Thunder Riders of Yesterday

“Thunder Riders of Yesterday”

 By Edward J. McCoul

Roy Rogers squinted as the wind whipped around him. He reached for his hat, pulling it down low against the gust that didn’t feel quite right. This wind smelled strange, tinged with a scent like burning wires and wet concrete. He wasn’t in the desert, that much was clear. No more open skies. No more dust kicking under the hooves of Trigger. When he finally opened his eyes, he wasn’t looking out over the wide plains of Texas. He was looking down.

Way down.

Roy’s heart skipped a beat. Below him stretched a dizzying expanse of steel and glass, packed with tiny cars and people swarming like ants. He blinked hard, his calloused hands gripping the cold metal railing. What in tarnation?

Beside him, Hopalong Cassidy, ever the steady cowpoke, tilted his hat back and scratched his chin. “Ain’t ever seen New York from this high up before,” he said in his usual calm tone, but his eyes betrayed the confusion of a man who’d never been closer to the city than the cover of a dime novel.

The third man, Gene Autry, gave a low whistle. “Boys, either I hit my head on somethin’, or we’re standin’ at the top of the Empire State Building.”

Roy nodded slowly, trying to get a grip on what had happened. One minute, the three of them had been gathered in a small, old-time saloon, sharing stories from their latest adventures. And then the storm hit. He remembered a flash of lightning, the wild crackle of energy racing across the sky, and then… nothing.

Until now.

“Well, this sure is somethin’,” Hopalong said, looking down at his gun belt and worn boots. “But why are we here? And how?”

Gene laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You reckon this is some kinda carnival trick? One minute, we’re in 1885, the next, we’re in… wherever this is?”

Roy tapped the brim of his hat. “It’s more’n a hundred years in the future, boys. Look around. That storm didn’t just drop us off somewhere down the road—we’re in the present day.”

The three cowboys stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the bustling city far below blending into a dull roar that barely reached the rooftop. But as out of place as they felt, there was a peculiar sense of purpose that tingled in Roy’s gut, the same feeling he got right before a showdown. They weren’t here by accident.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy again. That strange electric buzz Roy had noticed earlier filled the atmosphere. A storm was rolling back in. But the lightning that had brought them here hadn’t just been weather—there was something more to it. Roy could feel it.

A crack of thunder rolled across the sky, louder than before, and with it came a flicker of images, memories he didn’t recognize as his own. Flashes of battles, decisions, paths crossing where they shouldn’t have. Roy clenched the railing as the images swam through his mind.

Gene shook his head violently, clearly seeing the same thing. “Did you—did you just see—?”

“Yeah,” Roy cut in. “I think we’re startin’ to understand why we’re here.”

They were brought to the present day for a reason. Something connected them—all three of them. But what? What did three cowboys from the Old West have to do with this glittering metropolis and a crackling storm that felt like it had a mind of its own?

And then it hit him. The flashes weren’t random. They were memories. But not just theirs. The lightning had connected them to a thread that stretched through time, linking them to a choice, a split-second decision made in the heart of battle, more than a century ago.

Hopalong rubbed his temples. “Fellas, I think I’m rememberin’ things that ain’t mine. Like I’ve lived two lives. You ever hear ‘bout those boys who fought in the Union and Confederacy? Seems we’re kinda like that—but in a different kind of war.”

“A war…” Roy trailed off, eyes narrowing. “You’re talkin’ about that skirmish in Texas, ain’t you? The one we always heard whispers about—a battle that didn’t make the history books?”

“That’s it,” Gene said, snapping his fingers. “That’s why we’re here! We weren’t just brought forward for some sideshow. We’re here because the future depends on somethin’ that happened back then. And somethin’ we’re meant to stop.”

Before they could piece it all together, a door slammed open behind them. A man in a long, black coat stepped out of the shadowy stairwell. His eyes gleamed with a strange familiarity as he sauntered toward them, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’ve finally figured it out, haven’t you, boys?” The man’s voice dripped with confidence. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to think the storm didn’t do its job.”

Gene reached for his gun. “Who are you?”

The man chuckled darkly. “Names don’t matter right now. But you can call me what you’ve always called men like me—The Shadow. I’ve been watchin’ you for a long time. You’ve been dancing on the edges of history, tipping the scales one way or another. And now, you’ve got one last shot.”

Roy’s hand hovered over his own pistol, but something told him this wasn’t a fight he could win with a bullet. “What do you want?”

The Shadow took another step forward, lightning illuminating his face in a brief flash. “This world—your world—has been on a path toward ruin since the day you three rode into that skirmish all those years ago. A decision was made—by you, by others—that shifted the course of history. I’ve come to ensure that mistake gets fixed.”

“Fixed how?” Hopalong growled, fists clenched.

The man’s eyes gleamed. “By bringing you back. You’ve got unfinished business in that battle, and it starts with understanding why you were brought together in the first place. You weren’t just cowboys. You were more.”

Roy frowned. “More?”

The Shadow smirked again, gesturing to the storm swirling overhead. “You ever wonder why you survived things that should’ve killed you? Why you three were always at the center of things, no matter where you rode? The storm… it wasn’t the first time you crossed over. You’ve been bending time your whole lives, but now, the future is catching up. And it’s demanding a reckoning.”

The air around them crackled as The Shadow’s words sank in. They weren’t just men—they were part of something bigger. Their lives, their choices had rippled through time, shaping events far beyond their understanding.

Roy’s eyes hardened. “And what happens if we refuse?”

The Shadow’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold, steely gaze. “Then the future crumbles. This city you see below? Gone. The world? Gone. But if you fix the past—if you correct the course of history—you save it all.”

Gene stepped forward. “And what exactly do we have to fix?”

