He was hot, he was tired, he was thirsty; overall, he wasn't really having a great time. Wondering how the rest of his group was fairing, Marty glanced behind him at Doc driving their wagon. Clara walked beside it, talking with him and not put off that her husband wasn't looking at her as she spoke. They were sandwiched somewhere in the middle of the train.

Just when Marty was about to break his vow of not complaining and ask the scientist when the hell they'd be able to take a break, the wagons in the front slowed, then stopped altogether. "What happened?" Marty asked, looking up to Doc for the answer.

Doc shrugged. "Could be pretty much anything," he said, craning his neck a little in an attempt to see past the vehicles before them.

An explanation was offered a moment later, when Tim Phipps strode into a field off to the right. "We'll be takin' an hour's break for lunch now," he called. "Then we'll resume the travelin'."

Once he had finished his announcement, there was a flurry of motion as people left their wagons for the welcome shade of the trees near a brook at the far end of the field. Marty headed back to the wagon and found Doc passing the picnic basket down to Clara.

"What do we have to eat?" he asked, his mouth dry from the dust and heat in the air. For April, it was pretty warm out.

Clara smiled at Marty as her husband jumped down from the buckboard seat. Marty thought she looked a little too cheerful for someone who was supposed to be on the same time schedule as him. After all it was, like, 6 or 7 A.M. to their internal clocks. "Fresh bread, apples, and chocolate chip cookies."

"What's there to drink?"

Doc pointed to the barrel strapped to the back of the wagon. "Water. There isn't much else that can keep without refrigeration."

Sounds sorta bland, Marty thought, keeping his mouth shut. Well, what else did he expect? Four course meals? Ice cream and soda? This was like camping, only a little more primitive.

After gathering a few more supplies, they headed for the welcoming shade of one of the trees near the brook. Clara spread out a blanket from the wagon on the grass before allowing them to settle down with the food. Despite the blandness of the meal, Marty wasted no time in eating what was provided, having been running on empty for a couple hours already. When he had finished his share of the food, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree and listened to Doc and Clara discuss the rationing of the food, too tired to really join in the conversation.

It didn't take long for his mind and eyes to wander elsewhere, to take his first real look at some of the other members of their train. One of the first he noticed was a young dark-haired girl across the field, perhaps because she was staring right at him. She looked as if she was close to his age, perhaps a little younger. Fifteen or sixteen, tops. The girl was pretty, with a heart-shaped face, dark eyes, and brown hair piled into a bun. She sat across from an older man who -- even from the back -- seemed faintly familiar.

When she caught Marty looking at her, the girl's cheeks reddened and she promptly shifted her eyes away. Marty studied her another moment before he looked away himself, uncomfortable for a reason he couldn't quite figure out. Not with the girl so much; there was just something weird about the guy she was sitting across from....

"Marty?"

Marty blinked, trying to shift his thoughts away from the matter. He was probably just being paranoid, the feeling in a head that was already tired and stressed. The matter dismissed, he turned to see what Doc wanted. "Yeah?"

Doc looked at him with some concern. "How are you doing? You've been awfully quiet."

"I'm fine. Just tired." He looked at the wagons stopped along the worn trail. "How far have we gone?"

"About seven miles. I'd think we'll cover about ten or twelve more, if we stop for camp at six."

Marty rubbed his already aching eyes. "Perfect."

"Why don't you lie down and rest a little in the wagon?" Clara suggested, putting away the napkins and containers that had held the food back in the basket. "We have over half an hour left before we leave."

"Maybe I'll do that." Marty's gaze drifted back to the girl. She was watching at him again, in quick, nervous glances. "Hey, Doc, do you know who that girl over there is?" He tilted his head in her direction. "She's been watching me for a few minutes now."

Doc studied her for a minute through narrowed eyes. "I don't believe so. But," he added, lowering his voice, "that man sitting across from her... he seems more familiar."

"Yeah, I thought so, too!" Marty was both surprised and pleased that Doc had noticed as well. He examined the guy from the back. Broad shoulders, dirty blond hair cut rather unevenly and rather messy at that -- it wasn't much to go on. But something was definitely familiar about him and Marty was glad that it wasn't all in his head. "I wish he'd turn around."

