A Shotgun Through Fog

He appeared out of nowhere, bleeding profusely. I ran to help, but he stopped me. He held a small, octagon-shaped device and motioned for me to take it. I grabbed the blood-covered object and noticed its edges contained strange, otherworldly markings.

"You must stop her!" The dying man coughed up blood. "The Lion must survive!" He fell, but regained his balance. "If she succeeds. Earth will undergo a hundred-year civil war. The Earth you know will never exist."

He attempted to speak again, but started convulsing, and fell face down on the concrete sidewalk. I checked for a pulse, but he had none.

Absentmindedly wiping his blood off on my suitcoat, the trauma slowly began to sink in. A man died right before my eyes—a man who appeared out of thin air, like a magician.

The device in my hand grew heavier, as if it were trying to get my attention. The strange markings began to glow green, then slowly flickered in a rhythmic pattern.

A fog-like substance billowed in from beyond the dorms and educational buildings surrounding me, blocking out the campus from my sight. It drew closer, covering the street, then the sidewalk, before engulfing me. A metallic smell overwhelmed me, and I couldn't breathe. Then the fog vanished, and I no longer stood in the middle of my college campus, but in an empty room.

The device lay at my feet, but I have no memory of dropping it, and to my shock and horror, in its place, I held a shotgun. Taking a quick look around, it became clear the device had transported me from my university to this desolate room. It didn't have any furniture. A small kitchen sat in the corner, and next to it, a tiny walled bathroom—a typical studio apartment, but one that nobody lived in for years. Cobwebs filled the corners and windows, and a thick layer of dust covered the wooden floor.

I took a second look at the floor. There were footprints in the dust.

My adrenaline pumped as I suddenly felt a presence in the room. In the shadow of the main door stood a woman with her back to me. Had she been here the whole time?

"Another time-cop!" She said without turning around. "Are you going to shoot me or take me in?"

I've been aiming the shotgun at the back of her head since I arrived, like I had traded places with the dead man. I've never shot a gun in my life, but my finger lightly pressed against the trigger, like I knew what to do.

"Who are you?" I asked, as I carefully relaxed my trigger finger.

"You don't know? Aren't you a time cop?"

"I'm a professor at Danville University."

She snickered. At least I thought I heard her snicker. "Would you mind if I turn around?"

Something told me to say no, but instead, I only gripped my gun tighter and said yes, but told her to raise her hands. There must be a reason I'm pointing this gun at her. She is likely the assassin the man warned me about.

She turned. Her black hair and bold blue eyes struck me like a slap across the face. I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't this specimen of feminine perfection.

I didn't know what to say, so I just repeated my question.

"I'm the good guy here," she smiled. "Why don't you put that gun down? No one is going to kill the Chancellor today."

"The Lion?"

She tilted her head in surprise, "His political opponents gave him that name. Now he proudly claims it for himself."

"Then you must be the one." I stared into her eyes. How could I shoot her? Even to stop a hundred-year civil war? I'm not a killer.

She could see the conflict in me. "If you allow me to walk out of here, you'll return to your time. None of this matters. Just go back."

I wanted to let her go. It isn't my fight. It's none of my business. Or is it? What if my father fights? What if he dies before having me? I won't exist. Even if I do exist, there won't be a Danville University. A world at war doesn't need higher education? Everything I know will cease to exist.

"I can't let you do that."

She lowered her hands slightly. "You're not a killer. I can see it in your eyes. Just let me go, and you can return to your university like nothing ever happened. All you have to do is lower the gun, and all will return to normal."

Is she correct? Could everything go back to normal? What if the time cop is wrong? I don't want to kill her. It would be easy to lower my gun. I wouldn't be doing anything wrong. I don't even belong here. It's not my responsibility.

She grew impatient, "I'm not going to keep standing here. Either you'll have to shoot me, or I'm leaving. It's your choice."

The device lying on the floor lit up and began vibrating. A strong desire to ask for her name overcame me, like the device had given me the idea.

"Before you go, tell me your name. I want to know if I'm doing the right thing."

She smiled and lowered her hands. "My name is Veronica Windmiller."

That name is familiar. I've read about her somewhere. Then it hit me. She saw the change in my eyes and tried to dash out of the room, but she was too slow. I pulled the trigger. She lay dead at the threshold of the room.

The fog returned, and the studio apartment evaporated, replaced by the familiar grounds of Danville University.

I ran to my office, frantically searching through my collection of out-of-print history books. As a professor of history, I've been collecting for most of my career. I found the two-hundred-year-old textbook I wanted and flipped through the pages until I came to the chapter on Chancellor Lionel.

I couldn't remember much about this little-known World Chancellor. I most certainly don't remember anything that would make me believe his assassination would cause a worldwide civil war.

He died of pancreatic cancer only six months into his chancellery, but before he died, he began talks with the Landnorians, the first alien race to agree to speak with us. Almost everyone credits Lionel's successor for leading Earth to join the Union of Systems, but Lionel actually began the process.

I set the book on my desk. So, if Lionel hadn't begun the talks, his successor would have dropped the ball somehow, plunging Earth into the worst war in history.

The history professor in me gobbled this information up, but I still hadn't found what I needed to sleep tonight. I skimmed around until my heart jumped. The author only made a passing reference, a mere mention that an unknown hero thwarted an assassination attempt on Chancellor Lionel by a woman named Veronica Windmiller.

I sighed in relief. It pays to know history.