Clark barely got a good look before they passed by, making good time.
The clip clops faded and when Clark finally deemed it safe enough to emerge, they were disappearing around the bend, far away.
…
Clark continued to stare after them for far too long, before he turned north again.
He forced himself to walk.
They look like (he marveled that he was using this word seriously) peasants.
Peasant farmers.
And they weren’t costumed.
They had to be real.
Their faces were marked by the elements, the sun and wind.
They weren’t using machinery with covering.
They were driving a donkey, not a pickup.
Had he smelled any gas since he’s been here?
He slapped himself in the face.
Lightly.
Question for later.
His slap brought him down to reality.
Good thing too, because he had just noticed noises coming from the south.
He heard more hooves.
Many, many more hooves… Clark dove into the bushes, praying none of them were poisonous and that he wasn’t seen diving like an idiot into them.
He laid down flat, curling his head out just as far as he dared for a view.
He felt vibrations through the earth.
And sure enough, ten seconds later, a large group of horses were trotting quickly on the road, just below a gallop.
Moving his eyes up, Clark saw the horses carrying…knights…or least people in armor and boiled leather.
He saw swords, shield, spears, bows and flags…flags of a white fish…a salmon on a red background… Clark blinked several times.
The salmon was still there and on the multiple flags carried by the company as they rode onward.
He pinched himself hard.
He realized his mouth was open and he couldn’t quite close it.
There was no fucking way… Eventually, the men rode on and the road became still and quiet again.
Clark stayed on the ground.
He clenched and unclenched his fists.
He did it again and again and again until eventually he was able to sit up.
He leaned against a tree.
They are going to location to shoot.
They’re a bunch of horse experts and riders and they’re needed for a shoot.
Or they’re shooting here.
I just can’t see any crew members or equipment.
That’s it.
That’s it.
It doesn’t matter that they finished shooting long ago.
Or that the show ended.
Because if what I think is happening is happening, then I am insane.
I don’t care what the letter says, I’m insane, I’m fucking insane…
He felt tears come to his eyes.
He took several breaths and took out the purse, examining the coins again.
Silver stags.
Pennies.
Copper stars…seven-pointed stars… Oh Christ… He had no idea how long he sat there, breathing deeply and allowing the occasional tear to roll down his cheek.
Midday had turned into late afternoon when he wiped his face and stood up.
He did feel a little better and he walked back to the road, looking to his rear for any approaching travelers.
He wasn’t sure if he had entirely accepted this reality yet, but he was sure of one thing, he could not be caught in what he was wearing or with what he was carrying.
He walked for an hour more through the forest.
Thankfully he encountered no one.
The scariest moments being when he had to come two bridges with no cover either way.
Eventually the forest gave way to open fields.
Clark marked the spot mentally and set off along a road that sprang from the main one.
He walked, keeping his eyes ahead and his ears to the back.
The road was getting smaller, turning into a trail.
It was also getting muddy.
He registered wheel marks and a few sets of boot prints.
He froze.
Shit!
He wheeled around and stared.
His own boot prints were in the mud.
Going back at least a hundred feet or so.
And they looked very conspicuous, with lines and zigzags for grips.
He was pretty damn sure no one had grips like these on their shoes in this medieval period.
Jumping on the grass besides the road, Clark looked around and found a thick stick.
Making sure no one was really around; he went back, careful to avoid the mud.
He began marking the ground and obscuring the boot prints.
It wasn’t perfect and it still looked strange, but it couldn’t be made out to be strange alien footwear from the future at least.
When he was done, he marched right away, cursing himself for his stupidity and for losing time.
No, that won’t do anything useful.
Breathe, Clark.
Damn it.
Just breathe…
The rest of the walk was spent avoiding mud in addition for watching for fellow travelers.
Thankfully it was a short walk.
Clark soon rounded a corner and found himself facing a small cottage.
He went immediately into the cover of the forest and made his way toward the property.
Settling into the bushes, hidden from the trail and the farm, he waited.
The cottage was definitely lived in.
There was smoke coming out of the chimney.
Laundry was hung.
