Two nights after returning home from the nightmarish trip to San Francisco, Marty lay in his bed at home and stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows shift around as a breeze stirred the air outside, rustling the trees. He and Doc had returned home to a world painfully similar to the one they had left, right down to the last details -- including Jennifer’s being mad at him. So far, he hadn’t heard anything from his girlfriend. She avoided him at school, all but ignoring them when their paths would cross, like during their P.E. and social studies classes. Marty had even sent her flowers and a card Tuesday night, apologizing for his behavior and asking for her forgiveness so they could work this out, but things were still silent from her end.
On top of that complicated and painful issue, sidetracking almost all of his attention now, there were other things, as well, that Marty thought were probably a result from going through that damned San Francisco earthquake. The most important one: he seemed to have a stubborn case of insomnia. The second most important one: he seemed to have some sort of fear, an intense fear, perhaps even a phobia, of earthquakes altogether. Each time he closed his eyes and tried to relax, his mind would suddenly snap to action and pummel him with a replay of those images and sensations he had experienced when the Big One had hit. And then, inevitably, he would think he felt something start to shake or rattle and that Hill Valley was having the start of a huge earthquake. He’d open his eyes, his heart pounding hard in full panic mode... but there would be nothing. The room would be still and silent; it was all in his head. Marty would lie back down, relieved but still vaguely uneasy, then the entire thing would repeat.
Whether the two conditions fed off each other in an endless and unbreakable cycle, he wasn’t sure. All he did know is that he was at just about the end of his rope between the stress with Jennifer, being dead tired, and the nagging worry that a quake like the San Franciscan one could strike Hill Valley at any time.
"I’m going crazy," Marty muttered to himself, rubbing his face. "I swear to God, I’m going to end up in a straitjacket if this keeps up!" He sat up in bed and looked at the time, though he knew it wasn’t a wise move. A quarter to three. He sighed, feeling even more anxious as another night slipped away.
After a minute of listening to the sound of his somewhat unsteady breathing, Marty slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom across the hall. Shutting the door behind him, he switched on the light and braced himself for the glare of it. When his eyes had adjusted, he opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged around inside. He found what he was looking for a moment later and held it in his hand, considering.
Sleeping pills, Marty thought, staring at the label. He had toyed with the idea of using them the first night, but figured his inability to sleep was a passing thing. Sort of like jet leg. He had, after all, somehow managed to get some sleep in San Francisco itself after the quake, though looking back on it, Marty had to wonder if Doc had slipped something in that tea. It could’ve been a coincidence, he knew, but the way he felt that night, he was shocked that he’d slept an hour, let alone several of them.
But, tired or not, he was reluctant to use the pills because he knew the dangers of becoming addicted to them and eventually needing them to fall asleep every time. On the other hand....
"I’ve got to get some sleep," he said softly. "Finals are coming up and I’m dead if things are still like this!"
Marty was about to pop the cap off the bottle when his muddled brain suddenly latched onto something he had almost forgotten existed. Something that wasn’t addicting like pills and would probably work even better.
Doc’s sleep inducer from the future! he realized. That’s perfect!
He returned the bottle of pills to the cabinet and went back to his room, inspired by that idea. He’d go right now, slip into Doc’s lab, find the hand-held device, and bring it back to his place. No one would have to know, and he’d get a decent night’s rest. Perfect, absolutely perfect.
Quickly, Marty threw on some clothes and slipped out the window with his skateboard in hand. His parents would kill him if he was caught going out this late on a school night. For that reason, and that reason only, he didn’t use his truck to get to the Brown’s place, as it would definitely alert his parents to his departure. Not unless he felt like pushing it a couple houses down before starting it....
Twenty minutes later, with the help of several convenient vehicles, he was coasting up the sidewalk to the Brown property. He jumped off the board before he was too close to the house, not wanting to wake up anyone if someone happened to have a window open in the chill of January. Both the house and the barn that housed the lab were dark. Marty slipped through the shadows to the barn, set back off the road and behind the house.
The building was locked up. Not terribly surprising, considering there was a time machine right behind the walls. Marty circled the building and tried some of the windows -- and found the second one unlatched. He slid it open, boosted himself up, and climbed inside into a pitch black room.
"Damn," he muttered, only then realizing he had forgotten to bring a flashlight. He walked forward slowly, his arms extended before him, feeling rather foolish about the whole thing. After a couple minutes of bumping around, he ran into the DeLorean. Marty tried the door, intending to grab the flashlight in the glove compartment, but the car was locked tight. He cursed under his breath again, frustrated. The hell with it, he figured, crossing the room and flipping the switches that brought to life the overhead lights.
Marty waited only long enough for his eyes to adjust before he started his search for the gadget from the future. Doc wasn’t exactly the neatest person in the world; it would take a while to go through all the cartons and boxes and piles of stuff, some of which hadn’t been unpacked yet from their move in November. He decided to start at one end of the room and work his way down.
He had hardly begun digging into the boxes and drawers, with no sign of the device or anything like it, when he heard the door slam behind him. Marty nearly went through the roof; his nerves were still shaky from the quake experience. He spun around, his eyes wide. Doc Brown stood before the closed door in a bathrobe, staring at Marty, his arms crossed. A rather disappointed and surprised look was on his face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Marty swallowed, his mouth dry from the scare. "Well, uh, I was looking for something. What are you doing up?"
"I thought I heard something, so I looked outside and saw the lights. Could you be more specific on what you’re searching for and why it couldn’t wait until daylight? And tell me how, exactly, you got in here in the first place; I remember, very distinctly, locking the building up before I went back to the house tonight."
Marty glanced around the messy lab, as if he could find a good excuse that way. Doc watched him with an intense gaze, waiting. "Well--" He stopped and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I got in here through a window -- you left one unlocked -- because I wanted to borrow the sleep inducer."
Doc looked a little taken aback. Perhaps he had thought Marty was going to use the time machine instead. "The sleep inducer? What on earth for?"
"I haven’t been able to sleep," Marty admitted. "Not since we came back. I thought the sleep inducer might change that."
Doc frowned, looking a little less irritated now than he had when he had arrived on the scene. "The sleep inducer isn’t what you think it is; it acts more as a temporary sedative, and one that wears off after a couple hours, at most. Why haven’t you been sleeping?"
"I can’t help it," Marty said, frustrated by the question that he’d been asking himself the last few nights, to no avail. "I’ve tried everything, but every time I start to drift off, I think I hear the start of an earthquake or feel something shake and then I’m wide awake." He remembered his earlier thought in the bathroom that night and looked at the scientist rather intently. "Except that night after the quake. Did you have anything to do with that?"
Doc cleared his throat. "Well, ah, I suppose I did. But I thought your restlessness would pass once we returned home. Are you afraid that we’ll have a quake now?"
Marty shrugged. "I don’t know. Maybe. I just keep remembering waking up in the hotel and feeling everything shaking like crazy... and then that whole thing with Jane." He shuddered. "It was a nightmare."
"I’m sure it was," Doc agreed. He paced the length of the room, once, slowly. "Have you really tried everything?"
Marty nodded. "I even thought about taking some sleeping pills tonight. But I didn’t want to become dependent on them and I figured the sleep inducer was a safer bet. You know, even if it is only a temporary fix...."
"You’re afraid of earthquakes," Doc said, ignoring Marty’s hanging suggestion. "As a result of the shock and trauma from what you saw and experienced in 1906, you have insomnia. Not very surprising, actually, and pretty normal."
Marty shrugged. "Whatever. I just want to get over it. Finals are coming up soon at school and I don’t know what to do next. I have to get some rest this week!"
"I see," Doc said slowly, walking over to the DeLorean. "There are a few ways we could deal with this, but I think the simplest might be going back to the 1906 earthquake."
Marty gasped at the suggestion. "Are you crazy! I wouldn’t go back there if you paid me!"
"Well, if we don’t do that, you might be dealing with this problem for a little longer. And any therapist would tell you exactly what I am -- not that you could even dream of telling a doctor why you think you may have this problem. To conquer a fear, you must face it. And you can’t do it much better than reliving the experience that started the fear," Doc added.
"But I don’t want to experience an earthquake again! Especially that one in San Francisco! That’s the reason I can’t sleep in the first place!"
"It won’t be like the other time. For one reason, you’ll have an idea on what to expect. For another, very important, reason: we won’t be going into the city. We’ll stay in the countryside, where there will be no danger of buildings falling down or anything like that. I’m fairly certain this will work, as you saw what was possibly the worst of the quake -- of any earthquake. You know as well as I do that Hill Valley rarely has anything that creates much of a stir, let alone death."
Marty tried imagining living through all that shaking again and felt sick. He sat down on one of the stools nearby, grateful for the steady support of the furniture. "Are you sure this would be the only way?"
"Fairly sure," Doc said. "If this doesn’t work, then we can try some other things. Perhaps it’s more related to the unresolved issues between you and Jennifer."
"I doubt it," Marty said. "I didn’t have a problem sleeping after that." He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "And I guess this does sound like it might be the answer. But we’re only going to be there for a few minutes, right? Just long enough for the quake to hit, right?"
"Right," Doc agreed. "Why don’t you think about it for a few more minutes? I’m going to run to the house to change. All right?"
Marty nodded and Doc left. Alone, he tried to do exactly what his mentor suggested -- think about the situation. And as he thought, a new idea, a new approach, came to him. One that felt right and felt risky all at once.
I could save Jane if we’re going back there. I think that’s what’s keeping me up at night more than anything else -- knowing I could’ve and should’ve saved her but didn’t!
The idea made him feel a lot better -- but it wasn’t perfect. Would Doc really let him do such a thing? Probably not. Not unless he didn’t know about it. But how could he get around that...?
By the time Doc returned, fifteen minutes later, Marty was ready to go. And determined that this time, the quake would turn out very differently for him than it had originally.
They returned to San Francisco less than fifteen minutes before the earthquake and on the opposite side of the city from Doc’s earlier self. The scientist voiced a concern before they left that the him of a couple days before might notice the DeLorean arriving, but Marty hardly heard him, too occupied with what he was about to do. His heart skipped nervously and his mouth was already dry from nerves -- and he had a feeling that those symptoms weren’t related to the idea of experiencing the quake all over again.
"Were you at the DeLorean now?" Marty asked as Doc quickly steered the car towards a small clearing near trees -- perhaps a few miles from the Parker Palace, he noticed with a sinking heart. Beyond the trees was what appeared to be farmland. He could see a few horses grazing in a fenced-in field, and that was about it.
"Yes, I was up with the time machine. I thought it would be too risky to go into the city when I wasn’t sure what time the quake hit. And I had no idea whether or not you were back yet or I would’ve gone anyway to get you out of there."
This wasn’t entirely news to Marty; the scientist had apologized and explained from the start why he hadn’t been in the hotel when the quake had hit and hadn’t returned after discovering the time machine wasn’t working right. Which reminded him....
"You’re sure the DeLorean’s not gonna die on us again, right?" he asked as Doc brought the car down on the ground.
"I don’t think so. I’m not entirely sure what caused the short in the relay, but it was likely one of those things that just happens spontaneously with a car. At any rate, if the problem happens again, we know exactly where it’ll be."
Doc shut the car off and opened the door, stepping outside. "By my calculations, we have about... nine minutes before the earthquake begins," he announced, glancing inside at the current time display in the DeLorean.
Marty nodded, biting his lower lip as he opened his door. The pre-dawn air was cool and peaceful, giving no indication of the chaos that would shortly follow. He left the car and took a look at the city from a different angle than before.
"It’s sort of weird to think we have doubles here, just like that time in ‘55," he commented.
"Perhaps, but we shouldn’t be in any danger of running into our other selves, as we’re just going to stay up here during the quake, then leave."
Maybe you are... Marty thought, still trying to figure out the perfect diversion that would allow him to get to and from the Parker Palace and save Jane’s life... without Doc Brown knowing or stopping him. He sighed, frustrated, as it grew closer to the time of the quake and he still had no ideas on how to do it. Doc wouldn’t let him go, even if he asked straight out; he couldn’t just run away and do what he wanted without the scientist either knowing or chasing after him; and he had perhaps an hour to do something about it so Jane didn’t end up buried under her hotel.
"Maybe we should go down in the city for the quake," Marty said, although the very idea made him feel faint and ill.
Doc shook his head. "That has the great potential to create a host of new problems. Who’s to say we wouldn’t get hurt? Or that such an experience wouldn’t give you even worse problems than we have now? And we’re definitely not dressed to be seen by the locals."
Marty had all but forgotten that their contemporary clothes from home might create problems or look odd to the current eyes. But even if they’d been outfitted as they had before, Doc’s other two arguments made sense. He sighed and wandered towards the edge of the trees, eyeing the DeLorean and idly wishing that something else would delay them with the car, something that would distract Doc and give him the time to run down to the city.
The minutes ticked by without any inspiration. Marty grew increasingly uneasy and panicked, knowing that this was his absolute last chance to do something if he wanted to save Jane. C’mon, McFly, think! he told himself, irritated with his lack of an idea.
"Any moment now," Doc finally announced, looking at his watch. "Brace yourself."
Recalling his original experience with the earthquake, Marty felt himself tense in anticipation. He put some distance between himself and the trees, uncertain if they’d be prone to falling down like the buildings, and looked at his own watch. He was grossly confused when he saw the time, not anywhere near five in the morning, before he remembered that it was still set for the time it had been when they had left.
"Listen," Doc said, cocking his head to one side. "I heard that same sound the last time, before it hit."
Marty held his breath and strained his ears, trying to catch what Doc had apparently heard. He detected nothing more than a really low rumble, like the sound of an approaching stampede or a train. "Is that--"
Before he could finish the sentence, the ground shook a little, then started to move in what felt like waves. Marty sat down, startled, and watched with a mixture of fear and fascination as the trees a few feet away swayed back and forth. Branches cracked off and leaves scattered to the ground. A flock of birds took off from the foliage, squawking in surprise as they flew into the air.
"Oh my God!" he gasped out, shocked at the sensation of the earth rolling underneath him. It felt almost like surfing, without water. Unlike his first experience with the quake, this one seemed to roll through with hardly any noise. The observation made the hairs on the back of Marty’s neck stand up; it was unnatural. His heart thudded, despite the knowledge that he couldn’t really be hurt up here and that he knew the quake would end soon. His skin broke into a cold sweat.
"When is it going to end?" he moaned to Doc, stunned that the event seemed to be lasting even longer this time around.
"It lasts nearly a minute," Doc replied, one hand resting on the DeLorean’s hood as he stood up against the shifting dirt under his shoes. "Fairly lengthy for an earthquake of any kind."
The minute seemed an hour in Marty’s eyes. He sagged in relief when the shaking finally tapered off, then stopped altogether. "Thank God," he whispered, not trusting his legs to support him quite yet.
"Was there any difference between this experience and the first?" Doc finally asked when Marty made no move and said nothing.
"In some ways," Marty said softly.
"Are you ready to leave, now?"
He wasn’t, not yet, not before he did what he wanted to do, but Marty had a sinking feeling that that might be one thing he couldn’t change. "I guess," he said flatly, finally standing despite his still-weak knees. "I still don’t see how this is gonna let me sleep, though...."
"If it doesn’t, then there are other things we can try," Doc said. "Let’s only take the problems as they come."