"I'm sure we'll get a better look at him later," Doc said,

"Yeah, probably." He stifled a yawn and got to his feet. "I'll be in the wagon if you need me."

"You'll feel better once you lie down for a while," Clara predicted. "This trip is rather exerting." She handed him the picnic basket. "Will you take this back with you?"

"Sure."

Marty headed back to their wagon at a leisurely pace, slowing swinging the picnic basket back and forth. He was wondering if this day was going to be any example of the entire trip and was thinking if that was the case he might as well have stayed home and bore the midterms, when a soft, unfamiliar voice spoke from behind.

"Hello."

Dragged rather abruptly from his thoughts, Marty half jumped and spun around, nearly dropping the basket. The girl who had been watching him skipped a step back, clearly skittish. When both had caught their breath, she started to apologise. "I'm sorry I scared you. I figured you heard me comin' up...."

"Don't worry about it," Marty said. He waited a moment, silence falling between them, wondering what she wanted. "Uh, is there something I could help you with...."

The girl blinked, her cheeks flushing a bit. "I'm sorry if I'm botherin' you," she said. "I just thought I'd say hello, since we'll be sharin' this trip."

"Ah. Well, hello, then...." He continued forward to the wagon. She followed at his side.

"I was watchin' you earlier. Is that your ma and pa you're travelin' with?"

Marty almost laughed, stopping himself with only a smile that he carefully turned away from the girl's eyes. The Doc and Clara my parents?! "No, they're my... my aunt and uncle. My parents live far, far away." In another time.

"Oh. I'm travelin' with just my pa. My ma died a few months ago, and he thinks movin' West will do us some good."

"Maybe so. Sorry about your mom."

The girl cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment, her expression rather confused. "She was sick a good spell," she said softly. "I think my pa might've driven her to the grave. He's a hard man."

Marty glanced behind him, trying to spot the man that she had been seated before earlier. He didn't see anyone that struck him with that same bolt of familiarity. "Lame," he said, turning back around. He halted at their wagon, sliding the picnic basket into the back, then turned back to the girl, standing a few feet away, looking as if she was waiting. When she didn't say anything more, Marty tried to think of a polite way to get her to go away. "Well, it was nice meeting you...."

The girl nodded. "You, too...." She allowed her voice to trail off, waiting for a name. But Marty hardly noticed the prompt, boosting himself up into the wagon. After a moment, the girl turned and headed back to the groups in the field. Marty watched her retreat for a minute, then stretched himself out on the floor of the wagon as best he could around the assortment of supplies. Using a sack of flour as a makeshaft pillow, it took him a couple minutes, tops, before he fell asleep, despite the hard floor underneath him.

He woke up to things shaking and clattering around him. The first thought that ran through his head, before he had even opened his eyes, was one that made his mouth go dry and his body go cold all over: Earthquake! He dragged his eyes open with a gasp, sitting up and nearly slamming his head right into a swinging metal skillet. He ducked it, just in time, remembering then where they were and what was going on. Hunching down a little, to avoid the swaying cookware, Marty turned to the front of the wagon and saw Doc and Clara both seated on the buckboard seat. He cleared his rather dry throat.

"How long've we been going?" he asked, reaching up to rub his head. Even if he hadn't gotten beaned, it was still rather achy.

"About twenty minutes," Doc said without turning around. "I didn't think you'd be able to sleep through all the movement, but Clara thought we might as well let you try...."

Marty tilted his neck to the side, trying to get a rather nasty kink out of it. "Oh well," he said with a half sigh. "Guess I'll get out and walk, since it's so damned bumpy back here."

"All right. Be careful jumping out."

"Sure."

Marty crawled to the back of the wagon and jumped carefully to the ground. The movement wasn't as smooth nor as flawless as he had wished, though; perhaps dulled by the brief nap, his reflexes were a little off. He staggard forward, trying to compensate for his momentum and not fall flat on his face. He succeeded, barely, but was almost run over by the oxen behind their wagon.

"Hey, runt! Watch where yer goin'!"

The voice, snapped out at him by the driver, was rather... familiar. Marty felt his stomach twist most unpleasantly and goosebumps popped out all over his skin. It couldn't be who he thought it was... could it?

