The Exchange announced itself with a distant clap of thunder.

Aaron Jacobson stood among a little cluster of men on the flat roof of the Summit Foods office building on a warm, sunny, June day and looked at the sky. The sun stood directly overhead. Surrounding it, the sky was clear in a perfect but off-center circle of blue stretching halfway to the horizon. Outside that circle, dark gray clouds moved quickly, ominously. The perfection of the circle lasted for no more than a couple of seconds, then air from the two time-lines began to mix.

A helicopter in green and brown camouflage paint lifted off from the Summit Foods parking lot, circled over the three blocks of Ashburn’s downtown, then headed toward the nearest border between the Exchanged area and the other time-line. Men in camouflage uniforms bustled around the other three helicopters in the parking lot. The helicopter noise faded, and the town of Ashburn went silent except for alarms ringing inside the Summit Food plant and a dog howling somewhere in the residential part of Ashburn.

Aaron shook his head. "Somebody bugged out and didn’t take their dog. Sad."

One of the engineers lowered his pair of binoculars and shrugged. "They probably work out of town and didn’t get back. People only had three hours to get out."

"Maybe." Aaron looked at the binoculars enviously. "See anything through those things?"

"I can see into the other time-line to the east of us. There’s a clear line where cornfields turn into prairie. I don’t see any animals though. No mammoths or sabertooth tigers. Go ahead and take a look."

Aaron took the binoculars, then turned around as Summit’s co-owner, Tom Majors, walked toward the cluster of men, his tall form conspicuous as he walked across the flat black roof of the building. Tom grinned in a way that made him look much younger than his forty-odd years and said, "Well, we’re now in another time-line--totally isolated from the rest of humanity. Does anyone else need to use the bathroom?"

Aaron looked around. The people around him looked stunned. "Yeah, probably everybody here."

Tom looked up at the sky. "A nasty thunderstorm's coming in from the other time-line. A lot of wind too."

Aaron asked, "What will happen when it hits the warmer air from our time line?"

Tom looked over at him. "Tornado? Great. We're ready for ice age North American animals on steroids, and escaped convicts, but not for that."

Aaron watched the storm clouds send tentacles of gray into the clear circle above them. "I don't know if it'll happen. I'm a computer person, not a meteorologist."

"OK. We'll warn the people at the warehouse, then post someone up here so we'll know what's coming before it pokes us in the pants. Aaron, what other odd things might happen during an Exchange?"

Someone asked, "What about glaciers?"

Tom shook his head. "We didn't go back in time to the ice age. We went sideways into another time-line. Animals like mammoths and sabertooth tigers survived in this time-line. They didn't in ours. The climates are pretty much the same."

Aaron said, "Sewers and storm drains will back up if the systems aren't all there. If a swamp got drained in our time line, it'll turn back into a swamp."

"That shouldn't be a problem here, but the warehouse is three miles away. Was that area ever swamp?"

One of the older managers said, "No, but the road between here and there was. We should be back before it gets bad enough to wash out the highway though. Might want to warn the biology survey people about the thunderstorm and wind. Those helicopters of theirs will need to be under cover."

"Okay, go warn them." Tom shook his head. "We had three hours to get five hundred people out of Summit Foods and another two thousand people out of Ashburn. We have enough supplies and ammunition for the people that are staying, but I know I'm forgetting something."

Aaron looked out though the binoculars into the other time-line. Something small and green moved in his field of vision. He focused in on it, and saw a small green monkey huddled in the grass looking miserable as rain pounded down on it. As he watched, the monkey raised its head and seemed to look directly back at him with cold grey eyes. Aaron abruptly lowered the binoculars and shivered.

"What?"

"There’s a monkey out there. It felt like he was looking right at me, and through my eyes into my head. Just like…" He stopped, swore, then looked at Tom and continued, "Just like Sister West. That’s what you’re forgetting. Sister West and her loonies came across with us."

Tom whistled. "That would mean that the Wickes brothers did too. I hope we brought enough ammunition."

A few minutes later, the storm from the other time-line struck.