Marty shrugged, glum, as he returned to the passenger seat of the DeLorean. Doc got in the car next to him and cursed softly as he dropped the car keys, en route to their place in the ignition. He reached down, frowning as his groping apparently turned up nothing. The scientist finally opened the door and got out of the car, searching around on the floor from the outside of the car. Marty waited patiently, too caught up in other things to really notice the delay.
"Marty, can you open the glove box and pass me the flashlight?" Doc finally asked, peering under the seat.
Marty opened the box and picked out the flashlight, passing it to his friend. He was about to close it when something else caught his eye, wedged at the back with all the wires and circuits of the time machine. Marty pulled it out and looked at it thoughtfully, turning it over in his hand. He saw the label a moment later: Sleep Ease II. A logo of a moon and stars were below it.
It’s the sleep inducer, he realized, amazed. Marty examined it, not sure how it worked, noticing it looked a little different from the one Doc had used on Jennifer back in 2015. Maybe it was a better model. "Hey, Doc, how do you use this thing?" he asked as the scientist finally emerged from his inspection, the car keys now clutched in one hand.
Doc noticed what Marty had in his hand, just as the teen found the power button and switched it on. Nothing happened, save for a green light flickering on over the power switch. "Give me that," Doc said, sounding a little irritated.
Marty passed it over; in the process, his fingers accidentally struck a little button above the power one. The thing suddenly whirred to life, right when it was in front of Doc’s face. Before Marty even knew what had happened, his friend slumped forward, right into the driver’s seat.
Marty was horrified. "Oh my God!" he gasped, letting the sleep inducer go. It fell to the floor of the car, where the keys had vanished. Marty shook Doc’s shoulder, hard, and called his name a few times. There was no answer.
Wait a minute, he thought. Why am I trying to wake him up? This is a perfect opportunity to save Jane!
The thought made him feel horribly guilty and Marty wondered if what he had done had been an accident. He knew it was, but a part of him wondered if he hadn’t been trying to do something like that on purpose, maybe subconsciously. Now that the idea occurred to him, he wished it hadn’t.
"It was an accident, Doc," he said to the motionless inventor. "I swear."
Not feeling much better, Marty got out of the DeLorean and started running towards the town. He hadn’t gone more than ten feet before he recalled the farm nearby and the fact it had a much more convenient mode of transportation -- horses. He wasn’t sure how long after the quake it was when Jane had died and he didn’t know how long Doc would be out. Marty didn’t want him to wake up and find him missing; that might create all sorts of messy questions.
Are you sure that’s the only reason you want to be there? a little voice whispered from the back of his mind. Are you sure it’s not because you’re afraid if he wakes up and puts two and two together, you’ll be in huge trouble? Or that he might want to undo what you’re going to do?
"Yes," Marty said aloud as he turned and jogged over to where he remembered the farmland to be. "I’m sure."
He found a horse hovering near the fence line and jumped the property without any hesitation. The dark-colored animal snorted at Marty’s approach, rearing back a little. The teen soothed it as best he could, then managed to coax it over to pull himself up on its back. He’d ridden bareback before only once, during his frantic ride into 1885 Hill Valley the morning Doc had decided to tell Clara everything, then drown his sorrows at the Palace Saloon when she at first rejected him. At least that particular time his horse had already had reins on; this one did not. Recalling some fact he’d either read or heard, about how horses felt no pain if their manes were pulled, Marty held onto the animal’s dark hair and managed to get the horse out of the pasture over a portion of the fence that had been topped or trampled by the quake or animals.
The ride, he quickly found out, was much more uncomfortable and frightening when one had no reins to hold on to. Marty constantly felt as if he was going to slip off the horse, and digging his shoes harder into the animal to hold on only seemed to encourage his mount to go even faster. Once they reached the city limits, however, the horse slowed down to a walk through the crowded streets, filled with both people and debris.
Marty wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the quake, nor where the Parker Palace was from where he had come into the city. He stopped a few times to ask some of the locals, but their directions used street names or a number of turns and blocks he’d have to go to reach the hotel -- both of which were now in debate as the quake had either destroyed or toppled some of those important street signs. The crowds made it impossible for Marty to recall and execute the turns that the locals were giving him.
In short, he ended up lost and disoriented for quite some time.
Just as he was positive he’d never find the hotel in time, he caught a lucky break; he ran into a guy who worked at the Parker Palace and was able to give him simple directions -- to go straight until he reached the top of a hill, then to turn right on a street beside a store called Smith’s Drugs and proceed straight again until he reached the hotel. Marty thanked the man and urged his horse forward, trying to ignore the aches in his body from the horseback riding as he did so. He was going to be lucky to be able to get off the horse by the time he reached his destination, let alone save Jane Parker.
The man’s directions were accurate and about twenty minuets later found him approaching the hotel. Marty saw in an instant that the hotel’s front wall was still standing, meaning that Jane wasn’t yet dead, thank God. Aside from that, he had no idea how much time remained. He didn’t see his other self yet and Jane was alone on the park bench. Uneasy about being seen by her or the other Doc or Marty, the teen got off the horse and left his ride several buildings down so he could arrive at the Parker Palace a little less conspicuously. Marty was quite happy the sun was hardly up, yet; his clothes had already attracted a few weird looks from the people he had asked directions from and he didn’t wish to bring on more unwanted stares just walking down the street.
He had no idea how long Doc had been watching his other self, nor of the location from which the scientist had found him. Uncomfortable with being out in the middle of the street and wishing that he’d thought of something for a disguise -- like sunglasses or a hat -- Marty settled down in the alleyway of the building across the street and kept an eye on Jane.
As he watched the young woman, an idea began to form on how to change history, one simple yet bold. What if I came forward before she saw my other self and got her away from that place before the building? That wouldn’t really change history, much, I don’t think.
Marty figured he wasn’t going to get much better. Quickly, he started forward, crossing the street and circling it in such a way that he wouldn’t be noticed by Jane until he was behind her. His eyes darted around constantly, making sure that his other self wasn’t heading right for him or that Other Doc was around anywhere. He didn’t see anything like that, which didn’t mean much as there were so many people milling around. Marty hoped that the same hindrance would work to his advantage.
He made it to the other side of the street and behind Jane without anyone speaking to him and without seeing either the earlier Doc or Marty. Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he slipped his arms around Jane to lift her up into his arms. She reacted immediately, startled.
"What are you -- Marty!" Too surprised to fight him, Jane allowed herself to be picked up. "You’re safe!"
Uneasy that she had now spotted him, Marty managed a shaky smile as he started across the street with her. "Yeah," he said, deciding to keep his words with her to a minimum.
"Where are you taking me?" Jane asked, sounding a little uneasy.
"Just across the street," Marty said. "It’s too dangerous for you to be near the hotel. You might get hit by something falling."
"But my father wanted me to wait there," Jane protested. "He’ll be worried if I’m not there."
"I think it’ll be okay," Marty said. He sat her down on the curb across the street. "How does your ankle feel? I didn’t jostle it, did I?"
"No--"
"Good. I’ll be back soon. Wait here, okay?"
"All right..." Jane said, sounding confused. Marty turned around and hurried away as fast as he could, ducking behind a building half a block down to get another look at the situation, undiscovered. He couldn’t see Jane anymore, which wasn’t very surprising as she was sitting on the ground and there were a lot of people milling around. He did catch a glimpse of his other self, though, emerge from the shadows near the building and stare at the scene with wide eyes and a pale face. Marty felt that strangely familiar and rather disturbing sensation as he watched himself; the worst sensation of deja vu one could have, only magnified by a hundred. It was the closest one could get to reliving the same experience again. He felt a little relieved when Other Marty moved out of sight.
The aftershock arrived a couple minutes later. Marty gripped the side of the building as it hit, his entire body tensed and ready to run in case the structure beside him decided to crumple like the Parker Palace. He saw the wall of the Parker Palace pull away from the hotel and head towards the sidewalk below in that same wall of debris as before. The roar of it hitting the ground sounded like a small bomb going off. Marty took a step back, in spite of the damage being down the road. When the dust cleared, he left his hiding place and crept towards the hotel, taking care to avoid the center of the road where his other self and Doc were supposed to be. He saw them a minute later and this time his other self wasn’t staring in horror at the remains, or about to keel over. He looked rather startled, but that was about it.
"I must’ve changed it," he muttered, not wishing to get any closer to make sure Jane was indeed alive. Odds were pretty good and he didn’t need to be seen by the other Doc and Marty and create a lot of questions he didn’t want to answer. Marty turned around and headed back to where he had tied the horse, ready now to go back home.
* * *
The return trip back was rather tricky for Marty, especially on horseback, and he took more than one wrong turn. Nearly three hours after leaving the DeLorean, he returned. He left his horse near the perimeter of the fence and returned to the time machine.
Doc, he saw at once, hadn’t woken up. But when Marty called his name again and shook him gently, he was encouraged by a groan.
"Doc? Hey, Doc? C’mon, we’ve gotta get back."
The scientist groaned again, a little louder this time, and managed to lift his head up. Marty, crouched next to him at the still-open door of the time machine, watched him carefully to make sure he wasn’t going to slide down to the ground or strike his head. Doc’s eyes finally cracked open and he looked groggy, his eyes moving slowly to take in the surroundings.
"You’re okay, I think," Marty said, the sound of his voice causing his friend to jump a little and turn his head to look at him. "I accidentally got you with the sleep inducer. How do you feel?"
Doc cleared his throat. "Rather drained," he whispered. "How long was I out for?"
Marty looked at his watch, forgetting it was still set on the time from home. He peered past Doc, to the still-illuminated time circuit display. "A couple hours, I think," he said, noticing it was a little after eight in the morning.
Doc grabbed the frame of the door and pulled himself to his feet, brushing away Marty’s offer to help and nearly slamming his head right into the gull wing door, which was drooping badly from being ajar so long. He looked around, still appearing dazed. "Were we about to leave?" he asked, sounding tentative.
"Yeah. You dropped the keys under the seat or something and when you were looking for them, I found the sleep inducer in the glove box and accidentally turned it on when you had me pass it over. I’m really sorry, Doc," he added, genuine in his apology. "I guess I shouldn’t touch anything if I don’t know how it works."
Doc shook his head a little, perhaps to clear it, perhaps in response to Marty’s comment, perhaps due to both. "That’s all right. Accidents happen."
Marty looked at him, worried, as the scientist leaned against the side of the car and closed his eyes for a moment. "Are you okay? It didn’t hurt you, did it?"
"No, it didn’t," Doc answered, his eyes still closed. "The sleep inducer does have a few lingering side effects, however, mostly grogginess and difficulty thinking. They’ll pass soon." He sighed and opened his eyes, looking marginally more together. "We might as well get back home now."
"Do you want me to drive?" Marty asked hesitantly, not wishing to offend his friend but also realizing it might be for the best.
"Actually, I would, if you don’t mind. One is advised to not operate any heavy machinery for a couple hours following use of a sleep inducer. It would be best if we don’t risk anything."
Marty didn’t need to be convinced of that. Doc made his way around to the other side of the car and got inside while the teen found the keys, lying on the driver’s seat of the car where they had fallen when he had accidentally tranquilized his friend. In no time at all, the car was airborne and headed back home. Marty felt only the faintest twinge as he left San Francisco, not regretting at all what he had done to change things.
But the regrets would come soon enough.
The first thing that tipped Marty off that all was not right with his world happened seconds after entering the present time.
"Where are all the streetlights?" he asked aloud, squinting at the dark landscape below, barely visible from above. Stranger still, the earth below glowed white faintly, as if it was covered in snow. Impossible, as the skies had been clear when they had left and the temperature too warm for such things.
Doc looked out the window, the rather tired expression on his face vanishing as he peered outside. "That’s a very good question," he said slowly. "I don’t see any lights on below -- none at all."
"Maybe it’s a power outage," Marty said, ignoring the icy sensation twisting his stomach as he took the car down to land on the street below. He squinted at the ground. That looks like snow, he thought. I’ll be damned.
"Perhaps, but if that’s the case it must be one hell of an outage. Usually an entire city doesn’t go out, not unless there’s a big storm." Doc looked away from the window to give Marty a rather unnerving stare that the teen could feel as he looked out he windshield.
"Maybe that snow has something to do with the outage," Marty said. "It must’ve come after we left and snowed like hell. That would definitely be enough to knock out the power."
The DeLorean’s landing on the street went none too softly, nearly throwing an unrestrained Marty right into the ceiling as the car both skidded and bounced. He was all for wearing seatbelts, definitely, but it seemed he forgot far too often riding in the DeLorean; even though the rides were brief, they had more of a potential of being rough, especially at the point of traveling through the fourth dimension. He let out a deep breath of relief as the ride smoothed out a little, then was promptly tossed around again as the car caught a deep pothole or patch of ice in the street. He cut his speed to a crawl, scowling a little at the cracked and pockmarked road before him that was covered in a hard layer of white. Large, strange-looking weeds grew out of the crevices in the asphalt and the street seemed to crumble underneath his tires.
"What the hell!" he muttered, managing to buckle the seat belt across his lap with one hand as he drove. "I could’ve sworn I landed on Peabody Road. This street looks like it’s been closed for years."
"Yes," Doc said, his voice sounding a little odd. "Perhaps you might want to hover a little above the street."
"And risk being seen?" Marty asked, surprised.
"Well, just until we get to a better road. The last thing we want to do is damage the time machine. You don’t want to skid into a telephone pole."
"All right. You’re the doc, Doc."
Marty flipped the appropriate switch and the car’s wheels rotated, allowing it to hover a couple feet above the ground. He breathed a little easier at the smoother ride, able to increase his speed and not worry about tearing something open in the undercarriage or giving himself or Doc a concussion from being jostled around in the car.
As the miles ticked by, Marty felt increasingly spooked. His hometown looked like a frozen, dead place that might’ve been in the North Pole, not Northern California. Not a single light could be seen in the city, not even traffic lights. As he got closer to the center of town, he noticed the buildings around him -- ones that normally had been occupied and well-kept -- looked as if they had been abandoned some years back and were slowly rotting where they stood. Trees and plants had died where they were planted, creating major messes in yards. A sign from a grocery store lay in the road, weathered and faded. Traffic lights dangled from snapped wires. Debris from trees littered the streets and clogged the storm drains. All the familiar streets and sidewalks appeared to be in the same shape as Peabody Road.
"What the hell is going on, Doc?" he finally asked, his voice hushed. Chilled not just from the outside cold, Marty reached over and found the heater, turning it on high.
Doc didn’t answer him right away, instead reaching over to turn on the car radio secured on top of the time display. Marty had wondered why the scientist even bothered to keep such a thing inside, especially since the car wasn’t used for long leisure driving and every inch of available space in the cab seemed to be monopolized with circuitry. What came out of the speakers was nothing but dead air. Doc twisted the dial from end to end, switching it between AM and FM bands, and came up with nothing.
"Very odd," he muttered to himself.
Marty stopped the car at a toppled stop sign and turned to look at the inventor. "What?" he asked, slightly sarcastic. "The fact your radio is probably busted or that Hill Valley looks like a ghost town?"
"I don’t think the radio is broken," Doc said, remaining calm. "I think it’s functioning normally but that stations aren’t broadcasting."
