The train barreled through the Eastwood Ravine. Doc once again maneuvered the DeLorean back toward the locomotive. Marty reached his hand out as the doorway approached, but no one met him at the door. "Come on!"

In a rush of stuffy air and a flash of bright light the train disappeared, a bumpy trail of fire following in its tracks down the ravine. Marty was blown back by the sudden gust of wind and the DeLorean nearly crashed into the side of the canyon; Doc was just able to maneuver the vehicle away from the wall. Marty and Doc suddenly felt very awkward and alone as the puff of smoke that had taken form in the locomotive's wake settled.

Doc slowed the DeLorean to a stop, floating in the air. The ravine was eerily silent.

"They're gone," Doc muttered.

Marty looked ahead as the fire tracks faded. He was right. Clara, the boys, and the time train had vanished to some point in history. A time that would be nearly impossible to locate.

Marty broke the silence. "Doc, what do we do? How do we get them back?"

Doc didn't reply. His mind had gone blank in that moment when the train had disappeared. His wife was lost in time somewhen. His hands tightened around the DeLorean's steering wheel and he held his breath, hoping that he would get some sort of sign that, whenever Clara and the boys had vanished to, his wife had been able to pilot the train back to the future.

But, if he remembered correctly, Clara had told Marty that she couldn't stop the train and it had been heavily damaged in the drop. Chances were that the temporal circuitry had malfunctioned, though, if that was the case, then the train shouldn't have vanished from the present in the first place. A strange thought floated through Doc's mind for a moment. All that hard work to fix the train for nothing. Doc mentally chided himself for sounding so selfish.

Now another minute passed and still the DeLorean hovered in the same location. Doc's mind raced a mile a minute, but he was not thinking logically.

"What are we going to do, Doc?" Marty asked after his friend did not reply to his first two questions.

Again, Doc remained silent. Finally, though, he found enough fortitude to veer the car out of the chasm and bring the vehicle down onto solid ground. Neither Marty nor Doc stepped out of the car. Marty stared at the scientist expectantly, waiting for Doc to make the first move.

Doc released his hold on the steering wheel and brushed his hand through his tangled hair. He had to consider everything that had just happened rationally! What would he do if he were stranded in a different time and had no way to fix the time machine? The answer came very easily to him, as he had experienced just such an event when he was accidentally sent back to 1885 by a stray lightning bolt.

After a few months of trying his damnedest to fix the DeLorean time machine, he finally surrendered to the fact that he'd probably be dead before suitable replacement parts would exist. The technology from the future that he had with him, consisting of the Sleep Inducer and the analoculars, were of little help, with no major circuitry capable of repairing the short in the time circuits. Had the hoverboard been with him when he was stranded he would have been able to repair the time machine with little trouble. It had enough delicate circuitry in it that Doc had even found a way to make a brand new time machine, but, at the time, the train had been very primitive and wasn't nearly as easy to operate as the locomotive was now.

Clara, Doc was certain, wouldn't be able to even consider attempting to repair the time machine. If she had been propelled to the future it would be a simple task (at least in Doc's mind) to repair any damage. But Clara would not be able to do so and Doc sincerely doubted the boys could perform such an act, even if they had hailed from the technology age.

And if they had been sent to the past ... Doc's eyes bulged. Marty watched as the scientist clicked the hover circuits back on and pulled up on the lever which controlled the car's ascent.

"Doc, what's up?" Marty asked him. "What is it?"

"Clearly the time machine was damaged in its fall," Doc said as he steered the DeLorean into the ravine again. "Otherwise, I'm sure Clara and the boys would have easily been able to return to the exact time which they left."

"Then that means that they're stranded in some different time," Marty said solemnly, matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Doc nodded once, gravely. "If they've been transported to the future, then I'm afraid they'll have no way to contact us. But if they were stranded in the past, perhaps Clara followed my previous instructions."

"Previous instructions?"

"I told her in 2020 that, if we were to fail in our mission to rescue you, she should return to 1888 and hide the time machine using a cloaking device in a cave in the Eastwood Ravine."

"You think she did it?" Marty asked, sounding hopeful.

"Maybe," Doc decided. "It would be the only real option for her. Although I wonder what the last inputted destination time of the train was?"

"Shouldn't it have been for earlier this morning?" Marty asked. "In that case, they should still be in our time, right?"

"Yes, but the boys may have changed the destination time and, now that I recall, I inserted a random date when I tested the time circuits," Doc frowned. "It may be my fault that they ended up wherever they did."

"Do you remember what date you put in?"

Doc thought for only a moment. "No. I simply inputted a few random numbers. I was satisfied with just knowing that the display worked, although in hindsight I realize I should have paid closer attention to my own doings."

Doc lowered the DeLorean so it floated a few inches above the ground's surface. The inventor jerked his head to the left and right as if he was searching for something. "Where exactly was that cave?" Doc muttered to himself.

"Is it that one?" Marty pointed to a dark hole excavated in the right side of the ravine.

Doc shook his head. "We shouldn't be able to see the hole. The cloaking devise should hide it from us, but I think I can remember the general area of where it was."

Marty guessed that would make sense. He didn't really know if anyone went into the ravine through the years, but it was possible and, if someone explored the cave the train was hidden in and found the time machine, Doc and Marty may never find the locomotive. It had a much better chance of remaining preserved in the ravine if no one could actually see it.

Doc slowed the DeLorean to a stop and then clicked off the hover circuits. He swung open the gull-wing door and stepped out, squinting at the side of the wall. He smiled a little smugly and said: "The hole should be around here somewhere. Can't even tell where the false image is when I'm looking for it."

Marty stepped out of the car. "That means that Clara did bury the train?"

"Precisely," Doc nodded and began feeling around the wall of the ravine.

His hands brushed over the rocks as he shuffled across the wall. After a few moments he was beginning to become worried that he had miscalculated the location of the hole. Then one of his hands disappeared from view and it looked as if it had been chopped off at the wrist. Doc smiled and pulled his hand out of the projection.

"Over here, Marty!" he waved his friend over who had been immitating Doc, feeling around for the invisible hole a few yards away.

Marty hustled over to Doc and watched as he moved his arm toward the wall. His limb up to its elbow seemed to disappear as it entered. Marty whistled with amazement. The projection did its job well. He couldn't tell in any way that there was a hole in the wall.

"Wait here," Doc instructed him, and then he clenched his eyes shut and stepped through the feigned image.

Doc felt dizzy for a moment, which was to be expected after stepping through an electric projection. He opened his eyes and looked around the cave. A few feet away from him Doc saw the train, its back to him. The boxcar rested to its side, no longer attached to the back end of the train, but Doc hardly noticed such a peculiarity. It was covered in dust and filth and obviously it had been in the cave for many years. Doc sighed with relief upon the sight of the locomotive. Thank God he had told Clara about the image projector, or it wouldn't have been very likely that she'd think to conceal the train in the past to be exhumed in the future. Doc walked up to the train and kneeled down, his hand feeling around the bottom of the locomotive for something. He went around the train now, groping around, and finally found what he was searching for.

With some effort, Doc snapped a device that was attached to the bottom of the train and surveyed it. It was the projection device he had purchased in 2020 which he had showed Clara how to use. The device fed off of solar energy waves, absorbing them and keeping the projection in place. According to the instructions, the device was supposed to last for five hundred years at least, though there was a warning that noted that during times of recharge the projection image might flicker out for a few minutes to an hour at the most.

Doc had hoped that at these times no one would be around to notice the disturbance. The Eastwood Ravine bridge was built a few miles away from this area, so Doc was certain that when its construction began, the hole, if the device had shut off for some time, would not have been noticed.

Doc flicked a switch on the device and the machine powered down. The projection image which covered the hole flickered away and now Doc saw Marty standing on the floor of the ravine just outside the cave, his arms crossed, waiting patiently for Doc. Marty grinned when the hole appeared and he saw the locomotive inside.

"Great!" Marty enthused and joined Doc inside the cave. He craned his neck and took a long look at the old train. "Jeez, it sure is dusty."

Doc nodded a reply and stepped to the left side of the steam engine. He hoped most of the circuitry still worked, as much of it was far more advanced than anything from 1985. Oh, Doc was certain he could find replacement parts in the present time, but it would take much longer to repair the time machine to working order then.

He dusted off the identification plate which opened the doors and placed his thumb against it. Nothing happened. If the train had malfunctioned since being buried it could take months to get everything in working order, longer than Doc cared to wait. He applied more pressue to the plate and then he finally heard a slight beep! and the doors slowly began to swing open.

Doc stepped away from the doors as they opened outward, dust pouring off of them and carrying through the cave. Marty coughed, his throat irritated by the dust particles, as he came around to the left side of the train. "Doc, you think this thing still works?"

Doc didn't respond, the answer not apparent to him. He climbed into the train. Marty watched and, as he passed the side of the train to follow the scientist, he dusted off the area where Doc's initials had been painted so he could clearly read "ELB". He coughed again as the dust floated through the air. Marty stepped onto the door's bench steps and peered inside at Doc.

Doc went to the main control panel and looked at it. In the bleakness of the cave it was difficult to see. There were a few dents in the panel and some cracked areas. Definitely the thing had been too severely damaged for time travel, but he wondered what else had been ruptured.

"Doc?" Marty looked at his friend as he surveyed the control panel. The scientist gestured for Marty to enter and the teenager obeyed instantly.

Marty could barely make out anything. The windows were covered with dust and made the cabin darker than the inside of the cave itself. From what he could see of the dark silhouettes, everything was pretty much the same.

Doc reached his hand out for the time circuit switch and clicked it on. For a moment nothing happened, then, slowly, the lights on the ceiling came on one by one and the destination panel sprang to life. Doc smiled with relief. The main panel remained dim, however, and made time travel impossible at its current state of disrepair.

"Marty, look at this," Doc pointed to the destination panel and Marty jogged to the scientist's side.

Looking over Doc's shoulder, Marty saw that he was pointing to the "DESTINATION TIME" screen and Marty read the date aloud: "July 1, 1795, 9:36 PM."

"So that's where they end up," Marty said, relief spreading over him. "So all we have to do is fix the train and go back there and pick them up, right?"

"Yep," Doc also felt comforted now that they knew exactly when the train had traveled to. "Let's see what still works."

Doc sat in the conductor's seat and placed his hand on the hover lever. He pulled it back and the train jarred. Marty tripped, but held himself up against the wall as the train floated a few inches above the ground. Doc smiled. "Good thing the hover circuits still work. There would be no way I could repair the malfunction in this time and it would be impossible to get the train up to 88 without it hovering."

Marty nodded, understanding, as he watched his friend return his gaze to the control panel. Doc touched a button near the "ACCELERATE" lever which had an "R" scribbled on it. Then he pushed forward on the "ACCELERATE" lever and the train began to move backward. Doc glanced at the "FRONT" and "REAR" screens, but those had failed to come to life, though the scientist supposed the monitors were the least of his worries.

Doc slid open the window to his left and peered out to make sure the train didn't hit any protruding rocks. When the front end of the train was fully out of the cave, Doc stopped the locomotive and turned the hover circuits off. The train lowered to the ground and Doc returned to the doorway and stepped out, Marty following suit.

"What now?" the teenager asked as he approached the scientist's side.

"It'll be pretty damn-near-impossible to get the train out of the ravine with the hover circuits as jumbled as they are. We'll have to leave it here while I make repairs," Doc decided. "I'll start right away."

Doc had said those words with emotion, but his body did not feel so invigorated. He hadn't slept since he had gone to pick up Marty that night, in fact, since before then when Marty of 2020 suggested that Doc rest in his guest room before he departed to 1985 to collect the younger version of Marty. Quickly Doc estimated how long it had been since he'd rested his eyes ... Nearly twenty hours, Doc decided, and his body was not faring well with the exhaustion. He should have slept some before he began repairs to the train that morning, but he was so concerned about the effects the boys would have living in 1985 too long that he felt the urge to work until his task was complete. At the time, he had had no idea that he would have to once again make repairs to the train.

Marty seemed to notice Doc's state of fatigue. The scientist slumped and he had dark bags under his eyes. Marty was surprised to see that he could still stand at all after everything that had happened. He kept having to remind himself that his friend was in much better health than he had ever seen him, (except when he met his 1955 counterpart). He looked as young as he had thirty years ago, though currently he did not portray his youthfulness.

"Doc, don't you think you should rest?" Marty asked. "I mean, we have plenty of time to go back and get Clara. It's not like if you wait until tomorrow to fix the train she'll have disappeared from the past, right?" Marty wasn't exactly certain his presumption was accurate. He still didn't have all the quirky rules of time travel figured out yet.

"You're right, Marty," Doc relented. "And I'll need to rest up for the trip. Let's go."

Doc began to return to the DeLorean. "What about the train?" Marty asked. "Are you just going to leave it out there like that?"

"It should be fine," Doc said as he climbed into the DeLorean. "I'll go to sleep early and get up before dawn to begin repairs."

"Okay," Marty didn't sound very convinced, but he didn't push the subject. He climbed into the DeLorean and Doc steered the vehicle out of the ravine.