**********

If Bret Harding could believe his watch, the Exchange came ten minutes early. At 12:02 he was hacking away at the stubborn weed-covered ground less than ten feet outside the little stakes that marked off the area slated to go into the other time-line. The sun was beating down from the cloudless June sky. His hands burned from wielding the shovel. A trickle of sweat ran down into his eyes and made them sting. When he looked up he could still see the low skyline of the nearly deserted little town of Ashburn Illinois in the distance. Several thousand other hastily drafted civilians hacked away at the weeds with him, in a circle that stretched as far as he could see. Marines stood at intervals outside the circle of civilians, with rifles ready. A steady stream of trucks rumbled up and unloaded their cargoes of civilian workers, equipment, and occasionally more marines.

At 12:03 the sun disappeared--covered by dark fast-moving clouds. Those clouds covered an enormous circle of the sky to the northwest of Bret. They quickly encroached on the clear sky outside the Exchange area, and Bret felt a cool wind in his face, along with droplets of rain.

Ashburn disappeared, replaced by a long low hill covered with prairie grasses and small groves of trees. Bret noticed that most of the stakes marking the boundary of the Exchange area disappeared too. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then muttered, "They guessed wrong by ten minutes and by a good three feet."

Bret stopped digging for a second, enjoying the breeze from the other time-line. That earned him a glare from a short, barrel-shaped female Marine standing guard behind him. She said, "Widen it another foot, then get your sorry little soft-handed carcass out of the way."

Bret looked at his hands, then down at his gray dress pants and white shirt, now stained with sweat and dirt. "Hey, I’m a biology teacher, not a farmer." He started digging again, keeping a wary eye on the Exchange area. He glanced back at the marine. "Do you think you can handle ice age animals on steroids?"

The marine grunted. "If it moves, I shoot it."

"And if it keeps moving?"

The marine didn’t say anything.

"Can you shoot a bug, or a bat smaller than a grasshopper, or a virus? That’s what they’re really afraid of. If the animals over there get loose over here and start breeding…"

Bret heard gunshots from other parts of the cordon around the Exchange area. He studied the ground near him. The only movement he saw was the splattering of raindrops on grass and leaves. Three helicopters in green and light brown camouflage paint came in low over him and moved into the Exchange area. Bret hastily finished his section of the firebreak and moved back a few yards to get out of the rain.

A larger helicopter swooped in and landed a short distance behind them. Men and women in camouflage uniforms swarmed out of it and started unloading twelve-foot-long fence posts. Bret leaned on his shovel for a few seconds, stretching the protesting muscles of his lower back and looking out at the area from the other time-line. He said, "Did you ever think you’d be standing 20 feet outside of a piece of another world?" The female marine ignored him. He went on. "Well, not really another world I guess—just a different version of ours. Our ancestors died out or never developed over there. Too much competition."

The marine looked bored. Bret said, "You already knew that. Or maybe you don’t care."

The marine pointed her rifle in his general direction. "Shut up and hit the dirt."

"What?"

"Down! Now!"

Bret hesitated a second, then went down on one knee. The marine’s rifle barked. Bret stared at the marine open-mouthed, then looked back at the Exchange area. Dozens of long-legged green-furred monkeys boiled out of the grass on the other side of the firebreak and ran toward them so fast that Bret felt like he was watching a movie in fast-forward. The marine yelled, "Down! Flat! They’re using you as a shield!"

A monkey lunged at him before Bret could go the rest of the way down. Bret kicked at it but missed, then fell off balance. He automatically rolled and came up in a fighting stance just in time to see a monkey swarm up the marine’s rifle and hit her in the face with a rock. The marine dropped her rifle, stood swaying for a second, then went to her knees, hands covering her face. The bulk of the monkeys were already past her, running toward thick brush on the wrong side of the Exchange line so fast that Bret’s eyes had trouble tracking them through the weeds.

One monkey at the rear hesitated, then ran back and grabbed the marine’s rifle. Bret ran over and grabbed the other end of the rifle—the barrel, unfortunately. The monkey tried to pull it away from him. Bret picked up both rifle and monkey, and slammed the monkey into the ground. It let go of the rifle and staggered a couple of steps away from him. Bret took a step forward and slammed the butt of the rifle against the monkey’s side and head. The impact knocked it off its feet. It tried to get up, legs moving in a drunken slow-motion. Bret hit the monkey again and it stopped moving. He started to swing again, but someone grabbed the rifle and said, "That’s enough. We’ll take it from here."