"But -- that’s impossible! I’ve picked up stations from Sacramento before!"
"Well, maybe the signals aren’t very strong right now."
"From this weird snowstorm?" Marty sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Doc, what happened? Where’re all the people?"
"Clearly, they’re not here. At least not at this end of town. Maybe there’ll be some downtown."
Encouraged only a little, Marty started the drive forward again. He reached the courthouse square in only a couple minutes, seeing no point in slowing down and following traffic laws where there were no other drivers on the road and they were moving above the ice and potholes. And if someone pulled him over, so much the better (although they’d have a little explaining to do about a flying car).
They saw no one.
The courthouse square was in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the town. There were some curious things Marty noticed as they got out of the car to take a look around with the car’s flashlight. What had been the aerobics place was now back to what it had originally been -- Lou’s Cafe. But the shades of the place were drawn, despite broken windows, and a hastily scrawled sign hung in the window, informing potential patrons that: "We’re Closed -- Gone East."
"‘Gone East’?" Marty echoed as he read the sign, shivering a little in the cold. "What’s that mean, Doc?"
The scientist stood on the opposite side of the street, peering up at the movie marquee for the Essex Theater. Most of what had once been on the marquee was gone, leaving a handful of letters that made it impossible to tell which film had last played.
"I suspect it means just what it said -- that they’ve gone East." Doc stepped closer to look at one of the film posters still on display, albeit very faded from sunlight. "Looks like the last film that was playing here was The Day Mars Invaded Earth."
"Never heard of it," Marty said. "Sounds like something my dad would get a kick out of, though." He wandered down the street to join his friend at the theater, noticing some of the posters in the window of the music shop next to the cafe, as well as the Texico station. They looked a lot like the ones he remembered from his visits to 1955. "What’s up with this town?" he asked. "It looks almost like things stopped dead in the ‘50’s."
"A little later than that, perhaps," Doc said. He walked to a newspaper bin nearby, opened it up, and let the thing slam back shut. "Looks like we might have to do a little searching to find out when things went wrong."
Marty felt that cold sensation turning his stomach again. He swallowed hard, not liking the thought that whispered at the back of his mind.
What if this was from saving Jane’s life?
He refused to even suggest that such was the case, especially without any proof to support the guess. "Where should we go? A library?"
Doc thought about that for a minute. "Perhaps later. But from what we’re seeing here, it appears people left Hill Valley suddenly for some reason. And not just a few, but the entire town. We might be better off searching people’s homes to discover what happened."
"Doc! We can’t just break into someone’s house! That’s illegal!"
"Who would stop us?" Doc asked, gesturing to the empty streets surrounding them, his voice muffled slightly from the few inches of snow on the ground. "Anyway, I don’t know if it would benefit us breaking into a stranger’s home. I was thinking more along the lines of your house -- or mine."
The thought gave Marty a case of the heebie-jeebies, for some reason. "Is that really smart?" he asked, following the scientist as he headed back to the DeLorean, parked right before the run-down courthouse. "What if we run into ourselves?"
"If we do, then we can find out what happened a lot quicker," Doc said, getting in the driver’s seat before Marty could. The teen hesitated a moment, wondered if he should remind Doc about avoiding driving for another few hours, then figured it didn’t really matter. His friend looked more like his old self now, a spark back in his eyes. Marty got into the passenger seat.
They drove to Marty’s house first, as it was closer than the present-day residence of Doc’s. Marty noticed that Lyon Estates seemed to be in the same shape as the rest of the town; the markers that announced the neighborhood were worn down and overgrown with weeds and the letters crooked. The homes they passed all had dead yards and a look of neglect about them. A few even had cars sitting in their driveways, the tires all flat and pools of liquids staining the cracked driveways underneath. Marty noticed with a touch of interest that the cars all appeared to be from the late ‘50’s or early ‘60’s.
It’s like the world just stopped around then, he realized, wondering if maybe this was some sort of delayed reaction to his actions in 1955 more than his actions in 1906.
Marty nearly didn’t recognize his own house when they arrived. Like the other homes in his neighborhood, this one was sagging from neglect. He noticed a few things he found odd as he and Doc got out of the DeLorean. The windows didn’t appear to be broken, despite a look of abandonment; the color of the house was different than he remembered it ever being before; and there was no fence around the backyard.
"Are you sure this is your house?" Doc asked as they went up the driveway.
"Sure -- it even has the same number, 9303. It just looks kinda different."
Doc eyed the building. "When did your parents move here?"
"Right after they were married -- sometime in April of ‘59," Marty said. "Why?"
Doc shrugged. "I didn’t know if this house was owned by anyone before them, that’s all."
"Nope, Mom and Dad bought it new," Marty said. He went up the steps to the front door slowly, rather reluctantly. There wasn’t a screen door installed yet; Marty seemed to recall that his house wouldn’t have one until the mid-’70’s. He tried the knob on the front door and found it locked. When he reported the news to Doc, rather relieved, the scientist didn’t seem very discouraged. Instead, he tried the windows and found one to be unlocked. And so, mostly because of his size and the fact he lived there, Marty entered his house the same way he had left it the night before -- through a window.
He arrived in the small corner bedroom that his father had used for an office. Marty sneezed as he crept across the dark floor, hearing the boards under his feet creak and groan in a manner he’d never noticed before. The air in the building was dusty and rather hard to breathe; Marty had to fight the urge to sneeze again the entire time he made his way through the dark house and to the front door to allow Doc inside.
"Have you found anything?" the scientist asked immediately when the door was opened.
Marty shrugged, sticking his head outside a moment to take a few deep breaths of the less musty -- though bitterly cold -- dawn air. "It’s pitch black in here," he said. "I was lucky I didn’t trip over something and break my neck -- or else have the floor cave in on me," he added, hearing the boards groan a little as Doc stepped inside with his flashlight from the car. Any words he might’ve uttered were stopped dead by what the beam of light showed as it was swept around the kitchen, living, and dining rooms.
The room looked almost like a time capsule, albeit one covered in a lot of dust and one left alone to allow Nature her way with things. The furniture and decorations were sparse but clearly from some point in the late Fifties or early Sixties. The carpet was rotted through in large patches, allowing the bare wood of the floor below to be seen. The sliding glass door was broken, a large tree branch lying half in and half out of the house. Prints on the couch were faded and grimy.
The dining room table was set for two and what looked like remains of a meal had rotted and then frozen onto the plates where they lay, as if whatever it was that had happened did so suddenly and forced the members of the house to flee quickly. A glass of what looked like spilled milk stained the wooden tabletop and another glass lay on the floor, the contents looking to be cranberry juice or wine. The burgundy stain disturbed Marty more than it should’ve, the shade of the stain coming too close to the look of blood for comfort.
The kitchen held the most fascination for Marty, though. There was an ancient-looking box of cereal out on the counter, with a picture of a boy and girl on the box in clothing and hairstyle definitely from 25 to 30 years ago. The few dishes in the sink looked from about the same time period. The refrigerator was definitely an antique, with more rounded rather than rectangular edges.
What intrigued Marty more were some of the clippings and photographs that were taped to the icebox. One looked to be an advice column about writing. The clipping was faded yellow and curled at the edges, but Marty could clearly see the date at the top: Monday, March 21, 1960. Another thing that caught his fascination was a small snapshot of a couple -- his parents -- seated together on the grass at what looked to be a picnic in the summertime, based on their attire. George had his arms wrapped around Lorraine’s neck in a hug, and Marty could clearly see wedding bands on their fingers. Marty pulled it off the fridge, tilting it so it caught the glow of Doc’s flashlight better. He squinted at his parents, concluding they couldn’t’ve been older than their early twenties in the picture, meaning it had to have been taken in the late Fifties, after they were married, or early Sixties.
Everything looks like it’s from around then, he realized, frowning.
"Have you found anything?" Doc asked from the kitchen doorway, the sound of his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the full silence of the building.
Marty replaced the photograph where he had found it. "Not really, unless you count the fact that it looks like time stopped sometime after 1959 and before the ‘70’s."
Doc stepped into the kitchen and swept the beam around the room. "Based on the decoration in this building, as well as what we saw downtown, I’d close that gap of time before 1965," he said. "Did you find any newspapers?"
Marty shook his head. "Not unless you count a clipping on the fridge from March of ‘60. But unless you’re looking for tips on writing science fiction, I don’t think that’s gonna help us out."
Doc sighed, disappointed. "Well, maybe one will be somewhere else in the house."
Despite a full house search, not a newspaper could be found. Marty was quite disturbed by what they did find, however. Save for the master bedroom, all the other bedrooms were either empty, filled with storage, or guest rooms. It looked to him as if the End of the World or whatever it was had happened before his brother Dave had been born, in May of ‘63. In the master bedroom, they found a Popular Science magazine by what would be his father’s side of the bed, dating from November 1962. Drawers in his parents’ room hung ajar and pieces of clothing littered the floor, as if someone had packed a suitcase very quickly. The entire building had the feel of a morgue and Marty felt remarkably relieved when Doc finally announced they’d found as much as they could there.
"What the hell happened?" he asked as they left through the front door. Marty had the most uncomfortable feeling that they might be the last people to pass through that door, ever. He wondered why they were even bothering to shut it at all, let alone lock it behind them.
"I don’t know yet," Doc said, sounding preoccupied as they returned to the undisturbed DeLorean in the driveway. "I think we can narrow the time gap of this event to perhaps Fall of 1962, as you pointed out that your brother didn’t appear to have been born yet and we found nothing with a date past November 1962 in your parents’ home. What that something was looks to have happened suddenly -- suddenly enough for your parents to leave a meal on the table. Based upon the condition of their bedroom, it looks as if they packed and fled their home -- a guess supported by the lack of a car on the property--"
"I know all that, Doc!" Marty cried, frustrated. "But what was it that happened? Some kind of plague? Aliens coming down and zapping everybody?"
"We’ll find the answer, Marty," Doc said softly as he started the car. "We’ve already discovered a lot more just visiting your house than we knew before, and something this large can’t have gone without leaving some sort of evidence in its wake."
"I still say we should check the library," Marty muttered as they pulled off the McFly property.
"That wouldn’t do us much good," Doc said. "This... incident seems to have happened suddenly, and if the entire town was evacuated or abandoned because of it, I doubt that someone stayed behind to catalog it in the archives."
The answer sounded reasonable, but Marty was still unhappy with it. He sank down in his seat and shut his eyes as they drove past the vacant buildings, not wanting to see anymore and wishing that this was all some sort of terrible nightmare that would end when dawn came.
* * *
It took less than five minutes for Doc to drive to his home -- in 1962. Based upon what he had seen at the McFlys, he was almost positive that his home on Elmdale Lane -- where he lived with his family in the present -- would be deserted and devoid of any signs of life whatsoever.
He was both disappointed and pleased to find that his guess was correct when he arrived on Riverside Drive -- not JFK Drive, he noticed immediately, but Riverside still -- and found his garage home still standing. More puzzling to Doc was that the area surrounding his once-home wasn’t built up yet but merely raised and cleared, as it had been in the months prior to the glut of commercial construction, he recalled.
"Where’s your mansion?" Marty asked in a flat, tired voice as Doc stopped the car before the garage.
"It burned down in August of 1962 after an experiment ended poorly," Doc explained. "This further proves my theory that whatever happened occurred in the fall of that same year. It wasn’t until the spring of ‘63, I recall, construction began."
"Great. So we know it happened in the fall of ‘62. That doesn’t really tell us much about what happened, though."
"I’m sure we’ll find that out soon enough," Doc said. He opened the car door and stepped outside with the flashlight in hand, noticing the lack of a fence around his small property. He hadn’t put it up until a year or so after selling the rest of his family estate. He eyed his once-home, puzzled by a few things he noticed that he did not recall from his own past: All the windows were boarded over and what looked like sandbags stacked around the cracks of the garage doors. The building looked more like a fortress than home, or even garage.
"The sun is starting to rise," Marty commented as he got out of the car and followed the scientist to the door. "I wonder if we’re in for a storm or something; the sky looks sort of greenish."
Doc looked up and indeed notice an odd tint to the sky in the east, something that would sometimes precede bad storms. "You’re right. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light; things look clear above to me."
He tried the door to the home and lab and found it locked. Undeterred, Doc lifted up the mat before the door, plucked the key from the hiding place, and unlocked the door.
The building, like the McFly home, was intensely stuffy and dusty. Doc coughed a little as he stepped inside, keeping the door propped open for some ventilation. Marty followed close behind as the scientist trod deeper into the building. The beam of his flashlight picked up sparser furnishings in the building than there were by the 1980’s; not surprising as most of his belongings had been destroyed in the fire.
Unlike the McFly home, Doc saw some signs of life around that seemed to indicate that he hadn’t run away from Hill Valley in the same fashion as some others -- candles were scattered everywhere he looked, gobs of melted wax pooled where they rested. A stack of papers was piled on one of the desks and a book was propped open next to a couple meters. Curious, Doc went there first, wondering if this might’ve been related to the flux capacitor and allow him a better chance of pinning down a date for when things seemed to have happened. The meters, wired to large batteries, both appeared to be dead, but Doc recognized them in a moment.
One was a Geiger counter, the other, a ratemeter.
Something cold suddenly crawled across the base of his neck. "Oh no," he breathed. In his shock, the flashlight fell from his hand and hit the concrete floor hard enough to go out.
Marty grabbed his arm, his fingers gripping him tight. "What’s wrong!" he gasped, startled. "What is it?"
Doc swallowed hard, around a sudden lump in his throat. "I believe I have another theory about what happened."
Marty was silent for a moment. "Am I going to like this theory?"
"I doubt it." He paused, thinking. "The DeLorean should’ve let us know if the levels out here were dangerous to our health, as I built in something to tell us in case we ever went to the future after a large war. The sensor didn’t make a noise, so I guess we can assume that the levels have dropped enough over time for it to be safe without protection--"
"What levels? What are you talking about?!"
Even as he opened his mouth to tell Marty what he now believed had happened to Hill Valley, and likely the rest of the world, Doc decided that perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to tell the teen his suspicions until he had proof. No need to create unnecessary panic or worry. "Never mind that right now. Can you go into the DeLorean, open the hood, and find the emergency supply bag we’ve got in there? I know there’s a lighter in there."
"Can you tell me what you’re talking about first?" Marty asked, not moving. "If I caused this, I think I’ve got a right to know...."
Doc snapped his head around to stare at him as well he could in the semidarkness. "‘If you caused this’?" he echoed. "Why do you think you caused this?"
"I... don’t know. I just always seem to cause these things," Marty muttered. "I’ll get the lighter."
Doc watched him hurry out of the room, then bent down to pick up the flashlight. He tried the switch a couple times without any luck. The bulb had either shattered or something had broken off inside the cheap plastic tube. He sighed and set it down on the table near the Geiger counter, the sight of which sparked an idea....
By the time Marty returned with the lighter in hand, Doc was already examining the counter as best he could in the little light coming through the open door. He was fairly confident that if he had some better light he could connect the batteries in the flashlight to the counter and perhaps get a reading, just to make sure they weren’t in any danger....
