"Adventures on the High Seas"
by
Kristen Sheley

Written: August - December 1994

Word Count: Approximately 29,000 words

Background Notes: A story built around the idea of Marty getting seasick. No, actually, that's not true. Based on my notes, I came up with the idea in Walt Disney World (of all places!) during the American President attraction. Thoughts about immigration, and what it may have been like for those first McFlys in American. But the idea of Marty getting seasick intrigued me, too. I was a sophomore when I was writing, this, fifteen years old. Nine years ago, now. Sheesh.

I had revised this story and put it up, originally, but when I went through revising my stuff again in college, I tore it down and pretended it never happened. (Originally it came after "Tremors in Time.") I don't regret the decision, though aspects of this premise still intrigue me. (Marty meeting Martin McFly, specifically.) Maybe someday I'll work that into an all new work. The version posted here, FYI, is the original pre-revision one.

And, yeah, this story has an incredibly illogical, random plot. Many of my plots from when I was younger were like this. Only as I got older did they settle down to be more cohesive and complex. Thank God.



Chapter One

Saturday, May 13, 1882
8:34 P.M.
The Atlantic Ocean
Approximately 50 Miles
Off the Coast of Ireland

Marty McFly pushed the trapdoor back and climbed onto the ship's deck. It was windy out, the sails snapping sharply in the breeze. A storm was approaching, rain from it already starting to fall. Marty stumbled over to the side of the ship and hung over the railing, feeling sick. An hour before, when dinner had been served, the ocean was calm. But in that hour the sea had become choppy, and now waves well over six feet high were rocking the ship like a toy in a bathtub.

"Ohhhh," Marty groaned, closing his eyes. He wished he had never come, that the teacher had never assigned that stupid paper. In an attempt to try to get his mind off how horrible he felt, Marty remembered how he had gotten here in the first place....

It had been Friday. January 24, 1986, to be more specific. The last weekend before report cards and the end of the first semester of his senior year. Marty's last class of the day was history and his teacher, Mr. Franklin, was currently trying to teach the seniors at Hill Valley High about their pasts and family trees.

"I want from each and every one of you a two page essay on your paternal side of the family's journey to America," Mr. Franklin had said. "For some of you that may be easy, for other's that may be hard. But you have the weekend to do it. This counts for a fourth of your second quarter grade, so I would not take this assignment lightly. Don't forget that letters and diaries are great sources for this kind of information."

The first McFlys in America -- Seamus and Maggie -- Marty had met before, in 1885. They had come from Ireland a couple of years before that. Marty had intended to use the diary and letters suggestion, but when he got home, he wasn't able to find any that explained what he needed to know. When he had asked his parents, all they knew was the place that his great-great-grandparents had come from -- Ballybowhill -- and the name of the ship The Mermaid. It was then that Marty had gone over to his friend Doc Brown's house, in desperation.

"I have a really big homework assignment that I need your help with," he had said when Doc had asked him what his problem was. "Will you help me?"

"Of course," Doc agreed. "What do you need help with?"

"First of all," Marty began, "I need to know the date and year a ship called The Mermaid left Ireland for New York. I know that it was before 1885, but that's it."

Doc had told Marty to follow him out to his lab where he had then used some kind of modified computer to find the date and place the ship had left -- on May 13th, 1882 at approximately noon, from some port city called Smerwick. Then Marty asked for the big thing.

"I need a favor from you." he said hesitantly, the information about the ship on a scrap of paper in his hand.

"What would that be?" Doc asked, looking suspicious.

"I need to borrow the DeLorean for a few minutes. I have to go back to that day and get on that ship, since my great-great-grandparents are on that and for the homework assignment I have to write an essay on their trip to America."

"Absolutely not," Doc had replied, shaking his head.

"Come on, Doc, I can go alone. You don't have to be with me or anything. I'll just be gone a few minutes."

"Do you realize how long those trips are?" Doc asked him. "They're over six weeks. You are going to stay on a ship for six weeks just to talk to your great-great-grandparents? Do you know how dangerous those both are, both physically and for the space-time continuum?"

"Well, it's my only way to get this done," Marty said, giving him a pleading look.

Doc looked at him for a long time, then shifted his gaze to the DeLorean, currently lying under a white sheet. "You know that the time machines were supposed to not be used for a while. We discussed that."

"It's been a couple of weeks, that's a while," Marty answered. "Please Doc. I don't have to stay the whole six weeks. In fact, that seems a little long anyway."

"I am not letting you go there all alone," Doc had finally said after a few minutes of silence. "If you must go, I am coming with you."

At that moment, Clara had come into the lab. "Emmett, it's time for dinner." She stopped, wiping her hands on the apron she wore, and smiled uncertainly. "Am I interrupting something?"

Doc shook his head, crossing the floor and rolling the sheet back off the DeLorean. "No, Marty and I were just discussing the trip we're going to take tonight."

Marty grinned. "Thanks a bunch. I won't forget this."

"What trip?" Clara asked, looking at Doc with a puzzled expression.

"Marty needs to get on the ship The Mermaid that travels from Ireland to New York in 1882 for a homework assignment and I am going to accompany him," Doc explained. He looked at Marty. "We'll leave at about nine."

It was only six then. "Fine with me. What do I need to bring?"

"Nothing. I'll supply everything," Doc had said.

At nine Marty had returned to Doc's house. Doc had the DeLorean loaded up with a trunk and as soon as Marty got to the house, handed him some clothes to change into. Apparently spring nights on an ocean were cold, since the long coat was made from wool or something. Besides the coat, there were some brown pants, black boots, a light blue cotton shirt, black suspenders, and some long underwear that looked the same as the kind he had worn in 1885. It took Marty about five minutes to change clothes. By the time he was done, Doc was ready to leave, so the two of them climbed in the DeLorean. With the backseat full from the trunk, it was a little more crowded then usual.

"Where are we going to stash the DeLorean if we're going to be on a ship?" Marty asked Doc. "There isn't any room to put it on the ship, is their?"

Doc shook his head, programming the time circuits as he did so to May 13th, 1882, 11:00AM, Smerwick, Ireland. "No. What I think we will do is leave it in Ireland, then when the week is up on the boat use one of the wooden longboats to get back there."

Marty had frowned. "But won't that take several weeks with just rowing?"

"I brought an outboard motor in the trunk that I have modified. The boat will be able to do about forty miles an hour if the sea isn't too rough." Doc pulled the car outside and flipping the flying circuits on. They flew quickly up to eighty eight miles an hour and before Marty knew it, they were a hundred and four years in the past.

It didn't take Doc too long to find a deserted barn near the coast and hide the DeLorean in there. Between him and Marty, they were able to carry the trunk a few hundred feet or so down the road to where the dock was. Their were a hundred or so people gathered there, with luggage all around. Marty had looked as hard as he could, but didn't see any of his ancestors.

It took about half an hour for Doc to buy their tickets, then get on the boat with the trunk. They went straight to the bunkroom, which had looked big when it was empty. It had a low ceiling, which made even Marty -- who was only five foot four -- have to duck down a little. Their were about 15 narrow bunks on all four walls with three beds stacked on each. The beds were really short and only about two feet wide, with a thin sheet pulled up on each over some straw for the mattress. No blanket, pillows, anything. When Marty had asked Doc about it, he had said the families were expected to bring their own, along with their own food to name a couple things. Basically all the ship was supplying was a place to sleep when you were traveling to America.

"And everyone is expected to do their own cooking on the ship, on the deck, when it's time," Doc explained. Marty thought that he looked like he wanted to say more when they heard shouts coming from the upstairs. They ran up to the deck and saw that the ship was pulling out of the port. It looked like everyone was crammed on the small deck, waving and yelling as the ship started it's long journey across the ocean.

After the land vanished from sight and all that could be seen was the blue of the Atlantic, people started drifting downstairs. During the time that Marty and Doc were unpacking the blankets and lanterns for their small area, Marty was able to see how much exactly the trip was going to be crowded. He had the middle bunk, with Doc getting the one under him. Above him were a young couple who were actually sharing the same little bed. It blew his mind how even one person could fit on the bed, let alone two or three as some people were doing.

Marty spent the afternoon exploring the ship and trying to track down his great-great-grandparents. The ship wasn't really that big. Their was the deck with the three sails on it, about a dozen wooden lifeboats, and the steering wheel. Then a trap door that had a ladder that you took to the bunk area, and that was it, more or less. Their was another level to the ship, but it was for the crew and the supplies that were being brought over, like wood, or spices or something like that. It was off limits to the passengers. For such a small ship, Marty didn't understand how he hadn't run into Seamus or Maggie McFly yet.

People started to cook dinner near sundown on the upper deck. Doc fixed some steak with potatoes for the two of them. He had a cooler hidden in the trunk that was more like a portable refrigerator, as it didn't need any ice to keep it cold. Not to mention they only were staying a week and didn't need to stagger the supply out, like everyone else did. It was after dinner that the sea had started to become choppy from an impending storm, and Marty decided to get some fresh air on deck in hopes it would make him feel better.

* * *

The fresh air wasn't helping. Marty lifted his head up and looked around. The wind had picked up immensely in the time he had stared into the choppy sea, and it was definitely raining now. He sighed, and stepped back from the railing, feeling more nauseous then before. The wind was cold and cut right through the heavy coat he was wearing. Marty headed for the bunk room, thinking he might feel better if he lay down for a while.

Doc was sitting at the table in the center of the room and reading a fat book. The half dozen lanterns that were suspended from the ceiling were swinging wildly, tossing the light all over the room in a dizzying pattern. Marty didn't see how anyone could read with that kind of light, let alone not feel sick. Just about all the passengers were in the bunkroom, but he didn't try looking for his great-great-grandparents. Climbing up the short ladder to his bed, he flopped down in the quilt covered hay and groaned. Doc heard him and looked over.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting the book down on the table.

"I feel sick," he mumbled, lying on his side with his knees drawn up and his arms holding his sides. He let out another groan as he felt the ship drop down a few feet, then swiftly rise up again.

Doc stood up and walked the foot or so that separated them. He looked at Marty for a moment, then put his hand to his forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"So what? That doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm gonna die right now," Marty snapped. The ship rode another big wave and he shut his eyes tight. "God," he muttered.

"Your perfectly fine," Doc said. Marty opened his eyes and looked at him as if he was crazy.

"Excuse me, if that's the case why do I feel like I could puke all over you any minute?"

"Seasickness. With the storm, even if you may not be prone to motion sickness regularly, you can still get seasick." Doc waved around the crowded room. "I'd say that about three fourths of the people here have it, though you may not notice."

Marty swallowed hard, feeling his dinner start to come up as the ship fell several feet. "Why aren't you getting it?" he choked out.

Doc shrugged. "Not everyone is prone to it. I happen to be one of those people." He sat back down in the chair and picked up the book again. "I don't know what to tell you if you want to feel better. This will pass with time, but I didn't bring any medication with me that would help." He nodded to the stairs that led to the deck. "Perhaps fresh air would make you feel better."

"Already tried that," Marty whispered, perspiration breaking out across his forehead. He had to swallow again, to keep his food down. But that wouldn't work forever.

Sitting up fast, he cracked his head on the bottom of the bed above him. Wincing slightly, Marty jumped to the ground, about a three and a half foot drop and dodged people as he made his way over to the stairs. He scrambled up them and stepped out on the deck, the wind whipping his coat back like a kite in a tornado. Marty ran to the side of the boat, his boots skidding on the rain and ocean water that was now soaking the wood. In the time that he had been in the bunkroom, lightning had been added to the equation, and the flashes of it that lit up the sky made everything look like something out of a movie.

As Marty bent over the railing, near the bow of the ship, a flash lit up the sky showing him a quick view of the angry churning sea. Churning like his stomach was now. Marty started to groan again when he felt the big steak dinner start to come up again. He gripped the rail tight, digging his fingernails into the damp wood, leaning way out. Then his dinner came up. And up. And up. Marty didn't know how long he had spent choking and gagging before his stomach finally calmed down enough for him to stop.

His whole body trembling, Marty leaned back and let out a shaky breath. He rested his head on the railing for a moment. Even if he had just thrown up probably his entire dinner, he didn't feel much better then before.

The boat suddenly listed to one side. Marty, caught off balance, was thrown forward, way over the railing. He made a grab for it and hooked his hand around the bars that supported the railing. Just as he started to lean back, a huge wave crashed over the deck from behind. The water made his grip slip and then his body tilted so far forward that his boots left the floor. But again, the error would have been perfectly correctable if one of the ropes holding a lifeboat in place hadn't snapped. Just as he was touching the deck with the toe of his boots, Marty started to turn his head when he felt something hard and heavy hit him on his forehead, at the side. He felt himself fall forward, over the railing, a split second before everything went completely black.


Chapter Two

Saturday, May 13, 1882
10:44 P.M.

Blackness. Marty stared up into it, not sure if his eyes were even open. He couldn't see anything but dark. But he felt like there was someone next to him, someone he knew.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Mom, is that you?"

"There there now," she said softly. "You've been asleep for almost two hours."

In the darkness, Marty frowned. His mother's voice sounded different somehow. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. It was then he realized how horrible he felt. His stomach was full of nausea and his head was pounding. He also felt damp all over, like he had broken out into a cold sweat.

"I had a horrible nightmare," he groaned, closing his eyes. "I dreamed that I was on this ship in the middle of the ocean and their was a horrible storm going on."

His mother reached out and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "Well, you're safe and sound now, here on The Mermaid."

Marty opened his eyes again. "The mermaid?" he repeated. He sat up, then let out a cry as his head rammed into something invisible. A spit second later he heard the scratch of a match against sandpaper and then watched a hand with the burning match light a oil lamp in the other hand. The glow showed a first a dress, then a face. Marty blinked, confused for a moment. It took him a moment to realize that it was not his mother staring at him, but Maggie McFly.

"Maggie?" he said without thinking.

She stared at him, a puzzled look on her face.

"Pardon?" she asked, leaning forward.

Marty shook his head a little.

"Never mind," he muttered. He didn't want to get her wondering about how he knew who she was. "Where am I?" He couldn't see that well outside the circle of light.

"We're in the bunkroom of the ship," Maggie answered. "They brought you here after he rescued you."

"They?"

"My husband, Seamus McFly, and his brother Martin. Martin was the one who jumped into the ocean to pull you out. I'm Maggie," she added.

Marty realized that his clothes were all damp. That was why he felt all wet. He had only a split second to notice that before his mind locked on something Maggie had said. Seamus's brother Martin! His great-great-great-uncle was on this ship!

"Martin?" he asked, his throat suddenly dry. Maggie nodded.

"Aye." She looked hard at him. "Who might you be?"

Marty stared at her, his mind racing. He couldn't tell her his real name! He should have come up with an alternative before even leaving home!

"My name?" he repeated, stalling for time. His stomach suddenly noticed the bouncy motion that the ship was doing. The way it was moving now, it could have been some basketball that some little kid was throwing over and over again against the pavement. The wind had also increased; the howl from it made it nearly impossible to hear conversation. Apparently the storm was not yet over. He realized that he had a bigger problem then coming up with a name.

"I -- I'm gonna be sick," Marty moaned. He covered his mouth with his hands, every nerve in his body trying to resist the awful urge to lean over and retch. Before he could move, Maggie handed him a bucket that had been on the floor by her feet.

"You swallowed a fair amount of seawater before Martin was able to pull you out," she said softly. "Not to mention this storm is enough to turn anyone's stomach."

Marty grabbed the bucket and had hardly lifted it up when he started vomiting. Luckily, his head was bent over the bucket and so he didn't miss it. The spasms seemed to last forever, but it couldn't have been longer then two minutes before Marty, gasping for air, lifted his head up.

"Somebody kill me now," he whispered hoarsely, hardly noticing Maggie taking the bucket from his hands. She stared at him sympathetically as he buried his face in his hands.

"You don't wish that," she said. "This will pass soon, you will see." Maggie glanced to the right, her face suddenly brightening. "Here comes Seamus. I'm sure he'll be pleased you are finally awake."

Marty look up and watched a shadow pull away from the darkness. After a moment, he saw Seamus. He looked like he had when Marty had seen him last, three years in the future, except he didn't have the little beard yet, just the mustache. Maggie stood, the bucket in her hands.

"I'll be back in a moment," she said, glancing at her husband, then looking at Marty. "What was your name now?"

He cleared his throat before reluctantly answering. "It's Marty."

