in his voice.

Doc's eyes darted from Buford's face to Marty's. The teen's face was white as a sheet, the tiny beads of blood forming around the knife's edge standing out sharply against the pale skin. The image of Buford driving the blade deep into Marty's neck flashed before his eyes – the skin splitting apart into a gaping wound, beads becoming a crimson torrent. . .and his best friend, the kid who'd saved his life, falling to the ground choking and bleeding, with no possibility of help, and then finally lying still. . . .

NO, the tentacles hissed in chorus. Let's get him, Father.

Doc's gaze returned to Buford's mocking smile. White-hot rage shot through him, destroying all his doubts and fears in a gout of flame. He was so sick of Tannens trying to destroy everything he held dear! Well, this would be the last time. YES, he snarled back. Let's get him!

The tentacles bunched, then exploded from Doc's back, hissing loudly with pincers poised for attack. Buford's eyes nearly fell out of his head. "Or else I'll peel the flesh from your bones," Doc growled, as Verne clacked his claw meaningfully.

Buford had no smart response to this – he just stared, jaw hanging open from shock. Without conscious thought, his grip on the knife loosened. The tentacles immediately shot forward, Tommy wrenching the knife from his hand while Jules yanked Marty free and Verne flipped the outlaw over. The shock of the attack finally stirred Buford into struggling, but Albert extended his blade and put it right in his face before he could do anything more than wiggle uselessly. Doc returned the man's previous smirk, then had Albert put away his spike and instead render Buford unconscious with a quick blow to the temple. The outlaw swayed limply from one ankle, then fell into an embarrassing heap as Verne released him.

Once he was certain Buford wasn't getting back up again, Doc ran forward to check on Marty. The teenager was still pale as death, and his throat was bleeding slightly – but only slightly. Overcome with relief, Doc wrapped his friend in a hug, the tentacles joining in. "Great Scott – damn it, Marty, I thought you might–"

"I know," Marty mumbled, squeezing Doc back. "I had no idea – last time I try any clever ideas, I can tell you that." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Doc, I really am."

Now I think we can truly understand what it must have felt like for him when he had to watch you risk death all those times, Jules commented.

Tell me about it. If he was even half as scared as I was. . . . "Don't worry about it," he reassured the teen. "It all worked out, and that's the main thing right now." He managed a smile. "And for what it's worth, you just proved very conclusively you can outpunch that asshole."

Marty laughed softly. "Thanks."

For a long, quiet, peaceful moment, the two just held each other. Then Marty suddenly spoke again. "Uh, Doc?"

"Yes?"

The teen's eyes flicked from left to right. ". . .Others?"

Doc's spine went stiff – or, well, stiffer than normal. Oh shit. In his rage over Buford, he'd somehow managed to forget that the confrontation between the man and Marty was on Main Street. In full view of the entire town. Very slowly, he and the tentacles raised their heads to see what felt like every person in Hill Valley gawking at them. "Ah – um–"

Well, Father, let me be the first to congratulate you on winning Most Hypocritical Man of Every Year Ever, Albert commented, glancing around. What are we gonna do now?

Before the scientist could even think of coming up with a plan, the sound of hoofbeats briefly got everyone's attention. Doc and Marty broke apart as Strickland's right-hand man Deputy Church and his fellow lawmen rode onto the scene. "Wonder where Strickland is?" Marty mumbled, frowning. "You'd think he'd be raring to grab Buford after something like this."

"I don't know, and frankly I'm glad not to have to deal with him on top of everyone else," Doc muttered as eyes began returning to him.

"All right, what's going – on. . . ." Deputy Church's voice died as he took in the scene before him. "Mr. Wayne? What – what the hell are–"

"I've seen one of those before!" Seamus said, pointing. "I thought it was just the heat getting to me!"

"No wonder you never liked to set foot in the church," Reverend Warwick whispered, clutching his bible to his chest like a shield. "Those wretched things could only come from Satan himself!"

Doc opened his mouth, having no idea what was about to come out of it but hoping it would sound even remotely plausible. "I–"

Whoo-whoooo!

Doc's jaw snapped shut again as he, Marty, and the tentacles all looked in the direction of the tracks. "The train!"

"Can we make it?" Marty asked, looking up at him with nervous eyes.

"If we hurry – and I mean really hurry," Doc said, frowning. He glanced around at the townsfolk. Well, at least now he didn't have to worry about explanations. Hopefully future historians would consider this whole incident too fantastic to believe. "If you'll excuse us, folks, my friend and I have to catch a train," he said as Jules wrapped around Marty's waist and settled him on the scientist's back.

"Okay," Deputy Church squeaked, clearly not going to be the one to detain the man with the extra arms coming out of him.

Doc gave the poor man a smile, then turned away as the tentacles lifted him and Marty off the ground. The teenager gave everyone a wave as they raced down Main Street, past the blacksmith's, and out of the town's borders. "Huh – Seamus actually waved back," he said as they zoomed away. "Good guy." He sighed and touched his throat again. "So – next time, I vote we have Jennifer slap one of us a lot earlier."