"When do you think you'll have the train fixed?" Marty asked.

"I'm not sure," Doc said. "I'm sure the damage is more severe than when the machine malfunctioned the first time, so it may take a few days."

Doc landed just outside the ravine where Marty's truck was parked. Marty climbed out of the car and then peered back in at Doc. "Call me if you need anything, Doc. And let me know when you're done."

"I will," Doc said. "I'll let you know what's happening before I leave."

"You mean we," Marty corrected the scientist, but from the look on Doc's face, Marty could tell he meant exactly what he had said. "Doc, you're not going alone! What if you need my help?"

"What if something were to go wrong and I ended up stranded in 1795?" Doc returned. "There would be no way for us to get back to the future. I could handle it, as long as I have Clara by my side, but the guilt of trapping you in the past would hang too heavy on my shoulders. It's really not necessary for you to come anyhow, as the journey should only take a few minutes."

That was true, but Marty didn't like the idea of Doc traveling to the past alone. And it wasn't the right time to argue; Doc didn't exactly seem like he was in the mood. He looked as if he'd nod off at any second.

"Just call me when everything's done then," Marty sighed and Doc nodded that he would do just that.

Marty closed the DeLorean's passenger's door and returned to his truck. He watched as the DeLorean shifted into the air and disappeared into the dimming evening's sky. Damn! He still hadn't received the chance to talk to Doc about the fact that he and Clara were moving back to 1888. If he decided to leave 1795 and head directly back to the past, these next couple of days might be the last time Marty saw the scientist.

Grumbling to himself, Marty climbed into his truck and started the engine. Why was Clara so insistent on moving to the past anyway? And why was Doc so willing to allow it? He'd have to get that all straightened out before Doc left for 1795, if Doc wouldn't allow him to come. It might be his last opportunity to have a hear-to-heart talk with his friend.

Marty backed his truck away from the ravine's edge, put it into drive, and began the drive back to his house. When he got home he'd have to call Jen and invite her to do something. Anything would be good as long as Marty got his mind off Doc, Clara, and that troublesome time machine.

Bing! Bong! Bing! Doc would be hard-pressed to sleep through that wake-up call! He had intentionally, the night before, set the universal clock he created less than two weeks ago, which controlled all of the clocks in his garage, to awake him at 4:00 the next morning. Before that, though, he made sure to reset the clocks forward twenty-five minutes.

Now Doc jolted up in his double bed, kicking the covers away from him. Pulling a robe on over his shoulders, Doc rushed over to the universal clock and clicked it off. The room fell silent now and Doc pulled a steel folding chair up to the desk the universal clock sat on. The desk was cluttered with loose papers with ideas for inventions Doc had scribbled on them, pens, pencils, rulers, a calculator, and other items on top. Doc picked up a pen and grabbed a plain, black book. He flipped it open to a new page and scrawled on the top margin: "Saturday, November 2, 1985 - 4:02 AM."

Quickly he sketched out a brief paragraph of his plans for the day, his thoughts on time travel, and the turmoil he felt. He then wrote: "One part of me tells me to dismantle the time machine locomotive immediately. But another part says that I cannot. Like a hero of valor I must rescue my damsel in distress! The first part makes more sense to my mind and body. I want to rest peacefully now and end this asinine dream of success. But the latter part makes sense to my heart. I must listen to that, for mind and body are required to live, but the heart is required to live contentedly."

Doc closed the journal and placed it on his desk. Maybe when it was all done he'd author a book on his adventures. It would be considered a fiction, of course, but with all his thoughts and ideas laid out for him in those pages of his journals (there was one for each year since 1955, when he decided to keep a record of any noteworthy accomplishments or ideas he had had; there were even three journals for the time he had spent in the late 1800's) Doc was certain it would make a fine book. And it seemed like the perfect way to live his retiring years out, writing a great American novel (which he would never be able to publish, lest it spur any undesirable effects on the future), after he and Clara returned to the past.

Doc quickly showered and changed clothes. He dug out some tools and equipment he thought he might need for the repairs and carried them out to the DeLorean and placed them in the passenger's seat. Then he climbed in and drove toward the Eastwood Ravine to begin the restoration of the time train.

 Brriiing! Marty had just returned home Sunday evening when he heard his phone ringing. He ran to his room and pulled the phone off the receiver, crying through a gasp of breath: "Yeah?"

"Marty, is that you?" Doc's voice came over the line.

"Yeah," Marty replied. "What's up, Doc?"

"Where were you all day? I tried contacting you at lunch."

"I was out with Jennifer. What's going on?" Marty pressed.

"Can you stop by the Eastwood Ravine?" Doc asked.

"Yeah, sure. Why, what's up? Did you get the train working yet?"

"I believe so," Doc said. "I want to leave for the past as soon as night hits and I think there's some things we need to discuss before I leave."

"Yeah," Marty agreed. "We definitely need to talk. I'll see you in a few, all right? Bye."

Marty hung up the phone and looked to his clock radio. It was after four o' clock. He had talked to Doc yesterday, and he had told him about some of the problems with the train, some technical stuff Marty didn't understand, and the teenager hadn't received the opportunity to talk to Doc about his moving to the past. This had been the first time he heard from Doc today and he hadn't expected his friend to have the train ready so soon. From the way he had spoken, it seemed like it would take weeks to fix.

It was sort of depressing.

Marty grabbed his keys and left his empty house behind. He went to his Toyota truck, climbed in, started the engine and took off toward the Eastwood Ravine.

When Marty pulled up to the location where the train had previously been sitting the Friday before, he saw the DeLorean of the future resting nearby. Doc, clothed in late 1800's attire, climbed out of the car as Marty cut the engine and approached the scientist. It felt almost awkward, as if this would be the last time they'd ever see each other, and, Marty reminded himself, it just may be.

"How's it looking?" Marty turned his gaze from Doc to the train in the ravine below.

"Looking good," Doc smiled. "Everything seems to be working okay. In an hour or so, I suppose I'll go to get Clara."

Again, there was an awkward silence. Then Doc returned to the DeLorean and climbed inside. "Get in," he told the teenager.

Marty obeyed, not certain why he was climbing into the vehicle. The car floated into the ravine and landed next to the side of the train. Here Marty and Doc climbed out again and Marty surveyed the locomotive. It now had the cowcatcher reattached to it (it had it snapped off a few days earlier when the train made its fatal voyage to the past) and the whole thing seemed to have been polished and refinished. Doc had also recoupled the boxcar to the back of the train in order to bring the DeLorean with him as a way out of the steep ravine. Doc pulled open the DeLorean's front trunk and pulled out a large suitcase from it. Lugging the carryall, he walked up to the train, opened its doors, and set the suitcase inside the locomotive.

"I think it would be best for Clara," Doc explained as he noticed Marty's curious gaze, "if, as soon as we leave 1795 and return the boys to the future, we immediately return to the past. The suitcase has a few important articles in it. Some notes and equipment that won't exist in 1888 and some other personal belongings I'd like to have with me for the remainder of my life."

Marty nodded, understanding that Doc had no intentions of ever returning to 1985. "How will I know you're okay?"

"There's always the history books," Doc smiled pleasantly. "Marty, I really appreciate all your help. Everything you've done for me ..."

"The feeling's mutual, Doc," Marty cut him off. "I just ... wish you didn't have to leave 1985 for good. Why do you have to go back to 1888 anyway?"

"It's not fair to Clara, Marty," Doc explained.

"What about what's fair to you?" Marty exclaimed. "Is it fair to make you live in a different time?"

"One of us has to give up something," Doc sighed. "What do I have that's so necessary for me here in 1985 anyway?"

"Everything!" Marty cried. "Your inventions and the technology and ... me. Doc, you're like a father to me. When my dad wasn't there for me to give me inspiration you were always there to encourage me!"

"Your father always encouraged you," Doc returned. "And he's given you as much inspiration as I ever have."

"Come on, Doc. Dad never was the type to look up to. You were the one who always told me that I could accomplish anything!"

"I thought your father taught you that motto long before you met me?" Doc looked up to the sky. "At least that's how I remember it."

"But it's not the way I remember it," Marty asserted. "Before I went back to 1955 you were the only father-figure I ever had! I couldn't talk to my dad about some of the things I talked to you about! Doc, I don't think I could talk to my dad, even if he is different. I'm just not used to it."

"Marty, you know that I can't guide you through life forever. One day we were going to have to part ways. I suppose that day is today," Doc breathed in deeply, realizing the seriousness of his words.

"Maybe," Marty shrugged.

They both looked up into the sky at the now setting sun. "I guess I should get ready to go."

Doc walked over to the back of the train and pulled open the boxcar's back door. Then he climbed into the DeLorean and backed the car into the boxcar. He climbed out and shut the car in and returned to Marty's side. "Guess that's it," Doc said at last. "When I get back to 1888 I can dismantle the DeLorean and the train. It would be too dangerous to keep them around and functioning then, and I know Clara wouldn't like it."

"Doc, are you sure you don't want me to come along?" Marty suggested hopefully.

"Of course I would like for you to come along. But it's not necessary to involve you in these matters and I prefer not to risk ruining your life or causing some sort of paradox," Doc said.

"Yeah, but what're the chances of something like that happening ... And what are friends for?"

Doc looked away toward the train, avoiding Marty's gaze. "It's Clara, right?" Marty asked. "You think she won't want to come back to 1985."

"I think she'll want to go directly to 1888 after we drop off the boys," Doc confirmed. "Marty, I know that it seems like I'm allowing too much on her part - allowing her to control my own opinions and wishes, but she's been through so much and ... she deserves better. I just want her to be happy. You can understand that!"

"I guess," Marty said unequivocally.

"Come on," Doc waved Marty toward the train. "You can see me off."

Doc climbed inside the train and Marty followed tentatively. Marty climbed into the train's cab and watched as Doc began to insert the destination time. "You know," Doc paused, his finger hovering above the keypad, "I wonder how long it took Clara to hide the train ..."

"An hour maybe?" Marty suggested.

"Perhaps, unless they tried to get the train to work. It could have been longer. And since I can't get the train out of the ravine I wouldn't want to risk coming back at a time before Clara hid the train in 1795."

Doc finished inserting the date. "This may not turn out as neatly as I'd hoped," he frowned. "I'll set the time for five o' clock the next morning. That should be more than enough time for Clara and the boys to finish hiding the train and somehow get out of the ravine. I'd hate to accidentally hit them."

"Yeah. You almost got me and Jen when you came back the first time ... Except you wouldn't remember that," Marty reminded himself.

"You know, Marty, now that I think about it, it may not be such a bad idea if you came along for the ride," Doc turned to look at his friend. "I may need some help tracking down Clara and the boys if they're no longer at the ravine. I'm sure Clara would understand my reasoning."

"Really?" Marty grinned. "Great! No problem! Let's go."

"All right," Doc nodded. "I suppose it's the best plan, now that I think about it, and I can take Clara back to 1888 straight from 1795 if she wishes and return later, after I drop you and the boys back in your appropriate times."

"Sounds good," Marty sat down in the seat in the back and pulled on his seat belt.

Doc prepared the train for temporal displacement, collecting some refuse for the Mr. Fusion and giving the train some liquid fuel. "Let's hope everything works."

Doc buckled his seat belt and clicked on the hover circuits, causing the locomotive to lift a few feet off the ground. Doc backed the train down the ravine so he would be certain they'd have enough room to accelerate to eighty-eight miles per hour and have enough distance between the train and the ravine's end to slow the locomotive down once they appeared in 1795. "Hang on," he told Marty and then pushed forward on the acceleration lever.

The locomotive chugged through the ravine's canyon, gaining speed, and in a matter of moments the one-hundred year old train had vanished from the present.

Climbing of the train's doorway, Marty noticed it was light out now. Doc was in front of him, standing on the floor of the ravine and glaring down the chasm for any signs of his wife. Doc sighed heavily when he saw no persons. "I don't think they're here."

Marty cupped his hands over his mouth and called into the canyon:"Clara!" His voice echoed off the walls and bounced back at him and Doc. Only the reverberation of his voice returned his call.

"At least we were able to make certain that we didn't hit the train or Clara and the boys themselves," Doc said optimistically.

Marty peered up at the top of the ravine. If Clara was up there, waiting for them, she most likely would have heard Marty's call or at least the train breaking the time barrier. "Where do you think they went?"

"It's been more than seven hours since they arrived here," Doc returned. "Perhaps they thought we'd be back sooner and gave up hope after a few hours. It's probably for the best. It could have been dangerous for them if they had been in the ravine when we arrived."

Then Doc returned to the train and climbed in. "What are you doing now, Doc?" Marty asked.

Doc returned with an armful of papers and, skimming through them, pulled out a map. Stuffing the extra papers under his right arm, Doc unfolded the map and held it in front of his and Marty's eyes. "Here's the location I told Clara to bury the train," Doc pointed to an area on the map he had circled in ink. "I also marked where our home of 1888 should be in case she got lost," he pointed to the marked location on the map. "Perhaps she went in that direction looking for shelter of some kind."