"Marty?" Seamus asked, sounding uncertain.

He nodded, watching Maggie turn and walk away.

Seamus sat down in the chair that Maggie had been in before. "How are you feeling?"

Marty shrugged. "Seasick. What happened?"

"My brother and I were walking on the deck when we saw you knocked over the rail by a longboat," Seamus explained. "Even though it was dangerous my brother, Martin, jumped in after you and managed to pull you out of the water. We weren't sure how badly hurt you were, so we brought you back here."

Marty lifted up a hand and felt his forehead. He winced slightly as his fingers touched the place where the wood had hit. "I don't remember falling into the water."

Seamus shrugged. "You were unconscious when we pulled you out. Perhaps you were like that before hitting the water." He paused, then asked, "Where are you from? I don't believe I have ever heard an accent like the one you have before."

Marty pushed the blankets back. "A small town far away," he replied slowly, not elaborating. "I'm traveling with a friend, who is probably very worried about me now, so I better go."

"Wait," Seamus said. "I would like for you to meet my brother." He stood and held his hand up. "Wait here for a moment while I get him." He left before Marty could say anything else.

Marty sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. He stared out into the shadowy room, wondering what time it was. The bunkroom had no windows, which made it dark 24 hours a day. The air also smelled stuffy, stale, and just plain bad. He tried not to breath in that deeply.

A couple of minutes later, Maggie and Seamus returned,with someone behind them that Marty couldn't quite see. "This is my brother, the person that saved your life," Seamus said, stepping to one side. "This is Martin."

Marty couldn't breathe. He stared at his great-great-great-uncle in disbelief. It was a strange feeling, almost like looking into a mirror. Except for the lighter, reddish hair, Martin McFly looked like him!

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, sharing the same Irish accent of Maggie and Seamus.

"Um, fine I guess," Marty answered slowly, still staring. Seamus's brother either didn't notice the resemblance, or couldn't see that well; he gave no sign that he saw anything strange. Marty felt a shiver creep down his spine, realizing that not only did he and his great-great-great-uncle share the same name and physical looks, but also the same physical traits. Or one in particular. He remembered back to the 1885 trip, with Seamus saying how Marty reminded him of his brother, who had been killed in a bar fight or something in Virginia City. But since then, Marty had had the chance to change. It was too bad that Martin couldn't.

"Thanks for saving my life and everything, but I really gotta go now," he said before any of his ancestors could say anything else, or ask any more questions.

Marty stood and, giving them a weak smile, pushed his way past the three. He was disoriented, with the severe rocking of the ship, the noise of the storm, and the big fact that he was barely able to see three feet in front of him. After a moment, however, his eyes got used to the dim light a handful of lanterns were throwing out from the edges of the room and he located the bunk where he and Doc were staying.

He started across the room, wincing a little every time the ship's rocking caused him to fall into a nailed down table or, once, a post. By the time he reached the bunk, Marty was sure that he was covered with bruises from head to toe. It wasn't until he was about to hoist himself up the ladder, that he noticed Doc still sitting at the table, book closed, staring at him.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, standing up. "I've been worried to death about you!"

Marty fell backward off the ladder as the ground tilted. He kept a firm grip on one of the rungs to keep standing. "I went up on deck like you told me to, only to get knocked off into the water by a lifeboat, then saved by my great-great-great-uncle and my great-great-grandparents," he answered, starting to feel a little seasick again.

Doc stepped closer to him and reached out, running an edge of the coat between his fingers. "These are still a little wet," he said, then looked up at Marty. He didn't sound as mad now. "You met your relatives?"

Marty nodded. "Yeah." The boat started tilting the other way and he took advantage of the opportunity to use the momentum from the tilt to get up the ladder. He fell onto the hard straw mattress, gritting his teeth as his head bumped against the wood where it had been hit only several hours before. Before lying down, he pulled off his heavy, soggy coat and draped it over one of the pegs that was in the post that supported the bunk nearest his head. The rest of his clothes were still a little wet, but it felt cold enough without the coat. Marty grabbed the heavy quilt that Doc had placed at the foot of the bed earlier in the day and wrapped it tightly around him. He lay down, watching through half closed eyes Doc putting his book away and snuffing out their lantern. Darkness filled their small corner of the room and almost immediately, despite the rough rocking of the ship, Marty was asleep.

He didn't know how much longer it was when he awoke suddenly, his heart pounding and his body damp with perspiration. Waves of nausea, as strong as the ones rocking the ship, were crashing over him. He slowly sat up, groaning, knowing he had to get up on deck right away or their was going to be a big mess. Breathing hard, Marty shoved the quilt back and groped around in the inky blackness for the ladder. After a long moment his fingers finally brushed against the hard wood. Marty took hold of the ladder and swung down. Keeping his head low, so he wouldn't bump into the ceiling, he walked slowly towards what he thought was the entrance to the deck, precious seconds ticking down.

Marty lifted his arms up in front of him and his fingers outstretched so he wouldn't bump into anything. The ship, still rocking up and down, kept throwing him off balance and knocked him down more than once. It seemed like hours before Marty finally found the trap door and shoved it up, climbing out into the cold, fresh air. By that time he was clenching his teeth tightly together to keep his food down.

It was just as dark outside as it had been in the boat, except out here the wind was whipping rain and waves around, drenching Marty again. He lunged for the railing, feeling food come up before he even had his head over the angry ocean. He threw up for the third time that day.

Marty didn't know how much time had passed before he was able to breath without gagging. "Uhhhhhh," he groaned, his head still hanging over the railing as he tried to catch his breath. A minute later he backed away from the railing, remembering what had happened last time he was up here.

"I want to go home," he whispered, wiping the mixture of rain and sea water out of his eyes. Marty wished that he had never convinced Doc to come here.

He spent the rest of the night running between his bunk and the deck of the ship. It was near dawn before he had finally lost everything he had eaten in the last 24 hours over the side of the ship. By that time, the storm had ebbed away and the rain had stopped. Marty sighed as he stepped away from the railing for what would hopefully be the last time. He knew his stomach was completely empty since he had just had the dry heaves. Maybe now that the storm was over he would be able to get some rest. Except for maybe a couple hours sleep he had before the seasickness really kicked in, he hadn't had any. He was exhausted, more than he would be normally. Seasickness really took a lot out of a person.

Marty shivered as a sudden gust of wind blew. He was completely drenched from the rain and the waves. He didn't even have any extra clothes either. Marty started to walk back to the trap door, but before stepping inside he pulled his suspenders down, so that they were dangling around his knees, and untucked his shirt. He took hold of the shirttail and wrung it out, the water splashing around his books. It didn't help much though. He was still sopping wet.

"I wish I was at home," he muttered again, his throat sore from all the throwing up he had done that night. What he wouldn't give for a nice hot shower, clean clothes, and a soft comfortable bed.

Marty, who had more or less figured out the layout of the route between his bed and the deck entrance, stepped down the ladder. His boots, filled with water, squashed a little as he walked. A handful of people were up now, with lanterns, so he could actually see where he was going!

Before climbing into bed, Marty sat down in the chair Doc had been at the night before and pulled off his boots, then his dripping socks. He set the boots upside down so the water could drain out of them next to the ladder and then wrung the socks out and draped them over one of the rungs.

Marty paused before climbing up into his narrow bunk. He didn't want to move for the next couple hours, let alone run up to deck again. But his stomach seemed calmer and he didn't think he would have to throw up again, at least not until he tried eating something. After a slight hesitation, he got in his bunk. Marty yawned as he lay back, resting his head on the soft pillow that Doc had given him. At least that was comfortable. He reached out for the quilt, but his fingers had scarcely touched the fabric before his eyes closed and he sunk into a deep sleep.


Chapter Three

Sunday, May 14, 1882
8:52 A.M.

Doc Brown opened the locked chest that he had brought on the ship and took out the box of matches that were stored in it. Sliding the box open, he pulled a wooden stick out and scraped it against the sandpaper side. The match sparked, then caught and Doc quickly put it to the wick of the oil lamp before it had a chance to go out. The wick started to flame and he quickly blew the match out, then tossed it in a bucket of water nearby. It would be dire, to say the least, if the match was not completely out and then set fire to the ship.

Doc picked up the glass top of the lamp and screwed it back in the base, then hung it on one of the little hooks in the low ceiling. The storm that had been causing so much turbulence the night before was over, so he could have set the lamp on the table. The ship was barely rocking that much. But Doc felt safer if the lamp was secured. There was, of course, always the off chance that someone might mistakingly knock the light over.

Now that he had light, Doc was able to turn his attention to other things. He pulled his long coat on from where it had been draped over the chair the night before. The ship was hot and stuffy down here, but up on deck that was going to change quick. Doc started to gather the things he was going to need to cook breakfast on deck -- the matches for the small gas stove he brought, concealed from the immigrants eyes by a wooden box, some bacon, bread for toast, and a couple of eggs. A glass bottle filled with juice was the final thing he piled into the box. Before ascending the steps, however, he stopped to check on Marty. Doc felt sorry for him the day before. Ever since the storm had hit, he had looked really green. During the night, he had heard him run up to the deck more than once.

Setting the box down on the table for a minute, Doc turned around and looked at the bunk above his. Marty lay on his back, the quilt bunched up next to him, not covering his body. His eyes were closed and his mouth drooped open a little. One arm was hanging over the side of the bunk, the other draped across his chest. His feet were bare and looking down, Doc saw that Marty had taken his boots and socks off to dry. The rest of his clothes looked a little wet too. Marty's breathing was very deep and slow. Doc knew he wouldn't be able to wake him up even if he wanted to.

Doc reached out and gently lifted Marty's left arm -- the one that was dangling over the side -- and set it beside him on the straw mattress. Then he pulled himself up one of the ladder rungs and reached over Marty's unconscious body and took hold of the quilt, pulling it over him. Stepping down, Doc tucked the heavy blanket around him and stopped for a moment to study his sleeping face. He could see a faint bruise at Marty's left temple, probably from the boat hitting him the night before. Doc suddenly shivered, thinking what might have happened if there had been no one up on deck to pull Marty out of the water. It had been close.

Turning around, he lifted the box up and crossed the room, climbing the narrow stairs to the deck. The air was warm, with a brisk breeze blowing in a clear blue sky. It only took him a couple of minutes to set his stove up and start cooking the food. Doc was just dropping the bacon on the hot metal surface of the stove when he saw Marty on deck. Doc left his food for a moment and walked over toward him, puzzled that Marty hadn't even looked his way.

"Marty!" he called, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Marty turned to face him and Doc frowned. Something wasn't right, but before he could put his finger on it, his friend spoke.

"I'm sorry sir, but I think that you might have the wrong person," he said politely, with a strong Irish accent. Doc took a step back in surprise.

"Who are you?" he gasped, staring at the young man. He certainly did resemble Marty except -- and this was what had been bugging Doc earlier -- his hair was more of a reddish color, instead of brown, and a little longer at the sides and back.

"I am Martin McFly," he answered, then nodded to the front of the ship. "Now if you will excuse me, I must meet my brother and his wife."

Doc nodded, not able to speak, and watched him walk away. Martin McFly. He could remember Marty mentioning last night that he had met a great-great-great-uncle. It looked like Doc had just run into that person. But it was a strange coincidence, with the names and all.

Doc shook his head, then went back to his stove and food. The bacon was a little overdone, but at least it wasn't completely charred. He had finished cooking breakfast and was letting the stove cool down when he glanced up and saw Marty emerge from the bunkroom. Doc waved to him and Marty headed over to where he was. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed; his clothes were all wrinkled, his shirt untucked, his hair was all mussed and his eyes were narrowed against the bright sunlight bouncing off the Atlantic.

"How can you possibly eat?" Marty asked him when he got closer, making a face. He sighed as he sat down on the deck, rubbing his forehead. "I really hate it here."

Doc sat down beside him, the two plates in each hand. He held one out to Marty, who shook his head and pushed it back. "I thought you were looking forward to being here," he said.

"Yeah, but that was before I saw how it actually was," Marty answered softly, staring out at the flat ocean. "I lost count how many times I got sick last night. I wasn't expecting that to happen. I didn't even get any sleep until after dawn."

Doc checked his watch. "Why didn't you sleep in later? It's only nine thirty."

Marty shrugged. "I woke up and saw that just about everyone was out of the bunkroom. I figured I'd go see what was going on." He paused, then added in a softer voice, "Plus, I kind of need to use the bathroom, and I didn't know where it was."

Doc pointed to the back of the boat. "It's a small box-like room at the stern -- the back of the ship. The one with line of about five people before it," he added when Marty didn't seem to see it.

"Maybe I'll wait until it's shorter," he said once he caught sight of it. Doc shook his head.

"There won't be a time when it's shorter. Your best bet is to go now."

Marty glanced again at the line, then slowly got to his feet, groaning a little. "I'm so sore and bruised up from being tossed into furniture last night. I really hate ships now." He walked to the back and joined the line of people.

Doc looked out at the ocean as he ate his breakfast. He was a little worried about finding the way back to Ireland when the time came. The ocean was such a big place, and most likely they would have to doubleback up to five hundred miles if they stayed on the ship for a week. Perhaps, Doc considered, looking up at the sail as the brisk wind pushed it out, he should have a talk with Marty about leaving earlier then planned.

Marty was gone for twenty minutes. By that time, Doc had cleaned up the breakfast dishes and put the stove and accessories back in the trunk. He was sitting on the deck, reading the book he had brought, when Marty met up with him again. "I want to go home, now!" were the first words out of his mouth.

Doc set a bookmark in the novel and shut it before turning to Marty. "Why?" he simply asked, looking at Marty's pale, frowning face.

"I hate it here!" he cried. "First I get seasick, then I get dumped in the ocean and nearly killed, then I get seasick some more, and finally, when I'm in that stuffy, disgusting place they think is a bathroom I hear something moving down there!"

"Rats," Doc said. They're everywhere."

"Doc, that's not the point," Marty said, rolling his eyes. "I hate it here, and I want to go home!"

"Home is a long way away," Doc said slowly. "And aren't you forgetting why you came here in the first place, to learn of your anscestor's passage to America?"

"There are limits to school research, and this is one of them," Marty said darkly. He grabbed his shirt and held it out from his body. "Look at this, I'm still wet from last night! And my boots are still dripping," he added, pointing to his bare feet. "You think I like not having any shoes to wear?"

"Marty, calm down. I didn't say we couldn't leave now."

"So we can?" he asked, hopefully.

Doc thought about it for a minute. "If you promise to talk with your great-great-grandparents, and gather what you need for your project today, we can leave tonight, after dark."

"Okay, I'll do that," Marty quickly agreed, nodding. Doc stopped him before he turned around.

"I ran into your great-great-great-uncle Martin this morning. You met him last night?"

Marty nodded again, slower, more thoughtfully. "Yeah, apparently he was the one who got me out of the ocean." He glanced at the water and shuddered, probably thinking of what might have happened if he hadn't been pulled out in time.

"I was amazed at the family resemblance. If not for the accent and hair color, I'm sure that you could both pass for twins," Doc told him. For some reason Marty's face grew serious.

"You're right. Our looks aren't the only thing that's alike," he said softly.

"What else is?" Doc asked, curious.

But Marty shook his head, refusing to elaborate. "I gotta go see Seamus and Maggie now if we're leaving tonight." He left before Doc could say another word.

* * *

Marty walked slowly to the front of the ship, his eyes on his ancestors. He was glad that they were going to leave tonight, but not looking forward to all the questions he would have to ask Seamus, Maggie, and Martin. He tried to remember exactly what he would need to know for the school paper, but it seemed like a million years ago since he got the assignment instead of just the day before, more or less. Marty knew he had to find out about what their reasons for coming to America and their hopes for the future were. And there was supposed to be something in the paper about the trip itself. Well, from what Marty had seen and experienced in the last 24 hours he knew more then he wanted to about ship travel!

"Hi," he said a bit nervously when he reached the three. They all looked up from their breakfast plates.

"Hello, Marty," Maggie said pleasantly. "Why don't you have a seat? How are you feeling this morning?"

Marty smiled. "Thanks," he said, sitting down beside his great-great-grandmother. "I feel a little better, I suppose," he added.

"What brings you over here?" Seamus asked from his seat on the other side of Maggie. Martin sat a couple feet away, staring out at the flat ocean.