The field next to the cottage looked maintained.
The modest barn next to the house was not decrepit.
A woman came out of the cottage with a basket.
She headed toward the hung laundry and put the basket down.
She reached into the basket and pulled out a baby.
She tickled the little one, cooing and making the babe laugh.
Clark felt himself relax.
He was lucky.
First house he’s seen and she seemed a kind homeowner.
She put the baby down on the ground and began to pile the laundry into the basket.
She was just about to place the final shirt into the basket when a loud whistle pierced the air.
The woman turned west, to the corner in the road where Clark had turned previously.
She smiled and began to wave.
Clark looked to the corner himself and saw a man riding a cart, being pulled by a donkey.
The man waved back and even from his distance, Clark could see the man smile.
Clark turned back to see the woman plop the baby back in the laundry basket on top of the fresh laundry.
She made her way back in the house.
The man was coming closer and Clark was able to make out his face.
He looked very familiar… He had seen this man before.
Where?
He racked his brain, trying to remember.
Meanwhile, the farmer was turning into the pathway for his home.
He pulled the reins, stopping the cart in front of the door.
The woman came out and greeted him, as he jumped into the back of the cart and began handing the three covered baskets he had in the back to her.
She took the baskets into the house and he walked over to the donkey and began to lead it toward the barn.
Clark watched the entire thing unfold and started to assess what his options were: Theft?
Bribery?
Death?
He gave a brief snort to the idea that he could murder in cold blood.
He was no killer.
But he could lie easily enough.
His hands ran over his phone, wallet, sunglasses and keys; all in his pockets.
He felt his clothes and their machine-stitched perfection that he could never explain.
His shoes… Right now the only things that he could possibly pass off in this world was the parchment note and the sack of coins, of which he still had no idea of their true value.
He watched as the man, who had placed the donkey inside the barn, came back outside and began washing his face.
Clark took advantage of his distraction and walked quickly into the forest, counting his steps as he went, breaking a branch every so often to mark his path.
He walked for ten minutes before he stopped.
He was calm.
In fact, he was a little scared with how calm he was.
He knew that eventually he would break down.
He would face the overwhelming truth in due time.
However for now, he had a clear task to distract him.
He breathed.
In, hold and then out.
Repeating this twice, eyeing the reddening sky.
It would be dark soon.
He didn’t have much time.
Looking around to see that he was truly alone, he went about his task.
He gathered as much tinder, kindling and dry wood as he could for a fire.
He had no axe or saw to get the big logs that could really burn so he needed a ridiculous amount of sticks.
He would be here a while.
Once he gathered enough, or at least what he hoped was enough, he took the big stick he used to obscure his muddy boot prints and began to dig.
He dug as fast as he could without losing his breath.
He was still thirsty and he was beginning to sweat.
He couldn’t afford to be dehydrated.
Not now.
After fifteen minutes, with the stick broken twice, he was standing in a hole deep enough so that the ground was level with his knees.
That was fine.
He got out and began stacking the wood for a fire in the pit.
The afternoons he spent with the Boy Scouts were coming back to him and he thanked his parents for forcing him to reach the Eagle rank and stick with it.
Particularly for that one afternoon when they had to start a fire without any flint… Clark took the dry tinder and two sticks.
He arranged them with the tinder in between the two sticks for the friction point.
Then he began to twirl.
This was a long process and it took every ounce of patience that Clark had not to scream and give up.
Digging the hole and stacking the firepit were easy.
The important things here were preparation and persistence.
He kept the driest materials he found.
Kept building the friction.
Kept twirling the sticks.
Didn’t start cursing after ten minutes of twirling.
Didn’t start panicking after twenty.
Just kept going until… He got smoke.
He blew gently, encouraging the embers into a small flame.
He brought the small flame to the kindling at the bottom of the pit.
There were tense moments when he thought he would lose it, but finally it stabilized and he had a small fire going.
He breathed deeply.
That was not fun, but it was gratifying.
He placed more sticks on top gently and brought the small fire to a raging medium one.
Clark sat for a minute.
He was tempted to just watch his fire and let the evening come.