Marty turned to look back up at the ravine's edge. "What's Hill Valley like in 1795 anyway? Is it like the Old West?"

"No," Doc shook his head as he began folding up the papers he had collected and shoved them in his pockets. "California was controlled by Spain at this time. This is before the country is a part of the United States. I didn't think that Hill Valley existed in 1795, but that newspaper from the future had some sort of comments ..." Doc paused and dug through his pockets and pulled out the front page of the newspaper he had brought from the future. "Let's see." He skimmed through the paper. "Here: Evidence claims that Hill Valley was a mission in Spanish California, but it was raided and burned by hostile Native Americans in the late 1700's. The orphanage in the future derives its origins from a small prison that was hardly touched by the anarchy, but was torn down after a storm ravaged it in 1975 and rebuilt in 1976 as a Correctional Facility.'"

"So Hill Valley did exist around now?" Marty asked.

"Theoretically," Doc nodded. "Apparently it wasn't known as Hill Valley though, but as Valle de Collina." Doc folded up the newspaper page and shoved it in his pocket. "Spanish is the established language. We'd best try to keep out of sights of the locals. Hopefully it won't be difficult to track down Clara once we reach town."

"Did you bring any clothes from this time period?" Marty stepped to Doc's side.

"No," Doc frowned. "I didn't think it would be necessary. The 1888 suit I'm wearing now won't stick out so much, but your future clothes are quite different than the clothes of this time."

Doc climbed back into the train. Marty watched as he opened that large suitcase he had brought with him and began pulling items from it. Some clocks, pictures of his favorite scientists, some mechanical stuff, and then a folded suit jacket and pants. Underneath it all were a bunch of papers and a black book. Doc took the clothes out and began to replace the items into the suitcase, then, as if he had just decided, took the black book from the suit case and closed everything else back in it, sliding the book into his breast pocket. He returned to Marty and handed him the jacket and pants.

"This is an extra suit I brought with me when I came to 2020 in case the you of that time wanted to help me and Clara get things ready for the move in 1888," Doc explained.

"Me of 2020? Why didn't you come get me to help?" Marty sounded hurt.

"It's still you," Doc shrugged. "And I was going to be seeing you in the present for a long time to come. Who knew when I was going to see you of 2020 again?"

Marty dropped the subject. He was getting defensive over Doc visiting an older version of himself! And he was tired of thinking about the future anyway. As Marty took of his jean jacket to change clothes he noticed the metal band around his wrist. He grimaced at seeing it, remembering what would happen to his future daughter and what a jerk his future son was. He almost preferred his son's sniveling dork counterpart he had met in 2015 over the new version ... but he had thirty-five years to worry about that. He just wanted to push it out of his mind until the events of that time actually happened.

Marty slipped on the pants and the coat. Doc didn't look too pleased with the change when he looked Marty up and down and made a sour face. "What's wrong?" the teen asked.

"Our garments still don't fit very well into this time period," Doc replied, taking Marty's future clothes from his arms and tossing them inside the train. "Though I suppose it's better than what you were wearing. Hopefully we won't be noticed by any of the mission's residents."

"Maybe we won't even have to go into town to find Clara and the kids?" Marty said hopefully, trying to raise his friend's spirits.
Doc didn't bother to think about it. "Who knows?"

Doc closed the doors to the time machine and went around to the back of the boxcar and drove the DeLorean out. He threw open the passenger's door and said to Marty: "Get in."

Marty climbed into the car and, as Doc maneuvered the vehicle out of the ravine, Marty asked: "How do you think Clara got out of the ravine? You think he she climbed?"

"I doubt it," Doc shook his head. "It would be a dangerous climb for either of us, let alone a woman and two children. I hope she didn't try such a dangerous task and, if she did, that everything turned out all right."

Marty nodded, an image flashing in his head of Clara falling off the edge of the cliff in an attempt to scale it. Doc pulled the DeLorean onto firm ground and rolled to a stop. Then he put the car into reverse and backed it to the edge of the ravine. He climbed out and Marty followed his lead. Doc grabbed something from under the front seat and closed the door. It was the projection device, Marty saw, the same one Clara had used to hide the time train.

"I've reprogrammed this to fit the mass of the DeLorean," Doc explained. "It should keep the vehicle away from any spectators while we're gone."

"What about the train?" Marty asked as he saw Doc bend down and hook the device to the bottom of the car's front axle.

Doc flicked the switch on the device and backed away. After a moment, the car seemed to flicker and then disappear from sight. Doc rubbed his hands on his pants and said: "I think it should be fine. I doubt anyone will look into the ravine in the next few hours and I don't expect to be in this time period any longer than that."

Marty nodded, now looking up toward the bright morning, the sun rising high in the sky. The light of day would increase their chances of being seen once they made it into town. Doc looked up to the sky as well. He, too, wished to keep a low profile once they made it to Valle de Collina. It would seem quite bizarre when two men who spoke only english appeared in the spanish mission. Clara, Doc knew, could speak some spanish, but he only knew a few words and he sincerely doubted Marty knew any spanish vocabulary bar perhaps "burrito" and "taco". He would have to formulate some sort of tale for their reasons, as english speaking men, for coming to Valle de Collina.

Doc squinted into the distance and could just make out a few dotted buildings over the hill where the town of Hill Valley should lie. "There's something out there all right."

"Then shouldn't we get started?" Marty walked past Doc. His voice had an edge to it, as if he was angry. Doc watched him go, his eyes wide, as if trying to figure something out. He gave up trying to read Marty's mind and hastened to follow him.

"Is something wrong, Marty?" Doc asked forthrightly.

"I'm fine," Marty muttered, his mind lost in thoughts.

"You know, Marty, if you didn't want to come you didn't have to ..." Doc began.

Marty halted in his tracks and shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping his eyes toward the sunrise and away from Doc. "It's not that ..."
Marty heaved out a breath, feeling Doc's gaze hot on the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Doc. I don't mean to sound like a jerk."

"What's wrong?" Doc asked again, coming to his young friend's side.

"I keep thinking about the future," Marty confessed.

"What about it?"

Marty looked at his friend. Doc had a very serious expression on his face and for some reason this made Marty titter uneasily. The laugh stopped abruptly and Marty's face went solemn again. "It's just ... When I was in that orphanage, prison or whatever the hell place, I met my daughter."

"You did?" Doc hadn't known anything about this incident.

Marty nodded. "She was in my cell. The things she told me about our relationship in the future ... And then I have that prick of a kid for a son. It's just more than I needed to know right now."

"It's not always a good thing to know your own destiny," Doc placed his hand on Marty's shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to learn something you weren't ready to know."

"It's not your fault, Doc," Marty said. "Anyway, the future's not written, right? So none of that has to happen. Right?"

"Your future depends on the decisions you make now," Doc nodded. "That's why you can't live looking to the future for something that might not be there. I'm sure everything will turn out all right for you."

"Yeah. Me too," Marty smiled, feeling a little better about everything. "Let's go find Clara."

"Right," Doc agreed and he led the way across the plain.

As they made their way toward the spanish mission, Doc spent most of the time trying to remember any spanish phrases he had learned. "Me llamo es Emmett Brown," he mumbled to himself. "Dónde es Clara Clayton Brown?" He didn't know too much beyond that, but it may be enough to find his wife and get her and the children out of town and back to the time machine.

Marty noticed Doc's muttering, but pretended not to hear it. They had been walking for nearly a half hour now and still the outskirts of Valle de Collina were pretty far off. The morning was warming up and already Marty felt himself begin to sweat. He wasn't looking forward to another long hike under the broiling sun. He still remembered that blistering September 2nd day he arrived in 1885 and the walk to Hill Valley the following Wednesday. The sudden climate shifts were another thing Marty didn't like about time travel. If you didn't think ahead, you might forget to dress cool for a particularly hot month.

Doc stopped suddenly, turning his head to look to his left. He tilted his head back as if he was listening for something.

"What is it, Doc?" Marty looked at the scientist inquisitively.

"I hear something," was Doc's simple reply. "Hoof clops."

Marty looked in the direction Doc was surveying intently, not hearing the sound himself. He saw nothing and finally said: "Are you sure?"

Then, over a hill from the west appeared a horse with a spanish rider on its back. He wore a sombrero with a red band across it on top of his head and his suit consisted of a sleeveless deerhide jacket, a black neckerchief, tight leggings, and black shoes. He carried a long spear in one hand as he spurred toward them. Doc instantly recognized the man to be a soldier of some kind.

"Maybe we'd better hide," Marty suggested.

"No. He's already seen us and that would just draw more attention to ourselves. Let's just keep walking," Doc said and began to head north again, Marty following his lead.

The rider came in behind them a few moments later, then circled around them and cut off their path. Doc and Marty stared up at the quite imposing officer, his dark eyes staring back at them in slits, perhaps from the glare of the sun overhead or perhaps to intimidate the two strangers. If it was the latter of the two, then Marty felt the soldier was doing a fairly good job. The teenager shifted on his feet nervously and gulped, watching the man's hand which held the spear very closely.

The officer spoke. It was a long-winded statement in spanish and when the officer had finished, he looked at the pale strangers expectantly.

Doc didn't know what to say. He hadn't caught one word the man had spit out at them, let alone the question, had one been asked. Finally, Doc managed a simple: "Qué?"

The soldier seemed to get angry with this statement and said something more in spanish, this time his voice more sharp than before. Doc began to feel fear creep upon him. He wasn't sure what the officer would do to them.

Marty grabbed his friend's sleeve and pulled the scientist closer to him. "What the hell did you tell him, Doc?" the teenager hissed into his ear.

"Nothing," Doc shook his head. The spanish man glared at the strangers exptectantly. Finally, swallowing hard, Doc sputtered: "No hablo español."

The man grinned wide at this statement and it looked as if he was about to burst out laughing. Doc continued before the man could say anything more: "Yo hablo inglés."

The spanish officer nodded again. "English?"

"Yes," Doc croaked. "Do you speak it?"

"Little," the officer nodded. "My novia know."

The man noticed the confused stares of the time travelers. "Girlfriend," he explained simply.

It wouldn't be a grand conversation, but it was something. "Who you?" the soldier asked in butchered english. There were gaps in between each word as he considered the translation from spanish to english.

Doc quickly developed an alibi. "We come from England. This is my nephew," Doc looked to Marty, then back at the officer who he saw was listening intently. Doc now slowed down his words so the officer could better translate them in his mind. "My sister, the boy's mother, was english and her husband was from Spain. He came here to California some years ago and a few days ago my sister passed. We have come to tell him the news."

Doc wasn't sure if the officer was buying the excuse, for he saw the man begin to consider the words very carefully, though he may have been attempting to piece all of the english statement together.

"Pass-ed?" he asked.

"Died," Doc clarified, in case that was the problem, and then to make sure, slashed his finger across his throat.

The man nodded, understanding, and this was reason enough for Doc to smile, more out of relief than anything else. "Where go?" the soldier asked.

"Hill Valley," Doc confirmed, then, realizing his mistake, quickly corrected himself: "... Uhh, ah, Valle de Collina."

"Ah, sí, sí," the man nodded. "I go."

"You're going to Valle de Collina?" Doc asked.

"Sí," the man nodded. "You come. I take."

Doc nodded, pleased that the man was as friendly as he was. "Thank you," Doc said and the solider simply nodded, giving his steed a tap of his boots and having the horse walk at a slow pace. Doc began following and Marty ran up to his side, whispering: "Do you think we should go?"

"I don't think we have any choice," Doc returned. "We're lucky something worse didn't happen. The English aren't exactly allies of Spain in this year, though I do believe that by this time it was not uncommon to see Americans, Russians and English observing the land. It's a good thing he believed my story, too."

Marty nodded gravely. That was a relief at least. He couldn't forget that he and Doc were now two hundred years in the past. Things were a lot more barbaric back then, though Marty wasn't quite sure how barbaric. At least the officer seemed friendly, but who knows what he'd do once he got them to Hill Valley. Maybe he'd toss them in jail or something worse.

And what if Clara and the kids had run into a soldier who wasn't so friendly? That definitely worried Marty and he hoped Doc hadn't thought of such a possibility. His friend probably knew more about the behavior of the people back now, too, which could either be a good or bad thing, depending on just how hospitable the spanish were during this time. Ignorance is bliss, and the less Marty knew the better he'd feel. His stomach was already beginning to turn at the possibilities.

Doc, for the most part, kept his mind off such worries. Clara was a strong woman and she could look after herself and the boys. Instead, he kept his focus on the future, or rather, the past. Actually, smirking to himself, Doc realized it was both. He wondered just what Clara's reaction would be when he found her, what emotions she'd have. He had a knot of fear in his stomach telling him that she would not be pleased and even more infuriated with time travel, which she hadn't been a big fan of following the dangerous return trip to the future, perhaps even before then. It was difficult to say just when she changed her mind about time travel.
In 1885, after Marty had left and Doc had related all his adventures to her, Clara was like a schoolgirl, learning things that she'd thought she'd only read about in a Jules Verne novel. Suddenly they were all becoming reality and the more Doc spoke of the future, the more she wanted to see it and not just hear about it. From that day, Clara had always supported Doc's decision to recreate a time machine in the past. Doc had told her from the time he began making the plans (purchasing the locomotive, taking apart the hoverboard, and experimenting with what technology existed in the past) that he wanted to move them to the present, her future.