"Nothing. I just thought I'd hang out with you guys for a while. If that's okay," he added hastily, seeing Seamus and Maggie exchange some kind of look.

"Hang out?" Maggie asked, sounding uncertain as she slowly said the phrase, as if she was not sure how to pronounce it.

Right, that saying probably wasn't around in 1882, Marty realized. "Visit with you both," he said after a moment of thought.

"Well, I don't see why not," Seamus replied, nodding. He turned to his wife. "Maggie?"

"Aye, that would be fine," she agreed.

No one said anything for a moment. "So, why are you guys coming to America?" Marty finally asked, wishing that he was at least taking notes on this. But he didn't want any of the McFlys to become curious about that.

"Why does any man leave their home to journey to America?" Seamus asked. "We wished for a better life," he added, answering his own question. "Maggie and I married in Ireland, but decided that America offered us a better future, for not only us but our children."

"I decided to come with them," Martin added suddenly, turning away from the sea. "Ireland is my home and I shall always love her, but I want to see new and exciting places. From what stories I have heard, America is the place for that."

"So you guys all are going to America for better lives, more or less," Marty said slowly. He remembered hearing Seamus say something like that to him when they had first met in 1885. "Do you know where in America you want to settle?"

"I am going out west," Martin said, his face suddenly lightening up. "Such tales of adventure I've heard about the west! I cannot wait to see if they are indeed true!"

"I believe that Maggie and I will also head out west," Seamus said after a moment of thought. "We have heard fine things about California from friends. Perhaps we will end up there."

"Where will you be traveling to Marty?" Maggie asked.

He lowered his gaze to the weathered deck of the ship, thinking. "I don't know yet," Marty said finally. "We'll have to see what the future brings."

"Aye, that is the way it always is," Seamus said thoughtfully. He reached out and took Maggie's hand, looking tenderly at her. "But I'm sure that whatever the future brings, the McFlys will be able to survive it."

Marty nodded. Seamus couldn't have been more right.


Chapter Four

Sunday, May 14, 1882
11:25 P.M.

Marty jerked awake, blinking in the darkness. "Relax," he heard someone whisper.

"Doc? Where are you?" he asked after a moment, rubbing his eyes. He had laid down that evening after dinner -- which had been a couple of pieces of bread for him. He wasn't talking any chances -- on the bottom bunk for a moment when Doc was packing the trunk and must have fallen asleep or something.

"Right here." Marty felt Doc touch his left hand.

"What time is it? How long have I been out?" He sat up, careful not to hit his head on the bunk above the one he was in.

"It's almost eleven thirty, time to leave. You've been out since eight," Doc answered. Marty winced as he switched the flashlight he brought on, the light pointed directly into his eyes. "Sorry," he added, lowering the light to the floor.

Marty blinked several times, trying to make the white spots before his eyes go away. After a couple minutes, he was able to see Doc looking at him from the side of the bed.

"Have your eyes adjusted?" he asked.

Marty slowly nodded. He swung his legs over the side and stood up, putting his heavy coat on. Then he sat down again to pull on his socks and boots, still a little damp. "Are we all packed?"

Doc picked the pillow and blanket Marty had been lying on and opened the trunk, placing it inside. "Now we are," he said, closing the trunk and locking it. He turned to Marty. "Are you ready?"

"Give me a minute," he answered, pulling the socks on. "Do you know where we'll be going?"

Doc hesitated. "I have maps, both land and astrological ones, and a compass. That's the best we can do, but from my calculations we should return to Ireland by dawn, with the motor running at maximum speed of forty miles an hour. If there are no problems," he added.

Marty felt the inside of the boots before putting them on his feet. They were still a little wet. "Problems?"

"Weather is the major one, not to mention the currents in the ocean. It will be one of those thing that you will not know the final outcome of it until after it is over."

Marty stood. "I'm ready now," he said, trying not to feel that nervous. His body had either adjusted to the pitch and roll of the ship, or the storm had been to blame; at any rate he didn't feel seasick anymore. He just felt hungry. But who knew what it would be like in a ten passenger rowboat-turned-outboard-motor.

Doc started to bend over to get the trunk, then stopped. "I almost forgot," he said half to himself.

"What?" Marty wondered.

Doc reached into one pocket of his coat and pulled out something tiny, handing it to Marty. "What's this?" Marty asked, looking at the pea-sized blue object.

Doc suddenly looked embarrassed. "Well, remember last night when you were sick and asked me if I had anything to help you?"

Marty nodded, his eyes narrowing. What was Doc leading up to? "Yeah," he said slowly.

"Well, when I was packing this evening I found a couple pills of Dramamine -- they're for prevention of motion sickness," Doc explained. "I thought you might like one, just on the chance we run into any turbulence out there."

Marty looked at him in disbelief. "You had these last night and didn't tell me?" To think off all the times he threw up could have been prevented!

"I didn't remember," Doc insisted, shaking his head. "Anyhow, you might want to take that now. I must warn you though, that they can cause drowsiness."

Marty stuck his hand out for the glass of water Doc had in hand. "I don't care," he said. Doc handed him the water and Marty popped the pill in his mouth, swallowing it quickly. He would rather be tired then nauseous.

It took them a few minutes to get the trunk out of the bunk room. Out on deck it was dark, the only light coming from the stars and a sliver of moon. But there was enough light for Marty to see the small outboard motor Doc had brought was already attached to one of the wooden lifeboats -- a longboat actually, according to Doc. "When did you get the chance to do this?" he asked as they lifted the trunk into the bow of the boat. Doc had wanted it there to balance out the weight of the motor at the stern.

Doc waited until the trunk was wedged securely inside the boat before answering. "Tonight, while you were asleep. There weren't any people around, it was dark, and I took advantage of the opportunity." He nodded to Marty. "You can climb in now."

Marty grabbed onto the ropes that were holding the longboat securely in place and stepped inside, at the front so Doc would be able to work the motor. Doc loosened something and pushed the boat over the side of the ship, so that it was dangling over the water. Marty looked over the side and immediately wished he hadn't. There was at least a twenty foot drop to the water.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to hold completely still to prevent the boat from rocking side to side in the air.

Doc took one of the loose ropes and carefully climbed inside. Marty gripped the sides of the boat hard, hating all the shaking it was doing. It wasn't that he was afraid of heights, it was just that he didn't want to get dumped into the ocean....again!

"This will make it easier to get the longboat in the ocean," Doc answered, letting a little of the rope slide out of his hand. The boat dropped a few inches, along with Marty's heart.

"Just hurry it up!" he said, fear sharpening his voice. Doc dropped the flashlight, still lit, on the floor of the boat, the rays casting strange shadows on everything. Slowly, he inched the rope down. It was about five minutes later when they touched the ocean water. Doc then gave the rope a good yank and the full fifty feet of it fell down from the sky, half of it landing in the ocean. He pulled it into the boat.

"You never know what this could come in handy for," he said, coiling it up. Marty watched the ship drift away on their left, getting swallowed up in the darkness. Suddenly, he felt very alone. Sure, he was with Doc and everything, but they were in the middle of the ocean, miles away from people and land. Marty shivered, wrapping his arms around him. It felt very cold out.

"Which way are we going to go?" he asked, pushing the lonely feeling away. The sooner they started moving, the sooner he would get home. The ocean was very calm tonight, barely rocking the boat that much.

Doc finished rolling the rope up and set it at the wooden bottom of the boat. He pointed in the opposite direction from where the ship had been going. "We should be heading that way, but I'll have to check the maps and compass to be sure." He reached into an inside pocket on his coat, pulling out a couple of current -- current in 1986, that is -- maps and a small compass out. "Will you hold the flashlight for me?" he asked Marty.

Marty picked the light off the floor and aimed it at the maps Doc was opening. Doc was silent for a few minutes as he studied them.

"All right," he said finally. "From what I can see Smerwick -- where the DeLorean is -- is northwest of here. Rough calculations put the distance at perhaps 100 miles. Maybe some more, maybe some less. It's hard to say, especially with last night's storm."

Marty looked up into the clear night sky, at the large expanse of stars glittering above them. "We don't have to worry about that now," he said softly.

Doc didn't appear to hear him. "Now, if the motor is running at full speed," he muttered, examining the map, "we should be going about 40 miles an hour. That means 100 miles should be covered in approximately two and a half hours."

"Why wouldn't we run the motor at full speed?" Marty asked, trying to lean forward and see the maps. He stopped when the boat started to tilt a little.

"If the water is calm like it is now, there won't be a problem with having the motor running at maximum speed," Doc said. "However, if the water starts to become full of swells we have to cut the speed down."

"I hope it stays like this then," Marty said under his breath, looking across the flat water that surrounded them. Not only would they be able to go faster if the ocean stayed calm, but he also wouldn't be feeling sick at all. Sure Doc had give him that pill, but there was always the chance it wouldn't work.

Doc glanced up at the sky, then held a palm up in the air, testing the wind maybe. "We'll have to see," he said slowly.

Doc put the maps away and a couple minutes later started the motor. Marty jumped, not used to the loud noise in the deep silence. He fell back a little, not expecting the jump forward either.

"Wow!" he called to Doc. "This thing can really move!"

Doc smiled. "Well, I may have made a few adjustments to it," he explained.

Marty crawled to the very front of the boat, right behind the chest and kept a tight grip on the wooden sides. He tilted his head back and laughed in the chilly wind, feeling like he was flying! It was completely dark, except for the stars, so they could have been in outer space from the look and feel of it. Marty felt like he was on a roller coaster!

"This is great!" he yelled, the wind whipping the words away from his lips almost before he could hear them. If Doc answered him, he couldn't hear it. He wasn't able to stay like that long before his face grew numb with cold and he had to lower himself behind the chest, as a windbreaker.

"If you're cold, you can get a blanket out of the chest," Doc said looking at him. Marty nodded, his lips too numb to speak. Doc handed him the key and a couple minutes later Marty had one of the heavy quilts wrapped around him. It wasn't giving much protection from the wind, but it was better then nothing.

"How much longer are we going to be out here?" he asked, leaning back against the chest.

Doc checked his watch. "Over two more hours," he said, almost yelling the words. Between the sound of the motor and the wind rushing by, it was hard to hear anything that well.

Marty sighed, starting to feel slightly drowsy. It was after midnight and the excitement of the boat ride had definitely worn off. He snuggled down deeper in the blanket and let his eyes fall shut. A split second later he heard Doc yell something to him.

"What?" he snapped, opening his eyes. Doc shook his head.

"I said, you shouldn't try sleeping now," he repeated. "It would be unadvisable."

"Why?"

"There isn't anything holding you down in the boat. If we were to suddenly hit big waves, there would be a possibility that you could be tossed out."

Marty frowned, feeling grumpy. "So what? I'm tired. I didn't sleep at all last night, or that much tonight for that matter."

Doc was silent for a moment, then sighed. "If you want to try and sleep, then come over here next to me. I want to be able to have a grip on you just in case."

Marty sat up, uncertain. "But won't that throw the boat off balance and flip it over?"

"No, the chest is pretty heavy. It will keep it even, don't worry." Doc stopped the engine suddenly and held a hand out across the boat. "Don't stand up," he cautioned.

Marty put his hand in Doc's and got to his knees. He edged carefully over to the back of the boat, keeping the other hand on the side of the boat, finally reaching the back a couple of minutes later. The boat wobbled a lot, but didn't flip over.

"Go ahead and lean against me if you want," Doc said when he noticed Marty glancing around, trying to find a good place to rest. "In fact, I would prefer that you would, that way if a big wave suddenly sneaks up I can have a good hold on you."

Marty shrugged. It would be better then lying on a hard, damp wooden surface. "All right," he agreed, scooting over a little. Doc had his right hand on the steering mechanism for the motor -- the rudder wasn't it? -- so Marty leaned on his left side, resting his head on Doc's chest.

"Should I move?" he asked, tilting his head back a little to see Doc's face. Doc shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "You just try to sleep now."

Marty pulled the quilt up to his chin, glancing up at the stars for a moment before letting his eyes fall closed. Either it was just from having such little sleep the last couple days, or maybe that pill he took was hitting him hard with the side effect Doc warned him about. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. At any rate, he was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Doc watched the horizon carefully, keeping his eyes open for any sign of waves. So far the last hour had been peaceful and calm, but he noticed that the sky was starting to cloud up and that worried him. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if a storm was to happen when they were in a boat of this size. It wouldn't be good.

Doc took his eyes away from the ocean for a moment to shift his position a little. He never realized how heavy an unconscious 17-year-old could be until now. Doc didn't want to move and wake Marty up or anything, but if he stayed like this much longer, the circulation from the waist down would be cut off. It had been close to an hour since he had last moved. Doc backed up a little, easing his legs out from under Marty. Marty kind of grunted and then rolled over so he was facing the ocean. Doc slowly let out the breath he had been holding when he didn't wake up.

About a half hour later, Doc started to get nervous. The cloud cover was thickening and the wind was starting to pick up. The ocean was starting to get a little rocky, so he cut the speed of the boat in half.

"Marty," he said, shaking his friend firmly. "Wake up, we have trouble."

Marty sat up right away, his eyes wide and glassy. "What is it?" he asked, a note of panic in his voice.

"I think that it might storm," Doc answered. The boat suddenly dropped five feet, then swiftly rose up again on the crest of a wave. Marty paled.

"I feel funny," he mumbled, putting a hand to his head. "Really groggy. How long have I been asleep?"

"Not long, maybe an hour. But the pill I gave you is responsible for the groggy feeling," Doc replied. He pointed to the chest. "There are some rain slickers in there. Get them out so when the waves start crashing into the boat we won't end up drenched." He quickly handed Marty the key. Marty looked blankly at it for almost a minute before finally crawling to the other side of the boat and getting the chest open. After putting the quilt inside and digging around a little Marty pulled the two ponchos out, both bright yellow. He tossed one to Doc, then pulled one over his head.

"What do we do?" he yelled, both hands gripping each side of the boat as he sat with his back against the chest. Luckily, Doc had tied it down securely before they left.

Doc turned the motor completely off. "We hold on tight and wait," he called back, quickly putting his poncho on. The wind started blowing hard across the water. It wasn't raining, but so much water from the waves was blowing around that it could have been. If not for the waterproof flashlight Doc had on, it would have been pitch black out.

"Doc, I don't feel that well," Marty said suddenly, his face ashen. "I don't think that pill is working."

"Try to look at something stationary, like the bottom of the boat," Doc said quickly. "That might help."

Marty shook his head. "No," he moaned, then leaned over the side and threw up. Doc tried not to look, staring at the waves that were pushing them up to the sky one minute and pulling them down the next. It felt like being on some kind of thrill ride at the amusement park, except they didn't get to enjoy the thrill of knowing that they were safe. And the ocean was a lot more rough.

Marty leaned back, grimacing. "When is this going to end?" he yelled.

"I don't know," Doc answered, then gasped as he saw a big wave roll next to them. "Watch out!"

Marty looked back and held tightly onto the side, ducking his head a split second before the wave washed over them. The boat filled with a few inches of water. "Bail!" Doc shouted, taking one hand and flinging some of the water out.

"What?" Marty asked, pushing his dripping bangs out of his eyes.

"Bail!" Doc repeated, frantically trying to get the water out of the boat. He didn't even want to think about what could happen if they started to sink! Marty started to help, but just as they were making progress another wave crashed over them.

"This is insain!" Doc heard Marty yell, scooping handfuls of water out as fast as he could. The water was about half a foot high now and climbing. Doc hoped that their wasn't a leak anywhere that was letting the water in.

Marty stopped for a moment and held completely still. "What is it?" Doc asked, not pausing at all in his job.

"Nothing," Marty said, his voice low. He suddenly hung over the side of the boat and started gagging again. Doc made a face as he continued to bail the water out. Seasickness. He made a note never to bring Marty on another boat trip.

The storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun. One minute the waves were tossing them around and the wind was howling, the next everything grew still and the sky cleared up.

"Are we still alive?" Marty asked in a low voice, coughing. He stopped bailing the water and sat back against the chest, resting his arms on his knees. Both of his feet were braced against the side of the boat, knees bent and sticking up in the air.

"I believe so," Doc replied, also stopping what he was doing. He was shivering and Marty was too. They were both completely soaked. It had been wishful thinking that the ponchos would protect them.

Marty reached up and pushed the hood off his head. "I hope we're almost back to where the DeLorean is," he muttered, running his fingers through his wet hair.