"No argument here," Doc grumbled. "I can't believe – well, nothing any of us can do about it now. Let's just catch this train and get the hell back to our normal time period."

"Amen to that!"

With the tentacles going full speed, it didn't take them long to reach Coyote Pass. Doc grinned in relief as he saw the train passing by below them. "Perfect! Let's go, boys!"

The tentacles gave muffled screeks and continued their run, reaching the tracks within mere minutes. As they drew level with the back of the caboose, Jules and Verne snapped out and grabbed the back ladder. A moment later, Albert and Tommy did the same, and they were clambering up to the roof. "Sheesh – imagine if we had to do this all ourselves," Marty commented as they clanked along the line of cars.

"I doubt I'm in the necessary shape," Doc chuckled.

After a couple of minutes, they reached the wood car and the back of the main engine. "Set us down and we'll take it from here," Doc told the tentacles, who obligingly lowered him and Marty onto the wood. "Masks on, kid," he added to his friend as they steadied themselves on the speeding train.

Marty nodded and yanked up his bandana. Doc did the same before pulling out the gun he'd procured a few days earlier."What – did you have that–" Marty started, eyes darkening.

"Unloaded, kid," Doc said, flipping the barrel open. "It couldn't have helped you even if I'd thought to hand it over." Marty nodded, expression – what Doc could see of it – clearing. Doc took a deep breath to steady himself. The moment of truth was at hand."Ready?"

"Ready," Marty nodded.

"All right." Doc scrambled over the wood as the tentacles hid themselves from view, sliding into the open doorway of the locomotive. He aimed his gun at the man's head as Marty joined him. "Reach!"

The engineer started, then turned, hands in the air. Doc jerked back from surprise as he saw it was the same man they'd talked to on Saturday. For a moment, he wondered if he should try disguising his voice a bit better. Then he decided it really didn't matter – his reputation in town was in tatters anyway. This man recognizing him couldn't do any worse damage. Thank God we're going home now. I don't even want to think about what would have happened had all that gone down, say, yesterday.

Bring out the torches and pitchforks, Albert said, shaking his claw under Doc's coat.

The engineer stared at Doc and Marty, confused and afraid. "Is this a hold-up?" he asked.

The duo looked at each other. Might as well go out with a bang. "It's a science experiment," Doc admitted. "Stop the train before we hit the switch track up ahead!"

The engineer nodded and pulled on the brake. The train gradually screeched to a stop, right in front of the signal. Doc herded the engineer out with a few theatrical pokes of his gun as Marty ran ahead and pulled the lever, shifting the tracks over to the spur. "Doc!"

Doc nodded and turned toward the engineer, now standing by the junction between wood car and passenger cars. "Uncouple the cars from the tender!"

The man, looking utterly baffled, nevertheless did what Doc asked. With a clack, the passenger cars separated from the engine. Doc started the locomotive back up and started it down the line. "Thank you!" he called.

"You're welcome," the engineer said slowly.

Marty hopped on as the locomotive passed the switch, yanking off his bandana as he did so. Doc did the same – then, on a whim, exchanged his hat for a spare engineer's cap forgotten in the cab. Grabbing the wire for the whistle, he let off a series of loud toots to announce their success. "I've wanted to do that all my life!" he declared with a grin.

Marty and the tentacles snickered. "Good for you, Doc," the teenager said, patting him on the back.

The trip down the spur was pleasantly uneventful. After a few minutes' travel, Doc caught sight of the DeLorean waiting for them. He slowed the locomotive down as Tommy tooted the whistle again to alert the girls of their arrival. Jennifer appeared from inside the car and waved. "Well – looks like everything worked out fine!" she said as the locomotive stopped inches from the DeLorean's back bumper.

"Looks can be deceiving, though to be fair borrowing our train went off without a hitch," Doc said. He looked around, frowning. "Where's Clara?"

A toothy grin abruptly appeared in front of him, hanging upside-down. Doc yelped and jumped backwards, the tentacles grabbing at the ground to steady him. Clara giggled as her "mask" peeled back. "Hello Emmett!"

"Don't do that!" Doc gasped, one hand pressed against his chest. Tommy blew an unimpressed raspberry. "Great Scott, give me a heart attack before I ever see 1986 again. . . ."

"How'd you get up there?" Marty asked, slipping past Clara's dangling body.

"Climbed up the side while it was slowing," Clara explained, flipping over and dropping down from her perch. "Rosie lets me stick to just about anything."

"Really? Huh – maybe you could ride on the DeLorean's roof, then," Marty joked. "Safe us some leg space."

"I'd rather stick with the plan where I'm inside the dangerous time machine going faster than any carriage I've ever known, thank you."

Doc shook his head at the pair, then exited the cabin and looked around. "Are we all packed up then? Everything set?"

"If you've got what's left of the hoverboard, then yes, finally," Jennifer said with a deep, put-upon sigh.