Bret turned around and found himself face-to-breast with an extremely tall but well proportioned blonde woman in an expensively tailored light green dress. Another woman, dark-haired and much smaller, walked past Bret and slammed a net down on the monkey. The tall woman let go of the rifle butt and looked at Bret appraisingly with sharp brown eyes. She asked, "Did any get past?"

Bret felt the adrenaline rush fade. The reaction left him feeling weak and short of breath. He took a deep breath then said, "Yeah, several dozen."

The tall blonde pulled out a satellite phone, pushed a button and said, "Monkeys out, sector three. Get helicopters and tracking teams with dogs over here ASAP." She put the phone away, then said, "Some marine butt is going to fry over this. They had a full three hours to set up a perimeter, but they’re just getting ready to put up the fence. Ready to respond means ready to respond."

Bret walked over to the female marine. She still had her hands over her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It broke my nose with the rock, but once the bleeding stops I’ll be okay."

Bret looked at the marine, realized she was serious, then shook his head. The tall blonde walked over and looked at the marine’s face. "Go get that looked at, soldier. And make sure you tell the medic you got up close and personal with an other time-line monkey."

The marine looked at the tall woman through blood-reddened fingers, then said, "Yes, ma’am", and walked away.

Bret looked at the marine, then at the tall woman. "Are you in her chain of command?"

"I’m in everybody’s chain of command. Are you doing anything here except swinging a shovel?"

"No."

"Congratulations. You’re now in charge of keeping the monkey you were beating secure and keeping it with me. Keep the rifle. That marine won’t need it today."

Bret looked at the tall woman. "Who are you?"

The woman ignored him and walked on along the circle of the Exchange line. The smaller, dark-haired woman scooped up the stunned monkey in a mesh bag and handed the bag to Bret. She smiled at him, started walking in the wake of the tall woman, and said, "Just go with the flow. I’m Linda Stevens. Do you know how to use the rifle?"

Bret walked with her. He said, "Sure. Just hold it by the barrel and swing. I suppose I could turn it around and pull the trigger, but then I’d have to know something about rifles, which I don’t. I’m Bret, by the way. This monkey’s a lot lighter than it looks. It can’t weigh more than ten pounds."

Linda nodded. "They’re small, but they can sure cause trouble. We didn’t see everything that went on, but it looked like this one came back to grab the rifle."

"It did. It probably thought it was a funny-looking club."

"I hope so."

Another helicopter buzzed in and off-loaded teams of tracking dogs. The teams moved out, with the dogs straining at their leashes. The helicopter took off and started sweeping back and forth in the general direction the monkeys had gone. Linda watched the dogs, then turned to Bret. "They’re new at this. Most dogs won’t track a monkey pack more than once."

Tired-looking civilians put up a thin-meshed chain-link fence at least a foot taller than Bret along the Exchange line as Bret and the two women walked by. A team of marines followed in a truck, stringing barbed wire at the top of the fence.

Bret said, "Looks like they’ll have it buttoned up tight in less than an hour."

Linda shook her head. "This is better than nothing. It will screen out the medium-sized animals that can’t climb or burrow. It won’t do anything to stop birds, bats, insects, or plant seeds from coming over."

"Probably wouldn’t stop a woolly mammoth or a sabertooth tiger either."

"We probably didn’t get anything that big. The Exchange area is under a hundred square miles. There won’t be many big predators in an area that size. The marines in the helicopters have a list of the big stuff scientists want to bring back and study. They’ll dart any of those they see, then just shoot down the rest. There won’t be anything bigger than a small dog alive over there by sundown."

"Ruthless."

"But necessary, and that’s just the beginning. By the time we’re done the entire area from the other time-line will be as close to sterile as we can make it--almost down to bare dirt."

The tall blonde woman kept walking along the Exchange line. Bret and Linda had to almost run to keep up with her. As they walked, the perimeter grew stronger by the minute. Construction equipment rolled in and workers started putting up a second, taller fence about ten feet outside the first one.

Linda said, "Outside fence will be anchored in six feet of concrete. That’ll stop most of the burrowers."

"You seem to know a lot about these things."

She shrugged. "I’ve been to twenty or thirty Exchanges so far. I lost count after fifteen."