"Boy, you deaf? Move it!"

Marty closed his eyes a moment, then turned his face up to look at the driver. The man scowled at him, a flushed, round face framed by jaggedly cut, dark blond hair. The blue eyes were narrowed, clearly angry, and the man wore a scraggly mustache that looked almost like something that should've belonged on a walrus. It took Marty just one look to realize why the man had sounded so familiar, and looked so familiar from the back, during lunch.

There could be no doubt that he was somehow related to Biff Tannen.

While he gawked, the potential Tannen relative gave him a rather hostile look. "Get outta the way!" he snapped. "Or do ya want to be run over?"

Shaking his head once, more in an attempt to clear it than in an answer to the man's question, Marty stepped over to the side of the road to allow the wagon to continue forward. This Tannen glared at him as he brought the whip down on his animals, his eyes following him for a long moment before he turned his attention to driving. Marty let out a deep breath, then nearly choked on it when he saw the girl who had been watching him earlier sitting on the back of the wagon. She gave him a shy smile and wave. Marty was reeling too much to return a similar gesture. He took a step back and stumbled over something, nearly falling again.

"Damn," he muttered, looking back to see what he had run into. It looked like a big rock, but there were carvings in it. He leaned down for a closer look and was able to make out a worn inscription.

It took him a moment to realize that the stone marked a grave, which he was also standing on. He stepped aside, quickly, and shivered a little. It hadn't really occurred to him before that traveling along the Oregon Train was real dangerous.

"Are you all right, Marty?" Clara asked from behind him. He turned, surprised to see her there. "Emmett wanted me to make sure nothing had happened when you jumped out of the wagon," she explained as if she had read his mind. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"No, I'm fine. I just tripped a little." He nodded to the grave. "I didn't know there were people actually buried like this along the trail."

Clara nodded. "It's sad, isn't it?" she asked, glancing down at the grave. "It wasn't terribly uncommon, though." She sighed. "That child was only twelve. And to die in an unfamiliar environment, so far from home...." She shook her head, then changed the subject. "We'd better keep up with Emmett. We wouldn't want to be left behind."

Marty followed her as she started walking back toward their wagon, now a couple vehicles ahead. "Are there lots of graves along the trail?" he asked, not quite rid of the morbid curiosity.

"Well, yes, I believe so. But we shouldn't see as many as the others in this train might. They grow more numerous the further the train goes, since the traveling gets to be more of a challenge, and we should be gone by then."

When Marty and Clara had caught back up with Doc, Marty wasted little time in climbing up onto the buckboard seat and telling the scientist his believed discovery of the identity of what looked to be both the man they had seen earlier from the back, and the girl's father. Doc's reaction surprised the teen; he was skeptical.

"Another Tannen? Are you sure about that, Marty?"

"Positive," Marty said, gripping the seat tight as it rode a rather jarring bump. "He looked just like one of 'em. Maybe that's how they came to Hill Valley?"

"Buford was how they became established in Hill Valley," Doc said. "And he didn't arrive in the town until sometime in the early 1880's, according to the locals back there in 1885."

"Still," Marty said. "Maybe this guy is Buford's dad."

Doc frowned, thoughtful. "I suppose that's not impossible," he mused. "I never did know how old he was, and I'm almost positive he wasn't past forty...."

"Anyway, Doc, maybe we should stop this trip."

Doc, who had been keeping his eyes up ahead, turned his head sharply to look at him. "It's a little too late for that right now, Marty."

"Why? Can't you just bring the time machine down ASAP?"

"No -- it's currently in the future, waiting for us. And despite what you may think, I haven't yet figured out a way to bring objects from the future to us in the present, even if they are time machines."

Marty sighed heavily, half expecting the answer. "Well, great. So what do we do? This could be a real problem, having that guy behind us around."

"We don't have any hard proof that he is a Tannen, and," Doc added when Marty opened his mouth, "even if he is, it doesn't mean we're in trouble."

"Seems like there're always problems when that family's around," Marty said darkly. "Don't even try to say otherwise."

Doc half shrugged. "Maybe the family went bad with Buford."

"What about that ancestor in Egypt? And the one in the middle ages?"