She thought it would be a wonderful experience and she didn't care where or when she lived, as long as it was by Emmett's side. Doc smiled. Then the grin slowly dipped to a frown as he realized the spuriousness in these words. Perhaps, at the time, Clara had really meant what she had said. But Doc was sure that it was the time they had spent in 2020 that had made her feel so uncomfortable about moving to a time she didn't know, and with due reason.

Doc was fascinated by the future and the advances of man, but it seemed Clara was the opposite. She was fine settling in her own time, where and when she belonged, not caring what the future held, but living in the present. Doc supposed that was the best way to live and he was sure his fascination for the future came from his roots in science and technology. When he first began construction on the time machine, Doc had had this profound dream that he'd be able to travel to the future, see where man was going, and discover the true meaning of life. In fact, he had hardly meant for the machine to travel to the past, though it seemed it headed backward more often than forward through time.

Thank God it did, or perhaps Doc never would have met his true love. His goal had been to unravel the mystery of the universe and instead he unveiled the mystery of love. In his eyes, now that he had experienced such an emotion, a much better achievement. But now he'd have to give up his original intent. It almost saddened him to realize that, once he returned to 1888, he'd have to dismantle his invention. It was a shame he'd have to give all that up, but, Doc reminded himself, it was worth it. Science was his first love, but Clara was his true love. It was the only fair thing to do for his wife. And for her he'd give up his world.

Doc and Marty trudged along, following behind their escort, their shadows dipping off to their left as the sun beat down on them from the dull morning's sky. The Spanish mission of Valle de Collina was more or less a one hour trip by foot, Doc estimated, and for the first time he realized how relieved he'd be to put the dangers of time travel in a grave, perhaps an early grave, he mused, but deceased and gone nonetheless.

Clara Clayton Brown let out a heavy sigh. Her feet were aching (the boots she wore were not exactly comfortable) and she had been walking for nearly an hour. The boys from the future walked on either side of her, Clara grasping their hands as they plodded along. Now the town she had noticed some time ago in the distance was a few yards away and Clara would be glad to sit and rest. So far they had seen no signs of civilization, except for the town they had now reached, the future sight of Hill Valley.

Remembering back to her learning days and, more specifically, the few months she had studied history, Clara recalled that California was under spanish rule in 1795, if the destination time had been correct. She was worried that the train had been so damaged that she and the boys could have ended up anywhere in time.

Clara had tried to return to the future, after letting the train settle for a while, but, after loading Mr. Fusion and accelerating the locomotive to eighty-eight miles per hour, the train did not disappear to the destination she had set it to. She was quite sure that they hadn't gone anywhere and even more positive that the train had become damaged in that fall. As soon as they arrived in the past, the panel in the front exploded with millions of sparks leaping up and dancing to the floor. Then all the lights went out as the train slowed to a stop. Everything seemed to work after the train's cool-down, but for some reason it was not breaking the time barrier.

After a good many attempts, loading and unloading the Mr. Fusion, she had given up on the machine. The boys, who had been frightened by the whole experience, were finally ready to consent and go wherever she told them as long as they were safe. But it was too late for that. Clara had accepted the realization that they were trapped in 1795.

After considering her options for some time, Clara had suddenly remembered the plan Emmett had conveyed to her in the future. She found the map on the train's floor and, peering at it, found the location where her husband had told her to bury the train. It was her only option, since she knew it would be impossible to repair the train, and so, setting up the holographic projector from the future just the way her husband had explained to her, closed the train up in the Eastwood Ravine.

Then she used the boxcar, at the boys' suggestion, to levitate to firm ground. They all climbed in and Jules volunteered to steer the hovering boxcar using the remote control found inside after Clara had gone to the trouble of uncoupling it from the back of the train. Once they were out of the ravine and back on raised ground, Jules steered the boxcar back into the chasm, being very careful to maneuver the thing into the hidden hole without damaging it. It disappeared into the wall and when this was all done, he slipped the control into his pocket.

By this time, a good two or three hours had passed and the night was so dark Clara could hardly see her hand before her face. Now she and the boys sat near the edge of the ravine and waited, Clara staring into the deep gorge and the boys running off to entertain themselves not far away.

Every now and then she'd call out to the boys to make sure the children had not strayed too far in the darkness. They would return her call, assuring her that they were still close by. "Be careful," she had warned them. "I don't want you falling off the side of this horrid ravine." She swallowed hard, realizing that the same event had nearly been her own fate and, in one time, was.

They waited. Clara was almost certain that Emmett would remember the plan forged in the future and that he would find and fix the train and return for them. But after an hour passed and then another, her faith began to dwindle. The boys were beginning to get tired now as they came to her side. She could see them more clearly than before, the full moon giving them some light from above now. They walked up to her figure and sat down next to her, on either side.

"When's he coming?" Verne asked.

"I don't know," Clara spoke. There was a long gap of silence where they only heard the sound of crickets and the howl of a wolf in the distance.

"What's that?" Verne's eyes went wide and he pricked up his ears.

"Don't worry about it," Clara said, not sounding very convincing that the noise was harmless.

"Will it hurt us?" Jules said.

"I don't know." It was not the best response to the question, Clara now realized, though it was the truth. "No. No, it won't," she added quickly, in hopes of calming the boys.

"When's he coming?" Verne asked again.

Clara stood up and straightened her back, staring into the ravine's deep gorge. It was as still and silent as it had been for the last five hours since their arrival. Again the beast howled in the distance, only now it seemed closer than before. "I don't think we should stay here any longer," Clara decided, shivering from the cold and fright. She had heard horror stories in her own time of vicious predators running off with babies and children, and she wasn't so confidant that she could fight off such an animal herself.

The boys stood. "Where are we going?" Jules asked her.

Clara turned away from the ravine and took a step forward. "If Hill Valley exists now, that's where we'll go. We'll be safe there."

"What if it doesn't exist?" Jules asked, a question she knew was inevitable, but still made her wince to hear.

"We'll worry about it when the time comes," she said rather boldly.

Luckily the time never came. Less than fifteen minutes into their trek, Clara noticed the outlines of the buildings and, relieved that civilization existed, they continued on through the night until they had reached the town, the buildings forming a quadrangle of the town's boundaries. They passed through the large gold gate which was the entrance to the Spanish town. The mission was still and silent. Not a soul seemed to stir. In the darkness they could hardly make out the form of the town. The first building they passed was a small, adobe (like all the buildings) prison. It was naggingly familiar to both Jules and Verne, though neither spoke of the deja vu.

As they walked through the center of the mission, they saw a small fountain spraying water. Clara led the boys toward the largest building at the center of town. It was the location, or not too far off from it, of the future clock tower. If they were going to get help, Clara assumed they'd get it there. The building was wide with a tall cross standing on the top of the flat roof.Clara stepped up to the building's door and tentatively knocked on it. She paused for a long moment and, when no response came, she pushed open the large door and peered in.

It was a church, that was evident, elaborately decorated, much more so than anything they had seen in the town since their arrival. The room was empty, and perhaps that was a good thing. They could sleep in the church until morning without fear of being attacked by a wild animal or without bothering the mission's citizens. Clara wasn't sure what time it was, but after everything that had happened she felt very tired and apparently so did the boys.

They dragged their feet as she pulled them along, too exhausted to lift their heads. "Can we sit down?" Verne begged.

"Yes," Clara led the boys to a pew at the front of the room and they sat there. She took the bench behind them. "Go to sleep," she told them. "We'll figure out everything in the morning."

She wasn't as confident as she sounded, but she was too tired to think about it. She lay down on the hard bench, resting her head against the wood, and in a few minutes they were all asleep.

 Clara woke to the ringing of bells. Her eyes spread open and she jolted up, her back stiff from the uncomfortable bed she had made of the pew. The boys stirred as well and Jules slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. He let out a great yawn and turned to look at Clara. "What time is it?"

Clara shrugged. She still felt tired, as if she had only been allowed to sleep for a couple of hours. Now Verne pulled himself up and looked around. "What's that noise?"

"It sounds like bells," Clara answered.

Verne shook his head. "Who's ringing bells?"

After a moment, the ringing ceased and then an answer was given to Verne's question. A man stepped into the church. He wore a brown cloak and spoke spanish to another man, dressed as he was, as he entered. Both were fathers of the church. The man behind him grew silent as he noticed the intruders and the first spanish man turned his eyes upon Clara and the boys, too. The man asked something in spanish.

"What'd he say?" Jules asked.

"He wants to know what we're doing here," Clara replied. She took a moment to think, then made a response in spanish.

"You talk spanish?" Verne asked her.

"Yes," Clara nodded. "Just basic words. I'm not very good with the tenses."

"What'd you tell him?" Verne asked.

"That we came here last night and needed some place to stay," Clara replied.

The man approached the three, again speaking very quickly in a language foreign to both Jules and Verne. Clara nodded. "Sí," she smiled.

"What?" Jules asked. "What'd he say?"

"He said that the church is a haven for all people," Clara replied.

The padre gestured toward Clara and she stood. "He wants us to come with him," she explained to the boys, taking their hands in hers and following the father. He led them through the church's doors and onto the grounds of the mission. Outside, Clara saw clearly now that dawn had come just some moments before, the sun slowly reaching above the buildings of the mission. The streets were still not crowded. In fact, they seemed almost as deserted as the night before.

They followed the father across the mission's grounds as he led them away from the church. He approached a building a few yards away and knocked loudly on the door. After a moment a man appeared in the doorway. He was heavyset with a thick, black mustache and beady eyes. He frowned as he opened the door, grumbling to himself in spanish and then, looking at the padre and the strangers, plastered a huge grin on his face and said something in spanish.

The padre responded and Clara translated for the boys. "The man wants to know what brings us here. The father explained that he found us in the church and we have just come to the mission."

The man at the door directed a question to Clara and she replied with a long narrative. The man nodded and now turned to the padre as Clara explained the conversation to the boys. "He wanted to know why we've come to the mission of Valle de Collina and I explained that my husband will be arriving soon and that we need some place to stay until then, if it isn't trouble."

"Is he coming?" Verne asked hopefully.

"He should have arrived already," Clara shook her head. "But I hope he shows up some time today, or I'm afraid we may be stuck in this time for good."

Jules' face soured at that realization. "He'd better show up! I don't want to have to live in this dumb place where no one can even speak english!"

Clara ignored the comment as the heavyset man again spoke to her. Clara nodded and returned a statement. "This man is the mayor, Frederik Mendoza Ramos," she told the boys. "He will allow us to stay in his home until Emmett arrives. But it is almost time to attend mass and he has invited us to join him and his daughter."

"Mass?" Verne asked.

"Church. Haven't you ever been to church?" Clara asked.

The boys looked at each other. "Not when they were actually ... churching," Jules replied slowly.

Clara didn't like that idea. Religion was very important to her and she had attended mass every Sunday, even when she was on her own. It was by the grace of God, she thought, that she made it through all the ordeals that she had. The mayor now said something else and Clara nodded and turned to the boys. "Church will begin in a half hour. The father will show us to the kitchen where we can get breakfast. Then the mayor will meet us at the church," she explained.

"Do we have to go to church?" Jules frowned.

"Yes," Clara said simply and followed the father to the main mission building to get their breakfast. "Perhaps it's about time you boys learned about God."

"What's the point of learning something that isn't real?" Jules mumbled to himself, kicking pebbles across the dirt as they walked.

"What? What did you say?" Clara demanded after hearing the inaudible mutterings. Jules didn't reply though, and looked away from the schoolteacher as if she didn't exist.

Clara sighed. He was still angry with her. But there was nothing she could have done! If she could adopt and raise Jules and his brother as her own she would! She wanted to! She looked up to the sky, murmuring a prayer to herself. She prayed she would be able to keep the boys. She prayed Emmett would change his mind, if he showed up in the past at all.

She prayed for a miracle.

After breakfast, those same bells rang again and the father led them to church. They were some of the first people there, and, not seeing the mayor around, took seats near the front as everyone filed in. The inhabitants of the missions, consisting of many spanish, a group Native Americans, and two or three English or Russians, filed in. After some time the preaching began and though Jules and Verne couldn't understand, they already disliked what the man spoke. Jules had never believed in God and he had taught his brother not to either. Many times he had asked Verne: "Where's God now? How come he's not helping us now?" and Verne would have no answer. If God was there, Jules thought, he wasn't doing anything for them, and that didn't seem very godly to him. So what was the point of believing in something that probably wasn't there or, if it was, didn't help them anyway? Jules fidgeted in his seat for most of the sermon and Clara, more than once, had to settle him down.

The mass ended two hours later and the boys raced eagerly to the church's door, the first people out. Clara met them a few minutes later as the crowd dispersed through the town. Clara looked around, half-expecting to see her husband waiting for them, but he was not there. She released a deep sigh.

