Further Into The Future!

Chapter 1

The spot that was my garage in 1949 was a beautiful sunlit clearing in 2099. My machine appeared there just as silently as it left. One second, the clearing was empty. The next, I was there in my machine. There was no sound in between.

It was even hotter than in 1949. My pale scientist's skin burned as the sun beat down on my face. It was so humid I wondered if it had recently rained. The foliage of the trees on the other side of the clearing was a bit faded, like there was some fog in front of it. My nose burned slightly as I breathed in the hot air. I was already sweating copiously.

I looked down at my suit and noticed there were sweat stains on my chest, under my arms, and probably a giant one on my back. I panicked. I was about to introduce myself to the people of the future, and I looked ridiculous.

Then I looked around the circus-ring sized clearing and realized no crowd was awaiting me. A bird sang happily. Insects buzzed their mating calls. A steamy breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. The clearing was empty.

I was more disoriented than I expected to be. I grabbed my forehead with my hand; I had a splitting headache. I was thirsty, and exhausted. If it weren't for the excitement of being in the future, I might have fallen asleep right there. Predictably, traveling one hundred and fifty years forward in time has more of an effect on you than traveling just a day, as I did when I tested the machine.

Then came the nausea. I leaned over the edge and vomited in a pile on the grass, holding my baggy suit to my stomach to make sure the vomit didn't hit it. I sat back down and wiped my lips with my handkerchief, suddenly a little relieved no one was there to meet me.

Was I still in Chicago? I couldn't see any buildings beyond the trees. It didn't smell like I was in the city. I couldn't hear any cars, trains, airplanes or pedestrians. All I could hear was the bird singing. Well, that means birds are still around, I thought; and the sun; and grass and trees. These were my first observations of the future.

I turned around in my seat to check if there was anything behind me. There was.

It was a bronze sign about the size of a movie poster. It was covered in dirt and dust and obviously hadn't been cleaned for years. Drooped over the top was a soggy leaf. It leaned so far to the left I had to tilt my head to read it. It read:

ON THIS SPOT, ON JULY 22, 1949, PROFESSOR JOHN BEDFORD DISAPPEARED IN A TIME MACHINE HE BUILT, IN FRONT OF FIVE WITNESSES. HE PLANNED TO TRAVEL 150 YEARS INTO THE FUTURE. WHETHER OR NOT HE SUCCEEDED HAS YET TO BE KNOWN.

My heart nearly skipped a beat. It was like the surprise of running into someone you know from your hometown when you're on the other side of the world, except much stronger. It was so strange to see my name in such a distant time.

They knew I was arriving now, so why wasn't anyone here? I expected to arrive the same way I departed: with plenty of publicity, giving a speech on the radio, shaking hands with the mayor - as a hero. I squinted so I could see through the layer of trees around the clearing. No one was there.

I thought, the sign is a bit dilapidated. It might have been ignored for fifty years. Maybe our civilization has collapsed. I raised an eyebrow; that would make this trip a bit more interesting. How could it have happened? It didn't look like there was a nuclear war. I couldn't imagine a bird singing so happily after a nuclear war. The grass was too green and the sky was too blue for this to be a post-apocalyptic clearing.

Then I heard muffled footsteps coming from behind me. I turned around swiftly in my seat. I barely recognized the shadow of a small figure on the other side of the row of trees behind me. It looked like a child. It ran a few yards, its feet pattering softly on the grass, then stopped and turned around.