The scientist was silent for a moment. "We'll just do our best to avoid him," he said. "If we don't do anything to draw attention to ourselves, then we should be fine. That's where the situations went wrong with Buford, Midas, and Tannenan -- and, for that matter, Biff."

"Hope you're right," Marty said. "Seems like those guys always find some way to put us on their bad side, though."

"We'll make sure this time that history doesn't repeat itself," Doc said. "Don't worry."

* * *

Around six that evening, the train stopped for the night, drawing together in a complete circle. Marty learned that this was called, appropriately enough, "circling the wagons." The stop hadn't come a moment too soon in the teen's eyes. He was dragging hard, having long ago used up what energy he had gained during his rather brief nap around lunch.

Their leader, Tim Phipps, called an immediate meeting of all the travelers and assigned each chores for the night. Marty wound up with the task of gathering wood for the fire, with none other then the girl who was probably the Tannen's daughter. He immediately wanted to trade jobs with Doc, even though the scientist had one of the more challenging jobs of dealing with the oxen, but his friend thought that it might create too many problems and suspicion if they exchanged tasks. Marty reluctantly agreed, and thus found himself not much later hiking with the girl to a nearby creek where a clump of trees was gathered. The girl was silent for a couple minutes, taking quick, nervous glances at him, before she spoke.

"I'm Celeste," she said. "What's your name?"

"Marty," Marty said after a brief hesitation, figuring there was really no reason to lie about that. He eyed her rather uneasily, not liking the way she swung a small axe at her side that Phipps had given her to cut some wood. She smiled at him shyly, then glanced up at the sun, hanging low in the western sky. Marty scanned their surroundings for the first time, really, and noticed with a touch of awe how flat everything was. Having grown up in Hill Valley, which was nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, he was quite used to seeing hills and mountains around him and on the horizon. The flatness that was out here looked almost unnatural in his eyes.

"Where is it that your parents live?" Celeste asked. "Are they waitin' in Oregon Country for you an' your aunt and uncle?"

Marty thought carefully before he reluctantly answered the question. "I guess you could say that. But they're in California, not Oregon."

Celeste frowned. "California? Are they Mexicans, then?"

"No!" Marty didn't get it. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, California is part of Mexico. They own it. I haven't heard of any Americans settlin' there."

Marty blinked, having briefly forgotten when, exactly, he was. "Oh, right," he said, trying to sound as if he had know that all along. "Well, someday, I'm sure that Americans will settle there."

"So, where is it your parents live?" Celeste persisted.

Marty was tiring quickly of her questions, especially since he didn't feel like offering that information. "They're dead," he fibbed. "I lied earlier. My aunt and uncle are my only family."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Celeste said, immediately sympathetic.

Marty shrugged, as if it was no big deal -- and, since his parents were very much alive a hundred and fifty years in the future, it wasn't. "Don't worry about it."

They finally reached the small cluster of trees, the sound of the water gushing in the creek breaking the quiet of the plain. Marty spotted a lot of scattered branches on the bank of the creek and headed over to gather as many as he could in his arms and into the basket that the wagon train leader had supplied them. A couple feet away, the water rushed by fast, churning white. He wondered idly, as he collected some of the branches, if it had recently rained, or if such behavior of the creek was normal.

While the teen collected the fallen branches, Celeste prowled around in the trees. The occasional whack of the axe could be heard, though next to the roar of the water, the sound was nearly imperceptible. Perhaps due to the mundaneness of his task, or else his just being utterly exhausted, Marty soon shut out most everything else around him.

Therefore, when he suddenly felt a hand on his arm, he was startled half to death. Gasping, he drew away from the touch and, suddenly, found no ground under his left foot. Marty saw Celeste lunge forward, a move that he first interpreted as a push rather than an attempt to grab him. Regardless, her attempt was too little, too late. Marty felt himself fall only briefly before the icy cold water of the high running creek closed over his body.

The creek wasn't some little puddle; it was deep enough for his head to go under, and, even then, his feet didn't hit bottom. Marty opened his eyes wide in surprise and kicked as hard as he could to the surface, feeling the current push him along. When his head broke into the air again, he caught a rather blurred glimpse of Celeste on the bank, looking more distant than he liked. "Celeste!" he called as loudly as he could, earning himself a mouthful of water.