"So this is routine for you."

Linda stopped and looked at him. "Uh, no. Exchanges will never get routine. Every one I’ve been at so far has come awfully close to being a disaster. This one may already be a disaster. If we don’t catch those little monkeys that got out and if they start breeding over here, they’ll cause billion of dollars worth of crop damage. They’ll also push half a dozen native species out of their territory--may even cause them to go extinct. And the monkeys are the least of my worries at the moment."

Bret noticed that marines along their route were looking at the monkey in the bag he had slung over his shoulder. No one questioned him though. "Shouldn’t the guards be asking me why I’m carrying this monkey?"

"Probably. We look like we know what we’re doing and they’ve got other things on their minds. They’re almost ready to start the burning. Somebody should be by to pick us up any time now."

The tall blonde suddenly stopped and looked down at Bret. "You’re maybe twenty-five years old. Probably a teacher. History or biology. Single. In pretty good shape but not outstanding. Probably some martial arts training but not that much. Why do I have this feeling that you’re going to be extremely useful?"

Bret shook his head. "I have no clue. Who are you?"

The blonde shrugged and walked on. "I’m rarely wrong about people. I’ll keep you for a while and see what happens."

Bret looked at Linda. "What…"

"Don’t worry about it."

A jeep swung by and stopped in front of them. The driver got out and handed the tall blonde the keys. Linda grinned at Bret. "Get in. Fasten your seat belt. If you believe in a god, pray."

Click to send me feedback on the alternate history reviews.

Return to Main Alternate History Page

Quarantine ( Chapter 1 ] – By Dale Cozort

Ben Foristers’ diary, May 3, 1997:

Day Fifteen of the Voyage: In the year of our true lord (may he hasten to return) 1997--or the year 477 of Christ's rule if you accept the Abomination who claims to be our dear savior, I and my companions have set off from England on a great adventure. Our goal, vainglorious as it may seem given our poverty and small numbers, is to build a new England on the shores of the New World which was revealed by John Cabot almost 500 years ago. The Beast has attempted to deny that New World to us --indeed to all Christians except for the small number of Castilians who had settled far to the south before the Beast arrived in 1520--forever.

I will not put to paper all of those things which make our voyage possible. They say that the Beast can see into a person's soul, can hear words spoken softly in the most private room. If that is so, we will all soon find ourselves wandering through our villages, on fire with the pain that only the false sacrament can take away for a short time. I believe that the Beast and his minions, both devil and man, have the powers of demons. However, the Beast is not truly God, and he can be himself deceived. For the sake of those who might follow us, I do not say those things that would remove the scales from the eyes of the Abomination.

Sufficient it is to say that not all of England's fishermen let the Beast say where they can and cannot fish. While they suffer the pain of hell when they run out of the unholy brew which the Abomination forces upon them as a sacrament, a few brave fishermen endure that pain so that their families may be fed. They go to the rich fishing grounds of the New World, come back, and quietly sell their catch, along with rich furs from the savages of the New World. Some are caught, and denied the false sacrament. With my own eyes I have seen them sweating yet shivering on a cold day, willing to crawl before the priests of the Abomination, to betray their fellows for the futile hope of regaining their supply. I am happy that our children will grow up without ever encountering the temptation or the horror of the false sacrament.

From those brave fishermen, we know something of the land to which we go. It is a wilderness filled with fierce savages, yet it is a good land. It is fertile, with a climate much like that of England. The fishermen say that sickness is rare there, that the savages are very healthy, strong, and warlike. The savages infest the New World rather than own it, yet we will deal fairly with them. We will pay for the land that we need, giving the savages the cloth, beads, and little knives that they desire. If they desire war with us, we are ready for that also. We go on this voyage, one hundred and twenty souls on three tiny ships. I write this now because on the morrow I, along with twenty of my companions, will run out of the false sacrament. Fishermen have told us that the burning will go away after a time, yet the craven desire for this poison of the Abomination will never go away. I fear what the morning will bring and I ask the true God to help me through the next week.