Doc hoped so too. The storm could have pushed them off course. But he didn't mention it to Marty. "I'm sure we are," he said, hoping the words were true.


Chapter Five

Monday, May 15, 1882
5:36 A.M.

They had been drifting for quite a while. Something was wrong with the motor and it had made strange gurgling noises when Doc had tried to start it earlier. It had been hours since the storm. Across from him, Marty was snoring softly. Right after their short conversation about getting back to the DeLorean, he had leaned his head back on top of the chest and passed right out. Marty hadn't even moved a finger since then.

Doc felt too keyed up to sleep, though he was exhausted with all that had gone on that night. Mostly it was the worry of having drifted off course. He had tried to look at the maps again, but the water had ruined them, making the ink run and made them impossible to read. So he kept his eyes on the horizon for any sign of a land mass. The moon had risen late, making his job easier then it had been earlier. And now the sun was starting to come up in the east, right before the bow of the boat. At least they were still going in the right direction, Doc reflected.

A couple of minutes later Doc saw something dark on the horizon in the distance, blocking some sun. He leaned forward, wondering if he was imagining things. But the dark blob grew bigger. Doc almost jumped to his feet he was so excited.

"Land!" he gasped. "We made it!"

Doc quickly grabbed his compass and checked it. They were going a little to the northeast, not dead east like he had first suspected. He squinted at the land mass, suddenly doubtful. It didn't necessarily have to be Ireland he was looking at. It could have been something else. But even if it was, Doc wanted to stop there. He needed to repair the motor, among other things, and he and Marty both needed to dry out. There clothes were still wet.

"Marty!" Doc said urgently, leaning over and shaking him. "Wake up! We're almost to some land!"

"Whaaaa?" Marty mumbled, reaching up and rubbing his still-closed eyes.

"Land," Doc repeated. "We're approaching land."

Marty slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head up, turning to glance at the widening strip of land for a moment. "Great," he yawned, rolling over and curling up, resting his head on his arms. "Wake me up when we get there." He closed his eyes, starting to snore again several minutes later.

Doc reached for one of the wooden ores that was at the bottom of the boat and took it out, starting to paddle to the land. He didn't want to risk missing it. But as he got closer, he was able to see that it was definitely not Ireland. It was an island, but how big he was not sure. Doc paddled closer until he could see the trees and the rocky shore well in the early dawn light. He circled the shore for a while before seeing a small flat stretch of land he could dock on. Doc got the boat close enough, until it started scraping the bottom. Then he got out and pushed it out of the water onto the dry land.

* * *

Marty felt wet. There wasn't a part of him that didn't feel damp and sore. He tried to burrow deeper into sleep, but something wasn't letting him. He finally opened his eyes to see Doc Brown hovering over him.

"What is it?" he groaned, feeling kind of mad. He was so tired. Why couldn't Doc let him sleep?

"We're here, on the island," Doc answered. "Time to get up and explore it."

Marty sat up, rubbing his eyes. Something didn't sound right. "Island?" he repeated, looking around and trying to get his bearings. He was in the boat, which was resting on a small rocky beach. The sun was just breaking over the water, turning everything a rosy golden color. There was no sign of the storm from the night before.

"Yes, somehow the storm knocked us off course and we drifted here," Doc explained, gazing around at the green scenery. He looked down at Marty. "Get out of the boat now, so we can find some shelter. The boat's motor is not working properly and needs to be fixed before we can progress any further."

Marty stood up on wobbly knees, stepping out of the boat. He felt kind of lightheaded, but figured it might have been because he hadn't been on land for a couple days, or maybe from that pill Doc had made him take that didn't work. He still felt really groggy from that. "Which way do we go?" he muttered, trying to ignore how cold, wet, and sore he felt.

Doc pointed up to the trees, on a small rocky hill. "I want to hike up there first."

"Why?" Marty asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied the spot where Doc was pointing.

Doc frowned. "I know this sounds odd, but it looks like their is a house or something up there. I was able to see some logs that were running horizontal, not parallel like trees usually grow. I want to check it out."

"Doc, does it look to you like anyone lives here?" Marty had to ask, a sharp tone to his voice. He didn't want to go hiking through cold wet woods. He wanted a nice comfortable bed to crash in for the next twelve hours.

Doc started to walk up the hill. "You might be surprised," he said over his shoulder. Marty sighed and followed him. At least they weren't in that boat anymore. For the first time in the last couple days he actually felt kind of hungry.

The woods were thick, with no path. Marty swatted back branches and once tripped over something, maybe a log. He fell on the damp pine needles, letting out a muffled cry. Doc stopped and turned around. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh, just perfect," Marty said sarcastically. "This is turning out to be the funnest trip I've ever been on!" He crawled back to his feet and caught back up with Doc. He didn't know where the scientist was going. If not for the bright yellow poncho he still had on, Marty would have lost him for sure.

About ten minutes later Doc let out a cry. "I was right!" Marty heard him say. Marty ducked under a big pine branch, almost bumping his head on it, then gasped. Right before them was a log cabin. It looked rundown, with no windows, moss hanging off the roof, and the door slightly ajar.

"Think anyone lives here?" Marty asked, stifling a yawn. Doc frowned, staring at the cabin intensely.

"I'm not able to tell, but someone has at one time." He stepped up to the door. "Hello? Anyone in there?"

It was quiet except for the sound of birds singing. Doc stepped inside and came back out a moment later. "It's deserted," he reported. "Everything is all dusty and looks untouched. I also saw a handdrawn calender dated March 1878. Whoever lived here hasn't been back for a while."

"Can we stay here?" Marty asked, walking slowly over to the door. Doc nodded.

"I think this will make a fine place to live while we are here. Let's get the trunk up here, then inspect it more thoroughly, make a fire dry off and get some food and rest."

That sounded good to Marty, especially the part about getting next to a warm fire. He quickly followed Doc back down the hill and helped carry the heavy trunk to the cabin. The first thing Marty noticed when he entered it was the damp, musty smell inside. It was dark inside and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting. When they did he saw he was in a 15 foot by 10 foot room made completely from logs. There were two doors, the one behind him and another parallel to that. On the wall to his left was a large stone fireplace, black ash scattered around the hearth. It had started to fall apart, with a couple of the smooth stones lying on the dirt floor. Next to the fireplace was a comfortable looking chair made from animal skins. The chair was also sitting near one of the windows next to the door. On the right side of the room was a double bed, in the far corner, with a small desk next to that with a chair pushed in. Chopped logs were stacked beside that. Doc was right, the room looked all dusty and abandon as if the owner walked out one day and never returned. Above the fireplace were some wooden pegs, which had probably once had a rifle on them.

"Who lived here?" Marty wondered aloud as they set the chest down at the foot of the bed. "A family, someone alone? Where did they go?"

Doc walked over to the desk and picked up a small leather bound book that was resting on top of it. "This is the journal from the person who had lived here, Joseph McDougles. I glanced at the inside cover when I first came in here, but haven't looked at it any further. This probably has some of the answers to your questions. Perhaps once we're settled in we can examine it."

"Wait a minute, how long do you plan on being here?" Marty asked suspiciously, pulling his poncho over his head and letting it drop to the ground.

"I should have chosen better words," Doc corrected himself. "I meant that when we have time we can look at it, but first we need to get this place cleaned up."

Marty nodded, then climbed onto the bed and lay back. He couldn't wait to get some real rest. The bed wasn't too bad, either. It was pretty soft and comf -

Marty heard a loud snapping sound a split second before he felt himself start to fall backwards. His brain hardly had time to comprehend that when he landed with a hard thud on the earthen floor. Marty's eyes widened. He couldn't breathe, in or out!

Doc's face appeared over him, looking worried. "Are you alright?"

Marty stared at him, unable to speak from the wind being knocked out of him. "Uhhhh," he gasped, trying to shake his head. His vision suddenly blurred and for a few awful seconds, Marty thought he might pass out!

Doc stepped inside the bed frame and pushed him into a sitting position. "Just relax," he said calmly. "I should have warned you. The bed was made by stringing ropes across the wooden frame to support the straw mattress and the ropes had rotted through."

Marty took a couple of slow breaths before answering. "Sorry," he whispered, still trying to catch his breath. It had been his own fault.

Doc patted him gently on the back. "Think you can stand up now?"

Marty nodded. Doc helped him to his feet and led him over to the soft chair near the fireplace. "You rest here for a few minutes until you get your breath back," he told him. "I'm going to start a fire, then repair the bed."

Marty nodded again, slumping back in the chair and watching Doc cross the room and take a few logs off the stack next to the desk and bring them over to the fireplace. "How do you plan to start that?" he asked in a low voice, still a little short of air.

Doc piled the wood in the fireplace, then went over to the chest and opened it, taking an cigarette lighter out. He flicked it a few times, checking the flame, then looked around the room. There wasn't much there that would start a fire. Doc looked out the window.

"I suppose we could use paper. I brought a notebook with us in the event you might need to take notes for your homework, but you never asked," Doc said thoughtfully. He went back to the chest and pulled out a 100 page wire bound notebook. Ripping a handful out, Doc went over to the dark fireplace and crumpled them up into tight wads, placing them under and on top of the wood. He flicked the flame up again and touched it to the paper. It caught and started to burn. "There," Doc said a moment later when the wood started to light up, sounding pleased.

Marty got out of the chair and stepped over to the fire, his knees weak. There was a big bearskin rug on the hearth and he sat down on it, letting the warmth soak into his chilled skin. A couple minutes later he glanced back and saw Doc lifting some rope out of the trunk. It looked vaguely familiar, and Marty realized that it had been the same rope that had lowered them from The Mermaid last night. Doc saw him looking at the rope and grinned.

"This is precisely the reason why you should save things that could prove useful later. You never know when exactly you will need it."

Marty watched as Doc used a pocket knife to cut the old, broken ropes out of the bed's frame, then strung the new rope where the old had once been, in a criss-crossing pattern in the open space. When that was completed, Doc stepped out of the frame and nodded to Marty. "Can you help me with this mattress? I need to get all the straw out, since it has also rotted."

Marty stood up reluctantly. The fire was nice and warm and even if it had dried his clothes out a little, it hadn't done it completely yet. "Okay," he said slowly, taking the mattress off the ground and carrying it out the back door. He opened the end up and dumped all the moldy straw out in the woods, then turned it inside out and shook it out for good measure. The sun was above the horizon now, making it look less gloomy outside. Marty brought the empty straw mattress back inside and handed it to Doc.

"What are you going to put in it instead of straw," he asked, yawning. "There isn't any around here."

"I brought four quilts, so I'll just place the thickest one in there," Doc explained, spreading the mattress on the ground. It looked like an oversized pillowcase in Marty's opinion. "We can each have our own quilt, even if we will be sharing the same bed, and the other quilt can be an extra one."

It took Doc about half an hour before he had finished making the bed. By that time Marty was starting to nod off in front of the fire. His clothes were almost all dried and he was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Marty would feel his head start to droop forward as he started to doze off and he would jerk back awake and check how close Doc was to being done yet. Then he would look back into the flames and close his eyes and the whole thing would happen over again!

"I'm done," Doc finally announced. Marty lifted his head up and dragged his eyes open to see Doc standing next to the freshly made bed. Nothing had ever before looked so inviting. He got to his feet and eyed it cautiously as he walked over.

"This won't collapse on me again, will it?" Marty asked weakly, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Doc shook his head.

"It should be fine," he said, then glanced to the open door. "We both need to get some sleep, but I have to run down and make sure the boat is secure. Go ahead, lie down now if you want to."

Marty sat on the right side of the bed and pulled his boots off, not even noticing Doc run out. He shook out one of the folded quilts at the foot of the bed and lay down, curling up with the quilt wrapped tightly around him. He let his eyes slip closed, not even bothered by the sunlight that was streaming through the open windows. He felt like the room was rocking slightly, like a ship, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Marty fell asleep quickly. He had some strange dreams about sailing and his relatives. In one dream, the McFlys found out he was from the future and took him hostage while they got the DeLorean so they could go in the future and make sure that they had a good life in America. It was strange.

When Marty awoke, late afternoon sunlight was slanting though the windows across the floor. He slowly sat up in bed, feeling not quite awake yet. Looking around the cabin, he saw no sign of Doc. That was odd, but he could have been at the shore working on the boat and trying to fix the motor.

"What time is it?" he mumbled aloud, wishing that he hadn't left his watch back in 1986. Or that Doc had brought a clock to set out with him. Maybe he had, but hadn't wanted to set it out on the boat. Marty decided to ask him when he came back from wherever it was he had gone.

In the meantime he needed to find a bathroom, or whatever it was out here. Somehow he had a feeling that there wasn't any indoor plumbing. Marty got out of bed and looked out the three windows in the cabin, but didn't see any sign of Doc out there. He waited a few minutes but Doc still didn't show. Marty sighed, feeling really uncomfortable. He finally decided to leave and use the woods. That was probably what he'd have to do anyway, by the looks of the place.

Marty walked back to the bed and pulled his boots on. After that he went to the backdoor and pulled it open, stepping outside. It was definitely late afternoon, maybe three or four by the looks of it. It actually felt kind of hot out, about upper 70's or so. Much better then on the ship, where it had constantly been cool and damp.

Marty glanced around for a path in the woods, but didn't see any. He gave another sigh. Now he would have to fight all those branches and undergrowth. For a second Marty was tempted to just go in the bushes over there near the backdoor, but then he thought of Doc returning and seeing him like that. His face burned as he pictured that happening, so Marty plunged into the woods, shoving back the foliage. Branches tore at his skin and clothes. Marty had to stop three times to untangle his clothes and hair from the claw-like branches before going less then ten feet. It took him fifteen minutes to get twenty feet.

"Remind me never to go camping," he said under his breath, yanking on his sleave to get it loose from a sharp twig. He wished there were at least paths to use, then he wouldn't have to battle the wilderness like this.

He wasn't even out of sight from the cabin when Marty stopped, tired of fighting the woods. He took a long hard look around him, especially at the back of the cabin. Satisfied that no one was around -- there was always the possibility that the island was not deserted -- Marty quickly unzipped his pants and started to go next to a big bush. He had barely started when he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched. Marty glanced quickly to the right and left, seeing nothing but trees and leaves. He shrugged, blaming it on nerves or not being used to doing this outside.

He had hardly thought that when he heard a rustling noise from behind. Marty's eyes widened and he slowly turned his head. At first he saw nothing. Marty turned his attention back to what he was doing and a minute later finished up. He zipped his pants back up again and turned all the way around. Several feet away from him sat a squirrel, it's large dark eyes on him. That was why he had felt like being watched!

Marty took a few steps toward the small animal, but before he could get that close the squirrel suddenly jumped to life, scurrying along the ground and scrambling up the trunk of a tree in less then a minute. Marty watched him until he had vanished from sight, then returned to the cabin. Doc was there now, sitting in the fur chair and staring into the roaring fire with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Where were you?" Marty asked as soon as he passed through the door. Doc turned around and looked at him, standing up.

"I was at the shore, taking apart the motor in an attempt to discover what is wrong with it," Doc answered, then raised an eyebrow at Marty. "Now where have you been?"

"Just out back," Marty replied, deciding not to go into any details. "I wish that you would have left a note though. I didn't know what was going on when I woke up and there was no one here."

"I didn't think to do that. When I left, you were sleeping so soundly that I was sure I would be back before you got up," Doc said, then paused for a moment. "Then again, I had a couple unforeseen problems with the boat that I had not expected."

Marty sat down on the chest. "Problems?" he asked, frowning. "What kind of problems. We will be able to get back to the DeLorean, won't we?"

Doc hesitated. "Well..."

"Doc! Don't tell me we're stuck here!" Marty exclaimed, imagining spending the rest of his life trapped on an island. For some strange reason, the theme song from the TV show 'Gilligan's Island' started playing in his head.

"Not stuck, but we may be here a week or two," Doc finally said. "The motor is frozen; the storm soaked the inside with water and it has to completely dry out."

"Why would that keep us here two weeks?"

Doc held up his hands. "It's rather damp around here. Clouds are rolling in, even if you can't see it right now. It will take a while to completely dry out, even if I have taken it apart and it's now in pieces."

Marty sighed, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. "Perfect," he muttered. This trip was nothing but a disaster!


Chapter Six

Tuesday, May 16, 1882
10:23 A.M.