The expression on her face was startled horror. "I'll get help!" she yelled to him, dropping her axe and wood and taking off at a run, her skirts swooshing around her legs.

Marty knew the wisdom in the move, but he was aghast at the idea of being left alone. "Wait!" he tried to call, but his layers of period clothing and the current combined to drag his head under again. When he managed to resurface, fighting hard in the cold water to do so, Celeste was further away, still running, and most definitely out of earshot. Marty jerked his head around, trying to turn himself so he could see where he was headed. He didn't bother trying to make any noise, figuring that there was no one around to hear him, anyway, and he needed all his air and energy to figure out how to get out of the water.

The solution that presented itself a moment later was more of a hinderance at first, in Marty's eyes, than anything else. A tree had fallen some years back, damming up the creek by catching a tangle of twigs, branches, and leaves that had piled up. Perhaps it also explained why this end of the creek was fairly deep as well. He tried kicking, in vain, to get away from the way the current was taking him, realized it was a rather fruitless battle, then frantically cobbled together a plan. There was a gaping hole that was letting water through in the natural dam, and Marty knew he wanted to stay away from that as much as possible, lest he either slip through and continue downstream, or else slam his head into the low hanging trunk and knock himself senseless enough that he'd drown.

"Shit!" he gasped, swimming as hard as he could away from the hole and towards the more solid-looking portion of the dam. It was hard going between the drenched clothes on his back, the numbingly cold temperature of the water, and the exhaustion that had already been quite present before his spill into the water. His reflexes were already getting slower; therefore, when he slammed against the wall of branches and wood, he took it hard on his right shoulder, pain shooting out down his arms to the tips of his fingers. He gasped, but the pain was quickly numbed by the cold water. The impact stunned him enough that he didn't immediately grab a hold onto the branches. It wasn't until he felt himself being dragged, rather painfully against the branches and twigs, that he remembered to latch onto something. His first attempt snapped off in his hand, and his next one caused the collapse of a portion of the wall, wood crashing around him and a big former branch missing his head by only an inch. Moaning in frustration and desperation, Marty managed another try with his increasingly numb hands and managed this time to get a somewhat secure hold, though the wood he had latched onto groaned at the strain he was putting on it.

"Hurry," he whispered, tightening his grip as best he could as he waited for help to arrive. It seemed to take a long time. Marty felt more and more of his body growing numb in the water, and he kicked his legs hard to keep the blood circulating. The air stirred from a breeze set off a strong bout of shivers. Meanwhile, the current kept tugging at him in the direction of the hole, and the wood he was holding onto groaned and crackled a little more with each passing minute. He started to feel a deep sort of tiredness, one that made him most uneasy.

Marty wasn't sure exactly when it was help arrived, perhaps because he was so intent on keeping his head above water and fighting off the increasing waves of sleepiness hitting him, a sensation that definitely chilled him from within. One minute the bank was empty, the next he saw a small group of men from the train running along the edge, their eyes scanning the water. One of them was Doc.

"Hey!" he tried to yell, but his voice came out feeble and weak, almost certainly drowned out by the sound of the water. Nevertheless, someone spotted him and pointed. Doc came to the front of the group, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted something. Marty couldn't catch anything with the roar of the water surrounding him. He shook his head a couple times, trying to tell the scientist that he didn't know what he had said, then tried to verbally communicate it. "Can't hear you!" he called, his voice shaking a bit from his chills.

Doc got the message, either with his gesture or by catching his voice. He turned around for a second, returning to face Marty with a length of rope clutched in hand. Doc pointed at the rope, pointed at the teen, then made a gesture of pulling something. Marty picked up on what he was trying to say and nodded hard, nearly dunking himself in the process. One of the men grabbed one end of the rope and ran it over to one of the trees bordering the creek, wrapping one end around a sturdy looking trunk and knotting it tightly. Meanwhile, Doc created a loop out of the other end of the rope. When the opposite end was secured around the tree, the scientist tossed the looped end out to him.