"Now what?" Jules said, his eyes darting across the mission as he, too, searched for the older man.

A hand touched Clara's shoulder and she jumped at the contact. She spun around to see the spanish mayor smiling at her. There was a girl at his side, no older than eighteen, and the man spoke to her in spanish. Clara smiled at the words and said something to the girl and then to the mayor, and then turned to the boys to translate. "Boys, this is the mayor's daughter, Lucita Mendoza Guevarra."

"You speak english?" Lucita smiled at the three.

"Yes," Clara nodded. "More fluently than spanish."

"You must just be passing through then," Lucita nodded. "I took classes in the english language so I could speak to some of the strangers who come through our mission. Father said it would be a good thing for me to learn it, though he never did himself."

Clara smiled. "It's good to hear our own language. My boys don't speak any spanish," she said, almost instinctively.

"They're adorable," Lucita kneeled in front of them. "What are their names?"

"I'm Verne!" Verne said quickly. "But I'm not adorable," he added, grimacing.

"What about you?" Lucita turned to the older boy.

"I don't have a name," Jules said, crossing his arms. "You have to have parents if you want to have a name."

The spanish girl looked puzzled as she stood to look at Clara. "His name is Jules," Clara told her. "My name is Clara."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lucita nodded. "Would you like for me to show you around the mission?"

Clara was hesitant and she looked around again for her husband, hoping that he'd magically appear at the front gate. But he was still nowhere to be seen. "We'd like that," Clara nodded, not wanting to sound ungrateful for the girl's kindness. The boys didn't seem thrilled with the idea and Clara caught Jules rolling his eyes at her response.

"Good," Lucita clasped her hands together. Then she turned to her father and explained everything to him in spanish. Her father nodded and then, after saying something to Clara in spanish, walked away. "Would you like to see the exterior of the mission first? The fields are beautiful."

Clara bit her lip. She didn't want to leave the mission yet, in case her husband appeared, but she supposed the fields couldn't be too far off. "Okay," she agreed.

Lucita led the way through the gate and Clara took the boys' hands and led them along. "Don't be rude, Jules," she told the older boy.

"Don't call me that!" Jules hissed. "That's not my name! I don't have a name!"

"I have to call you something," Clara sounded hurt. "Don't you like that name?"

"It doesn't matter if I like it," Jules returned sharply. "You're not my mother, so you don't have the right to name me! I'm just a stupid orphan who has to live in the future, so don't pretend like we're a family or something! Because even if we do get out of this stupid time it doesn't mean anything! We're still going to have to go back to the future and be alone again!"

Lucita looked back at the three strangers. "Is everything all right?"

"He's just fussy," Clara told her. Accepting the explaintion, Lucita continued leading the way toward the field. Clara turned to Jules and said: "I'm not pretending anything, Jules. If I had a say in it we would be a family!"

"Really?" Verne tugged at her hand. "Can we live in 1985 with you, then?"

"No," Clara shook her head. "I'm not living in 1985. I'm going back to 1888 with Emmett and if I could, I'd take you with us, but ... we can't."

"Why not?" Verne demanded.

"We just can't," Clara looked away from the boys and the conversation ended. It was pointless to talk about something that may not happen anyway. If Emmett didn't arrive in the time machine soon, Clara would become convinced that they would have to be a family of convenience. And that thought worried her. No matter how much she cared for the boys, she still wanted to return home and the thought of never seeing her husband again ...

She just wanted to put all of this in the past.

 The heat was unbearable! Marty dragged his feet, hardly able to keep up with the spanish rider. They had been walking for near an hour without rest and now he wished Doc had brought an extra hat with him. Doc didn't look exactly comfortable, but the brim of his hat did keep the sun out of his eyes and somewhat shaded his face from the heat. If only they'd thought to bring some water with them! Marty's mouth was parched and he kept involuntarily coughing, his throat scratchy and soar.

Now they had reached civilization, though. Not far from them was the front gate to Valle de Collina. The soldier pulled his horse to the left, up to a building that stood before the mission's entrance. "That must be the soldiers' barracks," Doc told Marty.

"Wait," the soldier said to them, then he climbed off his horse and the led the stead into the building.

Marty looked away from the barracks and at the front gate to the mission. "You think Clara and the kids'll be there?"

Doc too looked toward the mission. "I hope so," he nodded. "The sooner we find them and leave the better I'll feel."

"I don't know if I can walk back to the ravine," Marty rubbed his tired eyes. "I feel like I could sleep all day."

"We haven't slept since we arrived," Doc nodded. "It's probably near bedtime according to our biological clocks."

Marty hadn't thought about that. They had left in the evening and arrived early in the morning. To Marty, night had never arrived, but his body was dead tired from the excursion to the past. "You think we could rest first before we leave?"

"I have to admit that I'm just as tired," Doc nodded. "But I still think it would be best if we leave as soon as possible. Perhaps we'll rest for a few hours and then make the return trip to the train."

Marty supposed that was better than nothing, though he felt he could sleep the entire sunny day away. "Well you're the doc, Doc."

The solider returned a moment later, a bright smile on his face. His horse was now away, but he still carried the spear in his hand and now Marty noticed a pistol in his belt that he hadn't before. It made him more nervous. He couldn't get used to seeing men walking around casually carrying guns as if they were their wallets. It had surprised him when he had arrived in 1885 as well, though he had seen plenty of western movies that portrayed the same casualness with weapons. He supposed he was more timid around any person who carried one than he normally would be considering all the times he had been shot at in the last week; though either way he probably wouldn't much trust any gunslinger.

"Come," the soldier gestured and Marty and Doc followed him as he led them to the mission's gate. "This Valle de Collina," he pointed to the gate.

As they entered the mission, Marty and Doc looked around in amazement. The buildings didn't look very nice, all made of adobe brick. About the only thing that looked really extravagant was the church at the front of the mission.

"Jeez, they must be really religious," Marty muttered.

"They used the missions to convert the Native Americans of the land to Catholicism," Doc explained. "Some Native Americans accepted the changes, figuring they were inevitable, while others rebelled."

Marty looked around fretfully. "There aren't any around, are there?" He still remembered his close encounter with the Indians of 1885.

"Some live on the mission, yes, though just about all of them live in their own village outside the mission's quadrangle," Doc said. "We shouldn't have much trouble," Doc added, noticing the frightened look plastered on Marty's face. The comment hadn't made him feel much better.

As the soldier led them across the mission's ground, he was approached by a stocky man with a black mustache. He smiled at the soldier and said something emphatically to the man in spanish. The soldier patted the heavyset man on the shoulder and returned the greeting. Then he turned to Doc and Marty and said: "Es mayor de Valle de Collina."

"Oh," Doc nodded. "Excuse me," he interrupted the reunion of the men and approached the mayor. "Donde es Clara Clayton Brown?"

The mayor thought for a moment and then shook his head, responding in spanish. Doc could tell immediately that the news wasn't good, but he looked to the soldier for some sort of translation anyway.

The soldier thought for a moment, then said: "No see. No hear name."

Doc sighed, getting the gist of what he was saying. "He hasn't seen Clara," he gloomily reported to Marty.

"Donde es Lucita?" the spanish soldier turned his attention back to the mayor.

The mayor responded as Doc and Marty turned away from the conversation. "Let's look around," Doc suggested.

"I don't know how much longer I can stay on my feet, Doc," Marty complained. "Can we sit down first?"

Doc sighed with frustration, but nodded. "You're right, Marty. Let's rest for a few minutes. Maybe we'll find Clara faster if we stay in one place."

A few minutes wasn't exactly what Marty was hoping for, but it would have to do. They sat down on the steps of a building, looking around. Clara and the boys would stand out, Clara with her dress from 1888 and the boys in their futuristic garbs. But if the mayor hadn't seen her, that might mean that she hadn't arrived in town, which made Doc worry even more. But he'd be sure to exhaust all possibilities before he jumped to such a conclusion. Perhaps the mayor had seen Clara and just hadn't heard her name. If he knew more spanish, the search would definitely be easier, but he'd have to make do with the few words he knew.

Marty was beginning to wonder if coming along was such a good idea. It was obvious that Doc hadn't really needed his help, although he was sure the scientist was glad to have the company. Still, it seemed like Marty was slowing his search down. It amazed him that Doc had such zeal at his age. He was more than fifty years older than him if the time he had disappeared for three years in the past was taken into consideration, and Marty could hardly keep up. He supposed it was his concern for Clara's safety, and Marty'd like to think that if Jennifer were in the same predicament he wouldn't want to stop to rest either.

After a short rest, longer than Doc would have liked and shorter than Marty preferred, they began the search. They asked some of the few spanish missionaries if they had seen Clara, but none recognized the name, or else didn't understand what Doc was asking. By afternoon Doc and Marty were getting pretty hungry and even Doc was ready to take another break. It seemed that Clara and the boys were nowhere in the mission, though he planned to check all the buildings and ask a few more people before he went outside the quadrangle where he sincerely doubted he'd find her.

Around this time, as Marty was just about to hint once again to Doc of his hunger pains, the ringing of bells sounded through the mission causing Marty to look around in confusion. "What's that?"

"The bells govern everything in the mission," Doc explained. "When to get up, when to go to bed, and when to eat."

Marty grinned, knowing that the bells certainly did not represent a wake up call or bed time. "Time to eat."

Doc nodded, his stomach, too, growling for nourishment. As they walked through the mission, trying to decide where a good place was to get a meal (though there weren't many options), they stumbled upon the spanish soldier who had led them to the mission. He was talking with a group of other soldiers and when he saw Doc and Marty he left the group and placed his hands on Doc's shoulders in a very friendly manner, rolling out a spanish statement too quick for Doc to even catch a glimpse of the meaning.

The man must have noticed the confusion on Doc's faced and he laughed and said: "Hungry?"

Doc looked to Marty who nodded enthusiastically. Doc turned back to the solider and nodded: "Sí."

The soldier laughed cheerily again and cried: "Come, come!" and pulled Doc along, Marty following behind. The soldier motioned toward the other soldiers and they, too, followed as Marty and Doc were led to the soldiers' barracks outside the mission. Doc glanced back at the mission, but the soldier pulled him away before he could get a good view of the spanish town and said something jovially in spanish.

Then he pulled them into the main room of the barracks and sat them down at the dining table as the other soldiers crowded around. He gave them bowls of potole with bread and glasses of water. Marty tasted the meat stew hesitantly and, finding the flavor not so unappetizing, ate it up greedily. He drank some of the not-so-clean water. It didn't taste that great, but he was thirsty enough to drink the entire thing by the time he had finished his meal.

Doc ate as well, and soon they were full. Their soldier friend sat next to them, talking to the other soldiers in spanish. Now he turned to Doc and Marty and said something in spanish. Again, having forgotten that they knew only english, the man said: "More?"

"No," Doc shook his head, the universal word spoken. "Gracias."

The soldier nodded at the decline and, as he returned to the conversation, they all heard a loud wail. The conversation died to a murmur as another whoop went up from outside and the soldiers stood. Doc knew that sound and now, as the soldiers climbed out of their seats and began picking up their weapons, the friendly discourse abruptly halted, Marty realized that he knew it as well.

It was an Indian war cry.

When the bells rang for lunch, Lucita stood up before the metal furnace she had been demonstrating to Clara and the boys. "Lunch," she smiled. "Hungry?"

"Yeah!" Verne cried instantly.

Lucita smiled at the small boy and kneeled before him. "You are? Well, then we'd better get going."

Then the spanish woman stood and led the way, Clara at her side and Jules and Verne taking up the rear.

"I just love your children," Lucita said to Clara as they returned to the quadrangle. "I can't wait to have my own."

Clara smiled thinly but made no verbal responce.

"I would like to get married," Lucita continued. "But it seems the love of my life is not yet ready to settle down. Perhaps it is time to find someone who is ready to have a family. But then again, what's the point of starting a family without someone you love?" Lucita blinked, returning to reality. She smiled at Clara. "I suppose we all have difficult decissions to make at some time in our lives. I hope I make the right one ..."

Clara had listened to her words carefully. It was as if she was talking about the schoolteacher herself. Was she making the right decission? She glanced back at her boys and frowned. She would love to bring them back to 1888 with her. There had to be some way to convince her husband that it was the right thing to do ...

While Clara contemplated her situation, Lucita led them back her father's home. Clara hadn't realized how hungry she was until that moment, too worried about the events of the day to notice the growling of her stomach. She hadn't eaten much breakfast, her stomach tied in worried knots. The boys had kept quiet about their famish too, Jules especially. He hadn't talked at all since they met Lucita after mass, perhaps because it was not until that moment that the boy remembered how angry he was supposed to be at Clara for making him return to the future. He had stood on the sidelines, not his head turned away from Lucita as she showed them the fields and the Native Americans' village outside the mission, acting very rude. Lucita either hadn't noticed his discourteousness or chose to ignore it.