December 1, 1999 (late afternoon):

Ben Forister watched helplessly from the edge of the forest as the Beast’s Angels finished destroying the little settlement of New Bristol. They threw their silent lightning bolts at the few remaining defenders, burning through the snow and then through the mats which made the low log strong houses look like the dwelling of savages. The Angels stood outside of effective longbow range as they devoured the little English settlement with fire, inch by inch. The defenders fought back with futile arrows, and rarely with a blast from one of the few surviving muskets.

By incredible luck, or possibly by the hand of the true God, a ball from one of those muskets found the brazenly visible breast of one of the Angels. She staggered at the impact of the blow, clasping her hands to her chest, but then she regained her footing and continued throwing her lightning bolts. The Angels’ flying boat sailed overhead and emptied more, larger thunderbolts at the little settlement.

Ben shook his head. The flying boat made the situation impossible. Even if New Bristol held out until nightfall, and even if someone escaped under the cover of darkness, the boat would track them down, following their footprints in the snow like a flying wolf. The boat made Ben a dead man too. He knew that once they finished destroying New Bristol, the Angels would find his tracks and follow him relentlessly until they found and destroyed that last vestige of English settlement in the New World—the Forbidden World.

December 1, 1999 (late afternoon):

In a place very far away, yet very close to Ben Forister, Dave Corrack was playing Hide-and-Seek in the woods around Halley’s Farm. He wasn’t very good at it, but then again how many people are at thirty-something years old, with two kids? The fact that he was wandering around at twilight in the middle of a Northern Illinois winter, with the air temperature twenty below zero and a wind chill of close to sixty below didn’t help. Neither did that the fact that he was uncomfortably aware that the Hide-and-Seek game was going on three or four miles away from the nearest source of help if someone broke a leg.

Dave shook his head. "Only a teenager and/or an idiot would be out here doing this on a night like this. I guess that pretty much classifies me—an idiot trying to act like a teenager."

He said that softly because half-a-dozen other amateur astronomers were wandering through the woods looking for hiding places or trying to track down the people doing the hiding.

**********

A seemingly hopeless situation can breed either resignation or reckless courage. The two reactions fought briefly for Ben Forister’s soul—but only briefly. He turned and ran back into the woods for a few minutes, made his preparations, then used all of his considerable woodcraft to get as close as he dared to one of the Angels. That wasn’t close enough for an effective bow shot, but it was close enough for his purposes.

His first arrow missed the Angel so completely that she didn’t even notice its passage. His second arrow actually hit her in the leg, by sheer luck or the hand of the true God. It didn’t do much damage. Most of its energy was spent, but there was enough left that the Angel went down, holding her leg then said something into the far-speaker in her helmet. The flying boat swooped down in Ben’s direction almost immediately. He was already sprinting through the snow toward the place he had prepared.

*********

Halley's Farm had always been about amateur astronomy when Dave Corrick was a teenager. An old farmer named Pete Halley rented it out to astronomy clubs for weekend outings. In spite of his name Pete had no interest whatsoever in astronomy. What he did have was an eye-catching name and a vacant farmhouse he was trying to rent or sell. The local astronomy club was looking for a place away from the light pollution of the city. Someone noticed an ad for a farmhouse for rent from a Mr. Halley, scouted out the farmhouse, and found the perfect place for astronomy outings. It was a little old frame house about three miles from the nearest paved road, and nearly twenty miles away from the nearest town. The old man was skeptical about renting his house for weekends, especially to a group that was mainly teenagers, but he eventually did.

Dave didn't go to all of the Halley's Farm weekends. He wasn't that into astronomy. Neither were most of his high school girlfriends. This group was pretty hard-core. If you went to a "Halley's" you spent a lot of time outside looking at the stars or you didn't get invited back. At the same time, Dave did enjoy the times he went--had a lot of good memories of them.

The farmhouse eventually got sold off to some businessman who brought other people's wives out there to seduce them, so the weekends ended, and Halley's Farm became a nice memory. That's the way things stood as Dave grew the rest of the way up, got married and gradually, often reluctantly, took on the responsibilities of adulthood and a family. Then one day he heard that his friend Jacob Marner had recently bought Halley's Farm and was organizing a Halley's Reunion weekend.

Dave jumped at the chance to relive some good teenage memories. Not too many of his old friends did though. The old group had wandered off in all directions and it was the coldest part of the winter, so the reunion ended up with seven people: Jacob and his wife Rachel, another couple Dave didn't know, Dave’s fourteen-year-old daughter Traci, Jacob's brother Frank, and of course Dave himself. Dave’s wife Jesse volunteered to stay with the younger kids. She hated snow and tolerated astronomy.

