Zelda's trip

Zelda’s trip

By Randy Nelson

Guards surround Zelda as she boards the train. Not a trip she’d planned, her attorney struck a deal with the judge. She must complete this assignment, or be incarcerated.

Strolling past onlookers she considers her decision. I wasn’t given much of a choice, twenty years, or help with this mission. Twenty years seems like forever for someone who’s thirty.

Entering her private coach she notices food, and a note on the table, as well as her old friend propped in the corner.

Overlooking the table she rushes toward the black case. Swiping the latches with precise swoops, it flings open.

It’s Mac. Her McMillan TAC-50, with laser scope, and bipod. This momentarily puzzles her. Why would they return Mac? Then a chill rushes up her spine as she realized, someone’s to be eliminated.

Excited to be reunited, Mac’s assembled. She caresses the barrel, inhales smells as she nuzzles into the cheek piece. Relishing the overall feel of it.

Then counting off while the weapons dismantled in a flurry. Pieces whirl into positon in the case, similar to a magnetic pull. When finished she beams, and announces “Record time.” She puts it aside and goes to the note which read.

“You must keep the case with you at all times. Ammunition, and further instructions will come later.”

Her adrenalines pumped, she must eat to calm down. After eating she settles in for a quick nap. An announcement blaring over the speakers, jolts her awake.

“We’re entering a tunnel, when exiting, we’ll be in Poland. Have papers in order.”

She gathers papers, then sits next to Mac.

Lights flicker out, emptiness of darkness surrounds her. As she grips the case, she plunges from her seat, landing on the floor.

Pungent scents of unbathed people assault her nose. Slivers of light from a hole in the roof, show her surroundings. People herded like cattle in a boxcar.

This can’t be happening. Who are these people? Why am I here?

A man calls out over the commotion. “Zelda, I need to speak to Zelda.”

She replies “Over here, I’m Zelda.”

A thin man maneuvers amongst the people to make his way over. “I’m to give you this.” As he presents her a package.

She opens it, removes ammunition, flashlight, envelope, and a notification.

“You’re sent to right a wrong. The year’s 1944, location Auschwitz. As the train slows, open the left door of direction traveling. Everyone needs to escape. You’ll exit, then open other boxcars. It’s likely you’ll meet opposition. Save yourself, by taking them out. If you survive, open the envelope.”

There’s so many questions for the stranger, however he’s managed to slip away.

This period in history’s always troubled her. How ironic that this is where she ended up.

The train begins slowing, she does as instructed. People exit and run. Soldiers on opposing side unaware of the escape. She’s able to open four boxcars.

With ammunition in pocket, and case strapped on, she climbs atop a boxcar. Coldness of the rusty ladder rungs pierce her hands. She’s in place just as they come to a complete stop.

Laying down, propped on her elbows, she prepares for her first shot. Snaps the bolt action into place, Crackle as pod legs rub on the boxcar, Pop as the firing pin makes contact, Drop as the shot penetrates. Craving her next shot, she repeats to herself. Snap, Crackle, Pop, Drop, finding pleasure in each shot.

To justify her obsession, she ponders her drive. Horrible things took place here. If making light of it, helps get me through, so be it.

Proceeding with the slaughter, everyone in uniform’s a target. Snap, Crackle, Pop, Drop, on and on reloading when necessary. Taking careful aim, just after Pop, the soldier turns to face her. Trailing the projectile, she watches in horror as she kills the soldier, whose face is familiar.

Her elbows give way, she collapsed on the boxcar. This changes everything, she can’t go on. She’s distraught, trying to make since of why she was put there.

Hearing the call, “Zelda, we need to run” snaps her back to reality. She packs Mac, then rushes down.

They run to a forest along the tracks. When secure they stop to rest.

Opening the envelope she reads. “If you’ve survived, many innocent lives have been saved. Live out your life as you see fit. This completes your sentence.”

Zelda looks at the man and questions. “Who are you, and why are you helping me?”

“Name’s Herschel. Less you know, the better. We must continue.”

She stares him down and ask. “When can I go back?”

Herschel’s smile falters as he replies. “There’s no going back. The person you were before, no longer exist. You’ve created an alternative universe.”

“Nobody told me that would happen.” She shouts in anger.

“I get it. We’ve all have a hard time with it. I’m here to help you adjust to this new atmosphere.”

With a surprised look she questions. “Are you saying you’re also from the future?”

“Yes, it’s not as bad as it seems. My jobs to help others that travel back to right wrongs. I’m a member of an exclusive organization. Helping time travelers is our objective.

“Each time history is changed a new universe is created. As long as we stick together we can control our destiny. Your skills would be a great asset.”

Zelda rushes toward him, stopping toe to toe.

“I just killed my Great Grandfather. Ever since I can remember his picture hung proudly in our home. He did bad things, however, it shouldn’t’ve been me to take him down. This’ll haunt me the rest of my life. I’m not sure I can continue being a mercenary.”

“Think about what you’ve accomplished. Due to your intervention thousands were able to escape the gas chamber. Nazi’s will have a hard time recovering from that. There’s no going back, you’re either with us, or go it alone.”

She considers then responds. “If you guarantee a supply of ammunition I’ll help. This can only be temporary, I don’t plan to make a career out of this.”

He squares his shoulders, extends his hand, and replies.

“Welcome to the cause.”