Travelin' with Pops

Carter hustled down the Battery Trail. Snapping twigs disturbed the silent night, sending critters racing out of his way. He set his flashlight down. It lit the vines and brambles that covered the entrance to his special place. He tapped the urn in his bag, "don't worry, Pops. I brought the right tool for the job."

He pulled out his garden shears from his pack. With four snips, he had cleared the doorway to the bunker. He grabbed his flashlight, shining it in the corners of the room.

"All clear, Pops. Now for the fun part."

Carter set his backpack down on the ground shimming out the urn. Unscrewed the lid and walked to the cement ledge of the window.

"I know you were a man of few words. So here goes. Pops, this is the place that made your military career and my favorite state park."

Carter tried to rest his elbows on the ledge, but it melted. The weight of his body propelled him forward. Pops tumbled out of the urn in a large cloud of dust.

Carter swore under his breath, "sorry, Pops. I thought I was at the edge. I will shove you back in."

"What the hell is wrong with you? I am not your Pops."

Carter froze. Cradling the urn behind his back, in front of him stood a Pops-covered Serviceman. The bunker was no longer the place he recognized. The graffiti and cracked walls were smooth with a fresh coat of grey paint. An agitated Army Man grabbed the flaps of his jacket and pinned him against the wall.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my bunker?"

Darting his eyes around the room, Carter mumbled, "I must be dreaming. What year is it?"

"Are you deaf or stupid, boy? I'm asking the question here."

He pressed Carter against the wall squeezing the urn out of his grasp. The delicate glass shattered against the ground.

"Sir, Pops was my Grandfather, and his final wish was that I scattered him in the bunker. You weren't supposed to be here."

Spitting on the ground, the soldier wiped his mouth, "well, Pops tastes a lot like dirt. How did you get through the gate?"

His beefy forearm pressed against Carter's chest, pinning him against the wall, stretching his free arm for the radio receiver, exposing his name patch. Wide-eyed, the words fell out of Carter's mouth, "Jenkins as in Major Ross Jenkins?"

The soldier slammed the radio down, raised his eyebrow pressing his forehead against Carter's. The soldier barked in his face, "you can read. That is amazing. Give me your damn name!"

Carter smiled. The Major balled up his fist and socked him in the stomach.

"Not smiling anymore, are you? Damn German Spy, your dirt cloud can't help you now."

Carter hunched over, wincing. Being punch in the stomach by a younger version of your Grandfather wasn't pleasant, but it beat watching his ashes float in the wind.

Carter looked up at Major Jenkins, "are you married to Nana? I mean Betty yet?"

The soldier knelt, growling, "Nana, you don't call a hot dame like Betty, Nana. You Nazi pig. She is none of your concern."

Carter curled into a ball as Major Jenkins landed a kick in his shins. The young man pulled Carter's hands behind his back, restraining him with thick rope.

Carter stumbled to his feet. An elbow forced his legs open, firm pats went up one leg and down the other. Carter slammed into the wall. His face smashed into the cold cement. Squeezing his eyes shut, he counted to ten and opened them. Still in the bizarro bunker with a young Pops. Damnit! Ping, ping, ping. Carter turned his head toward the sound of his belongings bounced on the surface of a metal table. Major Jenkins poked at each of the items, "Salmonberries in a strange container, a wallet, and garden shears."

"Don't look in my wallet."

The Major scoffed, "you don't tell me what to do."

 He flipped open the leather bifold and pulled out one plastic card at a time, tossing them on the table.

"Sport, your people need to work on your fake credentials. You have the same last name as your mark, and your birth date is wrong. There is no way you were born in 1980 since it is only 1942."

Carter shook his head. Wake up, stupid, and he blinked his eyes. The bunker lights buzzed as the ocean waves crashed. Fragments of conversations with Pops flooded his mind. Jumbled, they replayed like scratched records. One jumped to the front. He closed his eyes again. Pops sat, his arms rested on a crackled plastic table cloth. He gulped his beer. "Carter, let me tell you a story."

Pulling the label from his bottle, Carter nodded.

"I was a little older than you and at my post in Fort Ebby. The window of the bunker shimmered, and a man appeared. I cold-cocked him. He told me things no one in the '40s knew, and then he disappeared when the sun came up."

Carter laughed, "I think you better lay off the beer, Pops. I don't believe that fish story."