Marty rolled over and opened his eyes. He blinked, confused for a moment on where he was. Then it all came back to him. Marty sighed, wondering when they would finally make it back to 1986. What if they had drifted massively off course during that storm and were in England or something? He hoped that Doc knew what he was doing and where they were, exactly.

Marty sat up and looked around the small cabin. He saw no sign of Doc, and from the looks of things, it didn't appear he was in the cabin. He probably was down working on the outboard motor. Marty got out of bed and walked over to one of the glassless windows, looking out. All he saw were trees, wreathed in layers of fog. It looked cold and damp out and if not for the fire in the fireplace, it would have been the same in the cabin.

After straightening up the room and eating some breakfast that Doc had left out for him, Marty picked up the small journal left by the owner and examined it. Sitting down in the chair by the fire, he opened up the cover and looked at the name and date inscribed there. Joseph McDougles, September 7, 1876. Marty flipped through the diary, reading snatches of the journal. From what he saw in skimming, Joseph McDouglas was some kind of pioneer in his mid-thirties who actually owned the island they were on! He trapped animals for both food and other necessities, living off the land. Joseph, according to his journal, was never married and built the cabin in one month, before the first winter started. The journal stopped abruptly on the date of March 10, 1878. In that particular piece, Joseph said that he planned to check some traps he had set two days before. He had then vanished without any trace.

Marty set the journal back on the desk when he was done, checking the time on the small gold watch that Doc had left in the cabin. It was nearly one. Marty put his coat on and opened the door. He might as well try to find Doc and help instead of sitting in the cabin to rot all day.

He had been walking for only five minutes when Marty started to think that he might be lost. He should have hit a crooked stump by now, but there wasn't one. It was so frustrating to be in the woods with no paths!

Marty turned around and started to doubleback, but he hadn't even walked for two minutes before realizing this wasn't the right direction either. Great, he was lost. Things couldn't possibly get any worse, could they?

Marty was about to learn they could. He was pushing back branches, hardly able to see five feet before him with the thick fog, when his foot hooked around something. Not expecting it, he couldn't catch his balance in time and instead of just hitting the ground, like he thought he would, Marty found himself tumbling down a steep embankment. His left foot slammed against a rock at the bottom of the slope. Marty heard a noise that sounded like a branch snapping and he hardly had time to register that when pain exploded in his ankle.

"Oh God," he moaned, cautiously sitting up and looking around. He was at the base of a steep hill. His left foot was partially wedged under the big rock. Marty pulled his leg back, trying to get it his foot free, and almost passed out from the pain. He was stuck!

But that wasn't the worst of it. As Marty glanced to his right he noticed that lying next to him was a skeleton, half sunk in the mud. The empty eye sockets stared at him blankly as Marty drew in a deep breath and screamed for help.

* * *

Doc Brown dropped the wrench he was using when he heard the cry. It wasn't that loud. In fact, it was almost drowned out by the sound of the ocean. But the sound of it send shivers down his spine.

"What on earth is that?" he muttered, cocking his head to one side as he listened. The cry came again, a little softer this time. Doc frowned as he tried to hear what it was. After a few minutes, all he heard was the roar of the ocean. Either it had stopped or grown too soft to hear. Pushing the uneasiness he felt away, Doc picked up the wrench and went back to work.

* * *

Marty didn't know how long he had been shouting before his voice grew too weak. He was also starting to feel kind of woozy and his left foot was throbbing painfully. With another look at the skeleton beside him, Marty braced his right foot against the rock and pushed hard against it, trying to free his foot.

"Owwwwwww!" he yelled, then started to say every swear word he knew as loud as he could. It felt like someone was holding a torch to his ankle, the pain was so great. Letting out a groan as he ran out of words, Marty sunk back on the damp ground, watching the trees and fog spin in a dizzying circle around him.

The next thing he knew it was getting dark out. Blinking a few times in the dusk, Marty wondered what had happened. Had he passed out? Putting a hand to his head, he sat up, realizing that the sharp pain in his ankle had receded to a dull throbbing. His whole foot felt numb. It was then Marty realized what must have happened.

Rolling down that hill, he had been going pretty fast. His foot had hit the rock hard, enough to possibly break it. Marty recalled the sharp snapping sound he had heard when his food hit the boulder and winced -- that sound was the bone cracking!

"Perfect, I'm trapped here for the night with a busted ankle next to a skeleton," Marty mumbled. He leaned over, trying to dig around the soil that helped trap his foot. But before he could get that far, another dizzy spell hit him and he dropped backwards, unconscious, one arm falling across the skeleton's chest.


Chapter Seven

Tuesday, May 16, 1882
9:01 P.M.

Doc Brown stood before the fire, staring into the flames. He had come back to the cabin hours before, but hadn't seen Marty at all since he had left him asleep in the cabin that morning. Doc didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to feel quite nervous. The island was pretty good sized, with thick foliage everywhere and without paths, it would be quite easy to get lost. And if that happened, it would be nearly impossible to locate the person.

Sighing, Doc turned away from the fire and picked up the diary of Joseph McDouglas that had been on the desk. He sat down on the bed and started reading through it, hoping to gather up information on how the island was laid out. He couldn't conduct a good search for Marty until daylight, at least.

The night passed slowly. Doc read the diary though three times before the sun broke over the horizon. He grabbed some rope, food, compass, and a lantern before leaving the cabin. Doc walked slowly, examining the damp ground for footprints and other signs that someone had passed through. After a couple minutes, he realized he could follow the way Marty had gone quite easily. Freshly broken branches and plants were quite visible once he knew what to look for. Doc noticed that Marty had started to go down to the shore, then veered off to the right, probably unintentionally.

"Marty!" Doc called, pausing for a moment as he waited for an answer. None came. Doc continued forward and his foot hooked over something. He stopped and looked down, noticing an old snare trap. A couple feet ahead was a drop. Doc untangled himself from the trap, wondering how old it was, and walked cautiously over to the side. He looked down and gasped.

The drop sloped into a 30 degree hill. At the bottom, a hundred feet away, Doc saw Marty sprawled on the ground. Right beside him was a skeleton. A human skeleton! Doc half ran, half slid down the hill to his friend's side. "Marty," he said again, realizing that he was unconscious.

Doc set his equipment down and quickly examined Marty. His face was the color of the clouds in the sky, an awful pale grey. He was breathing fast, shallow, his pulse weak and racing. Doc was horribly puzzled on what had happened. He didn't see any blood or any other sign of injury. Then he turned around and noticed Marty's left foot. It was wedged under a huge rock and twisted in such a way that Doc knew at once it was broken. There was no doubt about it. All at once a possible scenario formed itself in Doc's head.

Marty must have gone looking for him, lost his way and fallen down the hill. Perhaps he had tripped over the snare trap, which Doc believed to be set by Joseph McDouglas. After all, his diary said he was a trapper. He had a feeling that the skeleton lying beside Marty might be the man's remains.

So Marty had fallen down the hill, hit the rock with the ankle, and become trapped there. All night. Doc suddenly remembered the yell he had thought he heard yesterday afternoon. It was probably Marty calling for help.

Doc shook Marty slightly. "Wake up," he said softly. "Marty, can you hear me? Wake up!"

"Don wanna," he mumbled.

Doc touched his cheek. It was cold and felt clammy. Doc felt himself grow pale when he realized what was wrong. Shock. Marty was in shock. He probably had been since breaking his ankle, which had most likely happened yesterday afternoon...and he had been left outside for almost 24 hours without any treatment!

"Marty, listen to me," Doc said urgently. "You've broken your ankle. We have to get you back to the cabin. You must wake up!"

Marty opened his eyes slowly, halfway. Doc looked straight into them. His pupils were dilated. "Whas goin' on?" he muttered.

Doc turned his attention to Marty's foot, using his hands to start digging in the soil so he could get it free. "You have a broken ankle, I believe, perhaps foot. Don't move while I try to free it."

After a couple minutes of digging, Doc gently took his left foot and gave a small pull to loosen it. He almost jumped out of his skin when from behind him Marty let out a bloodcurdling scream. Doc jerked his hands away and turned around to see Marty staring at him, his eyes wide open, and sitting up.

"That hurts!" he gasped, his face absolutely white. Doc had never seen him that pale, not even when he had had pneumonia several months before in the Middle Ages.

"Lie down," he said sharply, afraid he might faint. "You're in shock. Do you want to make it worse?"

"You're gonna make it worse," Marty snapped, breathing hard. But he lay back down. Doc dug into the mud some more until the whole foot was visible. He took hold of it again.

"Brace yourself," he told Marty. "This may be a little painful."

He gave the foot a good tug and it came free from under the rock. Behind him, Marty moaned in pain. Doc set his foot on the ground and turned to look at him. He didn't look too good. His breathing was way too fast. Doc took a moment to try and remember all he knew about treating shock. One thing was to keep the victim warm. Since he didn't have any blankets with him, Doc whipped off his long coat and covered Marty with it.

"I have managed to get your foot free, but before I can move you I have to immobilize your fracture," Doc said slowly. "Now I know that it will hurt, but it is absolutely necessary."

Marty sat up again. "You got my foot free? Lemme see." Before Doc had a chance to stop him, Marty looked directly at his foot. It was twisted way to the left, lying limply on it's side.

"Marty -" Doc began, but didn't have a chance to finish.

"That's my foot?" he whispered. Marty blanched and his eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the ground, his arm landing mere inches from the skeleton. Doc sighed and shook his head, trying to figure out if he should be relieved or worried that Marty had passed out again.

Doc quickly elevated his right leg by setting it on the rock that had caused all this trouble in the first place. He was supposed to do that with both legs, to get them higher then the victims head, but it wouldn't work in this case. It took Doc ten minutes to quickly construct a split on Marty's ankle with some sturdy branches lying nearby. After that he took some time to carefully examine the hill. It had rained the night before and the water had soaked into the dirt, making the slope slick with mud.

Shaking his head, Doc grabbed the rope off the ground and ran up the hill, looping it around the trunk of a sturdy tree. He tossed the rope back down the hill and then slid back down. Bending over, Doc picked the coat off Marty and carefully picked him up and slowly slung him over his shoulder, keeping one hand on Marty to prevent him from falling. Doc grasped the rope with his other hand and slowly pulled the both of them up the hill. It took nearly twenty minutes. Once at the top, Doc took a look down the hill, at the skeleton, and shook his head again. Right now he had to worry about the living, not the dead. He'd make sure before leaving, though, to bury Jonathan McDouglas.

Marty opened his eyes and blinked a couple times. After a moment his surroundings came into focus and he realized he was lying on a bed, stretched out flat on his back. Both his feet were propped up on some pillows. His left one felt strange, almost numb except for a constant throbbing pain, mostly in his ankle. Marty lifted his head up off the blankets -- for some reason he didn't have a pillow -- and took a closer look at it. Someone had taken his boots off, and the sock too on his left foot. Long thin sticks with an ace bandage wrapped around them was in it's place.

Marty let his head fall back and softly whimpered as something brushed against his foot. His eyes darted over and saw Doc standing there, staring down at him.

"I'm glad you're awake," he said. "How do you feel?"

Marty didn't say anything as Doc reached for his wrist and took his pulse. "Kinda funny," he mumbled. "My foot hurts. Is it broken?"

Doc looked into Marty's eyes as he dropped his wrist. "Yes," he said shortly. "And I fear that you are still in shock. Tell me exactly how you feel."

"Cold," Marty said after a moment, his words coming out slurred. Why wouldn't his lips form the words right? "Strange. Lightheaded. Weird. And thirsty. Can I have somethin' to drink?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," Doc said with a frown. "Do you remember anything about getting to the bottom of the hill?"

Closing his eyes, Marty concentrated as hard as he could. It was hard. His foot hurt a lot and he just felt kind of spacey. His mind couldn't stay on one thing for more then a minute before it slipped away. "Don't know," he told Doc, opening his eyes. "I fell, tripped. Hit the rock and broke my foot."

Doc's frown deepened and he turned and walked over to the window and looked out. It was already starting to get dark out. Marty stared at him, the dancing flames from the fireplace making him look older somehow. "We have to get you to a hospital. You have to get treatment for your shock and have your foot set in a cast. I certainly can't do that."

"Then why doncha get the boat fixed so we can get to the DeLorean?" Marty asked, coughing suddenly. His throat was so dry! "Can I please something to eat and drink?" he added in a weak voice.

Doc looked away from the window. "I need to put the motor back together, a task made difficult by the fact that I don't think it is safe for me to leave you alone all day." He paused. "And I don't think I should give you anything to eat or drink."

"Why not? I haven't had anything since I left the cabin to try and find you. I'm hungry." Marty looked at Doc pleadingly. Maybe that was why he felt so weird. He was just hungry.

"No," Doc said again.

Marty's foot gave him a sudden sharp pain and he let out a moan. Doc must have misinterpreted it, since he suddenly went to the trunk and pulled out some bread and a bottle of water. "Here," he said with a sigh, reluctantly handing it to Marty.

Marty started to sit up, but Doc shook his head and quickly grabbed a couple quilts from the trunk, sliding them under his head and back until he was in a kind of half sitting position. "Eat slowly," he cautioned as Marty took a big bite of the bread.

Marty nodded through his mouthful and chewed slowly and carefully. The last thing he needed now was to choke. A couple minutes later he had finished off the food. Doc was watching him with a somewhat wary look.

"Why didn't you want me to eat anything?" Marty asked when he was done, twisting the cap back on the plastic bottle before setting it beside him on the bed.

Doc looked like he was thinking hard. "I've read that when a person is in shock you are not supposed to give them anything to eat or drink."

"Did it say why not?"

Doc shook his head.

Ten minutes later Marty found out why not. He was lying on the bed, trying hard to ignore the throbbing of his foot, when suddenly the same feeling he had come down with on the ocean flashed over him. Marty didn't even have time to give Doc any warning when he suddenly leaned over to the left and lost all the food over the side of the bed and onto the floor. Doc was nice enough not to say 'I told you so' while cleaning up the mess.

"Sorry," Marty whispered twenty minutes later, when Doc had gotten everything wiped up. "Didn't mean to do that."

Doc looked into his eyes and took his pulse again. "I know you didn't. But now we know that you shouldn't be eating or drinking anything."

Marty nodded slowly, biting his lower lip. His ankle hurt so bad. "Fix the motor soon," he added, clenching a handful of the bedding in his fist.

"I'll try my best," Doc promised, looking worried nonetheless.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Doc had managed to put the motor back together and get everything packed up to leave. The outboard motor worked now, thank goodness. That was one good thing on their side. And while Marty was quieter then usual, he didn't seem to be getting any worse. He was definitely in pain, though. His face was pale and had tight lines etched around his mouth that weren't normally there. Marty hadn't slept at all the night before, Doc knew. He had spent most of it moaning from his broken ankle, but Doc didn't have anything -- not even aspirin -- that he could give him to help. Next time, he would plan for every conceivable problem and bring a drugstore with him.

"Well, everything seems to be ready," Doc told Marty, who sat on the shore with a couple heavy blankets wrapped around him. It had taken nearly an hour to move him from the cabin, as opposed to a normal ten minute walk.

Marty looked up from where he had been staring into the damp sand. "That's good," he sighed. "Can we go now? My foot really hurts!"

Doc scanned the shore, then turned to look in the longboat. The trunk was loaded and secured, everything seemed to be ready. The cabin was empty and locked up. Early that morning, he had hiked back down that hill where the skeleton was and buried it where it laid, marking the grave with a simple stone. Everything that needed to be done had been.

"Yes, I supposed that we can leave now. But..." Doc stopped and frowned at the sky. As usual, it was another cool, damp, overcast day. The clouds were darker today though, more sinister looking then usual. "I don't like the look of the weather."

"Doc!" Marty pleaded. "You know where we are. Let's get back to Ireland so we can get the DeLorean and go back to the future. You said yourself, I should get to a hospital."

Doc looked up at the sky again and nodded. "You're right." He helped Marty to his feet and over to the boat. Marty leaned heavily on Doc as they walked, keeping his left foot off the ground. Once he was in the boat, Doc spent five minutes trying to get him in a comfortable position, and keep his foot elevated at the same time.

"You really think it'll storm?" Marty asked as Doc pushed the boat off the shore and into the vast ocean.

"It could. But I don't think you will have to worry about getting seasick, since you haven't eaten anything for two days."