Now Jules made no objections to lunch, though he still walked with his arms crossed and head down, dragging his feet as he took the rear of the party. As Lucita opened the door to the mayor's home, Clara looked around the mission to see if Emmett had appeared since they last left. The streets were nearly empty, except for a group of soldiers on their way out. She sighed, annoyed that her husband had yet to arrive in the past. If, by the end of the day, her husband hadn't appeared, she would be almost certain that he wasn't going to. Again, she felt her stomach twist in nervousness over the thought, and she suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore.

The mayor welcomed them in his spanish language, kissing his daughter on each cheek. After requesting that they sit around the small table in the room, he disappeared. Clara and the boys took a seat as Lucita passed out some bowls and utensils. The room they sat in was cramped. There was one door behind them which led to the mayor's room and then to his daughter's. A few moments later the mayor returned with a large container of potole which he slopped into everyone's bowls.

Verne smelled the stew and gave it a try. Easily not the worst meal he'd eaten, he gobbled it up. Clara was slow to eat hers, blowing on each spoonful, still not completely hungry. Jules poked his spoon at the meat, grumbling to himself. "You eat that," Clara told him.

Jules shot her a sharp look, as if daring a challenge. Clara thought about reprimanding his attitude, but she knew it would only cause more problems. He was right. She wasn't his mother, though she still felt it her responsibility to keep him from acting out in front the people who were caring for them. Instead, though, she lowered her head and continued blowing on her spoonful.

Verne looked at Jules and furrowed his brow. "Why don't you eat it? It's good."

"I don't want to," Jules grumbled.

"Why not?"

"I just don't!" Jules cried, too loudly for the noise to be ignored by the spanish hosts.

"Is anything wrong?" Lucita asked for her father.

Jules immediately looked down, embarrassed by his brashness. "No," he mumbled, and then took a spoonful of potole and slurped it down. Lucita accepted the answer and went back to her soup. Less than a moment later, the party heard the commotion arise outside. The mayor stood first, calling something to his daughter in spanish.

"What's happening?" Clara asked.

The mayor picked up a rifle which rested near the door and, placing his hand on the knob, turned back to the group and said something in spanish. Lucita translated: "We should stay here. Something's happening."

"What is?" Verne asked.

Lucita didn't respond as the mayor threw open the door and stepped outside, slamming it behind him. Clara looked at Lucita with wondering eyes, hoping for an answer, but only awkward silence responded.

Verne turned to his brother. "What's happening?"

Jules stood on this tiptoes and gawked out the window, trying to see outside. He saw a group of soldiers on horseback rush forward, guns raised. "I don't know," he lied. "Get down." Then he pulled his brother down under the table and Clara and Lucita immediately followed the example.

 Marty followed the soldiers out of the barracks and watched as they jumped on their steeds and spurred them forward. Within the mission's quadrangle Marty could see about eight or nine Indians on horseback, some carrying wood torches and brandishing them about to ward off their enemies.

"Stay here," Doc pulled Marty back toward the barracks.

Marty resisted for a moment, a part of him wanting to help, but he allowed Doc to lead him away from the mob. He and Doc watched the action intently through the main gate. The thirty or so officers charged forward, firing their rifles at the Indians. The Indians dispersed and then pulled out their own weapons: bows and arrows. The two groups exchanged discharges. One or two officers went down and so did a couple of Indians.

The battle raged on until there were only four Indians left fighting. These four were pulled off their horses and tied up by a few of the officers and in a few minutes the mini-war was done. There were eight bodies and three were spanish officers. As the commotion began to diminish, Marty and Doc ran into the Mission. The remaining Indians were hauled off in a rough and brute fashion to the prison near the front gate.

"Jesus," Marty murmured as he and Doc entered the town and saw the results of the onslaught first-hand.

Some officers were already checking on the three that had been hit. Then Marty's eyes went wide as he recognized the face of one of the fallen officers. The soldier who had taken them to Valle de Collina lay on the ground, his hands on his stomach where it was obvious his wound lied. "Amigos," he smiled at Marty and Doc. The grin sporadically turned to a frown and he coughed, half choking.

Lost in the moment, Marty kneeled down next to his psuedofriend. "You're okay," he tried to soothe the soldier whose name he didn't even know. "You'll be okay."

"Amigo," the solider said again and then lifted his hand to reveal he held a gold chain with a locket at the end. "Give ..."

"What?" Marty asked as the officer shoved the locked toward Marty.

The soldier hacked again and then, his face twisted in agony, said: "Give Lucita. Please!"

His hand froze and the chain fell from his fingers. Marty caught the locket and stared at the officer, his features still and unmoving, his body lying lifeless against the dirt. Marty stood, unable to take his eyes off of the deceased man. "Jesus," he said again.

Doc placed his hand on Marty's shoulder. "Let's take a walk," he suggested.

Marty nodded and Doc led him out of the front gate, Marty's hand clasped tightly to the gold locket the soldier had given him.

 The chaos outside ceased and Lucita was the first to stand. "Is it over?" Now Clara stood, a foot behind her.

Lucita paused for a moment, straining to listen, then she moved to the door and opened it a slit and peered out. She threw it open and, surveying the result of the Indian attack, simply said: "It's over."

"What happened?" Verne ran past Clara and Lucita and outside the building.

His eyes went wide as he surveyed the devastation. Bodies of both Indians and soldiers were being lifted and taken away toward the gate. Clara ran to the boys' side and quickly covered his eyes with her hand, pulling him away from the sight and burying his face in the fabric of her dress. Jules appeared now, gawking at the scene, his mouth hung open.

"Don't look," Clara reached out her hand to turn the boy's head away.

Jules side-stepped the motion and continued to stare. "I'm not a baby. Don't treat me like one."

Clara looked at Jules, poised to respond, but the boy simply walked away from her, unwilling to listen to her comments. She sighed as Lucita came out, staring in awe at the horror she saw. "Dios mío!" she cried and ran up to the center of the disturbance, just a few feet away from the fountain in the center of the mission.

She saw the soldiers gathering around another fallen body and now, frantically looking back and forth, cried: "Lorenzo! Lorenzo!" A body obstructed her path and pushed her away from the scene. Her father. Clara watched the scene intently, trying to understand the garbled and muddled spanish that came from their mouths. "Don't look, my daughter," Clara understood Lucita's father say.

Lucita escaped from the man's grip and ran up to the body. At the sight of the man, tears began to break from her eyes and she pulled the corpse up to her and hugged it tightly, pulling his face to her chest and cradling it. "No, no, no, no ..." she repeated over and over.

Her father appered by the girl's side and lifted her up. Lucita resisted, but now the mayor pulled with more force and she was up on her feet. He took the young girl in his arms, cooing to her in spanish.

"What's happening?" Verne pulled his head from Clara's dress and stared up at her.

"Nothing," Clara said quickly. "Let's go back inside."

She led Verne away from the area and then looked back at the older boy. "Jules. Come on."

Jules continued to stare at the massacre, unmoving. "Jules!" Clara commanded.

Jules turned around to look at Clara, as if he had only now heard her. "Huh?"

"Come on!" Clara gestured for him. "Let's go."

Clara and Verne disappeared back into the building and Jules slowly followed, his hands shoved in his pockets. "Don't call me Jules," he muttered to himself as he entered the building.

 Marty leaned against the wall of the soldiers' barracks, his eyes fixed on the gold necklace the soldier had given him as he dangled it before his face. Doc paced in front of him, his hands clasped together behind his back.

"Doc," Marty finally tore his eyes from the locket. "What was that all about?"

Doc stopped pacing and looked at Marty. "Not all Native Americans were attuned with the idea of converting to the way of the Europeans or to their Catholic religion. Some found such adaptations inevitable, while others chose to resist the Spanish. I suppose what we just witnessed was such a resistance."

"Damn," Marty muttered, palming the gold locket and chain. "That was ... That was bad."

Doc nodded, his face grim. "All the more reason to locate Clara and the boys and get out of this place. I wouldn't expect another attack very soon, but you never know what could happen. It would set my mind at ease to know that they're all right." Then, almost to himself, he said: "Where could they be?"

"Who do you think Lucita is?" Marty asked, again looking at the locket in his hand.

"Hm?" Doc asked. "Who?"

"Lucita," Marty explained. "He wanted me to give this to Lucita. Don't you think we should try to find her?"

"Our first priority is Clara and the boys," Doc replied. "If we happen to come upon this Lucita in our search, I wouldn't object to giving her the locket. I doubt that would change history in any way."

"Must have been his girlfriend, you know the one he told us about?" Now Marty flicked open the case of the locket. There was a picture of a woman inside with long black hair, long eyelashes, and a fair-skinned complexion. "This must be her."

Doc didn't reply to the comment as he again began pacing. "We should have come earlier," he said. "They could be anywhere, but I can't imagine they didn't come to the mission, unless something happened to them. I think we should intensify our search," he looked up to Marty. "I'd like to get back to the train before night falls."

Marty groaned at this comment. "I don't know if I'm up for another hike like that," he said. "I mean, I'm ready to go to sleep right now."

"Well, we'll see how the rest of they day goes," Doc decided. "I'll be very worried if we don't find Clara by the time night falls. Let's check around the mission some while they get everything cleared up inside the gate."

Marty nodded, placing the locket in his coat pocket, and then followed Doc toward the fields of harvest.

 Clara sat at the dining table, Verne in her lap as she combed his hair back with her hand. Jules stood in a far corner of the room, watching the scene with disgust, his arms crossed. "What was that all about?" Verne asked Clara.

"I don't know," Clara shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Just try to forget about it, okay?"

"Okay," Verne nodded and Clara pulled his head against her chest.

Jules huffed at this show of affection and rolled his eyes. He walked out of the room, into another area of the building. "What's eating him?" Verne looked up as his brother left.

Clara simply pushed his head back against her bosom, comforting him with unintelligible coos. A moment later, the front door was thrown open and the mayor entered, his daughter pressed against his body, crying mournfully. He said something to her in spanish which Clara understood as: "Lucita, stay here. I will return." Then the mayor released her and left the building without even acknowledging the schoolteacher or the boy.

Clara placed Verne on the ground and approached Lucita. "Are you all right?"

Lucita, her hands over her eyes, shook her head and said nothing through the sobs. "I'm sorry," Clara said. "I'm very sorry."

Clara then embraced the young woman as she continued to bawl in her arms, unable to speak. "I'm sorry," Clara repeated. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Lucita struggled free from Clara and plopped herself down in a chair before the dining table. She hunched over the table and burried her head in her crossed arms, weeping. Clara gave her some space and took to another room, leading Verne away with her. Some time later, the mayor returned and sat down next to his daughter, taking the girl in his arms. Clara ignored the conversation, trying not to pry. During this time, she tried to talk to Jules, but the boy would not allow her to approach him. Frustrated by his resistance, she finally gave up on winning him over. He did, after all, have a right to be angry. Though it wasn't her idea to return the boys to the future, it was still a reality that was bound to happen, if they ever made it out of 1795.

When Clara heard the conversation between the mayor and his daughter come to an end, she returned to the dining room. The mayor held the girl in his arms, rubbing her back in comfort. The mayor looked up when Clara entered and, noticing this movement, Lucita too looked to Clara.

"I'm sorry," Lucita rubbed her eyes. "Thank you for your kindness."

"Oh, I was happy to give it," Clara frowned at the inaporpriateness of her response. "You don't have to thank me," she said afterward. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," Lucita nodded. "I had planned to marry him some day. Father knew how much in love with him I was," she looked at the mayor and smiled. "I am grateful for his kindness as well."

"I truly am sorry for your loss," Clara kneeled next to the young lady. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No," Lucita said honestly. "I just want to forget about it now. It's near supper time," she stood. "I'm sorry that silly riot kept you in all day. Have you seen your husband yet?"

"No," Clara admitted. "I hope he arrives soon."

"Perhaps that quarrel kept him," the spanish girl said nonchalantly, again wiping her wet cheeks. "Are you hungry yet?"

Clara shook her head and then looked to Verne who shrugged. "Not really, I suppose."

"I'm not very hungry either," Lucita frowned. "Please let me know if you need anything. In the meanwhile let me make your beds."

"Oh, please don't go to all that trouble," Clara began.

"It's no trouble. It will help take my mind off things," she said. "I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the floor as we only have some extra sheets and blankets."

"That's fine," Clara replied. "Thank you."

Lucita nodded and left the dining room. The mayor looked up at Clara and shook his head, a smile of gratitude on his face. He stood and placed his hand on Clara's shoulder, then followed his daughter out of the room. "I don't want to sleep on the floor," Verne complained. "At least in the church we had benches."

"We're lucky to find such hospitable hosts," Clara told Verne.

"Where's your husband at?" Verne asked

"I don't know," Clara sighed. "I would hate to think that he won't show up. Then, I'm afraid, we'd be trapped in this time period forever."

Verne lowered his head, dismayed by this news. Then he looked up and said optimistically: "Well, maybe it won't be so bad. At least we have each other."

Clara smiled. It did make her feel slightly better to know that she had the younger boy's support in whatever happened, but she still had no desire to remain in 1795 for a day longer, let alone the rest of her life. "Yes. At least there's that," she finally said, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "Go see what your brother's doing."

"Why?" Verne asked. "He's acting like a jerk. I don't want to talk to him."