Pops laughed, "believe it, don't believe it, that's totally up to you. He taught me the importance of watching the sunrise."

Pops got up from the table squeezed Carter's shoulder.

The kitchen faded into the cold, dank bunker. The green receiver climbed to the Major's mouth.

"Stop, you are making a big mistake. We can help each other. I know things."

Major Jenkins set the radio down, "I'm listening…."

Sweat beaded on Carter's forehead, "you have a false bottom in your footlocker where you keep the letters from Betty, so your Army Buddies won't find them."

"My personal life is none of your concern. Is that all you got?"

Come on, Carter, think.

"Ok, ok. How about this? You go to the cave two clicks from here to think."

Sucking air through his teeth, Jenkins leaned in, "Nah. Your intel sounds like you got a thing for my girl. I'm calling this in."

Carter headbutted the Major. The blow knocked out the young soldier. Squeezing his wrist together, and pushed his chest out. A snap and a pop later, he was free. Picking up the restraint, he loosed the knot tying up the unconscious Jenkins.

***

Water splashing in the Major's face. His eyes flashed open, and he started stating his rank and serial number.

"Calm down, big guy. I am not here to kill or kidnap you. I visit you and then go back home, ok?"

Major growled and kicked.

"I tied the knots the way Pops taught me. You could learn a thing from that man."

The Major spit in Carter's face, "I am covered in the Geezer, and I'm none the wiser, the same Grunt I was this morning."

Carter grabbed the Major by his collar, "he was a better man than the one sitting in front of me right now. Get your head out of your ass and listen."

Major snickered as the spital hit Carter's face a second time.

"Someday, your Grandson will puke peas on you, and then we will be even."

"Listen here, jerk. We are never going to be even. And no Grandson of mine will have a fuddy-duddy name like Carter. Kill me, so I don't have to listen to any more of your hogwash."

Carter rubbed his face. How did he mess up his one job? Scatter Pops. Not a challenging job. Instead, he landed in the '40s with a much tighter wound Pops. He pounded his fist on the table.

"Listen here, Jenkins. I have had enough. Look in my eyes, not a German Spy. I am a time traveler. In 1980 the Phillies will win the World Series, and you win 20 grand. Do you believe me now?"

"Your spy training is crummy, Sport. Your intel won't payout for 38 years. What good will that do me?"

Carter clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

"Fine, you want to play hardball, you will take that 20 grand and invest in a company called Apple. You and Betty buy a big boat. Your oldest son joins the Navy to piss you off. Happy now?"

Carter pulled Jenkins's knife out of its holder, sawing through the rope. It fell to the ground in a limp pile. The Major rushed toward Carter, wrapping his arms around his legs tossing them to the ground.

Carter wriggled free, throwing the knife out of reach.

"Stop! I don't want to hurt you. Let me do my damn job."

Jumping to his feet raising his hands into a fight stance, the Major growled, "let me get this straight. You, a grown man, are my Grandson, and I am dead in your timeline. But I go all the way with Betty?"

Carter ducked under a left cross rolling his eyes, "as far as I know, all the kids were yours, but you were punching way above your belt with Betty."

Carter's landed a push kick sending the Major flying backward, hitting the floor with a thud. He extended his hand to help the Jenkins up.

"Truce, Pops. You are going to kill your favorite Grandson."

Callused fingers wrapped around Carter's as he pulled the man to his feet.

Jenkins rubbed his neck, "I don't believe your malarkey. Who taught you to kick like that?"

Carter laughed, "the same man that taught me to tie knots. You did." Carter raised his hand to cover his eyes as rays of the sun flooded the room.

"Look, the sun is coming up."

Carter took one last look at the young man, throwing his hands in the air.

"Major, no funny business, I swear. Can you stand next to me and put your hand on my shoulder? Pops used to do that when we watched the sunrise. I figure that is the least you can do since you are wearing his dust."

Major Jenkins cocked his head at the time traveler.

"What the hell. If your right, I going' make 20 grand, right? Keep your hands where I can see them."

The window rippled like water in a pool, reopening the portal.

Choking back tears, Carter placed his hand on the ledge. He started to fall forward and shouting, "see you in 1980, Pops."

His hands hit the dust-covered floor next to his bag. His legs wobbled as he stood up. Dusting off his pants, he scanned the room for any sign of Pops. Nothing but rubble from the cracked walls. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, craning his head out the window, "thanks for the last sunrise, Pops."