Stowaway in Time

fallen leaves against a tree. They would provide some cushioning and perhaps a bit of warmth. She pulled up her hood and plopped down in the leaves, her back against the tree. At least the cold kept bugs away. What about wild animals? There were bears in the Smokey Mountains, but she didn’t think there were any in the western part of Tennessee.
The cold of the ground seeped up through the leaves and penetrated her jeans. The earth smelled loamy and fertile despite the cold. She tucked her gloved hands into the crooks of her elbows. The tree felt hard even through her coat, but she was tired. All the walking, in addition to the explosion or whatever had knocked her out, left their mark. Things would look better in the morning, she hoped. She drifted off to sleep.

Four


Chapter 4
A blast shattered the morning quiet, startling Diamond from her doze. For a second, she wondered where she was and why she was out in the open. She quickly remembered following Bob and Anne on the ATV and the strange explosion which had knocked her off her feet. She glanced at her phone. Still no cell service and to her surprise, her home screen didn’t display the time and date. Still, it was daylight and surely she could now find her way to civilization.
Another explosion sounded in the distance. What was going on? Was it a bombing? Bombings happened in other places, overseas, or in big American cities. Not in rural Tennessee. However, terrorist attacks could happen anywhere.
Her muscles had stiffened overnight. Diamond lurched her way to her feet and took care of personal needs. I’m not cut out for this camping stuff. Her stomach growled. She ate the second half of her protein bar. As stale as it was, it tasted fabulous, the sweetness bursting on her tongue. She washed it down with the last of her water. Still hungry, she reached for another bar. No, when she reached civilization she would go to the nearest restaurant serving breakfast and order a pile of pancakes and a carafe of coffee. Until then she had to hoard her supplies.
“Let’s see what this bombing is all about.” She moved towards the sound of conflict for surely there she would find a town or at least the military staging training exercises.
The morning sun burned off the night’s chill, melting the frost, but also soaking her athletic shoes. The warmth felt good and exercise heated her body. After a few minutes, she pushed back her hood. Some trees sported buds, which surprised her since it was only February.
The explosions continued, which worried her. Would the military shoot off so much ordinance just for a training exercise? Terrorist attacks tended to be quick—in and out before the authorities caught on. This constant shelling seemed more like an actual battle, but she couldn’t believe that a foreign army had invaded the United States as deep into the country as Tennessee in one night’s time. She supposed it could be an air bombardment, but she didn’t hear any planes.
What if more than a night had passed? What if, like Rip Van Winkle, she had slept for over a hundred years and would return to find everyone she knew dead and gone and World War III taking place in Tennessee?
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Great, two days in the wilderness and I’m talking to myself and believing in fairy tales. She marched on, the sun to her back. The noises came from the west, the direction of the river. She was backtracking, covering ground she had walked last night, but the sound of human activity drew her on. Dangerous human activity.
She kept to the cover of the trees as she grew closer. She could now hear the back and forth of the shelling, demand and response. Another blast. Screams filled the air, chilling her blood. They sounded real. Did soldiers scream when they “died” in a drill?
She slipped through the undergrowth until she reached the edge of the woods. Before her stretched the shoreline and then the wide expanse of the Mississippi. To her astonishment, two tank-like boats, each with a billowing pair of smokestacks plied the river, firing upon the shore.
Meanwhile, on the shore, behind an embankment, a second group fired back with large, antique-looking cannons. This was no terrorist attack or military operation. It looked like something she might see in a movie. Could it be a reenactment of some sort?
One boat fired, and a cannonball whistled through the air, striking the embankment with a bang and sending dust and debris into the air. The ammunition was live. Not even die-hard re-enactors used live ammunition. Several years ago, she’d covered a story about a local Civil War reenactment group and although they were picky about wearing period clothes, cooking period meals and carrying weapons appropriate to the time, they did not actually shoot at each other. If she didn’t know it was impossible, she would have thought she was gazing at a real Civil War battle.
Diamond slumped against a tree, her relief at signs of humanity dampened by the accompanying violence. Her plan to approach these people for help now seemed foolhardy. If she stepped from the protection of the forest, either side might shoot her. Still, if there were people here, there might be other, less militant, people nearby. Following the river seemed her best bet to find them, but should she go north or south? If this truly was the Civil War, the North were the victors.
“Impossible. The Civil War was more than a century ago.” More self-talk, a known sign of insanity. Still, she turned north. She kept to the trees, but stayed as close to the river as possible. After a while, she came upon what appeared to be a log road. She checked both directions. No one in sight. So she took the road, moving far more quickly than she could in the forest, although