"Here," Marty said, tossing the lighter on the table before Doc. "You know, I found one more reason why it’s damned spooky out there," he added as the scientist started to light some of the candles in his reach. "I don’t think I heard or saw one bird out. Or any other animal for that matter. You’d think if people left, this place would be running wild with house pets or something."
"Not if it happened about 25 years ago. Many would’ve died from neglect and even if some did survived and breed, they might’ve gone into the woods to live. The same could be said about the wild animals, why they’ve not overrun town." Doc also had further theories about the matter, but kept them to himself for now. He still had no proof, really, beyond the meters and his own feelings.
With additional light now, Doc was able to see more of his once-home. He picked up one of the candles from the table and explored the building, noticing his Packard parked by the garage doors (which he had sold in 1965 for something better) and the sheer volume of candles and battery-operated devices scattered around the garage. While the McFlys, and many other citizens of Hill Valley, had apparently fled when the disaster had hit, Emmett Brown seemed to have stayed to face the music alone.
If that was the case, Doc realized with another chill, there’s the possibility we might find a body nearby. Although he couldn’t smell anything like that in the building, if he had died at least a decade before, there wouldn’t really be a stench any longer. Not to mention that the current temperature was below freezing....
He was interrupted from his gruesome thoughts by Marty’s voice. "What’re these things you’ve got hooked up over here, these meters?" he called across the lab as Doc reluctantly wandered into the small living area set up away from the scientific endeavors.
"That would be a Geiger counter and a rate-meter," Doc said, stepping closer to the cot that he recalled using for a few months after his home had burned down, prior to purchasing something more comfortable and permanent. The sheets and blankets on the cot were faded and dirty, as if they hadn’t been washed in a while. Doc leaned closer with the candle, noticing some dark stains on them that looked disturbingly like --
"You mean those things that measure radiation? We heard about those in social studies this year when we studied nuclear bombs. Why would you have them hooked up in your lab? Was it something you were doing with the flux capacitor?"
Doc didn’t answer him right away, gingerly picking up a corner of the grimy bedding and drawing the candle in his hand as close as he dared to the fabric. His hand trembled slight when he realized that the dried stain was indeed blood. But whose? His own?
"Doc?" Marty’s voice grew closer. "Yo, Doc. Is something wrong?"
Doc took a deep breath, dropping the bedclothes and wiping off the hand that had touched them on his pants. "I think it’s clear something is wrong, Marty," he said, a trifle sharply as he turned around and saw the teen a few feet away, a candle of his own in hand. "Did you see any newspapers lying around?"
Marty shook his head, the first traces of real fear visible on his face. "This is bad, isn’t it?" he said softly as Doc headed his direction, intending to return to that table where he had seen the papers and books. "Worse than that other alternate reality we made where Biff was the supreme ruler of the world. At least then there were people around."
"It’s bad," Doc said bluntly, lighting a few other candles in his wake to illuminate the lab as much as possible. "If what I’m guessing is correct, it’s much worse than Hell Valley. Much worse."
When Doc returned to the table where the Geiger counter sat, as dead and silent as everything else in this world, he noticed it wasn’t a book, precisely, that was open on the table. It was a journal. He picked it up and blew the accumulated dust off the pages, turning to the front to look at the date heading in his handwriting. 1963. A bit too far past what they wanted. Doc set it down and looked around the table, coming up with only one other book, dated from 1962. There were no other books, at least not any with writing inside.
"Keep looking for newspapers," Doc said as Marty joined him to look at the journals. "I’ll scan through this and see what I can find."
The first entry, he saw, was dated less than a week after fire destroyed his mansion, and it came as little surprise when Doc scanned it for any important information. As his reel-to-reel recorder had been destroyed in that mess, he had decided to give a go keeping a written journal. From what he could vaguely recall from his own turn at writing the entries, they didn’t differ tremendously in any way. Reports about the flux capacitor, the finances and sale of the land to developers, a side note or two about his dog, Copernicus -- nothing related to the emptiness around them.
Things veered drastically away from normalcy a couple months into the journal, however. On the date of Saturday, October 27, 1962, in handwriting unusually shaky and messy from his normal, neat script, the scientist read the words he had been dreading to see yet had expected the moment he saw those radiation meters on the table.
"I cannot believe the events of today, but they can no longer be denied or ignored. Today, a Nuclear World War erupted as a result of the crisis in Cuba."
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed softly.
At the sound of Doc’s exclamation, Marty stopped poking around for old newspapers in some dusty boxes that had seemed promising and looked up, across the room where he had last left his friend looking through journals. Doc’s face had gone white beyond belief and he looked like he was about to keel over. The sight of the scientist looking like that set off even louder warning bells in Marty’s head. He stood up, feeling like he was going to need a chair soon himself, and hurried over to Doc’s side.
"What is it?" he demanded. "What did you find?"
Perhaps not able to speak yet, Doc handed him the journal and pointed to a line near the top of a page. Marty needed only to see the words "Nuclear World War" before knowing that Doc’s "Great Scott" didn’t do the news justice. This was a thousand times worse than the Biff controlled world! He felt his knees weaken and had to lean against the table to keep standing.
"Jesus Christ!" he whispered. "Is that what happened? World War III?"
"I believe so," Doc said softly. "To be perfectly honest I’m not very surprised. I thought we’d find something like this as soon as I saw that Geiger counter rigged up." He took the journal from Marty and skimmed the rest of the page, as well as the one after it. Marty reeled with this information, too stunned to say much of anything for a minute.
"Are we gonna die?" he finally managed to ask. "If there was a nuclear war, are we going to get sick from being all over town the last few hours with no protection?"
"I don’t think so," Doc said, his eyes on the words of his younger counterpart. "I built a sensor into the DeLorean to set off an alarm if it detected a dangerous amount of radioactivity in the air -- a precaution mostly for trips into the future. If the alarm wasn’t set off, then things must be safe for us, at least for a couple days. And if this happened over 23 years ago, the fallout would’ve had more enough time to lose its deadly radioactivity. After a nuclear detonation, people would be able to come out from bomb shelters and be fairly safe, as long as they stayed indoors mostly for a few weeks after the disaster."
Marty swallowed hard. "If that’s true, then where are all the people?"
Doc held a hand up. "Just a minute. Listen to this. ‘The President ordered a retaliation against the missiles in Cuba when Castro refused to back down. He sent several planes over -- the news reports are still sketchy now -- and they bombed the capital. It’s uncertain now if Castro is still alive. But unfortunately, the Soviet Union decided to retaliate against us and bomb Los Angeles, Washington D.C. and New York City.’" Doc paused before continuing, his voice lower. "‘So far, there’s been no communication from any of the cities, not surprising considering the EMPs that would make any kind of communications out of the question now. But already, estimated casualties are thought to be in the millions.’"
"Holy shit," Marty whispered. "Those cities are gone?"
Doc flipped a few more pages into the book, his face growing both grimmer and paler. "There were more," he said. "Many more. In the next few days, both sides bombed the other. Utter chaos, it looks like."
"But Hill Valley’s nothing on the map! And if they bombed us, why are there still buildings standing?"
Doc smiled, the expression looking more like a grimace, devoid of any pleasure or amusement. "Marty, just because our town wasn’t directly bombed doesn’t mean there wasn’t any danger. It says in here that they bombed Sacramento -- that’s 70 miles away, southwest. And the military base that’s even closer, 30 miles northwest of us."
Marty felt his own face pale more at this news. He found a chair nearby and sat down in a hurry, before his legs decided to give on their own. "Where are the bodies, then?" he asked, glad that he hadn’t had anything to eat in hours. His stomach turned at the very idea of coming across someone’s remains in the street.
"I’m sure some are... around. From the looks of things, I believe most people left town and went east, into the mountains. Even so, one wouldn’t die immediately from a nuclear bomb, even if it was 30 miles away. It would appear that my other self lived here several more months before... vanishing."
Doc looked rather disturbed as he finished his sentence. Marty was too miserable to say anything. Finally, the scientist voiced the question the teen had been dreading to hear since their arrival.
"What in God’s name did we do that caused something like this?"
Marty sat silent for a minute before taking a breath and facing the music. "You don’t suppose... well, that saving Jane Parker’s life had anything to do with this, do you?"
Doc turned to look at him slowly, his eyes wide. "You didn’t!" he hissed.
Marty nodded, shrinking back under his friend’s stare. "I did," he admitted, softly. "At least, I think I did. I went down there after you were out -- and Doc, I swear to God, that was an accident! I didn’t do that on purpose, honest! Anyway, I went down there and took Jane to the other side of the street before the wall could fall on her... but how could my saving her life do this?"
Doc sucked in a deep breath and turned around, his shoulders held ramrod straight. Marty waited for the yelling to start, silent and sick as he watched Doc. I can’t believe I thought I had problems before this, he thought wryly.
"How could you do something like that, Marty!" Doc finally said, turning around to look at him, his hands on his hips. He stared at the teen, the expression on his face one of disappointment and anger. "How could you do something so foolish? This is a perfect illustration on the dangers of what an additional life lived could do!"
"But what did it do?" Marty asked. "I mean, how’d we get from the saved life of a nobody to a nuked world? Are we sure it’s Jane who caused it?"
By the silence that greeted the question, Doc clearly wasn’t certain. "Did you do anything else on your trip into the city?" he asked. "Tell me everything you did -- every detail!"
Marty squirmed a little under the cool stare of his friend but recounted everything he had done from the time they had arrived in San Francisco for the second time. Doc was silent when he finished, pacing around the floor.
"It’s possible it could be something else," he said eventually. "You know as well as I do how the smallest things can snowball through time. I still think it’s Jane Parker -- but until we have some proof that it was her, we shouldn’t leave."
Marty was confused. "But isn’t it dangerous for us to be here? Isn’t that why people aren’t around?"
"It was dangerous 23 years ago -- but not so much now. Oh, I don’t think we’d want to spend a week outside here, no, but we’ve got a day or so. Anyway, radiation is probably the least of our concerns now. I think it’s safe to say that I never built a time machine here. And there’s a strong possibility you were never born, and I never lived to be the age I am now."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means that we’re running against the clock before the ripple effect catches up with us -- and erases not just you but quite possibly myself and the time machine from existence."
Marty sighed and dropped his head in his hands. So they were back to this game, again. "But we’ve still got time," he argued.
"Yes -- but I don’t know exactly how much. We might be safe for a few days, we might be safe for only a few hours. And, personally, I don’t want to spend a minute more here than I absolutely have to."
"I’m with you there. So what do we do?"
"Now, I think it’s time to visit the library. But I’d like you to wait here."
Marty looked up in surprise. "What?! Why?"
"Look around the lab for anything that might tell us what went wrong. I’d still like to see some newspapers about the disaster, so I can compare them to the facts I do remember from the Cuban Missile Crisis. I don’t think they’ll have those in the city archives, although I suppose the HVT office might have some on hand.... But I’m almost certain that my younger self might’ve set those papers aside somewhere. They reported news that changed the world forever -- and you know the kind of packrat I am."
Marty sighed again, not pleased with his assignment. "So I’m stuck here while you’re at the library all day?"
Doc shook his head. "No. I’ll just load some of those newspaper books into the DeLorean and we can look at them here. Two heads are better than one, after all."
* * *
Doc left Marty alone, after a few more instructions -- most emphatic was the instruction to avoid eating or drinking anything and avoiding contact with water, period. The teen had no problem agreeing to that; he’d never felt less hungry in his entire life and doubted there was anything very appetizing to eat, regardless.
For about ten minutes after the scientist left, Marty hesitated to even move from where he sat. The deep, heavy silence was giving him the creeps, and his surroundings were not improving things. He finally stood up and tentatively started to poke around the building. It seemed a lot larger to Marty now than he remembered it being ever before, and he supposed maybe it had something to do with a lot of junk not accumulating in it because Doc had either died or gone away. The thought made him shiver, and not just because if he had died, it meant that there could be a body around somewhere....
In the living area set off from the rest of the lab, Marty found a huge invention he didn’t think he’d seen before in the lab, resting on nearly an entire table. It looked to him more or less like a modified radio, a thick cable rigged up to what looked like a car battery instead of an electrical outlet. He flipped a few switches tentatively, but the thing remaining as dead as everything else in this world. He’d have to ask Doc about it when he returned; maybe he’d made something similar after ‘55 and dismantled it prior to Marty’s first visit to the lab in 1982.
After digging around the lab for about half an hour, he finally hit paydirt, unearthing a few yellowing newspapers from a box that had been under the desk where the journals were found. The headline on the front of the first paper, dated Sunday, October 28, 1962, was nearly four inches high and succinctly got the point across: WAR! Nuclear Bombs Dropped on U.S. Soil! Millions Dead in New York, L.A., D.C.! Marty skimmed the first few paragraphs before becoming too depressed to continue. He looked at the front pages of the other newspapers in the bunch, noticing they grew slimmer with each passing day as the headlines grew darker in news and the articles were more apt to use such phrases as, "it’s been thought" or "according to rumors."
Beats me why they’d care so much if they fudged something, Marty thought, figuring that people at that time probably had bigger concerns than who to sue. Inside one of the papers, from the October 30th issue, the same day that Sacramento had reportedly been bombed, as well as the military base, he found a pull out section entitled: "Fallout Protection: What to Know and Do About Nuclear Attack." Marty paged through it, some of the instructions disturbing in their naivete.
"Duck and cover," he muttered. "Sure, that’ll make everything just fine."
He set it aside with the other newspapers he’d gone through, and finally came to the last one, dated October 31st. Thousands Flee Hill Valley as Fallout Arrives! Mayor Declares State of Emergency! Marty wondered if those who had run the paper had fled as well -- or else died -- explaining why the Telegraphs ended there.
Now that he had found the newspapers, Marty wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do. He checked his watch, forgetting that he still hadn’t reset it. He sighed and decided to take a look outside, hoping that he might have a better idea of the time after seeing how much daylight was out now. Knowing what he did about the reasons why Hill Valley was a real ghost town, he was a little hesitant about stepping outside and into the remains of a nuclear wasteland.
But it was almost 25 years ago, and Doc did say that we’d be safe for a few days... he thought, pushing his reluctance aside enough to open the door and step outside.
The sun was visible, an orange glow on the horizon. The sky was streaked with colors both disturbing and gorgeous, colors that Marty didn’t believe he had ever seen in a normal sunrise before. He recalled hearing about how nuclear blasts could create really staggering visual effects in the sky in the days after a blast, but he was rather surprised something like that might be persisting years after it. Either someone had set off a hell of a lot of nuclear devices before things stopped (which might’ve explained the snow and bitter cold, perhaps as the beginnings of a nuclear winter) or else bombs were still happening elsewhere in the world.
Once Marty tore his eyes away from the sky and looked around at the rest of the world, he noticed that the addition of sunlight made the town look even more depressing and abandoned. Everything he saw seemed more weathered, grimier and dustier in a way. Marty walked slowly around the front of the garage, to the back -- and stopped dead when he saw what appeared to be a small grave in the snowy dirt behind the building. He drew back a little, startled by the sight of a cross set up in the ground, then curiosity drew him forward to see who the grave belonged to. He wasn’t entirely expecting identification to be there, but whoever had made the burial had apparently cared enough to carve a brief message into the wood, a message still faintly visible even after being out in the elements for almost a quarter of a century.