"Please, Verne?" Clara begged him. "I can't talk to him, but maybe you can."

"Fine," Verne grumbled and disappeared into the other room. When he was gone, Clara stood. Bells began to ring and Clara assumed that this indicated supper time. The day had passed faster than she had thought it would and she hadn't had much chance to search for her husband if indeed he had arrived at the mission. With all the commotion of the day, it was still possible that he had arrived and they just had missed each other, though she didn't hold high hopes for that scenario.

She peered out the front door at the now practically empty mission. Perhaps she wouldn't find Emmett, but she did need the fresh air. She stepped outside, strolling across the mission's grounds. Blood still stained the dirt in the area of the massacre and Clara quickly turned away from the sight, walking in the opposite direction toward the gateway. She took in a deep breath and surveyed the entire quadrangle of the mission once more.

It may be her home for some time to come.

 The bells rang, signalling supper time. Had that much time passed already? Marty crossed through the field until he reached the uncultivated ground where Doc waited for him. He had decided to give the teen some space, as he could tell the recent events of the day were troubling him. Doc had to admit to himself that he as well was more than shaken over witnessing the brutal battle. It could never be predicted who and what you would see in time travel. Anything could happen and that was dangerous. This fact had been proven time and time again and it was this fear, above all else, that worried Doc. It was fear of the unknown and the unexpected. In life, Doc realized, such a fear was absurd to have. But in time travel, when your actions could affect the outcome of present day events and perhaps cause the destruction of the universe ...it was a just fear to have.

And Doc was reminded of it with every moment he spent in a foreign time. Which is why, at the present moment, he was aching to find Clara, wherever she was, and get back to 1985 ... or rather 1888, Doc amended in his mind. He knew she was somewhere at that mission, because if she wasn't, Doc could think of no place else she could be. And he had to find her.

As Marty stepped out of the field, Doc asked: "Feeling any better?"

"Guess I'm over the initial shock," Marty returned. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out the gold chain he couldn't seem to keep his hands off of. "I think I should find this girl," he said, opening the locket and again glaring at the picture. "I mean, her boyfriend or whatever just died. I think she should have this."

"There's not much we can do if she's not at the mission," Doc said.

Marty hadn't thought of that before, but he knew Doc was right. This Lucita could live anywhere, from some other mission in California to the country of Spain itself. Whether that was likely or not, Marty wasn't sure, but he knew damn well he wasn't going any further than Valle de Collina ... unless they didn't find Clara and the kids. In which case, Marty thought, Doc would search the entire country for her.

"Hungry?" Doc asked as they walked back to the main gate.

"Not really," Marty shrugged. "My stomach's pretty upset."

Doc nodded in understanding. It wasn't every day you saw a massacre like that, at least not in his and Marty's time. Doc, too, was not anxious to devour another bowl of spanish stew. And, even if he was, he had no idea where to go to get a decent meal. It certainly didn't feel right to go to the soldiers' barracks again, especially since their host had passed some mere hours before and they'd be uninvited guests.

As Doc stepped through the gateway he saw the entire mission was empty. Except for one person, walking casually toward the gate. She wore a familiar lavender dress, her hair pinned back with a straw bonnet on her head decorated with a long, frilly lilac feather. Doc immediately recognized the beautiful face, though her head was down as if in deep thought. "Clara!" he cried.

Clara's head bobbed up to see her husband, Marty by his side, standing at the entrance to the mission. "Emmett? Thank God!"

Clara rushed forward and Doc waited for her, his arms glued rigidly to his sides. As she slammed into his body, he was jolted back a foot or two and he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I didn't think you'd come!" Clara said, her head resting against her husband's chest.

"Of course!" Doc exclaimed. "I had to!"

Now he pulled away and looked deeply into Clara's eyes. He knew he had been worried about her all day, but until this moment he hadn't realized how much he missed her. He leaned in to kiss her. Then he erratically pulled away before their lips could touch, clearing his throat demurely and looking at Marty, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Marty, quickly catching the hint, turned his back to the two. Still flustered, Doc awkwardly moved forward and gave Clara a peck on the cheek, to both her surprise and disappointment.
"Where are the boys?" he asked.

"They're at the mayor's house," she said. "That's where we're staying."

"Good. Then let's go get them and go home!" Doc took Clara's hand in his and led her away, Marty seemingly forgotten at the gate.

The teenager hesitated for a moment. He suddenly felt very out of place. Maybe he shouldn't have come after all, but, if he hadn't, he wouldn't see Doc again for thirty-five years. And it seemed strange to let him leave like that, taking off to the past to find his wife. Marty just felt better knowing that the scientist was all right. He let this thought drop to the bottom of his mind and hastened to follow Doc and Clara. It was too late to change that anyway. And soon this whole experience would be over.

Clara pushed open the mayor's door and stepped inside. Doc lingered in the doorway, believing it would be rude if he simply entered without being invited to. Marty hung out by the exterior wall, waiting for Clara to make the proper introductions (if she hadn't forgotten about him already). Lucita's back was to them, sitting at the dinner table. Jules sat next to her and her father was on the opposite side, Verne next to him. Hearing the door swing open, Lucita looked up and saw Clara and the older man standing stiff and upright behind her.

"You're back," Lucita said, her gaze looking past Clara to Doc.

Clara took Doc's arm and led him into the room. "This is my husband, Emmett Brown."

"So, you found him?" Lucita frowned as she stared at the giant of a man. She shook off the strange form of jealousy she had for Clara and smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lucita stood and Doc took her hand as she extended it. "Likewise," Doc smiled.

Now Clara looked to Jules and Verne. Jules had seen Doc when she entered, but now his back was to them and he simply sipped the soup from his bowl. Verne looked up at Doc and Clara, and then back at his brother, attempting to decide what to say. The awkward silence hung thick in the air.

"Won't you join us for dinner?" Lucita asked.

"Yes," Doc answered without thinking. As he took a step forward, he remembered that Marty was still waiting to be introduced. "Marty," he turned around and went back to the doorway. He gestured for Marty to come in and the teenager obeyed, glad at least someone had remembered his existence.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. This is Marty," Clara said as the teen stepped in and gave a short wave to everyone.

"He's my nephew," Doc quickly explained to the mayor and his daughter.

"Oh," Lucita nodded and explained everything to her father in spanish. Then she turned back to the group and said: "Please, sit. I'll get some extra bowls and soup from the kitchen."

"Uh, actually, we were just leaving," Doc stopped the spanish girl in her tracks.

"Leaving? So soon? You just arrived," Lucita was puzzled.

Marty stared at the young woman for a long moment. She was a little taller than him, by perhaps half a foot, and she looked awfully familiar. Marty strained his mind to think.

Lucita must have noticed Marty's gawking, because she turned to look at him and said: "Yes?"

"Oh, uhm, nothing," Marty replied. "You just look familiar."

"I'm sure we've never met," Lucita said simply, and then turned back to Clara and Doc. "Are you sure you must go? I thought you'd stay for some time longer, at least until morning."

"We really should go right away," Doc said and Clara nodded in agreement.

"Hey, Doc," Marty put his hand on the scientist's shoulder. "You know, it's getting kind of late. I mean, I'm all for getting out of here, but it's probably gonna get dark soon and I've been on my feet all day."

Doc looked at Marty, a bit irritated by the comment. "I think you could manage, don't you?"

It was as if he didn't care that he'd never see Marty again! The teenager had to admit to himself that he was now reluctant to see the trip end. He knew that the second they returned to the train, Marty would be whisked back to the present and Doc would disappear from 1985 forever. Marty turned his gaze toward the boys. "What about the kids? You think they could handle it?"

"We can handle it," Verne said quickly.

"See," Doc said. "They can handle it."

"Actually," Jules stood and stretched. "I'm kind of tired. I don't think I could go very far today."

Marty smiled now that at lease someone was on his side, be it a six year old or not. Doc stared, almost horrified, at the boy, then looked back to Marty. "I really think we should leave today," Doc repeated very slowly and distinctly.

Marty heard the spanish woman conversing with her father in spanish. The mayor then said something and Lucita turned around and translated for Doc. "My father says you should stay. It's too dangerous to travel at night."

Doc thought about this for a moment, and now recollected the recent Indian attack on the town. Not to mention the wild animals that lurked about. It could be dangerous, but Doc had let his irrational obstinance cloud his logical mind. He really did want to leave as soon as possible, but now he realized that it might be less risky to wait until morning.

"We want to go now," Clara said, undaunted. She was more anxious than anyone to return to her own time period.

Lucita huffed, pouting at this statement and turned to inform her father of this. Her father replied and Lucita said to Clara: "Father says that if you must go tonight then he will have a solider escort you so you will be safe."

"That won't be necessary," Clara said quickly.

"It's very dangerous," Lucita repeated again.

"Perhaps you're right," Doc finally spoke up. "We'll wait until morning then."

Lucita looked to Clara, expecting some kind of retort. Clara thought about saying something to object, but now closed her mouth, noticing the urgent stare directed at her from her husband. "Fine," Lucita clapped her hands together. "I'll get you dinner then."

She disappeared and Clara pulled Doc to a corner of the small room. She whispered although the spanish mayor could not understand her words anyway. "Emmett, I want to go now!"

"So do I," Doc nodded. "But it's a good hike back to the ravine from here. And a dangerous one, too. Did you see what happened this afternoon?"

"Yes," Clara nodded grimly. "All the more reason for us to leave immediately."

"And what if similar Native American rebels choose to attack us during our hike?" Doc asked. "It may not be plausible, but it is possible. And the wild animals alone make me weary of such a venture."

"We got here fine last night," Clara returned.

"And you were very lucky in those regards," Doc said. "Chances are, we won't retain the same fortune through the night. Trust me, Clara, it's much safer this way, plus it will seem less suspicious. And we could all use a good night's rest."

Clara could attest to that. But she still did not flinch. "I don't care what's suspicious to these people, Emmett!" she said angrily. Her tone of voice was caught by the mayor, who looked at her with a scowl on his face. Clara lowered her voice again. "I just want to go home!"

"There's nothing I can do about it," Doc explained. "You can wait another night. Then I promise, this will all be over. No more time travel. Ever."

Clara sighed with frustration and compliance. "All right. But promise me, Emmett. This is it."

"It is," Doc pulled Clara closer to him. "I promise."

Lucita returned with the three extra bowls of pozole, carrying them waitress-style, one on her forearm and the other two in each hand. She sat the bowls on the table. There were only four seats and now the mayor stood and said something to Lucita before exiting the room. "Father is done eating and will retire for the night. He hopes to see you in the morning."

Clara nodded and she and Emmett took the vacant seats. Jules' face contorted in disdain as Clara pulled out the seat next to him and sat down. Jules then stood and, without giving reason for his departure, left the room without looking back, Clara surveying the boy very closely the entire time.

"What's up with the kid?" Marty asked as he took the boy's seat next to Clara.

"He's still upset that he has to return to the future," Clara sighed with frustration. "Emmett, I still don't see why we can't take the boys with us."

Verne looked up at Doc expectantly, hoping for a positive response. Seeing this, Doc leaned in closer to Clara and whispered: "We've discussed this Clara. This is something I cannot be lenient on. We can't bring these children to the past. Their actions could have major consequences on future events."

Clara felt the urge to argue with him again, to tell him that he should stop thinking with his brain and start exercising the most important muscle in his body: his heart. But instead she leaned back against her chair and took a spoonful of the stew and swallowed it in order to keep her mouth busy. There was just no arguing with someone who saw only statistics and formulas and no human emotion.

Believing Clara had finally accepted the fact that the boys were to return to the future, Doc too swallowed a spoonful of stew contently. Marty gulped his bowl down quickly. His appetite had returned, the teenager having momentarily forgotten about the bloody war of that afternoon, and he now realized how famished he was. Seeing this, Lucita approached him and asked: "Would you like some more?"

"Uhh, sure ..." Marty held the bowl out to her. "I didn't catch your name."

"Lucita," she flashed him a smile and disappeared from the room.

Marty's mouth dropped and he quickly dug out the gold locket the soldier had given him. "Doc, did you hear that?" he said, clicking open the locket's case.

"What?" the scientist asked.

"Her name's Lucita," Marty returned, gawking at the picture inside the locket.

Doc still looked confused, as if he had no idea what the teenager was talking about. Marty held the locket in front of Doc's eyes and the scientist's expression became that of surprise. "That is her," Doc confirmed. "Will you break the news or shall I?"

"What news?" Clara asked.

"This locket is from her boyfriend. He died today," Marty explained.

"Yes," Clara nodded. "She saw him."

Marty felt a bit of relief with those words. He hadn't anticipated telling the poor girl that her boyfriend was dead. Now all he had to do was give her the locket, as the soldier had requested, and Marty's mind would be set at ease. As he tried to figure out just how he'd go about the delicate situation, Lucita returned with another bowlful of pozole for Marty. She set it under his nose and he thanked her.

"I have set your beds in the hall. I'm not sure if there will be enough blankets for everyone, so you'll have to make do," she said. "I think I'll go to bed early."