He was very tired, but no.
The sun was beginning to go down.
He padded his pockets, taking out everything he had: his keys, wallet, sunglasses and phone.
He tossed the keys in first.
They needed the most time, though he knew they wouldn’t melt entirely.
At the least the plastic around the car keys would go.
He took out his cash and place that in separately hoping for more kindling.
He shook his head at the thought.
More kindling for a raging fire.
Jesus.
He put the wallet in, then his sunglasses.
He hesitated with his phone.
He scrolled through his downloaded music, trying to decide whether or not to quietly play a song for the last time.
He would never hear the Princess Mononoke score again or Jimi Hendrix’s Band of Gypsies or a growling wail from Tom Waits.
He placed the phone diagonally against a tree, stood up and crushed it with his boot, breaking it in half.
He pulled it apart and threw the pieces into the fire.
He knew that if he started playing songs for the last time, he would never stop and then his fire would be long gone.
He watched the items burn, the fire crackling around them.
He fed more sticks to the fire before standing, steeling his mind for what he had to do.
He took out the pouch of money and parchment, placing them on the ground.
He looked to the sky and sighed.
Now for the fun part.
He started easy and took off his boots.
He placed them around the edges of the fire and tented them with sticks, so the flames would travel over and consume them.
Same thing for the raincoat.
He didn’t know how well it could burn, but as least it would be destroyed.
He took off his pants and placed them in as well, careful not to smother the fire.
Luckily they caught fire quickly.
Once they were sufficiently burned, he did the same for his shirt and socks.
All the while he added more sticks to the areas covering his jacket and boots.
He put off the underwear until he had to.
Finally there was nothing else for it.
He stood and in clear view of anyone who would walk through this forest, he pulled off his boxers and tossed them on the flames.
They caught fire and he spent another hour, or so he estimated, feeding the fire and shifting the items to ensure maximum destruction, trying to ignore the fact that he was naked.
Which was a little difficult when sparks flew into the air.
When the fire had only a few more minutes before it would die out, Clark picked up the parchment note.
He read it again.
It wasn’t anything that would get him in a lot of trouble, but it was still something that could complicate his situation should anyone else read it.
He crumpled the parchment and threw into the fire, hoping he was making the right choice.
Clark ran his stick through the ruins when the fire was out, well aware of the ash that was clinging to his legs.
He wished he had better light.
There were clumps of material here and there, but there weren’t too big and they were well destroyed.
He stepped out and began piling the dirt back into the hole.
When all the earth was replaced, he smoothed it as well as he could, throwing leaves and other debris on top and running the stick through that as well.
He stood back.
No trace was not exactly the case, but nobody was going to dig this place up.
So he hoped.
He leaned against a tree and breathed.
All right.
That’s done.
I no longer look like an alien.
Just a strange man with no clothes and a little money.
Okay.
Okay…
He picked up the purse, turned into the forest and began walking back, noting his marks and following their path.
He stopped at a stream halfway.
Night was here, but the moon was full and out of the clouds now, so he was able to see with only a little difficulty.
He rubbed his legs clean and rid himself of the ash as well he could.
Finally when he was clean enough, he picked up a small stone.
He placed the small stone to his left eye.
He hated himself for what he was about to do.
But he needed it for his story.
And holding it off won’t make it hurt any less.
He swung the stone down to his side and brought it up again quickly, hitting his cheek just below the eye.
Not hard enough to break a bone, but still hard enough to leave a big mark.
And to bleed.
He threw the rock away and brought his hand cold from the stream water to his face.
“Fuuuuck,” he moaned lowly, allowing himself one curse.
He kneeled in the dirt for a bit, gathering himself before lying down.
He rolled once, twice before getting up and continuing.
It seemed to take longer getting back to the cottage.
There was moonlight now, but still.
He had no footwear or anything else.
He carried the purse in one hand and he pressed his eye with the other until finally he came to the road.
He paused in the tree line, peering at the farm.
There was firelight coming from the inside.
Clark sighed.
All right.
Dear Lord, please don’t let me fuck this up.