Marty swallowed hard, unexpected tears suddenly burning his eyes. He was perfectly aware his emotions were almost foolish in a way, brought about by a pet he’d hardly known during his week and a half in 1955, but under the circumstances, it came close to breaking his heart. Back then, this dog had been about the only family Doc had had and to imagine that he had watched his only friend die and had to bury him, two days before Christmas, no less....
"What did I do?" Marty whispered. "What the hell did I do that caused all of this to happen?" He started to shiver, partially from the cold, partially from the sight of the grave, and turned around to put his back to the marker.
Marty returned to the front of the building and took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on the situation. The air, strangely enough, seemed to be even fresher than the air he recalled from home, although the cold burned his lungs. Weird, considering the events that had destroyed the earth -- but maybe a lack of pollution for better than 20 years went a long way. He didn’t care though; Marty would’ve rather been breathing in smog on the hottest summer day if it meant having everything back to normal.
Jennifer! he suddenly realized, the name slamming into his brain like a bolt of lightning. Oh my God! Would she even be alive now? If her parents didn’t survive, then.... Marty felt his face pale at the realization. I did everything but actually kill her! he realized. Jesus Christ!
The full weight of the situation sank in even more as a breeze drifted by, stirring the air and banging a loose shingle from above. The world was totally silent save for that single sound. ....And because of me, this happened, he thought, the guilt nearly unbearable. Oh, God, I’ve caused so many people to die, and this hell is my hell! I made this!
He groaned and ran for the door, not wanting to see anything more. Inside the garage it was dim, stuffy, and spooky, but at least he could pretend there were others outside, that Hill Valley’s population hadn’t been reduced to two people who probably weren’t even living now in this reality. He slammed the door hard enough to rattle the walls, listening as the sound echoed through a building that had heard nothing but silence for so many years now. Marty leaned against it and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his heart as it pounded though his ears. His pulse gradually slowed down and he opened his eyes again, reluctantly, hating the images that surrounded him.
One life, he thought numbly as he walked to the table with the dead meters and journals. I saved one life and that killed so many more. How the hell is that even possible?
Marty sank down on the chair at the table and reluctantly picked up the first book. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he turned the pages until he found the entry for December 23, 1962.
Sunday, December 23, 1962
7:22 P.M.Copernicus passed away today, the radiation sickness having proved too much for him. Although I miss him deeply already, I’m also relieved his suffering is at an end. It was a very painful ending and I do not look forward to the day when I, too, will perish from it. It seems to be inevitable. I’ve been feeling all right today, aside from Copernicus’ passing, but the fatigue continues to persist no matter how much I try to rest. I’m not trying to lie to myself; I know very well what that means.
In the meantime, survival continues to be challenging. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that I’m in a town that most others have given up on, which allows me ample access to the supplies like canned goods, batteries, candles, and well water when the roentgen levels outside are low enough for travel outside. By my estimations, less than one hundred people are in Hill Valley now -- and isn’t it strange how I’m suddenly so popular? I’ve given up trying to explain to people that I’m not that kind of doctor; it seems that I’m the only one here with any remote knowledge about the illness and how to treat it so those suffering from it are more comfortable until the end comes. I have a sense of duty here, yes, which is why I still don’t plan to leave town. Hill Valley has been my home from the time of my birth and I don’t want to turn my back on her now. It’s already too late for me, anyway.
Marty sighed as he set the book down, not wanting to read any more. He had the feeling that things were going to go from bad to worse. It wasn’t really necessary that he read it anyway; they knew what had happened here. Now they needed to figure out exactly how it was connected to 1906.
He sighed again, out of the sheer frustration and difficulty that task would have, and led his head drop on the table top. He tapped his forehead against the surface a few times before growing still and listening to the sound of his own breathing, as it gradually slowed. Marty didn’t know how long he sat there like that before the sound of the door opening made him jump. By the stiffness in his neck and the brief spell of disorientation he felt as he stood and looked around, he guessed he’d dozed off -- impossible as that seemed. Although it was the first time he’d had any sleep in a few days, Marty had other things on his mind rather than celebrate. He hurried to the door.
Doc dumped a stack of bound newspapers on an already cluttered table near the door, sending up a cloud of dust. "How was the library?" Marty asked, squinting a little from the sunlight falling through the doorway.
"Deserted and dead, just like the rest of the town," Doc said. "Did you find any newspapers? The library didn’t have anything more recent than October 25th."
"Yeah -- there are only about four of ‘em, though. Either the HVT stopped cranking out papers then or you never collected them. They’re on the table with your journals."
"Good. I’d like to get the DeLorean inside with us. Can you help me move the sandbags out of the way outside and clear a space for the car to pull into?"
"Sure."
Despite his words, Marty was reluctant to set foot outside. It looked like an hour had passed since he had last been out, enough for the sun to really be up. The tasks took about twenty minutes, then another ten to find some oil to lubricate the rusted and frozen latches on the garage door and do the job. Finally, about half an hour after returning from the library, the car was inside and the door was shut again against the outside world.
Once the car was inside, Marty took the last few items -- history books, it looked like -- out from the floor of the passenger seat, and dumped them on the floor by the others. Doc had slipped out of sight as he had done the task and when Marty called out to him, he was answered from around the corner. Marty followed his call and found his friend staring at that weird radio-ish contraption that he had discovered earlier.
"Do you know what that is?" he asked. "I didn’t recognize it as one of your inventions, but I thought maybe you made it and got rid of it before I met you."
"I know what it is, but I never had anything like this before this reality," Doc said. "It looks like a Ham radio."
The term sounded vaguely familiar to Marty. "You mean one of those radios that lets people talk to each other around the world?"
"Exactly. It looks to me like this one has been slightly modified, but it’s definitely a Ham radio." Doc sat down at the table to inspect it further. "I wonder if it still works...?"
"Good luck -- the battery is probably long dead," Marty said, gesturing to the power source.
Doc eyed it for a moment. "Perhaps. But we’ve got a perfectly adequate power source right here with us -- the DeLorean’s car battery."
Marty didn’t like the suggestion. "Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we need that thing to get home?"
"Definitely. But I’m not planning to leave it here and the radio shouldn’t be enough of a power drain to be concerned over."
"Well, you’re the doc, Doc. But why do you even want to use that thing? We already found out that nothing’s broadcasting in or around Hill Valley with the car radio."
Doc stood up. "That may be the case, but this baby can listen to places around the world," he said, giving the machinery a pat. "We might be able to come to a solution to this puzzle if we speak with someone of this world."
Marty was highly skeptical but shrugged. "Sure, okay. Do you want me to help you get the battery out of the car?"
"Actually, I think we can run a cable from the radio to the battery and still leave it in the car. I can do that myself. Why don’t you start hitting the books and checking the lists in the newspapers to see if Jane Parker survived? The only paper I could find in the archives from the San Francisco area from that time period was The Daily News. The names might be printed only a little each day, so you might have to look ahead weeks after the quake."
Marty approached his job reluctantly as Doc went about investigating the radio and searching for a cable of proper length to run over to the DeLorean. He found the bound newspapers from April and May of 1906 and started panning through them, searching for names. He started to find lists fairly quickly, but they weren’t survivor lists; they were casualty lists. He groaned at the realization, the sound so loud and pained that Doc became concerned.
"Are you all right?" he called from where he was tinkering with the radio.
"Sure," he said sarcastically. "Just great. Doc, there aren’t any survivor lists -- they’re all lists of people who died!"
"I know," Doc said, indeed not sounding the least bit surprised. "If you can’t find her name on any of the lists, then we can assumed she survived."
Easier said than done. The print in the papers were small and faded after so many years, and between that, poor lighting, dust, and little sleep, Marty’s eyes started to ache wickedly after a few minutes of the strain. He was tempted more than once to give into the urge to set his head down and rest his eyes for a few minutes but managed to fight it off. He didn’t have time to rest.
After about half an hour of dealing with the newspapers, he got up to take a break and see how Doc’s project was coming along. In the time Marty had spent panning through old newspapers, the scientist had found and run a cable out to the DeLorean’s car battery, rigged the radio to it, and was currently scanning channels when the teen approached him from behind. Static blared from the speakers, almost emphasizing the emptiness of the world.
"Find anything yet?" he asked.
Doc answered him without turning around, intent on the dials and readouts before him. "No. But I just turned it on a minute ago. How are you doing?"
Marty smiled without amusement as he sat down in an armchair, coughing a little at the dust stirred up. "I’m exhausted, I’m confused, I’ve got one hell of a headache, and so far I haven’t found anything that seems to have caused this world, which is getting to be a real downer. You don’t have any coffee or anything like that in the DeLorean, do you?"
"I have some instant coffee with the food, yes, but we don’t have anything to heat the water with, unless you want to drink it cold."
Marty found himself actually considering that for a moment. "Ah... no, that’s okay. Even hot coffee isn’t exactly my thing."
Doc was about to answer when the static on the speakers started to break up a little, and a voice could be heard talking. It wasn’t in English, though. It sounded like Russian or German or something like that.
"Yes!" Doc said, turning around and grinning widely. "So it appears that there are still humans living on this earth!"
Marty listened to the voice speak for a minute, then it was answered by someone else, speaking the same language. "What are they saying?"
Doc listened for a moment, then shrugged. "They’re speaking Russian, I believe, but I don’t know what they’re saying." He started scanning the wavelengths again and caught another voice. This one was in English, but the voice speaking was one of monotony.
"...I repeat a state of emergency and disaster. Stay in your homes and do not go out. If you are caught outside in a bombing, then get to the lowest point possible. Do not look directly at the light...."
"Sounds like a recorded message," Marty said. "Jeez, I wonder if that thing’s been running since things went to hell?"
"If it has, then it must be coming from an underground government building," Doc said. He scanned the frequencies, but except for the Russian conversation and the recorded broadcast, there was nothing.
"That’s not a good sign, is it?" Marty asked.
Doc shrugged as tried the frequencies one more time. "It doesn’t mean there’s no one in the world anymore; it could very well be due to a lack of power or knowhow in running these machines." He paused, picking up the microphone from the desk and speaking into it for the first time. "This is Emmett Brown of Hill Valley, California. Is anyone hearing this message? Please respond."
Static was the only response. Doc tried one more time with the same message, but there was no reply. He shrugged as he set the mike down. "It doesn’t mean that we live in a dead nation, Marty," he said, reading the teen’s mind.
Marty sighed. "Sure," he said. "I’d better get back to those papers."
Marty finally finished his sweep through the San Francisco newspapers with not one mention of Jane Parker’s name. When Marty had given him the news, Doc had said that, with no confirmation of her death, they could only assume that she had survived. Marty had been ready to throw the damned newspapers across the room when he had finished his inspection of them and heard that. He’d more or less known she had come out all right since saving her from being buried alive. That it had been pretty much supported by the newspapers told them nothing new.
Doc had left his post at the radio to help Marty go through the history books he had picked up at the library. Despite his claims that Jane’s mere life could’ve caused this terrible skewing of reality, he had clearly believed that she’d had some influence over either politics or someone involved in politics. But when her name didn’t turn up in any of the indexes of the books they checked, Doc pointed out that she could’ve easily gotten married and had an entirely different surname. The news made Marty want to cry -- every avenue of approach they made was a dead end. How the hell were they going to ever untangle this mess?
"Maybe we’ve been going about this all wrong," Doc said, having energy enough to pace as Marty allowed himself the luxury of setting his head down on the desk. "We’ve been trying to trace the mistake forward, from Jane -- but perhaps we should trace it back. We’ve got a clear idea on when things went completely wrong, during the Cuban Missile Crisis. In our world, that was the closest we’ve ever come to a nuclear war -- and it’s obvious that this world wasn’t so fortunate and got the other side of the coin."
"So what does that mean?" Marty asked. "That we look to see what’s different about the Cuban Missile Crisis now? No offense, Doc, but most of that political stuff went right by me when we learned about it last year in school. I don’t think I’ll be able to tell if anything’s different between what happened here and what happened where we’re from."
"Maybe you can’t, but I can," Doc said. "I followed that event very closely, like most everyone of that time. If something is glaringly different, I should notice."
Marty lifted up his head long enough to pass the scientist the newspapers from the last few days of Hill Valley’s real existence as a city. "They’ll probably outline a lot in the first issue," he said as he settled back down.
Doc accepted the papers. "Just because you may not know as much as I do doesn’t mean you can’t help out," he warned. "I’d like you to look through my journals and let me know if I mentioned anything that might help."
Marty looked at him skeptically. "Like what? How you managed to make that radio out there?"
"No. But knowing me, I’m sure I recounted in some manner the events that led up to the bombings."
Marty raised his head, still not entirely comfortable with his assignment. "Are you sure you want me looking through your personal writings, Doc?"
"They’re not mine -- they were written by the counterpart of mine that belonged and lived in this world. And he’s gone now, either to the grave or to greener pastures. I don’t think he’d mind if you read his writing, especially since I’m sure he meant those journals to be used for scientific purposes later."
Marty stared at his friend a moment, his tired brain not quite able to grasp the idea of there being another Doc that was so different from this one. Time travel could be beyond bizarre sometimes. "All right," he said, cracking open the first journal and starting to skim the entries starting in October of ‘62.
He had hardly started reading when Doc gave a faint gasp from the other end of the table, where he had sat down to look through the newspapers. Marty looked up.
"Did you find something?" he asked hopefully, more apt to believe the gasp was one of horror after reading the first couple paragraphs of the first article.
"Most definitely," Doc said, his eyes on the newspaper. "Marty, tell me who the president of the United States was during October 1962."
Marty blinked, trying to shift his brain to the seemingly random topic. "Uh, Kennedy, I think," he said. "Is that right?"
"Not anymore," Doc said. "Listen to this -- ‘President Robert McDonald spoke to the nation today from an undisclosed location about the bombings.’ President Robert McDonald! Not John F. Kennedy!"
"Who the hell is Robert McDonald?" Marty asked. "He wasn’t the vice president... was he?"
"No -- not unless something else changed." Doc sighed. "Dammit, I wish the library had some more books about more recent history!"
Now that they had some idea on the differences between this reality and their home one, Marty wasn’t ready to give up so easily. "Didn’t you take a bunch of newspapers from the library?" he asked.
Doc nodded. "As many as I could fit into the DeLorean from between 1906 and 1961 -- the last bound volume, apparently."
"Well, there’s gotta be something in the papers about this guy, if he was elected president and everything. And I’ll bet they have stuff about his competitors and all that."
"I suppose that’s better than nothing," Doc muttered. "Here, why don’t you help me go through all these newspapers? Check all of the papers from November of 1960 -- that would be when McDonald was elected or re-elected. Set aside anything mentioning him."
That turned out to be a lot. Hill Valley wasn’t exactly a hotbed of political activity or interest, but a presidential election always did stir up some news, and this situation was no different. In the weeks leading up to the election, Marty came across articles covering everything about McDonald from his political platform, to his personal life. He would glance at the articles long enough to see if they focused on McDonald in some way, then fold the page to mark it as important before turning to the next.
When Marty finished his perusal of the newspapers, it was Doc who started to read them, allowing the teen to go back to his original job of searching through the journals. Marty got through the first few entries fast, skimming them as rapidly as he could, but soon the boredom of the entries and his exhaustion caught back up with him and he had to actually read the words slower and more carefully, sometimes more than once when his mind would wander and he’d come back in the middle of a paragraph that seemed to make no sense whatsoever.