Marty nodded and pulled the heavy blankets tighter around him as they drifted into deeper waters. Doc waited until they were well into the water before starting the motor. It sputtered, then caught and the boat lunged forward.

It didn't take too long before they found their way back to Ireland. Neither of them spoke that much. Doc was worrying to himself about the increasing wind and dark clouds. By the time they touched shore again, rain was starting to fall and he could hear thunder. Doc handed Marty one of the paddles to use as a crutch and helped him up to the DeLorean, still undisturbed in the barn.

"I can't believe I've gone through all this hell, just for a school assignment," Marty said as he climbed carefully into the car as Doc pushed the trunk into the backseat.

"Well, sometimes life can hand us the unexpected," he answered as he leaned out of the car and looked out of the barn. "I really don't like the looks of the weather."

Marty peered through the windshield. "It's just a little storm. Come on, let's go!"

Doc finally got into the car and turned the key. He flipped the time circuits on and drove out of the building. "Can you put in the destination time?"

Marty nodded, letting out a slight gasp as his foot bumped against the side of the door. "What was the day?"

"January 24, 1986, time about nine fifteen PM." The DeLorean rose higher in the sky. Doc's eyes darted around the sky, searching it for any lightning. They had the thunder, and that meant the lightning had to be around here somewhere.

"Yeah, got it." Doc saw out of the corner of his eye Marty push the location in. Then he laughed, although it sounded forced.

"I must not be thinking straight. I put in the name of the mall for the city." Doc turned, distracted, to look at him as he reached out to fix that. The next moment was a blur. There was a sudden bright flash from outside, then an enormous boom.

Great Scott! Doc realized then. They had been hit with lightning!


Chapter Eight

Friday, January 24, 1986
9:15 P.M.
Lone Pine, California

There was a blinding flash of light, then blackness. Marty saw all of this a split second before he felt himself -- or rather the DeLorean -- fall. He screamed and dug his hands into the sides of the seat. He was going to die, falling in this black void The DeLorean would hit the ground, the water, and they would drown and -

Suddenly, they jerked to a stop. The seatbelt pulled Marty back in his seat and he clamped his mouth shut. He heard a fumbling in the darkness beside him and suddenly saw a light go on. Doc peered at him, his face pale in the dim flashlight's glow.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, one hand on the switch that controlled the flying circuits. He looked pretty shaken up, but not as much as Marty was.

"De -- define all right," he stuttered, his whole body trembling. "Wha -- what happened?"

Doc moved the flashlight beam over the controls, then to the outside. "We were struck by lighting," he said slowly. "It transported us to the place and time that was on the time display."

Marty looked at the digital display. It was dark, no red numbers and letters glowing back at him. "It's not on. What does that mean? And why did we fall?"

Doc handed Marty the flashlight and looked outside again. "One question at a time, please. I'm just as stunned with this as you are. Now first, what did the time display say?"

"I put in the date, January 24, 1986, and the time, nine fifteen, PM," Marty said carefully, his broken ankle forgotten. "Then, for some reason, I was thinking about the Lone Pine mall at Hill Valley and put in Lone Pine, California instead of Hill Valley. I was about to fix it when the lighting struck." He paused. "Is there a Lone Pine, California? Is that where we are?"

"I don't know." Doc sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Right now we're suspended at least ten feet off the ground. The reason we were falling is the hover conversion short-circuited. I stopped us before we hit the ground with the emergency break."

Marty leaned over and looked out the window on his side of the car. Yeah, he saw the ground below them. It was white, like it was covered with snow! "Is that snow?"

Doc looked. "I suppose it is. I never noticed it." He was silent for a moment. "Marty, can you reach under your seat and hand me the box that is there? I think I have a current California map there."

Marty nodded and leaned over, his fingers feeling around for it. After a moment they came into contact with the cardboard and he pulled it out.

"Wow," he said when he had opened it. "This is normal stuff in here. Cassette tapes, road maps...." Marty handed the California map to Doc as he looked over the tape selections.

"Well, we do spend the majority of our time in the 1980's," Doc answered as he unfolder the map and tried to see it in the darkness. All of the lights in the DeLorean were out.

Marty held up a couple tapes. "Yeah, I actually know who these people are. I didn't know that you had the 'Escape' album by Journey, or Huey Lewis."

"Clara likes those groups, although I never pay much attention to the music myself," Doc answered, his eyes on the map.

"Hey, one of those is my favorite groups!" Marty cried. "Remember?"

Doc looked up. "Sorry, my mistake." He pointed to a place on the map, shining the flashlight on it. "There is a Lone Pine, California. It's about two hundred and thirty miles south of Hill Valley, in the Sierra-Nevada Mountain Range. We're almost at the highest point in the state, according to the map. That would explain the snow."

Marty leaned over to look, his foot giving him a jolt of pain as he did so. He sucked in a breath and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Doc, how do we get down from here? My foot is killing me."

Doc suddenly seemed to remember why they were hanging in the air in the first place. "How could I have forgotten about that!" He slowly eased the emergency break back and the car began to descend. Marty gripped the sides of the seat again, holding his breath as the car dropped lower and lower to the ground...then set it's wheels on the icy road.

"Is there a hospital in Lone Pine?" he asked as Doc started the car again and checked a compass that was resting on the dashboard of the DeLorean.

"There should be. The town is on the map, and all towns have some kind of doctor."

He started to drive the car along the winding, narrow road. A few minutes later they reached the town. Doc drove slowly and carefully, half from all the snow and ice on the ground, and half from studying both the map and the street signs. Marty tried to distract himself by looking out the window, but it didn't help much. All he could see was darkness and snow covered buildings. The pain was still there and seemed to be making up for the brief amount of time where it had seemed to stop, immediately after the lightning strike.

"Are we almost to the hospital?" he groaned, wishing that the car wasn't skidding as much as it was. Every little bump and jolt was murder on his foot. At least it wasn't snowing.

Doc was leaning forward, close to the windshield. "The sign up ahead says a mile. We should be there soon, don't worry."

Marty tried to do that. It was ten minutes later when they finally came upon the white covered building that was the hospital. Doc drove around to the back, where the emergency room was, and parked far from the entrance. Marty wondered why he didn't just drop him off.

"Before we can go in there, we have to do one more thing," Doc said, reaching to the backseat.

"What's that?" Marty asked wearily.

Doc pulled out a small case. "Change clothes. We can't show up in there like this."

Marty realized only then they were still dressed in the clothes from 1882. It was quite obvious and he wondered why he didn't notice it earlier. "Will we have to get out of the car for that?"

"Of course. But don't worry," Doc added hastily when he saw the frown on Marty's face. "You can stay seated."

Doc opened the door and told Marty to do the same on his side. Cold air rushed into the car. It had to be at least ten degrees out. Marty shivered and watched the inventor round the front of the car and stand before the open passenger door.

"I have this set for this year but have switched the country to Canada, since otherwise we would not be dressed warmly enough for this weather." He aimed the camera at Marty and pressed the shutter. A bright flash lit the night up, and when things cleared, Marty looked down and saw he was dressed in jeans, a grey college sweatshirt from UCLA, and a turquoise colored down jacket.

Doc handed the camera to Marty and he quickly snapped another shot. Doc was wearing the same outfit that he had on during the whole sports almanac thing a couple months before -- the brown pants, train shirt and long black coat.

"Are we gonna drive up to the entrance now?" Marty asked as Doc put the camera away.

He shook his head. "No, if I park there, the DeLorean will attract too many stares and attention. It's better back here, away from most people."

Doc shut the door on his side, locking it securely before pulling Marty to his feet and doing the same on that side. Marty slipped once in the two hundred foot walk to the hospital, and almost passed out when his left foot tried to catch his balance. It was so painful!

"Why are all the time controls in the DeLorean off?" he asked suddenly, remembering that Doc had not answered the question yet.

"Don't you remember what happened to the time machine the last time it was struck by lighting? The time circuits were overloaded, which means they aren't going to work again until I have the chance to repair them. It was lucky that we got to the correct time, even if we are two hundred miles off our mark."

Automatic doors opened for them when they reached the emergency room. "Are we driving all the way back to Hill Valley from here?"

Doc nodded. "There is no other way. I just wish that I had some chains or studded tires for the DeLorean. I never thought to get them, seeing that our part of California does not get snow that often, if ever. If we had the hover conversion it would be easier, but the lightning destroyed that too."

A nurse approached them before they could discuss the matter any further. "May I help you?" she asked, glancing down at the temporary split still on Marty's left ankle.

Doc suddenly turned business-like. "Yes. My friend hurt his ankle this afternoon falling down a hill and we think it might be broken."

The nurse told Marty to sit down on one of the nearby benches and knelt down to take a look at it. "Yes, I can see definite swelling and bruises here." She looked up at Marty. "Does it hurt?"

He nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah!"

The blond nurse straightened up. "I'll send a doctor to see to you right away. In the meantime, wait here and stay seated." She walked briskly across the bustling room and vanished behind some curtains.

Marty leaned back against the wall and looked at Doc. "It's busier then I thought it would be."

"Emergency rooms usually are," he said, gazing out the window. "Do you remember when we took you to one when you were sick with pneumonia?"

"Eh," Marty said, tilting his head to one side. "Sort of, not really." He stopped, suddenly remembering something. "I think I saw myself there. I had something wrong with one of my ankles." Marty chuckled at the irony of it, even though he didn't feel like laughing.

Doc whirled around and stared at him, his eyes wide. "You saw what?"

Marty opened his mouth to explain, but before he could an older woman came over. She was wearing a white coat and had a stethoscope around her neck. "I'm Dr. Parker," she said before pulling up a stool and sitting beside Marty's feet. "You suspect that your left ankle is fractured?"

"Uh, yeah." Marty watched the doctor carefully as she bent over his foot. She gently touched it in a few places and Marty kept his teeth clenched together to keep from crying out.

"Yes, it appears to be," she said after a moment, looking up at Marty, then at Doc. "I think that we should take some X-rays immediately."

Doc nodded and Dr. Parker left for a moment to make arrangements. "Are you nervous?" he asked Marty, sitting beside him on the bench.

Marty shrugged. "Not really. I'm glad we're here." He paused. "Am I still in shock?" He didn't feel as weird as he had earlier, but on the other hand, he also didn't feel completely back to normal.

Doc studied him for a moment. "You're not as bad as you were earlier, but your face is still pale."

A nurse returned then, with a wheelchair. She helped Marty into it, then wheeled him away to the back, behind the curtains. Before he knew it, he was being put on a stretcher and getting an IV placed in his arm.

"It's to prevent you from going into shock," a different nurse explained when Marty asked. Another one came up, this one with a needle in her hand.

"What's that for?" Marty demanded, feeling a little intimidated by it's length.

The nurse let him stare at it for a moment before she answered. "It's just a local anesthetic, something that will help you from feeling any pain when we set your ankle. It may cause you to feel a little drowsy."

He looked away as she steered the needle to his arm and winced as she slid it in, injecting the clear liquid that had been in the syringe.

A couple minutes later they were wheeling him down the hall to the X-ray room. Marty watched the lights on the ceiling rush by from on his back and wondered how Doc was doing.

* * *

Doc Brown sat in the waiting area of the emergency room and watched the people rush by. He was glad that they were in the present and Marty was being taken care of, but getting from Lone Pine to Hill Valley was not going to be easy. He had brought the map inside the hospital to study while Marty was getting fixed up and any way he looked at it, the drive would take over four and a half hours to make. Probably more, since the roads were so icy and dangerous.

Doc stood up and walked over to a pay phone, deciding that he better call Clara and tell her what was going on. He put in several quarters, since the call was long distance, and dialed his number. After a couple rings, Clara picked up the phone.

"Hello, Brown residents," she said.

"Clara," Doc greeted her with. "It's me, Emmett."

There was a pause. "Emmett?" she asked, sounding worried. "Where are you? Is anything wrong?"

"Well, it's a long story. Marty and I are fine -- except that he may have a broken leg. And the DeLorean's time circuits and hover conversion need to be repaired."

Clara let out a gasp. "You weren't in an accident, were you?"

"Not exactly," Doc said, trying to figure out how to condense a few days into a few sentences. "We were struck by lighting in 1882 and it brought us here."

"Where is 'here'?"

"Lone Pine, California. It's about two hundred and thirty miles south of Hill Valley, in the Sierra-Nevada mountains." Doc saw someone approach him from the back, probably needing to use the phone. He lowered his voice. "It's covered with snow and ice up here, so it may take all night to drive back."

"Would you like me to bring the train out there and pick you both up?" Clara asked, obviously concerned.

"No, that won't be necessary. We can just drive back. But I would appreciate it if you could call Marty's parents and give them some kind of excuse on why he won't be home tonight. I don't want them to worry and him to get in trouble."

"Did you say he broke his leg?"

"Broken ankle, actually. It's a long story. I better go," he added.

Clara sighed. "Be careful driving home."

"Don't worry," Doc replied before hanging up. He turned around and let out a startled gasp. Standing behind him was Jennifer Parker, Marty's girlfriend! Her mouth dropped open as she looked at Doc. Apparently she was just as surprised to see him as he was to her.

"Dr. Brown?" she asked uncertainly. "What are you doing here?"

"Long story," he said again. "I should ask you the same question."

"I came out with my parents to see my aunt. She's a doctor here, in the emergency room."

"Dr. Parker?" Doc asked, realizing something. "She is your aunt?"

Jennifer frowned. "Yes. Why, do you know her?"

"I just met her," Doc said with a sigh. "Marty and I happened to drop into this town. He broke his ankle, that's why we're here."

Jennifer gasped. "When did that happen?"

"A couple days ago. It's a long story."

"What are you both doing in Lone Pine?" she wondered. "It's a five hour drive from Hill Valley."

Doc waved away the questions. "We just kind of dropped in. It wasn't planned."

"Excuse me," someone interrupted. He turned and saw Dr. Parker hovering nearby.

"Yes?" both Doc and Jennifer said at the same time. The doctor smiled at her niece.

"Dear, I have to speak to this man privately. Would you wait over there?"

Jennifer shook her head. "Aunt Grace, this is a friend of Marty, my boyfriend, who's in the emergency room right now. I'm not leaving!"

Dr. Parker looked at Doc. "Is it true?"

He nodded. Dr. Parker reluctantly gave her permission to Jennifer before she spoke. "Well, Marty definitely has a broken ankle. The X-rays showed a simple fracture. We've set it in a cast, and he should be able to get it off in about two months, providing that everything heals properly and their are no complications."

"Can we leave the hospital tonight?" Doc asked.

The doctor gave a quick nod. "Of course. We gave him a shot to make him more comfortable when we set his leg, so he may be a little groggy. I also gave him a bottle of some Norgesic -- those are some painkillers specifically designed for skeletal disorders -- for him to take if he is in any pain. It usually happens the first couple days. I will warn you, as I did him, that they cause drowsiness, so he should be sure not to take them if he is doing anything that would hinder his judgement, such as driving."

Doc nodded again at Dr. Parker's words. Well, it wouldn't be a problem with him driving because of the broken ankle. "Where is he?"

"Right this way." Dr. Parker led them back to one of the curtain cubicals and pulled the material back. Marty was sitting on a stretcher, his left ankle encased in white plaster and lying on a pillow. A pair of crutches were propped against the side of the stretcher. He looked up as they filed inside, his eyes widening when he caught side of Jennifer.

"Jennifer!" he cried. "What are you doing here?" Marty started to swing his legs over the side of the stretcher, but Dr. Parker pressed a firm hand on his chest.

"Whoa," she said sternly. "Not so fast."

Jennifer stepped beside the stretcher and took Marty's hand. "This is my aunt," she explained, looking at the doctor. "My parents and I drove out here this afternoon to visit her. Remember, I left school early?"

Marty gave a slow nod. Doc noticed his eyes were glassy, probably from that shot earlier. "Do you think you could come back with us to Hill Valley?"

"Marty," Doc warned. "It would be a tight squeeze."

"I don't care," he said, his eyes on his girlfriend.

"I'm sure it would be fine with my parents." Jennifer hesitated and looked at Doc. He waved his hands again.

"Go ahead," he sighed. "But five hours is a long time to share the same seat."

Dr. Parker gave a few final instructions before helping Marty down and handing him his crutches. As Jennifer ran off to phone her parents, Marty went to one of the drinking fountains and swallowed one of the pills the doctor had give him. He was already complaining of pain, and they hadn't even left the building yet.