The current caught it and dragged it over to him. Marty made a grab for it with one hand, nearly missing it because his fingers could hardly flex around it for a grip. He ended up wrapping a part of the loop around his wrist. When he saw that the teen had gotten hold of the rope, Doc made another gesture, the meaning clear: let go of the wood.

"S-sh-sure," Marty whispered, though he was reluctant to do so. Still, he trusted Doc's judgement and whatever plan he had cooked up. Sucking in a deep breath, just in case he got dragged underwater, Marty let go of the branch and used that hand to give him a better grip on the rope. He was almost immediately tossed right into the wall of twigs and branches, but what pain that brought about was almost non-existence from the numbing cold water.

While Marty had taken that moment to debate Doc's wisdom in letting go, the half dozen men that had assembled each took some of the rope and braced themselves on the shore. Then, with a unison that was rather surprising, since they were all strangers to one another, they started to pull in Marty. The strain was clear on all the faces of the men, ranging in ages from about Marty's own, through ones that looked in their twenties, thirties, and forties, and then Doc, in the midst of his 70's. But Marty felt himself slowly approach the shore and his feet scraped bottom a moment later. It didn't help him much, since his feet were pretty much blocks of ice. When he got close enough, a couple of the men in the front reached down and fished him out, hauling him up on dry land.

"Th-th-thanks," he gasped as he tried desperately to keep his body from shivering so violently. He couldn't remember ever been as cold as he was now. Doc immediately took his coat off and wrapped it around Marty's shoulders.

"Do you think you can walk?" he asked, kneeling down to the teen's current eye level.

"I ca-can try," he managed to get out around his chattering teeth. He tried to stand after a moment and nearly fell over. His legs weren't working like they were supposed to; not only were his reflexes still off, but the cold must've temporarily scrambled his nerves or something. He still couldn't feel his feet, really.

Doc grabbed his arm when he saw his knees buckle. "Here, lean on me for support. And warmth," he added, placing a hand on Marty's pale skin. "You're freezing."

"We can warm 'im up at camp," one of the men said as he gathered the rope up. "An' we got a doctor on the train that can take a look at 'im."

Marty wasn't particularly enthusiastic about a medical exam in a time that didn't even have antibiotics yet, especially since they were out in the middle of nowhere. But Doc seemed amenable to the idea.

"That couldn't hurt," he said to the man. "The most important thing we've gotta do is get him warmed up."

"Fine by m-me," Marty whispered, hugging the Doc's coat as close as he could around him. Another breeze whisked by, cutting through him like a knife. "Wh-here did Ce-Celeste go?"

"She should be back at the camp," one of the bigger men said, turning around. Marty felt his knees buckle again when he found himself looking at the potential Tannen. He didn't look terribly happy. "You scared her but good. I hope you're feelin' bad for that."

"It was an ac-cident," Marty said as they began the walk back. "You-you'd think I-I'd jump in th-there on purpose? I d-don't have a d-death wish!"

Potential Tannen shrugged, focusing a rather chilled gaze on Marty. "All I know is you made my girl upset," he said. "I ain't never stood f'that."

"Buck, leave 'em alone," an older man said, putting a hand on Buck's shoulder. "The lad's got a good scare. He don't need no lecturin'."

Buck made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl, but said nothing else.

"How are you feeling?" Doc asked.

"Cold. Very v-ery cold. Did you ge-et any dry clothes earlier?"

"No, but we'll think of something. Think warm thoughts in the meantime."

When Marty reached the camp, he almost immediately changed into warmer clothes, loaned to him by some of the other families on the wagon train while his other ones had the chance to dry out. He had hardly gotten those on when an older man came by, introducing himself as Doctor Eli Stewart, and gave Marty a brief examination. Aside from assorted bruises and scratches, he couldn't find much wrong. He prescribed the teen rest and gave him a cup of something really bitter that would help him "warm up" and take care of some of the aches and pains that would come later. Marty took it with tremendous reluctance, not trusting any of the current medicine but unable to convince the doctor that he didn't need it; he was still shivering. Doc and Clara waited outside of the wagon during the examination, finishing the preparation of their dinner, so Marty couldn't even get the scientist to intervein in any way. So he took a deep breath, prayed that the stuff wasn't poison and wouldn't give him cancer in forty years, and gulped it down with a wince.