The picture that this Doc Brown painted of the world was grim and got worse over time, especially in the second book from the year following the war.
Saturday, January 19, 1963
4:21 A.M.When I rose this evening, I found to my surprise that large portions of my hair were falling out. I never believed I’d go bald so soon, especially before my 43rd birthday, but there is no doubt that this hair loss is not natural. Clearly, it’s a result of the radiation as it accumulates in my body. I’ve done as much as I can to avoid it without actually moving underground, and at this point I don’t think it would matter much, even if I left my home and Hill Valley altogether. The levels drop a little more each week, and avoiding the daylight hours and living with the night is about the best I can do.
I managed to raise a man from Alberta, Canada on the radio today. Even Canada has experienced at least one nuclear attack, but things on that side of the border could be worse. Their biggest problems so far have been dealing with the Americans who have fled their country and the fallout that has been carried over from the U.S. by the winds. It’s a small comfort to know that human life is still carrying on, though I suspect things have been changed for the worse forever. Everyone who will live on this planet from this point forward will have some aspect of this disaster touch them in the decades, even centuries, to come. Let us hope that a valuable lesson was learned and this history will never ever repeat itself.
A few months later, the downward spiral took another unexpected turn.
Wednesday, May 1, 1963
3:33 A.M.Eating has been difficult these last few days, even more so than during the periods of nausea I’ve had. My gums bleed almost constantly, and the ache is incredible. I’m not terribly surprised, but I know that from this point on, things are not going to be very pretty. The drugs I’ve managed to get at the pharmacy in town do little to alleviate the pain or stop my symptoms for more than a couple hours. And I know soon they won’t even do that.
This spring has been much cooler than any I’ve seen before in Hill Valley. It’s snowing outside again, normally unheard of here at this time of year. I suspect that the bombs might’ve had some impact on the entire world’s climate. How severe this will be in years to come, I’m not sure. I don’t think we’ve had enough bombings to set off a nuclear winter, but if someone arrived in Hill Valley without a clue on what has happened the last six months, they would be hard pressed to understand that the city is dangerous to be in. Except for a few shattered windows I’ve noticed from either looters or the shockwave that hit us when the military base was taken out, it would be impossible to tell that HV is the way it is due to nuclear assault.
Marty turned a few more pages ahead, noticing that he was close to the end of the writings -- probably not a good sign for the fate of Doc. The handwriting was much more sloppy and disorganized as he got closer to the close of the book.
June 7, 1963?
Midnight?I’m not sure of the date; my calendar is on the other end of the room and I can’t be bothered to go that distance to check it. I’ve been feeling very ill the past couple weeks and I don’t even want to look at my face in the mirror anymore. It hardly resembles who I am -- or who I was.
I heard from Andy out in Michigan today on the radio. His health is holding up, but his young daughter is gravely ill. It always hits the children first. It doesn’t surprise me that Copernicus went so much sooner than I. Over the last few weeks, as I’ve waited to die, I’ve had too much time to think about my life. The way it was and the way I wanted it to be. I’m sure it’s perfectly natural for one to hold regrets, no matter if they’re eight or eighty when they go. As petty as it sounds (and, really, why should it matter now? Who is going to read these words? I’m keeping this record only to keep my own sanity in check) I do have more than one regret than not finishing the flux capacitor. I still believe that could have worked. If I’d more time before the damn bombings started, I’m sure I could’ve made the dream a reality.
But where was I? Distraction is becoming more problematic as the sickness worsens. Regrets, I see now. I regret never getting married, having children of my own. Foolish, for I’ve never found a woman who I’ve really wanted to marry, but I believe I could’ve made a good husband if given a chance. A good father, too. While I doubt that things would’ve changed in the next few years, one never knows what the future might bring. This will be one regret I will have, cliché as it may be.
I can’t write anymore today.
Guilt prickled Marty’s conscience again as he finished reading the passage. Nuclear Doc (as Marty was beginning to think of him as, insensitive as that might’ve sounded) would never know that if Marty hadn’t started something that made the whole world go to hell, he would’ve eventually gotten his wish with Clara and the boys.
Depressed as he already felt, he made himself read the final entry, a fairly brief one. The writing was so messy and smeared that it was almost impossible to make out.
Summer ‘63
Pain is my world. I know I might not live to see another sunset. It’s so cold this summer. I’m shivering, but I’m very thin. I think I’ve been hallucinating, too. I keep thinking I hear people call my name, but I’m alone here. Others have left or died already.
Such a pointless end, if it comes.
The journal ended there. Marty let out a deep breath and set it down. "Not much in your journals that really told how the world ended up this way, aside from maybe a mention or two about President McDonald," he said to Doc. "It would probably make an interesting movie or book, though."
Doc grunted, absorbed in his readings. "Find much out?" Marty had to ask.
"Not much about this man, so far. But I think that might change soon."
Marty nodded. He stood up from the chair, stretching and trying to get the kinks out of his neck and back that had accumulated over the last several hours of huddling over research. The cold wasn’t helping much, either, making him feel stiff all over. His eyes and head ached from doing so much reading and skimming, trying to find out as much as possible as quickly as he could. "How long do we have?" he had to ask. "Before we fade away or whatever?"
"Maybe a few days, possibly as long as a week," Doc said, distracted. "But I don’t want to stay here that long -- do you?"
"No way." He paused, unable to really ignore the gnaw of hunger in his stomach any more. "Is there still stuff to eat in the DeLorean that’s safe?"
"Yes, although I haven’t restocked the supply since we camped out in San Francisco and we don’t really have a way to heat up water."
"At this point, I don’t care," Marty said honestly.
"Oh, and you might want to eat things with a high salt content, as those will help alleviate any affects of possible radiation damage."
"Great," Marty muttered, not cheered by that idea. He went over to the car, popped the hood, and pulled out the box of emergency food supplies. After digging around for a few minuets, he found some more jerky and a can of soup. The idea of eating something hot that didn’t taste like it was drowning in spices or super dry appealed to him greatly and Marty found enough motivation to search the kitchen area of Doc’s old place. It didn’t take him long to find a camping stove, hidden by what looked to be some kind of water purification system rigged on the sink.
"I think I found something that can give us hot food," he called to Doc as he examined the stove. "There’s a camping stove over here. Does gas keep over twenty-five years?"
"Yes, if the cannister didn't lose pressure and let it leak out. You can try it if you want," Doc returned a minute later.
Marty decided to do just that. He took a long candle out of it’s holder nearby, found the knob to open up the gas, and hearing the hiss, brought the flame down to the burners. There was a flash as the burners suddenly lit up. He grinned, pleased.
"Got it to work," he said. "We can have some hot food now."
"That’s good," Doc said, sounding preoccupied.
Marty used the metal kettle from the DeLorean to heat the soup, the same one that Doc had used in San Francisco to heat the water for their instant soups. Having taken Doc’s warning about salts to heart, he found some packets of the spice with the time machine’s supplies and dumped a lot of them in with the soup to cook. It would probably taste a little weird, but if it saved him from coming down with some terrible form of cancer some years down the road, it would be worth it. The smell of the fresh food greatly improved both his spirits and the atmosphere of the building. He wondered how long it had been since the garage had last experienced any form of real life inside, then decided he didn’t really want to know; the answer would probably just depress him again.
One he’d had something to eat (wincing more than once from the taste), he felt steadier and more relaxed. Still chilled despite the hot meal, Marty prowled around for maybe a coat or blanket to bundle up in, but everything he saw was too dusty or too dirty. The bedding on the cot at the back disturbed him the most. The stains on the fabric looked like dried blood. He finally remembered there were some clean and warm blankets in the DeLorean, wrapped himself in those, got in the car, turned on the heater, and settled back to warm up until Doc called for him to do something else.
At some point, not surprisingly, he fell asleep.
When Marty woke up, in the midst of some nightmare involving the rotted corpses of everyone killed from the disaster chasing after him, it was from Doc gently shaking him. His nerves were so scrambled that he nearly screamed as he opened his eyes and saw the face before him, distorted by shadows and candle light.
"I’ve figured things out," Doc said as Marty caught his breath. "I think you need to hear them before we go."
Heart still pounding from the echo of the nightmare, Marty managed to nod and sit up. He was still chilled, almost more than before he’d gotten into the car, and when he felt the air vents, he realized why. He hadn’t turned the car on at all before turning on the heat; therefore, there wasn’t anything to heat the air before it was blown into the car. Marty felt a little foolish. He got out of the DeLorean, hugging the blankets even tighter around him, and before saying a word found one of the water jugs from the trunk. He took a long drink from it, the salty soup having successfully dehydrated him.
"How long did it take you?" he asked as he screwed the cap back on the jug, clearing his throat.
"A few hours. Once I found what I needed to know, the rest fell into place rather easily."
"Am I going to like this news?" Marty had to ask as he followed the scientist to the table where he had done his research.
Doc picked up what looked to be handwritten notes. "I doubt it. Sit down."
Marty sat in the chair he had used earlier and watched his friend, waiting. Doc cleared his throat once before beginning.
"Jane Parker survived the earthquake," he said. "Nothing that I’m sure you didn’t already know. About a year after the disaster, she met a Samuel McDonald, a young banker in San Francisco. They fell in love, were engaged that summer, and were married on April 18, 1908 in the city -- two years exactly after the earthquake."
Marty caught the familiar surname as that of the future President of the United States. "Really?" he said, surprised.
Doc continued on without comment. "The couple settled down in San Francisco after their honeymoon and on May 29, 1909, their first son was born. His name was Robert Samuel McDonald."
Marty arched his eyebrows at the name. "Is this the same guy who became president?" he asked.
Doc held up his hand, not looking up from his notes. "I’ll get to that. Robert was an intelligent, serious child. His parents hoped he would follow in his father’s trade, but the boy had other ideas. While attending college back East, he discovered politics. Although he graduated with a business degree in 1931, he didn’t return to San Francisco to help his father, but moved to Washington D.C. instead. At that point, I don’t think it was terribly surprising. Jane and her husband had lost a lot of money in the stock market when it crashed in 1929. There wasn’t much business left to be run by Robert."
Marty nodded, wishing his friend would hurry up and get to the point, although a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he wasn’t going to like the end of the story, when it came.
"Robert spent the Thirties investing money of his own and working as an aide in the White House. During that time he married, but his wife later died under mysterious circumstances -- a drowning of some sort. I couldn’t really find much about it with the resources we had. Robert served in World War II and was awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor when he saved the lives of fifty American troops by shooting a man who was installing a bomb in the transport he was stationed on." Doc looked at Marty with a raised eyebrow. "There you have at least fifty people who lived when they died before, likely -- and many others who died who shouldn’t’ve after Robert killed them in combat."
Marty winced a little. "I didn’t know, Doc," he said softly.
Doc sighed, as if he was a little tired of hearing that phrase, then went on. "In 1946, Robert made his first run to the Senate -- and won. He spent the next fourteen years gathering both money and potential voters by passing and writing a lot of bills that people liked -- lower taxes, better minimum wage, that kind of stuff. Two of his interests at that time were the nuclear arms race and a fear of Communism. Robert was very active in the McCarthy hearings.
"In 1959, Robert announced his intentions to run for the presidency. He was selected over John Kennedy to represent the Democratic Party and Kennedy was made vice-president. It was an interesting mix -- Robert was 50, single, and childless; Kennedy was 42, married, with a family. Perhaps they appealed to both young and old people, the bachelors and the families. At any rate, they were elected over Nixon."
The connection, now, was crystal clear. "And then because he was running things instead of Kennedy, he did things differently during the Cuban Missile Crisis," Marty finished. "Oh my God."
As he let this information sink in, Doc nodded. "You see, Marty, one life made all of this possible," he said softly. "One life that was supposed to die."
Marty winced again at the last word. "So is that what you’re saying, Doc? We gotta go back and kill Jane before she can have kids?"
Doc looked troubled at the phrasing of Marty’s suggestion. "We just have to prevent you from saving her life," he said instead.
Marty closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Why do we have to do this, Doc? You saved Clara’s life and the world didn’t come to a screeching halt."
"We were fortunate," Doc said immediately. "You don’t know how many nights I spent awake worrying about that -- especially before I completed the time machine and had a way to move my family out of the past. We were a great danger there and I feared for the futures of Jules and Verne, too. They knew a little about the risk -- and imagine how you would feel if you were told you could never be someone above average in the world, that you couldn’t become very wealthy or famous or involve yourself with worldly affairs, all because it could destroy the future?"
"That’s not good," Marty said, surprised at this revelation. "I guess you were really right when you said moving to the future was something you needed to do."
Doc nodded once. "It’s a decision I haven’t regretted yet, though the transition has been rather rocky at times for the boys and Clara. Anyway, Marty, Clara’s living didn’t have the results we’ve seen here. Hill Valley’s history might’ve changed a little. Perhaps Clara influenced a child in a way he or she hadn't been before she taught in the schoolhouse. Our friends’ and neighbors’ lives were touched. But if there have been any changes since her life was saved, they’ve been so subtle that I haven’t even noticed them; have you?"
Marty had to shake his head. "But isn’t there another way around this?" he asked. "Can’t we just kidnap Jane and... I dunno, make her sterile?"
Doc sighed. "We can’t make sure the problem is solved completely until we correct the mistake where it needs to be corrected. Do you want to live in this place for the next few days or weeks, before the ripple effect catches up with us and we’re erased from existence?"
"No, definitely no." Truer words were never spoken. "But I don’t want to kill someone, Doc...."
"You won’t be killing her, nor I," Doc said. "We’ll merely prevent your younger self from saving her life. Anyway, you can’t be accused of killing someone who was going to die anyway, had you not interfered."
Marty got up, too restless to hear Doc’s arguments. "It still feels like murder to me," he said, catching sight of one of the newspapers, one with a photograph of the newly elected Robert McDonald posing with John Kennedy. Marty stared at the grainy photograph, amazed that the older man was Jane’s son. The eyes looked like they had come from the Parker side of the family; other than that, Robert bore no resemblance to the young, petite woman. Likely he took after his father on everything else.
Doc sighed again. "I didn’t make the rules in this universe," he said. "If I did, I’d allow Jane to live a happy, normal life that would have no impact whatsoever on the fate of the entire world. But that wasn’t to be."
"Yeah," Marty said flatly, knowing there really wasn’t any way around this he would like. "Life’s a bitch. We might as well go back to 1906 now and get this over with."
Despite being armed with knowledge now, preparing to leave took a little bit of time. Doc had to unhook the radio from the car battery. They had to get the garage doors open again. The candles had to be blown out so they wouldn’t start a fire. Mr. Fusion had to be loaded. Finally, on his way to the car, the scientist tore a page out of one of the newspaper volumes, the one announcing the election of McDonald and Kennedy.
"The moment history is rectified, this should change to the proper headline," he explained as he got into the car and shut the door. Marty looked at it as Doc turned the key to start the car.
But the car didn’t start.
Frowning, the scientist turned the key again. Silence, save for a faint click. The lights inside the cab of the car remained dark. "Shit!" Doc hissed, the exclamation startling Marty.
"Oh no," he groaned. "Don’t tell me something else is wrong!"