Then some idiot brought up the idea of doing one of their old-style dead-of-the-winter hide-and-seek games, and in the general spirit of nostalgia everyone went along, though not enthusiastically. Which is why Dave Corrick was out in the woods in the dead of winter at the time Ben Forister caused one of the Angels to blow up the Angels’ flying boat.

******

Ben peeked out of his blind and watched the Angel hanging by her ankles, her head about four feet off the ground. She turned slowly in the wind as the rope around her ankles twisted, then untwisted. Another Angel stood at the open door of the flying boat, her posture reflecting her indecision. The first Angel, the one Ben had just caught in a snow-covered noose, yelled something at the Angel by the flying boat. Ben muttered, "Come and rescue your friend. You want to come over and rescue your friend."

The second angel finally came trotting through the snow, but not before she closed the door to the flying boat. Ben poised his war club as she got within range. She must have seen some tiny movement of his out of the corner of her eye. She turned, just as Ben threw the club. That meant that she got the full force of the club across the bridge of her nose. She went down flat on her face and lay still, blood reddening the snow. Her smooth, oddly colored helmet flew off, spilling long blonde hair.

The Angel in Ben’s trap threw a thunderbolt in his direction. It missed, as the rope twisted her around so that the side away from her thunderbolt hand was toward Ben. Ben plowed through the heavy snow toward her. He realized that he wasn’t going to make it. He slowed, started to change directions, then stopped in despair when he saw the thunderbolt hand pointed toward him. "So close…Wait. Angel, if you smite me, who will get you down from the tree?"

Ben waited to die, not more than six feet from the Angel, as she slowly turned at the end of the rope. The Angel hesitated, and was lost. The rope twisted her around so that she could no longer point her thunderbolt hand at Ben. He covered the distance between them and grabbed the Angel’s thunderbolt hand from behind. She grabbed for his crotch with her free hand. Ben blocked the hand with his knee, then pulled her down and drove a knee at the back of her head.

The Angel twisted her wrist, and Ben lost his grip on her thunderbolt hand. He grabbed her other arm and used it to start her spinning rapidly at the end of the rope. She threw a thunderbolt at him, but missed badly, as the spinning threw off her aim. Ben reached in and pushed her twice, quickly, to increase the speed of her spinning. She threw three more thunderbolts in rapid succession, but missed wildly. One of the stray thunderbolts hit the flying boat and Ben caught a glimpse of smoke rising from it. The Angel made gagging noises, then was sick. Ben saw something metallic fall from her thunderbolt hand.

"Please stop it," she croaked weakly.

Ben hesitated, fearing a trick of some kind. Then the flying boat blew up. There were actually two explosions. The first of them showered flaming debris all around them, but somehow left a flickering outline of the boat intact. Half a minute later that outline gave off a roar so deep that Ben felt it more than heard it. It then expanded in all directions at a nearly explosive rate. Ben started to run, but the outline overtook him before he could take more than a couple of steps. The scene in front of his eyes went light to the point that he could see only light, not the details of what was around him. Then it went totally dark. After a dark second, the scene in front of him started oscillating slowly between the two extremes—nearly blinding light to nearly total darkness.

Ben felt nausea build and went to his knees. The Angel looked down at him and said bitterly, "Not even your God could save us now."

********

Dave Corrack didn’t hear the first explosion. He saw and felt the second one as a wave. Trees began shaking, then shed their covering of snow on a front that rapidly approached him, accompanied by a sound like a giant power saw. The front reached him. It raised him and the snow-covered ground under him up two feet, then sat him down, not gently but no quicker than a fast elevator. The wave of sound and shaking went past him, and rushed on until it faded in the distance.

Dave’s knees suddenly felt weak. He closed his and stood swaying for a minute. When he opened them, something was wrong with the sky and the ground around him. Both kept getting darker and then lighter in a rhythm that made his head hurt. He caught a whiff of smoke and dashed back toward Halley’s farmhouse as fast as he could move through the snow.

Click to send me feedback on the alternate history story excerpts.

Return to Main Alternate History Page