Chapter 2
Monday, September 7th
8:20 A. M.
Doc rushed to the stairwell. "Let her go, Tannen!" he roared.
Buford just smirked and looked down at his captive. The schoolteacher was bound and gagged, and there was a large tear in the front of her dress. She glared up at Buford and struggled against her bonds. "I don't think so, smithy. I aim to kill a man today, and it may as well be you." He glanced at Marty, who was standing behind Doc. "But I'd rather it be your yellow-belly friend."
"What the heck are you doing here?" Marty blurted, stunned.
"When you didn't show up, we decided to try and find you. Lucky for us, we stumbled across this filly with her funny wagon," one of the gang members said, leering at Clara. She gave him a look that would freeze fire.
Doc snarled, enraged. One hand went to his gun. "Leave her alone," he warned, face red.
Quick as a wink, four guns were pointed straight at Doc's heart. Buford scowled at Doc as Clara went white. "I'm warning you, smithy, one false move--"
"Or what?" Doc pulled his own gun. "I'm a better shot than you are, Buford."
Marty's breathing quickened as he looked at the scene. Those guns pointed at Doc -- this was familiar -- too familiar --
"Lesse you prove it without that dang-blasted rifle of yours. And even if you do out-shoot me, my boys will take you down."
"You and your gang of terrorists?"
Terrorists?
The gang cocked their guns. "I'll see you in hell, smithy."
Everyone jumped at the shriek. "NOOOOOO!"
There was a blur of motion, then Buford was flat on his back, Marty on top and pummeling his face into a pulp. Buford's gang gaped at the scene, uncomprehending. Doc took advantage of the moment to disarm them with a few well-placed shots. One woke up enough to pull his knife, but Clara managed to trip him.
Marty's wild motion finally slowed, and he got up, breathing heavily. Buford was unconscious, his face a mess of blood and bruises. The gang members exchanged a few uneasy glances. Then they quickly beat it out of there, as if afraid Marty was about to go psycho on them too. Doc ran to Clara's side and untied her. "Are you all right?"
Clara nodded. "Don't worry about me. They didn't take me down without a fight. I think the one to worry about is Marty."
Doc turned to the teen, trying to decide if he was annoyed or pleased at Marty's actions. "Marty," he began firmly.
Marty faced him. To Doc's surprise, tears were streaming down his face. "Doc -- I'm sorry, but -- when they pointed those guns at you--"
Suddenly, Doc understood. "The Libyans," he said quietly. Marty nodded, obviously not trusting his voice. "I know Marty. It's okay. Nothing's going to happen to me. That's why you couldn't leave me here either, isn't it?"
Another nod. "I -- I don't want you to die. After all that shit with the Libyans. . .seeing you shot twice was enough for me. The festival -- for a moment, I felt like I was going to scream. Then I remembered the pie plate, and the frisbees. You're lucky I didn't freak out then, Doc."
Doc took Marty into his arms. "Well, seeing Biff threaten you in that 1985-A was enough for me too." He squeezed. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere, except back to the future with you. I promise." He released the teen and smiled at him. "C'mon, let's get ready to leave this time behind." As he walked to the DeLorean, he added in a quieter voice, "Yes, what a wonderful place to spend my retirement years."
Marty laughed, feeling better. "Are you okay, Clara?"
"I'm fine. Buford Tannen got kicked quite a few times before they managed to tie me up."
"You're one heck of a woman, ma'am." They followed Doc over to the car, where he was unloading three logs from the back. All were different colors -- green, yellow, and red. "What are those, Doc?"
"My own version of Presto-Logs," Doc explained, motioning for Marty and Clara to each take one. "Chemically treated to burn hotter and longer. I use them in my forge so I don't have to stoke it."
"I guess this is where the other gas went?"
"When I first drained the car? Exactly. I saw no reason to keep it -- after all, I didn't expect you to come back and get me."
Clara spotted a number "two" on her yellow log. "Why are they numbered?"
"They're going to ignite sequentially," Doc said, displaying a "one" and a "three" on the green and red logs respectively. "Each one will increase the boiler pressure and make the train go faster. Hopefully we'll reach 88 miles per hour before or just after the boiler pressure reaches 2000 degrees."
"What happens at 2000?"
"The whole boiler explodes. We may be in for a number of interesting explosions before we are transported home."
"Great," Marty said sarcastically as they dumped the logs inside the train.
Doc ignored him. "You and Clara get in the DeLorean. Marty, set the time circuits for October 27th, 1985, 3:30 A. M."
"3:30 A. M.? Isn't that the early train?"
"You're right. Make it 3:15, we don't want to cut it down to the last second." Noting Marty's astonished look, he added, "I want this thing destroyed, Marty. At least for now. Maybe, in a few years, when we're all older and wiser, I'll try again with making a time machine."
Marty guessed he understood. Hopping through time didn't seem nearly as cool as when Doc had first demonstrated the machine. He wanted to get home and stay there. "You got it, Doc. And be careful."
"Listen to him, Emmett," Clara lectured. "I don't want to lose you so soon after finding you."
"I'll be fine," Doc assured them, kissing Clara and hugging Marty. "Now go on, get in."
Reluctantly, Marty and Clara climbed into the DeLorean. Marty set the time circuits appropriately as Clara stroked the cloth. "More comfortable than a horse, anyway," she said, making Marty snigger.
"I've gotten pretty sick of riding this past week." He settled back against the familiar seat. "I think you'll like it in 1985. We've got all sorts of cool stuff -- television, fast food, cars, etc. I'll have to introduce you to Jennifer. She was acting kinda ditzy back in 2015, but she's a really great gal." He sighed. "I'm definitely going to--"
Both passengers received a jolt as the locomotive's cow-catcher hit the DeLorean's bumper. They held their breath for a second, wondering if the engine would just plow right through them. Then, with a scraping of metal on metal, the DeLorean began to move. Marty grinned at Clara, who smiled back. They were on their way!
Monday, September 7th
8:33 A. M.
Buford came to with a groan. He hadn't thought that runt Eastwood could be so fast! He wouldn't make that mistake twice, though. This time, he'd draw and shoot immediately.
He lurched to his feet and saw to his intense displeasure that he was alone. Eastwood and his friends must have escaped somehow, and his gang had abandoned him. Damn yellow-bellies. I'll have to teach 'em a lesson later. I don't need them to kill that duded-up egg-suckin' gutter trash. Now where is the runt and his blacksmith?
He managed to catch sight of the locomotive, puffing steadily away into the distance. He grinned evilly. The trio had to be on that train. He was sure to get at least one of them, if he hurried. Buford whistled for his new horse, leaped on, and started after them. I made a vow. Those two are gonna die.