Jennifer returned a few minutes later with the permission needed and they exited the hospital into the cold, icy night.


Chapter Nine

Friday, January 24, 1986
10:16 P.M.

Before Doc allowed Marty and Jennifer to get in the DeLorean, he slipped inside and flipped a few switches under the dashboard. All the lights inside came back on, except for the digital time display. That remained dark.

Jennifer Parker wasn't too sure what to make of the DeLorean. It was true that she knew about it's being a time machine, but she didn't know much. Marty had told her just enough to convince her that everything she had seen and experienced a few months ago was real. Jennifer didn't know Doc that well, either. He was more Marty's friend then hers. She wondered briefly if coming home early with the two of them would be a mistake, especially since the inside of the car was so crowded.

As if he could read her mind, Marty suddenly asked, "Do you really want to come with us? If you want to stay here and visit your aunt, I'd understand." He shifted uncomfortable on the crutches the hospital had give him as they waited for Doc to let them in the car. It was pretty slick out -- the roads were coated with at least six inches of snow and ice. Jennifer hoped that he wouldn't slip. Marty already had one broken ankle.

She smiled at him, though it felt somewhat forced. "Don't be silly. I want to come back with you guys." Jennifer made a face. "Anyway, Aunt Grace always gets called out on some emergency, so I never see her."

Doc leaned across the passenger seat and opened up the door for them. Jennifer got in first and Marty stowed his crutches on top of a trunk in the back before squeezing in next to her. Jennifer was careful not to let her legs bump against his cast, though it wasn't easy.

"Is everyone in?" Doc asked, starting the car. Without waiting for an answer, he added, "Would you both like to get something to eat before we leave the town?"

Marty looked at Jennifer. "Do you?"

She had grabbed a quick bite in the hospital cafeteria, but the food there was horrible. Jennifer shrugged, not caring one way or the other.

"Yeah, I guess," Marty said. "Can I eat now, without getting sick?"

Doc Brown gave a quick nod. "Unless you get carsick," he said, his eyes not leaving the road. A few flurries were beginning to fall.

"No, don't worry about that," Marty answered with a yawn. "Long car rides don't bug me in the least."

"Jennifer," Doc began, still staring outside, "is there a fast food franchise nearby?"

"Yes, there's a McDonalds right before you get on the highway to Hill Valley. We could stop there. They have a drive through so we wouldn't even have to leave the car."

"That sounds good." Doc turned the car onto the freeway. Their weren't many cars out that time of night, which was good. The DeLorean was skidding all across the road. Jennifer slid her eyes over to Marty, wondering if he was as nervous as she was with the slippery road. He appeared unconcerned about the ice rink conditions outside, leaning to the side with his forehead resting against the window and his chin propped in hand as he stared blankly out the window. Jennifer noticed he looked exhausted. Even in the low lighting she could see the haggard look his face had. She wondered if that was why he didn't seem worried about the weather.

Doc drove slowly down the nearly deserted highway. The flurries soon turned to regular snow and started falling harder. Jennifer leaned forward, squinting as she tried to see out the windshield herself. It wasn't easy. The snowflakes were now heavy, fat, and were trying to stick on the glass, which was beginning to fog up. Doc switched on the windshield wipers and the defroster and slowed down to a crawl.

"How long do you think that it will take to get home?" Marty asked suddenly, breaking the heavy silence.

"At the rate we're going, maybe well into tomorrow afternoon," Doc muttered. He took his eyes away from the road for a moment to look at Jennifer. "How long did it take your parents to drive up here?"

Jennifer thought about that for a minute. "About half a day. We left at noon and got to Lone Pine at six." She paused. "How did you both end up here?"

"I wasn't thinking," Marty sighed, glancing at her. "I accidentally put in Lone Pine for the location where we were supposed to go, and before I could fix it we were struck by lightning."

Jennifer sucked in a breath. "Are you all right?"

"We're both fine," Doc answered. "The time machine needs a few repairs, however."

"Where were you?" Jennifer asked, taking a look outside. The snow was coming down so think it was difficult to see past ten feet.

"Ireland. Actually," Marty corrected himself, "we were on a ship that left Ireland, then we were on an island near it. But the DeLorean was left in Smerwick, which was in Ireland."

Jennifer nodded, as if she understood. She didn't exactly understand what Marty was saying, but she got the gist of it. "Why did you go there?"

"Homework," Marty answered. He yawned again and shook his head a bit, as if trying to clear it.

"It's a long story," Doc repeated, taking a look at Marty. "How are you feeling?"

"Kind of sleepy," he sighed. "Maybe that pill I took is kicking in; my foot is starting to feel a little better."

As Jennifer leaned forward to see outside, she noticed a few cassette tapes on the dashboard. She picked them up for a closer look. "Oooo, you have Journey?" she said. "Can we listen to that?"

"Whatever you wish," Doc said, taking a hand off the steering wheel long enough to point to the stereo above the digital time display. Jennifer took the cassette out of it's case and slid it into the tape deck. A minute later Steve Perry came on, singing about a small town girl.

The car grew quite, except for the sound of the cassette tape playing and the wind that was howling outside. Doc was hunched over the steering wheel, frowning hard in concentration as he stared out at the snow quickly becoming a storm. Maybe even a blizzard. Jennifer too kept her eyes peeled out the window, watching the headlights cut through the white wall of falling flakes. After a few minutes she glanced over at Marty. He was in the same position as he was early, except now his eyes were closed and his hand had slipped from under his chin to the side of his face. She smiled, thinking how cute he looked like that.

Suddenly, the car stopped, breaking the somewhat peaceful atmosphere. Jennifer pitched forward and her arm shot out and braced against the dashboard. Doc swore under his breath before turning to look at her.

"It's a traffic jam," he said, shaking his head. "Their must be an accident up ahead."

Jennifer took her hand off the dash, noticing the long train of lights ahead, hardly visible in the blowing snow. Marty, also disturbed by the abrupt stop, lifted his head up and blinked quizzically at Jennifer. He didn't look like he was fully awake. A moment later he leaned back and let his head fall on Jennifer's shoulder. She hardly noticed, too worried about the traffic jam.

"How long do you think it will last?" she asked Doc. The DeLorean eased forward a few inches. Doc shook his head as he turned to look at her.

"Who knows? It could be fifteen minutes or fifty. I think this snow is growing worse, too." Doc shifted his eyes on Marty, who had let his eyes slide closed again. "Is he asleep?"

Jennifer looked down at his face, inches from hers. She lifted up her left hand and touched his cheek. Marty mumbled something at her touch and his head fell forward to her chest. "I think so," Jennifer said softly.

Doc turned back to the road. "I'm glad. He hasn't had much sleep the last few days, with his broken ankle. You can get some rest too, if you want. It's going to be a long drive."

Jennifer shook her head. She felt wide awake. "No, I'm fine."

The traffic crept forward. Sure enough, an accident was what had been slowing everything down. Once they got past that it was a short distance to the McDonalds by the highway. The fast food place was nearly deserted when they pulled into the drive through. A bored sounding woman took their orders of burgers, fries, and soft drinks and they were through in a few minutes. The woman who had given them their food gave the DeLorean a real strange look, which Doc ignored as he took the bags from her hands.

Doc stopped the car in the empty parking lot, cutting the engine but leaving everything else on. The smell of the food was making Jennifer realize that she was starving. "Should I wake up Marty?" she asked as Doc started to unpack the bags.

He nodded, handing her a burger and fries. "If you can. The medication he has ingested tonight may keep him out no matter what we do."

Jennifer nudged her boyfriend. "Marty? Marty, wake up," she called softly. "It's time to eat."

He didn't move. Jennifer shook him harder. "Wake up!"

Marty sighed, his eyelashes fluttering but staying shut. Jennifer jabbed him hard in the ribs with her elbow and he grunted. "Wake up, it's time to eat!"

"Not hungry," he murmured without opening his eyes.

Doc looked at him. "Marty, you haven't eaten in a couple days. How can you not be hungry."

Marty finally opened his eyes and stared at Doc. He seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes focused. "I just wanna sleep," he whispered. "I don't care about eating."

Doc held out a bag of the food to him. "Just eat something and I promise that when you are done you can get some more sleep."

Marty reluctantly sat up and took the bag from Doc's hand. Without a word, he opened it, pulled out the hamburger, and started to eat.

* * *

By the time all the food had been consumed, snow had completely coated the windshield, despite the windshield wipers frantically working to prevent that. Doc had to step out of the car and scrape it off before they were ready to go again. Before leaving the town of Lone Pine, Doc was careful to check the gas gauge and make sure they had enough to last a while.

"Did you know that Lone Pine is right next to an indian reservation?" Jennifer said suddenly. Marty, his head back on the headrest and an arm around her shoulders, looked at her with as much interest as he could muster.

"Really?" he asked, sounding unbelievably weary to Doc.

"Yeah. Up ahead there's another town called Big Pine, which also has an indian reservation nearby."

"Fascinating," Marty yawned. He looked past Jennifer to Doc. "What time should we be back in Hill Valley?"

"I'm hoping by dawn. It's after eleven now." Doc paused. "I hope this weather doesn't grow worse."

"Do you want the radio on to listen for a weather report?" Jennifer asked, her hand reaching for the stereo.

"No, no, we couldn't pick anything up anyway. Not with this storm." He looked at Marty, starting to nod off. "Are you both warm enough?"

"I'm fine," Marty answered drowsily, his eyes closed. "This coat you picked out is great."

"The heater seems to be working fine," Jennifer added.

A silence descended in the car, broken only by the soft music from Journey playing in the stereo. Doc kept his eyes focused on the road, concentrating hard on keeping the car from skidding off the road. He was driving at about thirty-five miles an hour even if the speed limit in the mountains was fifty-five. It would take even longer to get home then, but he didn't care. Better to get home late then get in an accident.

"The wind seems to be picking up," Jennifer said softly, a few minutes later. Beside her, Marty was starting to snore.

Doc nodded. "I hope this isn't a blizzard we're driving into," he said. "I never thought to put snow tires or bring chains in the DeLorean until now, but you can be sure I will next time."

"Why not? Didn't you ever expect to drive in the snow?"

"Not for long distances. I never intended to drive the DeLorean for long distances at all, although it is perfectly capable of doing so."

"Is that because it's a time machine?" Jennifer asked tentatively.

"That's most of it," Doc admitted. "But there is also the reason that a DeLorean does not hold that many people. It seats two comfortably, about five uncomfortably."

Jennifer gave a nod and shifted her weight a bit. "I see your point on that. We should be hitting the next town, Independence, soon," she added.

It was less then five minutes later when they started to see buildings through the blowing white. Jennifer spotted the sign: Independence, Two Miles.

"How many towns do we stop at before we reach Hill Valley?" Doc asked as they drove through the deserted street. No wonder. It was near midnight and a snowstorm outside!

Jennifer shrugged. "I never counted. But most of them are pretty small."

It didn't take long to drive though Independence. An hour passed, during which they passed though several other small towns. The cassette tape ran out and Jennifer stuck in the one by Huey Lewis. Marty continued to sleep, oblivious to the storm. Doc thought they were making good time, despite the weather, but then they hit a long mountain road.

It was after midnight. The road was almost pure ice, with just a dusting of snow to hide it. Doc was taking a turn at about thirty miles an hour, when the front left wheel of the DeLorean skidded. He instinctively braked, which was one thing you weren't supposed to do. The DeLorean spun into a small ditch at the side of the road. It happened so fast, Doc didn't know what to do.

"What happened?" Jennifer gasped when they had come to a stop. The back of the car was in the ditch and they were now sitting at a 45 degree angle with the headlights aimed at the sky.

Doc took a few shaky breaths before answering. His heart was racing, even if the danger was past. "The car slid on a patch of ice."

Jennifer sat up, glancing to her side. "I don't believe it!" she cried.

"What?" Doc asked worriedly. "Were you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," she said. "I just can't believe that Marty slept though this!"

Doc leaned forward and looked around Jennifer. Sure enough, Marty was still lying in his seat, sound asleep.

"Their must be some strong sedatives in the painkillers he was given," Doc said. He turned around and opened the door cautiously, stepping out of the car. The motor had stopped when they had gone into the ditch. A minute later Jennifer crawled over the seats and joined him. Doc climbed out of the ditch and stared at the front of the car for a long moment.

"Are we going to be able to get this out?" Doc jumped at the sound of another voice and saw Jennifer beside him, hugging her arms for warmth.

"I don't know," he said with a long sigh. "I supposed we could push it out, but..." Doc shrugged, then ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" Jennifer asked, looking worried.

He sighed again and shook his head, staring at the car. "Everything. The correct question should be -- What hasn't gone wrong? Ever since we left 1986, nothing but disasters have happened. Marty was seasick on the ship. When we tried to doubleback to Ireland we were in a storm and stranded on a abandon island for a couple days. Marty broke his ankle there and went into shock. We were struck by lighting." Doc sighed again. "And now this."

Jennifer was quiet for a minute. She looked at the windshield, now covered with snow. "Wow, I guess you have had a string of bad luck. But look at it this way -- at least no one was hurt in the accident just now."

Doc looked at her and managed a smile. "Yes, I supposed that we should be happy for that." He looked up at the sky. "It seems that the storm is beginning to lessen."

Jennifer nodded and followed him as he slipped behind the wheel and shut the door. He rolled down the window. "I'm going to see if I can drive this out of the ditch. If not...well, let's hope that this works."

Doc turned the key and told Jennifer to stand back. The car started immediately and he floored the gas pedal. Doc felt the back wheels spinning and he groaned. He was about to give up, when suddenly the wheels caught and the DeLorean shot forward, out of the ditch and across the empty roadway.

Jennifer reached the car a minute later, slipping and sliding as she ran. "See," she gasped. "Your luck can't be that bad if you were able to get the DeLorean out that easily!"

Doc grinned at her and leaned across Marty, snoring peacefully away, carefully opening the door. Jennifer slid inside, edging Marty over as she did that, so she was now sitting beside the door. He didn't seem to mind.

"I think the snow is stopping," she said as Doc started forward again, shaking the flakes from her hair. "And we're almost to the halfway point to Hill Valley!"

"Let's hope that the worst is over," Doc agreed.


Chapter Ten

Saturday, January 25, 1986
4:21A.M.

Doc Brown pulled the DeLorean into the Parker driveway and watched Jennifer get out. She looked tired, having been up the entire drive, but she smiled anyway.

"I enjoyed the drive, despite the storm," she said, to him, then glanced down at Marty. He was still out. "Can you tell Marty to call me later today, when he wakes up?"

"Of course," Doc said. Jennifer nodded and shut the door, waving good-bye as she went up her porch steps. Doc watched her get in the house before heading to his place. It was too late to drop Marty off, with his family home and all, not to mention that they had to figure out how to explain his broken ankle.

Clara must have been up and looking out a window -- she ran out of the house as soon as Doc pulled into the driveway, wearing her nightgown and bathrobe. He had barely got out of the car when she nearly knocked him over with a hug. "Emmett, you've had me worried sick!" she cried. I thought for sure that you'd be home before now!"

Doc hugged her back. "We had a few unforeseen problems," he explained. "Did you call the McFlys like I asked?"

She nodded. "I explained that Marty was busy helping you with a new invention and it might take all night. They seemed to understand that." Clara looked around for the first time. "Where is he?"

Doc pointed to the car. "He drifted off to sleep before we even left the town. It's probably all the painkillers they gave him. But we better wake him up now."

Doc walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door. They had left the snow and cold a hundred miles behind. It was now a nice, warm 40 degrees. Warm compared to the mountains. All the snow that had piled up on the DeLorean had melted over the last leg of the drive, leaving it a little wet, nothing more.

Marty was slumped in the seat, his head falling so far forward that his chin was nearly touching his chest. Doc leaned inside and gently patted his face. He hoped that and the cool night air would revive him. The inside of the car was still pretty warm from the heater. "Marty, come on, time to get up. You've slept long enough."

He turned his head away from Doc, not roused by the calls. Doc looked at Clara, standing behind him and shook his head. He tried again.

"Marty? Time to get up. Come on, wake up." Doc gave him a good shake and, for the first time in several hours, his eyes finally opened.

"Doc?" he muttered, a vaguely confused expression on his face. The painkillers, Doc realized, had not yet worn off.

Doc helped him sit up and reached behind the seat for his crutches. "We're back in Hill Valley, at my house. We need to figure out what to tell your parents about your foot before you can go home."