Doc didn’t need to say a word; the expression on his face said volumes. Marty groaned again and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the dashboard. "Oh, jeez, when is our luck going to change?"
Their luck wasn’t going to change any time soon, apparently. Doc left the car to take a look at the engine and make sure things were connected properly -- but when he tried to start the car again, there was still silence.
"Dead battery," he said, the words far from music to Marty’s ears.
"Great," he grumbled. "I thought you said the radio wouldn’t drain it enough!"
Doc looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I wasn’t the one who turned on the fan in the car in an attempt to heat up the interior -- and left it going for a couple hours," he said. "I wasn’t expecting that additional drain."
Marty felt his face redden. "I didn’t know," he muttered. "Sorry. I seem to be the one causing all the problems."
Doc sighed, sounding tired. "It’s all right. Maybe the Packard’s battery still has some juice in it. Can you open up its hood while I find the jumper cables?"
"All right."
Marty left the DeLorean a little reluctantly, having thought he’d touched the last of this dead world. The Packard was parked only a few feet away from the time machine, before the other garage door. Figuring that this car would be like others he was used to, in that one had to unlatch the hood from the inside, Marty opened the door. He was already leaning in the car when he froze, his eyes noticing what was less than six inches away from him.
Sprawled across the front seat was a figure. The figure was bone thin, the skin blackened beyond recognition, swathed in layers of blankets and clothes. The face was visible, resting next to the door that Marty had just opened. Not all the desiccated flesh was stripped from the skull yet, but the eyes were gone, leaving dark, gaping sockets behind. That was the worst part; the eyeless sockets stared at him, accusingly.
It was the Doc Brown of this world.
Marty screamed; he couldn’t help it. In a blind panic, he drew back out of the car and stepped back as quick as he could. His heel caught the cable that Doc had run from the radio earlier and he wasn’t able to catch his balance. He fell, the back of his skull slamming into something hard. There was a flash -- Stars, Marty thought faintly. I’m seeing stars.... -- and then blessed, welcome blackness.
* * *
Doc had been busy digging around for the jumper cables, leaning way over into the DeLorean’s trunk, when he heard Marty scream. The car rattled a second later, then there was a thud that sounded like something heavy hitting the floor. Doc lifted his head up, his senses suddenly on full alert.
"Marty?" he called. "What happened?"
No answer. Doc looked around and strained his hearing. He couldn’t see or hear anything. He was fairly certain they were still alone... so why wasn’t Marty answering him?
The scientist circled the front of the car, around to the other side where the Packard was located. The door of that car was hanging open, but it took Doc a moment before he saw Marty, propped up in what looked to be a rather uncomfortable half sitting position against the passenger doorway of the DeLorean. His eyes were closed and his head was back, against the bottom of the seat. Doc wasted no time in going to his side as he tried to figure out what happened. Had Marty fainted? If so, why? If not, what had happened to him?
Marty didn’t respond to Doc’s calls, nor to the gentle shaking the scientist gave him. Carefully, Doc examined his head, wondering if he had struck it -- and felt a nasty lump at the back. The lump stirred a nearly forgotten detail, about how the DeLorean had kind of shuddered before he had heard his friend hit the ground. Between the position that Marty was in, along with the lump on his head and the vibration Doc had felt, he theorized that Marty had either tripped or fallen backwards, striking the back of his head on the DeLorean’s hard stainless steel doorframe.
Ouch, he thought, wincing as he pictured the scene. It was no wonder that he was out cold. Something was still missing from the picture, however; why had Marty screamed? The sound was definitely one of terror, not quite one of being startled. Doc stood slowly and turned around, his eyes searching around for what Marty might’ve seen. At first they passed over the inside of the Packard, but something seemed to draw them back to the car’s shadowy interior. Doc saw the form on the front bench seat, the empty eye sockets in a face not quite stripped to the bone of flesh -- and he shuddered, stepping back and nearly tripping over Marty.
"Oh my God!" he moaned, leaning on the DeLorean as his knees gave out on him. Doc turned away and screwed his eyes shut, unable to take another second looking at that thing. It was himself -- the himself who lived in this world! His stomach gave a lazy roll and he knew for a fact that had he had anything to eat, he would’ve lost it right then. It was one thing to know that you were probably dead; seeing your own grave site was even worse. But to actually see the body, and after it had been lying there for some twenty-odd years....
Don’t panic! Doc thought, teetering on the threshold of doing just that. That... that thing has been there the entire time you and Marty have. It can’t hurt you. It’s not even you, not really. Just a you from another reality. Just shut the door and forget about the Packard battery; you know it’s probably dead after so much time. Cover the car with a tarp and leave it be.
Doc took a deep breath, still trembling, and forced himself to move. He shut the door of the car, hard, entombing the remains of himself for possibly all time. Next, he took the car cover from the back of the DeLorean and donated it to cover the Packard. He felt better the moment the vehicle was concealed.
Marty was his next concern. Doc managed to get him into the DeLorean’s passenger seat, but wasn’t able to wake him up. He gave up after a few minutes, wishing that he had some ice on hand for the bump on his head. He didn’t dare use the snow and ice available outside; if it was contaminated in any way, it would be far too dangerous and risky to put on a head wound. Icing it would have to wait, for the time being. His breathing and pulse were both steady, which was a good sign.
Doc turned his thoughts to coming up with a way to give the battery enough juice to get the car running. He thought about going to the auto shop in town, but realized those batteries -- if there were any left -- would be as good as dead. Waiting for the DeLorean’s battery to gain enough life to start the car would take too much time -- if it worked at all. He’d used the spare battery he had once had in the DeLorean in the Volvo station wagon he’d bought as a family car and still hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. Mr. Fusion was a possibility -- although it had a lot of power and to tap into it would take at least an hour of rerouting wires and cables.
Doc started to pace around his former home, thinking as he went, and ended up running right into the solution -- or, rather, tripping over it. As he stumbled near the table with the newspapers and journals, he glanced down and saw a cable on the floor, which was connected to a gas powered generator. He could almost hear the click as things fell into place.
He pulled the generator out from under the table and into the cold sunlight falling through the open garage door. It looked like it might still work; he couldn’t see anything broken on it at first glance. Doc looked around for a tube he might use to siphon some gas from the DeLorean and located one after about fifteen minutes. He took the cap off the DeLorean’s gas tank, threaded one end of the tube in, then started to suck on it until gasoline filled his mouth. Doc spit out the foul mouthful of liquid on the floor and quickly stuck his end of the tube into the tank of the generator. When the generator’s tank had filled about halfway, he cut off the flow and closed up both tanks.
Next, he located the jumper cables in the DeLorean, attached them to the generator, and yanked the cord to start the thing running. It took a few tries, but finally the ancient engine chugged to life. Holding his breath, partially out of superstition and partially against the sickening carbon monoxide odors the generator was emitting, Doc brought the cables to the battery -- and saw sparks as they touched.
"Good!" he muttered, running as fast as he could to the front seat. This time, when he turned the key, the car came to life. As soon as it had started, Doc ran back to the generator, took the cables off the battery, and shut down the machine. He pushed it aside, out of the way of the garage door, and shut the hatch at the back of the DeLorean that concealed the car’s mechanisms.
Doc was able to back the car out of the building and turn onto the street without stalling the engine. Whispering a prayer under his breath, he activated the flying circuits and brought the time machine into the air, accelerating as fast as he could while programming the time circuits with his other hand. He couldn’t leave this world fast enough.
The same morning in San Francisco, for the third time in less than a week. Doc looked down at the ground, searching for a place to land the DeLorean that wasn’t going to get in the way of their other selves. After a minute, he saw a small grassy concave a mile out of the city limits and away from the other two versions of himself and Marty.
There’s three of us here now, he thought in amazement as he landed the car. And I thought getting the almanac back was confusing.
As Doc waited for the earthquake to arrive, he thought hard about what Marty had said to him earlier about his trip to the city. From what he knew, it would seem that delaying the second Marty -- Marty II -- would work the best. As long as he wasn’t there to take Jane to the other side of the street and save her life, the world and future would be all right. The scientist grimaced slightly, both from the realization the task would not be easy and the fact that someone was going to have to die so millions of others wouldn't. It did seem rather unfair, as Marty pointed out earlier.
"I’m not God," he murmured to himself. "I didn’t make the decision that things should end up this way -- it’s just the way they do."
Even so, the words didn’t make him feel any better. Doc shifted his mind back to the main problem at hand -- deterring or stopping Marty before he reached the hotel. He got out of the DeLorean, the urge to breathe fresh air great. The sight of an illuminated city nearby made him realize how much the desolation had disturbed him in the abandoned Hill Valley to come -- or never come, if things went right.
The fresh air seemed to have an effect. In a few minutes, Doc had an idea. He waited out the earthquake, then started down to the city. Before locking the DeLorean, however, he found the newspaper that told of Jane’s son’s election and put that in his pocket, so he could be sure the mistake was fixed before they left for home.
Doc kept a careful eye on his watch as he walked to the city, trying to estimate about what time both the aftershock and Marty II’s rescue would take place. He tried as much as he could to stick to side streets and alleyways as he went, both to avoid Marty II accidentally seeing him and to avoid the eyes of the city dwellers who would surely gawk at his anachronistic clothing. One of these days, once he mastered holographic technology, he’d have to invent a coat or something that one could put on in emergency situations like this and give the illusion that one was properly dressed in the attire of the day--
Doc stopped that thought before it could go any farther, not wanting to be distracted at a time like this.
He reached the Parker Palace in only an hour, before either Marty arrived on the scene. Knowing from Marty’s story that he would arrive to save Jane before his original counterpart showed up, Doc started to head in the direction that Marty had mentioned approaching the hotel. He slipped into an alleyway and waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, just when he was wondering if he had somehow missed Marty II’s approach, he caught sight of the teen walking towards the hotel. Doc didn’t hesitate; he stepped out from the alley and grabbed his arm.
"Marty, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" he asked.
Marty jumped, startled, his eyes going wide when he saw who had grabbed him. "Doc!" he gasped.
Doc kept a scowl on his face, trying to summon all of his exhaustion and frustration to look and act as irritated as this Marty would expect of him, had he woken up at the DeLorean and realized he was gone. "Why are you down here?" he asked, pulling him into the alleyway, out of sight of the main flow of people. "Did you knock me out so you could rescue Jane?!"
Marty’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to speak but seemed unable to find the right words. Doc frowned at him, keeping a grip on his arm to make sure he wasn’t going to try and break away to do what he wanted. "Marty, I’m still waiting to hear your story," he said finally.
"I didn’t knock you out on purpose!" he said quickly. "That was an accident, I swear! My finger just hit the wrong button!"
Doc grunted, as if he was grudgingly accepting that excuse. "So why are you down here, then? Why weren’t you waiting up at the DeLorean?"
Marty squirmed. "Because I thought... well, maybe the reason I have insomnia is more from knowing I should’ve saved Jane’s life."
Knowing that his friend did indeed get some sleep later -- or in the past, now, or in a future that would hopefully never be -- Doc had to wonder if that was true. Even if it was, however.... "You can’t save her life," he said, staring him right in the eyes. "You know that. It would change the future."
"But how do you know that?" Marty argued. "How do you know it wouldn’t be like Clara, where nothing would really be different aside from letting someone live a full and happy life?"
"Marty, we can’t decide who should live and die. Why stop with Jane? Why not go back and evacuate the entire hotel? Or push someone else out of the way? Saving someone who died originally is not our job or concern, as cold as that may sound. It’s just as dangerous -- perhaps even more so -- as knowledge about one’s future."
Marty still wasn’t backing down. "How was saving Clara different, then? She was supposed to die -- originally. And you knew that."
Doc signed, genuinely irritated with the question that he’d heard too often the last few days -- as well as being one that had nagged at him a lot after the rescue. "Not until after I'd already done it -- and what was I supposed to do then,throw her off the cliff? You’re not murdering Jane; you never were. This happened before we were even here. I know you like her, but she isn’t Jennifer. This isn’t Jennifer you’re allowing to die."
Marty blinked. "I know that," he said softly.
"Do you? Do you really, Marty?"
There was a pause, the expression on his friend’s face clearly pained. "I do," he said finally. "But she’s related to Jennifer. What would she say if I told her I let one of her ancestors die?"
"I’m sure she would understand it was for a reason," Doc said, more gently. "Are you afraid that if you don’t save Jane, that you’ll lose Jennifer as well?"
The blue eyes blinked again. "I never thought about it that way," Marty admitted softly.
Actually, now that Doc thought about it, his theory suddenly made a lot more sense. Could this mess have been completely avoided if Marty and Jennifer never had their argument? he wondered, stunned by the revelation.
"You won’t lose Jennifer, Marty," he said. "I’m sure you both will work out the situation. She’ll cool down and you’ve already learned a lot from the experience. Just give it a little time."
Marty wore an odd, twisted frown on his face. "But how can I just walk away when I know--"
Before he could finish his sentence, the ground started to shake. Realizing the danger they were in in their current position, Doc pushed Marty out of the alley with him and pulled him into the street, praying that enough people would be around so that their other selves wouldn’t notice them. When the shaking tapered off, Doc looked up -- and saw the wall of the hotel tear away and fall to the ground with a deafening roar. Marty trembled under Doc’s grip, turning his head away from the sight.
"I failed," he said, so softly that Doc almost didn’t catch it. The scientist guided him away from the middle of the street, back to the shadows of the alleyway where they would be safer from their own eyes. Marty kept his face turned away from Doc.
"Are you okay?" he asked finally.
Marty turned his head to look at him, his eyes damp. "She died, Doc," he whispered.
"But Jennifer isn’t dead, Marty. You can still save your relationship with her. And that’s who you really care for, isn’t it?"
Marty was still for a long moment, before he finally nodded. "Can I meet you back at the car?" he asked in a low voice. "I need some time alone."
The suggestion couldn’t’ve been better. "Of course," Doc agreed readily, letting him go. Once he had left the alley, Doc reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper. His heart sank -- nothing had changed. But just as the realization hit him, the picture and headline -- McDonald and Kennedy Elected to White House -- started to change before his eyes. The photograph of McDonald and Kennedy was replaced by one of Kennedy and Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson. Kennedy and Johnson Elected to White House, the headline now read. There wasn’t one mention of a Robert McDonald, anymore. History was back to normal; there was a future to return to now.
"Thank God," Doc breathed, feeling weak with relief.
* * *
When he returned to the DeLorean, Doc found his Marty still out cold in the car. Part of him was relieved, as he had been a little concerned over the possibility of him waking up and having no idea where they were or what was going on, then going off to investigate and creating more problems and delays. But part of him was a little worried as well, although he faintly recalled Marty mentioning once before that when he had been knocked unconscious in the past, he would usually be out for a few hours, at least.
The engine started on the third try, the reluctance to start making him about ready to scrap the thing. As soon as he got back, he’d have to be sure and give the DeLorean a complete medical check up to make sure the battery wasn’t going to be the least of their problems. Doc set the time circuits before taking the car into the sky, to six in the morning on January 22, 1986.
This time, when he arrived in the future, things were very different. The snow and cold was missing, and lights were scattered about on the ground below. The streets were in good repair (or as good as the government would keep them) and houses appeared lived in and taken care of. At the sight of his hometown as he had left it, seemingly days before, Doc sighed deeply and turned in the direction of his home.
