Don't Sleep in the Subway
Chapter 23

Copyright© 2015 by RWMoranUSMCRet

In all honesty, I was beginning to think I had overstayed my welcome in the past and began to fret in earnest about ever getting back at all. There was a reasonable degree of certainty that my reversal in the time-line was more a function of random occurrence than the result of scientific formulas. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that my return to my proper place in time would be in exactly the same manner. That meant I had absolutely no control over my destiny in this “out of time” place. The fact that I was enjoying myself immensely was totally immaterial, because I had the overwhelming suspicion that the longer I stayed put in the past the more difficult it would be to return to the present.

I was fortunate because there were no family members or friends to concern themselves about my absence and I doubted if my missing status had even been reported to the authorities. I estimated I had been in the past now for almost thirteen years of a normal timeframe. Yet, when I looked in the mirror, my face had not aged a single day. This was a contradiction that I could not explain away with any degree of conviction. My speculation was that my future physical form was in a state of dormancy unable to age in a normal process. That I was in a sort of “frozen” state in the future and my time in the past was of no consequence to my future form unless I encountered a danger that might bring the entire episode to a bloody and permanent end no matter where I actually happened to be. Only a safe return to the future would allow me have the satisfaction of “double dipping” in the time stream. I would be able to take up right where I had left off without consequences.

At least I hoped there would be no consequences.

I had this underlying concern that any action I took in the past would change the future to some unknown extent yet to be determined. I thought of my shameful deposits of guilty seed-laden spunk in various females along my path. I had to shake my head and accept the fact I had no intention of being a hermit amongst the hordes of available women with a yen to “try it out” with my handsome figure. I had confidence that there had to be a superior being in charge of the chaotic mess that was laughing at my antics and willing to let me make a shambles of careful planning.

All of those negative thoughts had to be pushed aside, as I struggled to survive in my place in time, fighting the evil-minded hypocrites in authority and the fierce savages fighting to avoid the inevitability of extinction.

I woke up to the sound of the bugle playing reveille with a spirited and slightly mean-spirited manner by Corporal Murphy. He was decidedly a strange fellow even in this strange place. His ability to make music in the midst of violence and mayhem gave him a sense of invincibility like some ghost moving with a shield of death surrounding him at all times. He played the morning wake-up call with a gusto that stated his joy at ending peaceful sleep and signaling it was time to put on one’s socks and face the dangers of another new day rift with violence and endless possibilities.

That music decided me then and there that I would leave the fort and head into the wilderness in the hopes of escaping a likely death in the past at the hands of painted savages with revenge on their minds and a search for justice in their hearts. It was time for me to find a peaceful spot in this time era and try to survive until my recall into the future.

My best solution was to join up with one of the wagon trains heading out for the Oregon Trail and the virgin lands to the west waiting to be explored and settled by adventurous settlers searching for a new life in the ever-expanding country. The only problem was that it was fairly late in the “wagon train” season and most of the guides were already out there risking their lives to bring their contracted charges to the shores of the great Pacific or signing up with the railroad to join the steel bands of progress together just like tying up a gleaming present for the new continental country. The railroad was paying a lot of money for men to guide them to the best route to ultimate success. I had no doubt it was more in a search for profits than for the greater good of mankind, but that had always been the American way, and it seemed to work better than phony posturing and false promises never intended to be carried out at all.

My Indian scouts pleaded with me to allow them to follow me west and I had to admit the thought of having an armed band was a hell of a lot safer than attempting the journey alone.

I appropriated a fine Conestoga wagon from the junk heap on the side of the fort. Most of the pilgrims arriving at their final destination wanted nothing more than to be shut of the thing that had served more as their prison rather than a simple means of transportation on the long trek into the unknown dangers of the frontier west. This particular one appealed to me because the family that had used it made some sensible modifications including extending the hoops for the canvas covering to allow more headspace inside. I noticed that the axles were designed with added support arms to make the ride a bit more comfortable on a rough surfaced trail. The only problem was the fact that at some point either intentional or otherwise, it had caught fire in the rear section and the side boards were singed black with soot. I checked it out and discovered it was more of a cosmetic thing and not something of a structural nature. It really looked far worse than it actually was in reality.

The store keeper was happy to part with the thing for a single nugget of gold given to me by one of the Indians that couldn’t remember where he had found it. It was just my luck to have a shot of being a rich man and having it robbed by a careless memory and lack of understanding about the economics of acquiring assets. I had to laugh at my own greedy feelings and decided that searching for gold was definitely not going to be on my agenda in this rough and ready time era.

I need to confess that during this period of downtime back at the fort, I was shamelessly humping young Molly on a nightly basis. We were none too circumspect in our relationship and the “good women” of the isolated post reported me for “taking advantage” of a formerly kidnapped young lady with total lack of concern for her personal reputation. In retrospect, I have to admit they had a good case and I was totally at fault for letting my prick get in way of my logical thought processes. I was fortunate that the affair cleared up when my Molly stated her newfound alliance with a smooth-faced young officer recently arrived from Saint Louis spouting the right words at the right time. It was a sure-fire way what would insure his prompt promotion providing he didn’t get himself shot or butchered by some unimpressed savage on the war-path. I think Molly saw his potential and latched on to him and his needy cock with a devious disregard for my sensitivities about the matter. At least, it solved my troubles with the concerned mothers and wives of the fort and I was removed from their focus of attention immediately.

 
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