Marty gave a slow nod. Doc handed him his crutches and pulled him to his feet. Marty wobbled unsteadily for a moment before he appeared to catch his balance. Clara held the door open for him as Doc walked behind him to make sure he wouldn't fall. They entered the living room and Marty hopped over to the couch and sat down.

Doc held the remote control out to him. "Clara and I need to discuss something, so if you'd like to you can watch some TV while you wait."

Marty looked at the remote blankly as he shrugged out of his coat. "What time is it?"

Doc checked an old grandfather clock across the room. "After four thirty. I'm sure that there is something on. How is your ankle?"

"It's a little sore." Marty took the remote from his hand and clicked the TV on. Doc watched him a moment before turning around and joining Clara in the kitchen.

"Okay," he said to her a moment later. "We need to figure out a story to tell everyone about Marty's ankle. Telling the truth in this situation is absolutely off limits."

"What is the truth?" Clara asked. "You never told me."

It took Doc nearly ten minutes to give her a quick version on the entire trip, from when they left to when they returned to the Brown house. Clara shook her head as he finished the story. "Amazing that all this happened in a few hours."

"Yes and no," Doc said. "It may have been a few hours to you, but it was several days for Marty and I."

Clara glanced behind Doc into the living room. An old black and white movie was playing on the TV. "So we need an explanation on how Marty broke his ankle?"

He nodded. "It has to be believable and most of all we need a reason why his parents weren't called when he was brought to the hospital. They usually do that."

The room grew silent as they both thought, murmurings from the TV the only sound heard. At last Clara spoke.

"You could have Marty call his house now and tell his parents that early this morning you both need to go to the mountains to test a new invention and then later in the morning, while there, he slipped and fell." She titled her head to the side. "Then you drove him to the nearest hospital and you didn't call because by the time they would have gotten there, Marty would be ready to leave anyway."

Doc rolled the idea around in his head for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds good. We better tell Marty now, so he can make the phone call. He can stay here until about noon when we could take him home and explain the story to his family."

Clara followed Doc into the living room. He approached the couch from behind, then looked at Clara and sighed when he rounded the side of it. Marty was curled up in a corner of it, resting his head on his left arm lying across the left arm of the couch. He had dropped off to sleep again and this time, Doc didn't have either the energy or heart to wake him. He plucked the remote from Marty's right hand and turned the TV off. Next, Doc took the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him.

"Clara," he whispered as he reached for a pillow from a nearby chair. "Can you turn off the lamp beside him?"

"Oh, of course," she answered, reaching over and clicking off the light that was right next to Marty's head. Doc gently slipped the pillow under his head and arm. Marty's eyes flickered open for one brief second.

"Ssshhhhh," Doc murmured, patting him on the arm. "Go ahead, sleep now."

His eyes closed again and Marty let out a long sigh that turned into a yawn halfway, nestling deeper under the blanket.

Doc took Clara's hand and led her to the kitchen again. "We have to do one more thing," he said. "Since Marty can't make the phone call, I will."

"But what are you going to say?" Clara asked with a frown.

Doc picked up the receive and started to dial. "Don't worry, I'm going to give a stretched version of the truth."

The phone was picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" someone asked. Doc recognized the voice of Lorraine, Marty's mother.

"Hello, Mrs. McFly? This is Doc Brown."

"Oh, hello Dr. Brown," she said, sounding like she had just woken up. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no," he answered smoothly. "I just wanted to call and explain that Marty's been helping me out on a new project all night. We were almost done with it when he took a break to watch some TV and fell asleep on the couch. He can just stay the rest of the night here."

"Okay," Lorraine said slowly.

"Well, I'll let you go now. I just thought you might want to know, so you wouldn't think that something horrible happened to him."

"Um, thank you."

"Oh," Doc said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Would it be okay if I took Marty with me up to the mountains tomorrow morning? I would really appreciate his help with the tests I'll be conducting up there."

"All right," Lorraine agreed.

"Thanks. Good-bye," he added.

"Good-bye."

Doc hung up and turned to look at Clara. "Now that everything is settled, I'm going to bed. I've been driving all night through a blizzard, and I'm exhausted."

Clara turned the light off in the kitchen and they went upstairs together.


Chapter Eleven

Saturday, January 25, 1986
9:48 A.M.

The first thing Marty heard that morning was a door slamming shut. "Hello, I'm home!" a voice shouted. He heard something drop to the ground, then footsteps running. They came closer. Then....

"Hey Marty, what are you doing here?" Marty winced -- they had spoken right in his ear. He cracked his eyes open and saw Verne staring at him.

"Trying to get some sleep," he muttered, pulling the blanket over his head. Marty started to roll over, then froze. His left foot felt strange, heavier then usual. Marty lifted the blanket up and saw that it was encased in a plaster cast. A dull pain throbbed in his ankle. He remembered everything then...more or less. The drive from Lone Pine to Hill Valley was a big blank spot in his mind.

"Hey, cool, crutches!" Verne cried, catching sight of them lying on the floor beside the couch. "Can I try them?"

"Be my guest," Marty mumbled, facing the back of the couch. His eyes slid closed again and he dozed off. The sound of a phone ringing jarred him awake, just as he heard the door open and slam shut again. This time it was Jules who yelled.

"Mother, Father! Hey," he said his voice growing closer. He must have entered the living room. "Where did you get those?"

The telephone gave another ring. More running footsteps. They went right past the couch where Marty was crashed and into the kitchen. "Hello?" he heard Clara ask breathlessly, picking it up.

"I got the crutches from Marty," Verne explained to his brother.

"You can't even use them," Jules said. "You're too short."

A dog started barking from the outside. The crutches crashed to the ground and Marty winced again. If they broke, he would be in big trouble. He felt a faint breeze as someone ran past him and then heard the door in the kitchen creak open. The dog barks grew much louder and Clara had to raise her voice to be heard on the phone.

"Verne," she finally said. "Can you please take Einstein in the other room? I can hardly hear Mary on the phone."

"Okay."

Marty burrowed deeper under the blanket and pulled the pillow over his head to shut out the noise. The house had gone from mild to wild in less then ten minutes! He wondered if it was like this every Saturday morning.

A couple minutes later, Marty was just start to drift off again when something large and furry jumped on him. His eyes popped open in surprise and he gasped, sitting up. Doc's sheepdog Einstein stared at him for a moment before starting to lick his face.

"Hey, quit it," he cried, leaning back. Unfortunately, he leaned a little too far back and lost his balance, falling to the carpet below. His left foot fell to earth with a thud and Marty gasped with pain.

Jules and Verne had both left the room, but Clara heard the noise and poked her head inside the room, still on the phone. "Einstein!" she reprimanded the dog, still licking Marty as he was sprawled on the ground. She turned back to the phone when the dog didn't stop. "I've got to go, Mary. It's a madhouse here."

Clara quickly hung up and rushed to Marty's side, pushing Einstein away. He noticed that she was still wearing a nightgown with a bathrobe thrown over it. "Are you okay, Marty? How's you ankle?"

He groaned. "It hurts. I probably re-broke it or something." He was trying to make a joke, but Clara didn't laugh.

"Did the hospital give you anything to take if it hurt?" she asked.

Marty nodded. "Yeah, some pills." He pointed to the down jacket he had worn last night, now lying on the couch next to the pillow. "I stuck the bottle in one of the pockets in the coat."

Clara helped him back on the couch, then picked up the jacket and pulled the bottle out of the pocket. "Here," she said, opening the bottle and handing him one. "I'll get you a glass of water to take with it and that should help your foot."

She rushed back to the kitchen. It had finally quieted down, Jules and Verne now upstairs. Even Einstein had left the room. Clara returned a moment later with a large glass of water in hand. "Where's Doc?" he asked her as she handed the drink to him.

Clara glanced up at the ceiling. "Emmett is still in bed. I'm sure that he will be up soon, since he need to explain to you the story that we are going to tell your parents about your ankle." She bent over and picked up Marty's crutches where Verne had dropped them in the middle of the floor and leaned them against the couch.

Marty had just swallowed the pill when Doc entered the room. He had changed clothes since the night before and looked tired. "Marty," he said. "How is your ankle?"

It was the identical question that Clara had asked a few minutes before. "Einstein knocked me off the couch and my ankle hit the ground pretty hard. It hurts, but I just took one of the pills the doctor gave me last night so it should be better soon."

Doc sat beside him on the couch. "Those really knocked you out last night. You should have taken some tylenol or aspirin instead."

Marty shrugged. "The way I see it, if I want to take a nap today, I can. There's no school."

"Ah, speaking of school," Doc began, "don't you have to write that essay this weekend about your great-great-grandparents? Isn't that due on Monday?"

"Oh wow, I almost forgot about it," Marty said, shaking his head. "So much has happened since we left that ship I haven't even thought about it."

"Well, you better start. That was the whole reason for the trip. Now," he continued, "I need to tell you what Clara and I discussed last night -- the story on how you broke your ankle as your parents will hear."

Marty checked the time. "When do I get to go home?" he asked. It was already after ten thirty. "Soon, I promise. Listen carefully, because this is what you will tell your parents -- and probably everyone else who asks -- what happened to your ankle." Doc paused to make sure that he had Marty's attention. He nodded for him to go on.

"Last night, after you fell asleep on the couch, I called your parents to say that you had spent the night helping me out with a new project. Then I explained that you had taken a break to watch some TV and dozed off and I was letting you spend the night here -- and that did happen, in a way. While making the phone call, I also asked your mother if I could borrow you for the morning for some tests that I wanted to conduct up in the mountains."

"We aren't really going up the mountains now, are we?" Marty asked uncertainly.

Doc shook his head. "Of course not. That is just a cover. While we are supposedly up in the mountains, you trip, break your ankle, and I take you to the nearest hospital. Then I drive you home, explaining to your parents the reason why they weren't telephoned was because of the distance to the hospital; by the time they would have reached it you would have been on your way home. Got it?"

Marty hesitated. "I think so."

"Good. Are you ready to go now?"

"I guess," Marty answered, thrown a little off guard from the question. He grabbed the crutches and pushed himself up. He still wasn't exactly sure how to use them, but Marty supposed that he would have plenty of time to learn. The doctors had told him to expect wearing the cast for the next two months.

Doc drove him home not in the DeLorean, but in the big van that he had brought the DeLorean in to the parking lot way back in October, when the time travel first began. As they pulled into Marty's driveway, he could see his mother watching them from the window. She looked horrified when she saw Doc helping him out of the van with his crutches and broken ankle. She was out of the front door before he had gone two steps.

"What happened?" she demanded, looking between Marty and Doc as she waited for an explanation.

"Well," Marty started, wondering if he was going to have to tell her everything. Doc broke in.

"It's quite a story. We were up in the mountains this morning, like I told you earlier, and Marty tripped and broke his ankle. I rushed him to the nearest hospital, but that is one hundred miles away from Hill Valley. That is why no one called you, since by the time you would have reached the hospital, we would have already been on our way home."

Marty's mother nodded -- she appeared to buy it. "Well, that's okay. Accidents happen." She took Marty's arm and looked at Doc. "Thank you for bringing him home."

"It was no problem." Doc climbed back into the van and waved good-bye to Marty before driving off. Marty knew he had a long project before him, repairing the DeLorean's time circuits and hover conversion.

His mother asked him about a million questions once they were in the house. How did his ankle feel? How long was the cast to stay on? Did the hospital charge them for the visit? Did he have to fill out some forms? Marty didn't even know the answers to half of them, and told her as much. He promised he would call Doc later before going into his room to start working on the essay. He wanted to get it over with and done when his memories were still fresh.

Marty had penned about half a page when he realized how much he was yawning. It was those damned pills again, he thought. The next few sentences he tried to write came out jumbled. Marty knew that if he was going to go any further, he had to rest. Setting the pen down, he lay his head down on the desk for a few minutes and closed his eyes.

* * *

Someone knocked on his door. Marty jumped, startled, and lifted his head up from where it had been resting on his arms. It had gotten darker out. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It read 5:32PM. Nearly the whole day had passed!

The knock came again. "Marty?" he heard Jennifer ask from the other side of the door.

"Come in," he said, clearing his throat. Marty glanced at his bed longingly. He felt so groggy all he wanted to do was sleep until tomorrow morning. But then he'd only have a couple hours to do the paper. He and his band had a date to practice tomorrow afternoon.

Jennifer opened the door and stepped inside. "Your mother said that you were in your room, studying. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Marty shook his head. "No, I was just trying to do this essay on my great-great-grandparents coming to America for Franklin's class." He looked at the paper. "It was going pretty well, until I fell asleep. I tell you, those pills the hospital gave me are lethal. They knock you right out."

Jennifer sat down on the edge of his bed, across from him, and looked at his cast. "How is your ankle? Is it feeling any better?"

Marty shrugged. "I don't know, I think it's still under the affects of the medicine. I know I am." He yawned and leaned back in the chair as he looked at Jennifer.

"Is that paper the reason you went back in time?" she asked.

"Ssssshhhhh!" Marty hissed, throwing a worried look at his door. Luckily, it was closed. "Do you want my parents to know?"

Jennifer blushed. "Sorry."

Marty answered her question. "Yeah, this stupid paper is the whole reason for the trip." He shook his head. "I should have just dug through information at the library. It would have been a whole lot painless, that's for sure."

"Yeah," Jennifer added with a smile. "I never heard of anyone breaking an ankle in the library."

Marty grinned back at her. It felt nice to have her in on the secret of time travel. Of course, she had known since October, but they had never really spoken about it. He pushed himself out of the chair and onto the bed beside Jennifer.

"I'm glad that I'm back," he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her.

Jennifer pulled him closer. "So am I," she whispered.


Chapter Twelve

Monday, January 27, 1986
3:23 P.M.

Marty entered Doc Brown's lab without knocking, nearly dropping the papers in his hand when he opened the door. The crutches were really awkward to use. They had been fun the first day back at school, with all the attention, but by now Marty was already counting the hours until he got to stuff them in the back of his closet.

Doc was in the DeLorean, leaning over the insides of the time display. The cover was screwed off and lying on the passenger seat. He looked up as Mary came into the room and climbed out of the car. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Marty sat down on a stool and waved the papers in the air as he leaned the crutches against the side of the table. "I got an A. Mr. Franklin said my paper captured the essence and feeling that pioneers felt back then. The way he spoke, you'd think that everyone in the class but me flunked."

Doc nodded his head, looking pleased. He took a rag from his pocket and wiped the grease from his hands off on it. "I'm glad to see that some good came out of the trip."

"Me too." He hesitated before saying the next words. "I'm also glad that you and Jennifer got to spend some time together and talk. It's kind of weird, but even if she's known about time travel since October, it's only now that we are really talking about it. It's nice."

Doc took the papers from Marty's hand and glanced that them. "Well, her finding out was not exactly my doing. You were the one who told her when you came back from 1885."

Marty shrugged. "Yeah, but she had figured it out anyway. I just had to reassure her that she wasn't going crazy." He looked at the time machine, jacked up with all four tires off the ground. "Are the repairs going okay?"

"Yes. There's a little more reconstruction work then their was in the original DeLorean, because this time machine can travel through space, not just time. But I suspect that by the end of the week, I'll have it in perfect working order."

Marty check his watch. "I gotta go now. Jen and I are going to the movies this afternoon. I just wanted to stop by and give you the good news."

Doc handed him back the essay. "Have fun."

Marty picked up his crutches and made his way to the door. Before leaving, he turned and took another look at the time machine. "Next time I want to do this for a school assignment, don't let me," he said to Doc.

Doc smiled and picked up a wrench. "I'll see what I can do." His face grew serious as he turned to face Marty again. "I don't want you to travel through time until your ankle is better," he said. "Promise me."

"Don't worry about that," Marty said, looking down at his crutches. "I promise that the next time I time travel it will be after this damn cast is off. 'Cause I know one thing that always happens on these trips is the unexpected and the last thing I need is to be chased by, like, a bear or something while on crutches."

Doc looked at him and shook his head again. "It's strange how you always seem to get hurt or ill on these trips. At least the last few."

"Well, I promise you, it won't happen next time," Marty said. "I'll be so careful that I won't even get a scratch on me."

Doc turned back to the car. "I hope so."

Marty stared at him for a moment, then spun around and headed for his truck, parked a few feet away. He had a date to get to.


Copyright 1994 - 2002