The Shadow’s voice was a low growl now, barely audible over the rising wind. “There was a choice made in that battle—one you weren’t supposed to make. It’s what caused the fracture. You need to go back. And this time, you need to choose differently.”

Another bolt of lightning struck the Empire State Building’s lightning rod, sending a wave of energy crackling through the air. Roy, Gene, and Hopalong felt the ground shift beneath their feet as the city below flickered and wavered, like a mirage.

The man in black stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “The future depends on you. So what’ll it be, boys?”

Roy exchanged a look with Gene and Hopalong. They didn’t have to speak. They knew what had to be done.

“Let’s ride,” Roy said.

And in a flash of light, they were gone.

The storm cleared, leaving the rooftop empty and silent. Below, the city thrummed with life, unaware of how close it had come to oblivion.

…The world shifted again, and Roy Rogers blinked against the harsh sunlight. Dust swirled in the air around him, carrying the familiar scent of the Old West—gunpowder, sweat, and the raw smell of horses. It was as if no time had passed at all. But something was different. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, that same tingling sensation that had been with him ever since they first landed in New York.

Gene Autry and Hopalong Cassidy stood beside him, their hands instinctively drifting toward the grips of their revolvers. They were back where they belonged—or, at least, back to where they had been brought together in the first place. The battlefield stretched out before them, a skirmish brewing between two ragtag groups of men, both dusty and desperate.

Roy’s mind raced. The Shadow had said they had made the wrong choice here, but what was it? This moment, this battle, wasn’t in the history books, but it was the tipping point. It was the choice that had sent the world on a course toward ruin.

His eyes darted across the field, seeking anything that might give them a clue. Then he saw it—at the far edge of the battle, a figure moving among the chaos, unnoticed by the rest. Dressed like a soldier but moving with a purpose too deliberate for a man caught in the heat of the moment. Roy’s breath caught in his throat.

“That’s him,” he whispered to the others. “The one we missed last time.”

Gene followed his gaze and nodded grimly. “He’s the one we let go.”

Hopalong squinted. “Didn’t seem like much of a threat before. Just some messenger, or so we thought.”

Roy set his jaw. “But he ain’t just a messenger, is he? That’s what The Shadow was talkin’ about. We made a choice to let him go, and now we know why that was a mistake.”

Gene shifted in the saddle. “We have to stop him this time. Whatever he’s carryin’, whatever orders or message he’s bringin’—it’s the key.”

Without another word, the three riders spurred their horses into motion. Dust kicked up behind them as they charged toward the unsuspecting man. The battlefield erupted in gunfire around them, but they rode straight and true, eyes locked on their target.

The man spotted them at the last second, his eyes widening in surprise. He turned to run, but Hopalong was faster. In a flash, he was off his horse, tackling the man to the ground.

“Whoa there, partner,” Hopalong growled, pinning the man down. “You’re not goin’ anywhere this time.”

The man struggled, but Roy and Gene were there in a heartbeat, their guns drawn. Roy crouched down, looking the man dead in the eye.

“What’s your message?” Roy demanded. “Who sent you?”

The man’s eyes darted nervously between them. “I’m just a messenger!” he protested. “I was told to deliver a letter. That’s all!”

Roy’s hand tightened on his revolver. “A letter to who?”

The man hesitated. “It’s for the commanding officer of the Union forces. They said it would end the battle. A truce.”

Gene snorted. “A truce, huh? And what happens if that truce goes through?”

The man swallowed hard. “The battle stops, and the Union wins the day. But if the letter doesn’t get there, it drags on for weeks, maybe months.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “And who sent the letter?”

The man licked his lips, his fear palpable. “I don’t know. I swear! I just know I was supposed to get it to the officer, and that was it.”

Roy exchanged a glance with Gene and Hopalong. This was the choice they hadn’t understood before. Last time, they’d let the man go, thinking that ending the battle quickly would save lives. But now, it was clear there was something else at play—something darker.

Gene shook his head. “That letter ain’t about peace. It’s about power. Whoever’s behind it wants to tip the scales in their favor.”

Roy nodded. “And it’s up to us to make sure that don’t happen.”

Without another word, Roy reached down and snatched the letter from the man’s pocket. It was sealed with a strange insignia, one Roy didn’t recognize. But he didn’t need to. He could feel the wrongness in it, the weight of history hanging in the balance.

“Get rid of it,” Hopalong said quietly.

Roy nodded and stood, holding the letter up to the wind. With a flick of his wrist, he tore it in two, the paper fluttering away in the breeze like ashes. The man on the ground watched in horror as his mission crumbled before his eyes.

“You’ve just doomed us all,” the man hissed.

Gene shook his head. “No, we just saved the future.”

As the pieces of the letter blew away, the battlefield around them began to shimmer. The sounds of gunfire and shouting faded, replaced by a growing hum of energy. The three cowboys felt the air shift again, that same electric charge that had carried them to the Future.

“We did it,” Roy said quietly, feeling the tension lift from his shoulders. “We changed it.”

Hopalong looked up at the sky, where storm clouds were gathering once more. “Yeah, but what happens now?”

Before any of them could answer, the world lurched, and the battlefield dissolved into a blur of light and shadow. When the world snapped back into focus, they were standing in the middle of a bustling city street.

New York City.

But something was different. The city was brighter, more vibrant than before. The people walking past them didn’t seem hurried or panicked. It was as if a weight had been lifted from the world.

Roy looked at his companions, a slow smile spreading across his face. “We did it, boys. We fixed it.”

Gene chuckled, adjusting his hat. “And not a moment too soon.”

But as they turned to leave, something caught Roy’s eye. Across the street, a man in a black coat stood watching them. The Shadow.

He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Roy tipped his hat in return. They’d done what they were meant to do. The choice had been corrected. History was back on track.

For now.