The buildings on his property on Elmdale Lane looked as they should, fully restored. Doc brought the car down to landing level but allowed it to hover six inches above the ground. He drove it to the backyard of the house, as close to the porch stairs as possible before landing it on the grass. Once things were shut down, he hopped out of the car and ran up the steps. The back door was locked, but the kitchen light was on. Through the window, Doc could see his wife, Clara, at the stove fixing breakfast for the boys before they rose for school. She turned around at his knock, surprise on her face, and hurried to unbolt the door.
"Emmett, what are you--"
Her words were abruptly cut off as Doc took her into her arms and hugged her tight. Clara dropped the spatula in her hand, caught off guard from her husband’s sudden affection.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, concerned as Doc finally let her go and stood back, staring at her intently.
"Not anymore," he said honestly. "Would you mind making a cold compress for me?"
Clara looked taken aback. "Why, sure, of course. Did you hit your head?" By the look on her face, it was clear that she had thought so.
"No, Marty did. He’s in the car and I can’t take him home now in the shape he’s in." Doc kissed his wife quickly before turning and hurrying back outside. He could feel her puzzled stare on his back as he went down the stairs and opened the passenger door of the DeLorean. By the time Doc got Marty out of the car, into his arms, and into the house, Clara had moved into action and had made a cold compress with a plastic bag of ice and a towel.
"What happened?" she asked as she trailed her husband down the hall and up the stairs to his second floor study.
Doc didn’t answer her until he set Marty on his study’s couch and was able to catch his breath a little. "He fell and hit his head on the DeLorean, I think," he explained, turning on a couple of the lamps so he wouldn’t trip and hurt himself in the dark room. "He’s got a nice bump on the back of his head, but I think he’ll be all right."
Clara knelt next to Marty’s head and gently ran her hands behind his head. "You’re right," she said, concerned, slipping the ice pack bundle behind his head. "Are you sure he doesn’t have a concussion?"
"No -- but if he doesn’t wake on his own by noon and I can’t rouse him, I might have to call his parents to take him to the doctor." Doc sighed, staring out the window at the early morning winter darkness. "That would be a big mess, but if something is wrong...." He shrugged.
Clara stood and looked at him as she closed the blinds over the window. "What was it that happened to you both?" she asked. "Where did you go?"
Doc smiled, rather grimly. "That, my dear, is a rather long story...."
The first thing he became aware of was a cold sort of throbbing at the back of his head, a rather peculiar sensation. The surface he was lying on was soft, much like a bed or couch, and Marty wondered if that’s where he was -- at home after a real brutal series of nightmares. But why would his head be aching so badly, and why was it so cold? Had his pillow turned to a block of ice?
And then there were the sounds around him. Ticks and whirs of clocks, a very familiar, almost soothing sound. Something tugged at the edge of his mind. He felt he should know where he was, but couldn’t put his finger on it.
So open your eyes, he thought, somewhat fuzzily. Solve the mystery.
It was definitely a reasonable and logical course of action -- so why did he feel so reluctant to do so? Marty fought a brief internal battle over the matter, curiosity finally proving stronger than the vague disquiet that nagged at him. He cracked his eyes open, just a little.
He was in what looked like a study of some kind, dark save for the sunlight struggling to slip through the cracks of the blinds over the windows. The place was rather cluttered but cozy, with a shelf of books against one wall, and so many clocks on another that it was amazing that wall was still standing. Family photographs, most of them black and white tintypes, decorated the space behind a large desk, the top of which was overflowing with paperwork piled in messy stacks.
He was in Doc Brown’s study, Marty realized, lying on the couch under a quilt. He had only seen the room a few times before, but he was certain that’s where he was; the clock collection was a dead giveaway. Before he could figure things out any further than that, the door opened a little and a head peeked in, staring at him.
"Marty?" Clara said softly, a gentle smile on her face. "Did you just wake up?"
Marty cleared his dry throat. "I think so," he murmured, testing his voice. Even to his own ears, he sounded pretty groggy. "What happened?"
Clara opened the door all the way and stepped into the room. "Emmett said you fell and hit your head," she explained. "You’ve got a real nasty bump back there. We were actually getting a little concerned. How do you feel?"
Marty started to sit up and nearly passed out; the room tilted at weird, sickening angles and the pain in his head suddenly worsened by a tenfold. "Whoa," he moaned softly, sinking back on the cold pillow -- cold from an ice pack, he realized now -- and closing his eyes for a second.
Clara didn’t seem surprised by his reaction. "I don’t think you can hop out of bed just yet," she said. "You were unconscious for at least five hours -- at least over here."
"Over here?" Marty echoed weakly. "What do you mean?"
Clara looked faintly uncomfortable. "Why don’t I fetch Emmett," she suggested. "He can explain better than I. He’s told me the story, but I’m sure there might’ve been some things he left out for my benefit. I’ll get you some Tylenol to ease your headache." She left before he could say anything in response.
Marty sighed, using the time while he waited to try and remember where he had been before. It was kind of weird; he could’ve sworn he and Doc were stuck in a world where all the people had been victims of a nuclear holocaust... but was that just a dream? It seemed to have a dreamlike quality to it as he remembered it, but there were other things about it that just seemed too real. Didn’t it have something to do with Jane being alive...?
His concentration was shattered when Doc suddenly entered the room. "How are you feeling, Marty?" he asked. "Any dizziness or nausea?"
"I’m dizzy if I’m sit up, but I don’t feel like I’m going to puke," Marty said. "Why? Do you think I have a concussion?"
"It’s always possible," Doc said, sitting down in the chair at his desk. "How much do you remember?"
"I don’t really... know. Everything’s all scrambled and I can’t tell what might’ve been dreams or not."
"Well, what’s the last thing you remember?"
Marty thought about that, hard, his head aching fiercely as he did so. Clara slipped into the room again, a large glass of water and bottle of Tylenol in hand. "I guess coming over here to get your help because I couldn’t sleep," he said tentatively. "I don’t think that was a dream... was it?"
"No, it wasn’t," Doc said as his wife passed Marty a couple pills and the water. He accepted both gratefully, sitting up enough to swallow the medication and drain the water glass before settling back. Clara looked at her husband as she took the empty glass from Marty’s hand, raising an eyebrow. He met her eyes and shrugged a little.
"Is there anything else you’d like Marty?" she asked on her way to the door. "Are you hungry?"
"I’m fine for now," he said. "Thanks." He waited until Clara had left the room and shut the door before asking the question to confirm what he already felt. "There is something else, isn’t there? I didn’t just fall in the lab and hit my head, did I?"
"No, not exactly. Do you remember that we went back to San Francisco for a second time?"
With Doc’s prodding, Marty actually did remember. "Yeah -- and I went to rescue Jane and... oh my God!" The rest of the memories fell into place. He shuddered. "We ended up in that hell of a world!"
"Yes," Doc said, plainly relieved that Marty had remembered on his own. "The DeLorean’s battery died and I asked you to open the hood of the Packard and--"
The nightmarish image suddenly locked in Marty’s head -- the blackened corpse of Doc’s other self in the car. He could feel himself blanch at the very memory. "I remember," he whispered. "I saw the, uh, the body and then... I don’t remember anything."
"I heard you scream, then felt the DeLorean kind of shudder a little. When I found you, it looked to me like you’d fallen back and hit your head on the DeLorean’s doorframe -- which is why you’ve got such a nasty bump and headache. Stainless steel isn’t very forgiving."
Marty nodded a little, careful not to move his head too much. "Feels like a good guess," he said. "But I really don’t remember what happened. The body scared the shit out of me, then I was waking up here."
"Did you faint?" Doc asked. "I wasn’t sure if you were unconscious so long from just the blow perhaps from that as well."
The teen thought hard for a minute, forcing himself to replay that disturbing discovery in his head. "I don’t think so," he said eventually. "Seeing something like that isn’t really going to make me faint -- not unless maybe it was my own body." He arched an eyebrow at Doc. "How did you handle it?"
"Well, thankfully, I didn’t faint, or we might both still be in that skewed reality," Doc said. "It disturbed me a great deal, naturally. I’m rather glad we didn’t find my... remains until right before leaving. I don’t think I could’ve concentrated terribly well knowing those were so near."
"What did happen after I went out, anyway? You obviously fixed things back to normal."
Doc smiled, the expression a little weary. Marty wondered if he’d had any rest since the accident with the sleep inducer. "Well, after I got the car going and returned to San Francisco, I did a rather bold thing -- I grabbed your other self, the one who saved Jane, and both delayed him from saving her life as well as getting some curious insight on the matter."
"What do you mean?"
Doc looked at him, the expression on his face rather odd and hard to categorize. "You don’t remember anything about that run-in, do you?"
"No. I remember the way things happened originally. But I didn’t remember things differently after I saved Jane’s life, either."
"Interesting. Very interesting." And, indeed, Doc unearthed a pen from his cluttered desktop and scrawled something to himself on the back of a receipt. Maybe it was an observation or a note about the matter, as he knew Doc was keeping a record about his experiences and observations with time travel. Marty didn’t get why his memories were the way they were and decided he wasn’t up to thinking about it now; it would probably give him a bad headache even if he hadn’t hit his head earlier. "What was your insight?" he asked instead, going back to the earlier question.
"Never mind, now, it’s not very important. But do you understand why things had to be the way they were with Jane?"
"No, not really," Marty said honestly. "But I don’t really think I can understand it. Why someone has to die for others to live. It’s too... heavy, I guess."
Doc watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," he said. "Are you up to going home now, or do you want to rest a little more?"
Marty tried sitting up again, slowly. The dizziness came again, but not to the same degree as earlier. Likewise the pain in his head. Either the Tylenol was kicking in, or lying down for a little longer had helped a lot. "I think I can make it home," he said. "What time is it?"
Doc checked one of his watches. "About 11:20 A.M."
Marty winced, not from pain, as he threw back the quilt and swung his legs over the side of the couch, taking things a little slow. "My parents are going to have a fit! I’m surprised they haven’t called the cops and reported me missing yet."
"I think they assumed you had left for school before they got up. I haven’t heard anything from them, after all, and they’ve called in the past when you’ve stayed late and they weren’t sure where you were."
"Yeah, maybe I lucked out. I just hope the school doesn’t call and I get in trouble for skipping. I’ve got enough tardies on my record this year alone...."
"Well, that’s water under the bridge now," Doc said, getting to his feet. "There really wasn’t another way around things -- not unless you wanted to explain to your parents how you hit your head."
Marty considered that as he stood, holding onto the table at the end of the couch until he had caught his balance. "I might have to anyway -- and it shouldn’t be that hard. I can just tell them almost the truth -- that I feel and hit my head in your lab."
"If you want -- as long as it doesn’t get you or me in trouble."
Marty stopped himself from shaking his head as he took a tentative step forward. "Naw, don’t worry about that. Accidents happen, and this really was an accident -- in more ways than one." He paused, remembering another question that had been nagging at him a little the last few days. "What are you going to do about Clara’s gift?"
Doc blinked, surprised, as he reached for the doorknob. "Oh, I took care of that yesterday by going back to San Francisco a few months prior to our arrival, ordering the clock, then returning for it right away with the time machine."
"Oh," Marty said. "So I guess things are back to the way they should be, huh?"
At Doc’s nod, Marty couldn’t help hearing a pained echo in his head. Not for you. Not yet. And not ‘til you fix things between you and Jennifer.
* * *
Marty found himself temporarily off the hook for any explaining to his parents; when Doc dropped him off at his house, he found the place deserted. His siblings were at work, his father had meetings with publishers for most of the day, and his mother was spending the day with a friend in Sacramento, according to the notes on the refrigerator. Happy for the peace and quiet, he sacked out on the couch before the TV with a diet Pepsi from the fridge. Perhaps due to the lingering effects of the nights of insomnia or the trauma of both the nuclear wasteland world and hitting his head, he wound up falling asleep.
When he woke, it was to the sound of the doorbell ringing. Dazed and a little disoriented (though he supposed he should be used to waking up in strange places by this point), Marty got up too fast and almost immediately found himself on the floor, the victim of a major case of dizziness and pounding headache. Apparently, he had been out long enough for the Tylenol to wear off.
"Damn," he murmured as the doorbell sounded again. Not wanting to take another fall, especially since it still felt to him like the floor underneath him was rocking slightly (bringing to mind a most disturbing but brief picture of the earthquake again), Marty crawled to the door. As the doorbell rang a third time, he pulled himself to his feet with the doorknob, leaned against the wall for support, and finally opened the door.
Jennifer Parker stood on the stoop.
"Hi, Marty," she said softly. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."
Marty stared at her, completely caught off guard by her appearance. "Uh, sure," he stammered, opening the door wider to allow her into the house.
"I didn’t see you in school today," she said as she came inside, really looking at him for the first time. "Were you sick? You look a little pale."
She wasn’t the only one. Marty noticed Jennifer looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well recently; her face was pale, too, and she had dark circles under her eyes. "I had a little accident this morning at Doc’s," he said. Which, technically, was the truth....
Jennifer blinked. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.
"I’ll be fine," he said, trying to smile at her but not quite succeeding. Is she coming here to break up with me? he wondered, feeling sick. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Could we sit down?" she asked.
That probably would be better, Marty figured -- especially since he was already feeling a little unsteady on his feet. If the news was bad, he definitely didn’t want to be standing when it hit. "Sure," he agreed, walking slowly to the couch, able to stay on his feet this time. Jennifer sat down in the recliner across from him.
"I got your card and flowers yesterday," she began. "I was still kind of angry then -- but mostly hurt. You really hurt my feelings, Marty. I was looking forward to that night for weeks."
"I know, Jen," he said softly. "And I’m really, truly, sorry."
She smiled a little -- a good sign, Marty hoped. "I know you are. I guess I always knew you were, from the first time you apologized, but I was just so hurt and confused...."
"Why? I mean, I know I goofed up, big time... but I love you, Jennifer. I’d never do anything to hurt you. Ever."
Jennifer reached out and took his hands, giving them a warm squeeze. "I’m sorry, Marty," she said softly. "I think I’m the one who screwed up here a little, too. I should’ve listened to you earlier and not been so... childish. I was mad," she added. "But that isn’t really a good excuse."
"Yeah, it is," Marty said, unable to stop himself from grinning. "Do you know how many childish things I’ve done before when I’ve been mad? I think it’s a behavioral requirement or something."
Jennifer returned the smile. "Does this mean we can put this behind us now?" she asked, leaning closer to him.
"Almost," Marty said, squeezing her hands now. "There’s one thing I still have to do."
"What’s that?"
"Take you out to that dinner. Is it okay if it’s just a week late, this Saturday instead of last?"
Jennifer blinked. "But how could you possibly get reservations on such short notice there? I had to make them a month ahead of time."
"My dad could get some strings pulled -- they like him and my mom there. I’ll take care of it." Marty paused, staring at her, serious again. "I’m really sorry, Jennifer."
His girlfriend smiled, a little coyly, and looking remarkably like her ancestor then, the way she had appeared the night before the earthquake. "You’re forgiven. Just make sure you don’t do it again, buster."
"Never," Marty promised, leaning forward to kiss her.
Finally, everything was back to normal.