"Right here," Doc reported as Jules yanked out the remains of the futuristic toy. "Though considering the circumstances of our retrieving it, leaving it behind might have been the better choice."

Jennifer folded her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Buford showed up early," Marty said, rubbing his neck again. "We tried to sneak away, but Joan kicked up a fuss the moment she saw me and we got trapped by him and his cronies. I managed to make him give up his gun and turn our shootout into a fistfight – got to beat the crap out of him too – but then he pulled a knife and nearly sliced my head off."

Jennifer squeaked, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Oh shit – are you all right?" she demanded, rushing to examine his throat.

"Yeah, thanks to Doc – and the kids."

"The kids?"

"I got so angry at the thought of Buford killing him I – I broke our cover," Doc confessed as the tentacles somehow managed to pull off shifty eyes. "Ended up treating Buford much like I treated Biff in our alternate 1986. It wasn't until Marty reminded me where we were that – well, suffice it to say it's in our best interest to get back to the future as soon as possible."

"Damn right," Jennifer agreed, grimacing. "Let's get this show on the road then."

Or on the rails, as the case may be, Verne commented, reaching into the DeLorean and poking around inside. Where are they. . .aha! Jules, Albert, help me with these please?

Clara tilted her head curious as the tentacles withdrew three brightly-colored logs from the back of the car. "What are those?" she asked, Rosie extending a tendril and giving them a cautious poke.

"Presto-Logs," Doc explained, allowing himself a stereotypical mad scientist grin. "Or my own homemade version of such. Compressed wood chemically treated with anthracite dust, to be precise. I use them in my forge so that I don't have to stoke it."

So we don't have to stoke it, Jules corrected with a muffled chitter. Remember who did all the work there!

"Right, right, so the tentacles don't have to," Doc corrected himself. "Anyway, see how they're numbered?" Verne rolled the green log in his claw to show the number one on its side. "They'll ignite sequentially once they're in the fire, kicking up the boiler pressure and making the train go faster."

"And these'll get us up to 88?" Marty asked, looking over the yellow log with its big two.

"According to my and Jules's calculations, yes," Doc nodded as the tentacles loaded them into the train's cab. "We should be just fine." He paused. "Emphasis on should, of course. Just keep your fingers crossed and hope for the best."

"Beat you to it, Doc," Jennifer said, holding up her hand.

Doc chuckled, then looked around his group. "So – we've got everything we need? Nobody's left anything behind? Last chance to say so!"

Jennifer gave the other two death glares right before shaking her head. "We're good, Doc," she said as Marty and Clara eyed her nervously.

"All right then!" Doc clapped his hands and pointed at the car. "Load yourselves into the DeLorean – I'll take care of the train."

"Right," Clara said, Rosie opening the passenger-side door for her as Doc turned away. She frowned at the cramped space behind the seats. "You're sure you're going to be all right back there, Marty?" she asked as Jennifer threw the remains of the hoverboard into the trunk. "Rosie and I probably could squeeze ourselves in."

"Yeah, but I'm smaller," Marty said, pushing the passenger seat forward so he could climb inside. "Besides, ladies ought to be up front anyway."

"Your chivalry is appreciated, but that still doesn't look comfortable."

"Only option we've got – Jennifer and I had to crowd ourselves into your seat before, and that wasn't a picnic either," Marty said, getting himself situated. "And Doc's gonna be getting in too late for any of us to sit on him."

"I suppose you're right," Clara said reluctantly. "I just worry about your ability to breathe back there."

Marty wriggled around to get more comfortable, studiously avoiding catching on any wires. "I'll live," he assured her. "I'd fold myself into a cube if it meant getting back home, honestly."

"You hate my century that much?" Clara asked, smirking.

"You gotta understand, Clara – the 20th century's got running water and indoor toilets."

That got a laugh. "All right, all right, I can understand anyone's distaste with outhouses." The humor faded from her face. "It's going to be quite the adjustment though, isn't it? All the things I'm not going to understand. . . ."

"We'll be there every step of the way," Jennifer said, taking the driver's seat. "And don't forget, you've got Doc as your boyfriend. He'll have you caught up in no time."

"Yeah – and you can use my history book to fill in the gaps," Marty added.

Clara smiled at the pair, Rosie patting Marty on the head with a tendril. "Thanks. We really appreciate it."

The walkie-talkie sitting on the DeLorean's dash crackled to life. "Everyone settled?" Doc's voice asked.

Clara pushed the passenger seat back into position and climbed inside. "We're ready to roll, Doc!" Jennifer announced as they closed their doors.

"Excellent! Hang on!"

There was a hiss behind them as Doc set the locomotive in motion. Everyone held their breath as the train's cowcatcher scraped the Delorean's bumper. Would it work? Would the train start pushing the DeLorean? Or were they about to be derailed – or, worse, plowed right through?

A bump, a scratch, a tiny tremor – and the DeLorean began to move, inching along the tracks. The passengers of the car grinned at each other, breathing quiet sighs of relief. "Finally," Jennifer whispered. "Next stop – 1986!"