As she turned to leave, Marty stood up quickly and cried: "Wait!"

Lucita turned around. "Yes?"

Marty approached her and then, pulling her arm toward him and prying open her hand, placed the locket in her palm. "I was told to give this to you."

Marty removed his hand so Lucita could now see the locket he had placed in her palm. She held the chain up in front of her eyes and frowned. "I gave it to him," she murmured. "It was a gift."

With a shrill cry of anger, Lucita tossed the locket across the room and Marty had to duck his head to avoid being struck by the object. It clanked against the wall and dropped to the floor. "He said he'd keep it forever!" Lucita cried. Then she spun around, tears in her eyes, and ran out of the room.

All was silent for a long a moment.

"I didn't expect that," Marty finally said as he looked toward Doc and Clara for some sort of explanation.

"I'm sure she's just upset," Doc told him. "I'm sure after her emotions calm down she'll be glad she got the locket back, as a remembrance of the soldier."

Marty shrugged. "I guess," he said and then walked to the wall of the room where she had tossed the locket. He picked it up and fiddled with the case. The covering no longer locked into place, having been damaged in the reckless toss. He pocketed the chain without thinking and returned to his meal.

 They finished their supper and left their dishes on the table, no one quite sure where they belonged. "Let's go to bed early," Doc suggested, pushing in his chair. "That way we can get an early start tomorrow."

Marty couldn't object to that. He was dog-tired from not having slept since their arrival in the past. They entered the small hall where their beds were; calling the strewn blankets and sheets beds was being generous, though. Clara looked around, surveying the room, then she turned to Verne who stood by her side and asked: "Where's your brother?"

Verne simply shrugged. "Maybe he went outside."

Clara turned to look to the doorway. She hadn't seen him leave, but he may have found a different exit in the mayor's or Lucita's rooms. "Emmett," she grasped her husband's coat sleeve. "Jules is gone."

"Who?" Doc asked, hearing the improvised name Clara had given the boy for the first time.

"The older boy," she explained quickly. "He's not here."

Doc looked around the room, as if he hadn't noticed this before. "He must be outside," the scientist decided.

"We have to find him," Clara insisted. "It's dangerous out there. What if he left the mission?"

Now Doc was beginning to see the wisdom in her worry. If the boy had explored the grounds outside the quadrangle he could be in a world of trouble and it certainly would set their travel plans back. And with the way the boy had been acting, Doc wouldn't be too surprised if he had taken off. "I'll find him, Clara. You wait here."

"I'll come!" Verne ran forward.

"You should stay here," Doc frowned at the youngster.

"Emmett, don't leave the mission," Clara urged. "I don't want you exploring the grounds alone. We'll go together if you don't find him."

Doc thought about this for a moment. He didn't think it would be smart for everyone to leave the mission, but that was a bridge that need not be crossed yet. Hopefully, the boy was still in the compounds of Valle de Collina. "I'll come back if he isn't out there," Doc assured her.

"Can I come?" Verne begged, yanking on Doc's pant leg. "I'm not tired!"

Doc looked to Clara, hoping she would say something to get the boy to remain in the room. "You stay here," Clara took the boy's hand in hers and pulled him away from Doc. "What if those Indians return?"

"I'll fight 'em!" Verne grinned from ear to ear. "Please!"

Now Marty stepped into the conversation. "Let 'im go, Doc," the teenager yawned. "Maybe he'll wear out some energy. What're the chances that something'll happen again?"

Doc sighed and the boy pulled his hand from Clara's grasp and ran up to Doc's side and yanked on his coat. "Yeah! Come on!"

"All right," Doc consented. "But you have to stay by my side at all times, all right?"

"Yeah!" Verne immediately agreed.

"Clara, you and Marty stay here," Doc said. Now he dug into his coat pocket and pulled something from it. "Here's the walkie-talkie from the future. I'll contact you if something happens," he said, handing Clara the small purple walkie-talkie he had purchased in 2020.

"Hurry back," Clara said. She thought of volunteering to go with her husband, but she knew he wouldn't like that idea much more than he did the thought of taking Verne along. And she wasn't much up for the troublesome search herself. She hadn't slept much the night before and was still feeling the effects.

Doc nodded a goodbye and exited the room, holding tightly to Verne's hand so he didn't lose the boy. Clara watched Doc leave and then turned around. Marty now stood a foot before her, and she was shocked to see him, again nearly forgetting he was there. She jumped, her hands pressing the walkie-talkie against her chest.

"Guess it's just you and me," Marty raised his eyebrows at her.

Clara smiled politely. "I suppose so."

Marty bent down and picked up a sheet, laying it out on the ground. Now he settled down on the hard floor and, sitting indian-style, pulled off his coat. He bunched it up and set it behind his head, leaning back and using the coat as a pillow. Clara, too, laid out a sheet and took another sheet which she balled up as a pillow.

They both simply stared at the ceiling in silence for a few moments, thinking. Clara was very uncomfortable being alone with Marty for some reason and she strained her eyes not to look at him. Now Marty turned his head and stared at Clara for a long, seemingly endless moment, saying nothing. The schoolteacher felt his gaze on her and finally jerked her neck to look at him. "Yes?" she said. "What is it, Marty?"

Marty's face was serious now, almost expressionless. He had been thinking of the best way to start this conversation. "Guess you and Doc are going back to 1888, huh?"

Clara sighed, feeling where the conversation was leading. "We are," she said positively.

Marty nodded, turning his head to stare back up at the ceiling. "So I guess tomorrow's gonna be the last day we see each other."

"Yes," Clara said in a monotone voice. She looked at Marty again, but the teenager continued to stare up at the ceiling. Letting out an annoyed breath of air, Clara sat up, lifting her hat off her head and placing it on the floor next to her. "I know you blame me for this," she said to him.

Marty looked at Doc's wife, genuine surprise in his eyes. "For what?"

"For taking Emmett away from you," Clara said. "I'm not trying to take him away, Marty. I know how close you two are. But 1888 is my home! I just can't live anywhere else. Do you understand that?"

"Then why make him take apart the time machine?" Marty sat up now, his blood pressure rising some as he finally spit out his true feelings.

"I'm not making him," Clara returned. "It was his decision as well."

"Yeah, when he planned on living in 1985! But that's not the plan anymore, so maybe he wants to keep the time machine!" Marty cried.

"And risk going through something like this again?" Clara gestured around the room. "It's not worth it, Marty!"

"It is! It was for you! But you're right, I guess," Marty lay back down on the floor. "When it comes down to it, Doc'll only risk the space-time continuum for your sake. You sure know how to pull his strings."

"I am not pulling his strings!" Clara returned angrily. "Emmett knows how to make his own decisions."

"It's not his decision to live in 1888!" Marty spit back. "That's your decision! And the only reason he's going along with it is because you've got him so damned whipped! No one else could get him to take those kinds of risks! You sure know how to take advantage of him, just because he's in love with you!"

Clara gritted her teeth, becoming increasingly annoyed with Marty's assessment of the situation. "That's not how it is, Marty," she said rather calmly, considering how irate she felt. "I can't make you see it from my point of view, but if you did, you'd understand."

"All I know is that Doc never acted this way until he met you," Marty mumbled, his eyes closed. "You can keep pretending that he doesn't care, or that it's his decision, too, or that the only person he cares about is you, or you're the only person he needs! But it'll come back and bite you on the ass, because Doc's not going to put up with it. Not for long, anyhow."

"Put up with what?" Clara demanded.

"You!" Marty cried, his eyes jumping open to stare at Clara coldly. "You think you can keep him wrapped around your little finger forever and you'll live happily ever after, but that's not going to happen! And you can lie to yourself about it and Doc can lie to himself about it, but one day both of you will open your eyes and see the truth!"

Marty turned to his side, his back to Clara, abruptly ending the conversation. Clara stared at the impertinent teenager, her mind taking in his comments. She knew Emmett better than that, better than Marty did. Even if she had somewhat guilted him into returning to 1888, she knew it was for their best. Her husband could see that. Her husband did see that.

Clara leaned back down and closed her eyes. He knew it was for the best, unless he was keeping something from her. In which case, Clara would begin to wonder how close they really were, how well they knew each other.

And if they really were destined to be together.

 Doc began his search of the mission. The four year-old boy was a bit antsy, wanting to run off in every direction, but Doc held firmly to his hand, reminding the blond child that he did not want to have to search for him as well. The quadrangle was empty now, most people probably in for the night, the sun already beginning to settle from the sky.

"Where is that kid?" Doc mumbled to himself, his eyes scanning the entire area. There was no sign of any activity.

"I bet he went to the church," Verne said, matter-of-factly.

"The church?" Now Doc turned his eyes up to chapel, the largest and most beautiful building of the mission. "Why would he go there?"

"That's where we hid in the future," Verne said, as if to justify his suggestion. "He said that no one can hurt you there 'cause everyone thinks it's, like, the house of God." Verne rolled his eyes at this comment, scoff on his face.

Doc hardly paid attention to his reaction. "Let's see," he said, and led the boy to the church at the front of the mission.

Doc pushed open the church's heavy door and peered in. "Hello?" he called into the empty building, his voice echoing around the interior. When he received no responce, Doc pulled Verne inside and surveyed the room. "Is he here?"

Verne, too, looked around. "Maybe ..." He slipped his hand free of Doc's and ran toward the front of the church, where the podium stood. He came to the first pew on his left and halted there, looking across at the bench. "Found him!"

Doc sighed with relief and hustled forward. On the bench sat the six year-old, his arms crossed and his back to both Doc and Verne. His legs were resting on the bench before him, his feet tucked under his bottom. When the boy said nothing, Doc cleared his throat to get the boy's attention. Still, he did not turn around, and so Doc said: "Excuse me, uh, young ... person." He was having trouble communicating with the boy. He had never been such a good people person and hardly knew anything about children. A consequence, he told himself, of being an only child. "Excuse me," Doc repeated, but the boy still did not look up.

Doc looked to Verne for help and the young boy approached Jules' side and said: "Hey! What're you doing?"

"Leave me alone," Jules said, turning his head away from his brother. "Just go!"

"Go?" Doc now sat down on the bench next to the boy.

"Yeah!" Jules cried, turning his head to glare at Doc. "Go back to the future! Go wherever you want, but leave me here! 'Cause I don't wanna go back there, okay? So just go back to wherever it is you came from and leave me alone!"

Doc took in a long breath, understanding the hurt the boy was feeling. He placed his hand on the brown-haired boy's shoulder and said: "Listen ..." Jules pulled away from Doc's grip and scooted across the bench and away from the scientist. Doc stayed put and said: "I wish there was another way. I understand that life cannot always be perfect and that sometimes it seems the only way to be happy is to run away. If there was some other way I could help without the risk of damaging the time continuum, I would. I know what it's like to be alone."

"Pah!" Jules cried and stood up. "You've got friends an' family an' everything! We don't have nothing!"

"Anything," Doc corrected instinctively, then returned to the subject at hand. "But you're wrong. When I was a child, I was lonely, too. I didn't have any brothers or sisters and I wasn't very popular in my neighborhood. I'd lock myself in my room every day after school and read. I'd read to escape reality, to live in a different world, one that wasn't so cruel."

"But you had parents," Jules returned. "Didn't you?"

Doc nodded. "Yes, I did." The scientist frowned, staring at the boy with compassion and sympathy. Being a child was hard. Hell, being an adult was hard! Life was hard. Sometimes it took miracles for someone to find happiness. If he hadn't found Clara, Doc could only imagine where he'd be right now: Back in 1985 with no money, no life ... and nobody. Marty's companionship was sometimes the only thing that allowed him to continue. Marty didn't think the scientist was weird (or if he did, he didn't hold it against him) and was quite loyal to him. The two boys at least had each other, but as young as they were, that wasn't much. They needed guidance and support and love.

"Stupid God!" Jules slammed his fist against the wall of the church, then winced in pain. He pulled his fist up to his mouth and blew on it, the side red and burning. "How come so many people think God is real? It's such a crock!"

"We all need to believe in something," Doc said, coming to the boy's side. "We like to believe that, even at our loneliest times, we're never alone."

"Do you believe in that?" Jules looked up at the scientist, his eyes squinting and critical.

"I believe there is something up there that helped us come into existence, yes," Doc said. "Call It God if you will. Do I believe that this something protects us? No. If It did, then no one would be unhappy. Is it by the grace of God that I found my wife? Why would He help me and let others who have no one suffer for their entire lives? I don't think God would be bias, whatever God is. I believe that It is there and that It's all around us and that It watches us, just like we watch a movie. It's pulling for us, hoping we succeed, but cannot change the outcome of our lives. Only we can mold our own destiny, and God hopes we do just as damn-well as we can. That's what I believe."

Jules lowered his head, thinking about these comments very deeply. Then he looked up and said: "I guess that's possible. Better 'en all this stuff," he gestured around the room.

Doc patted the boy's shoulder. "Your destiny is in your hands. And God is praying that everything turns out all right. Everything will be okay, I promise you. I'll make everything work out."

Doc glanced out the window and, seeing the sky darkening, instinctively reached for his pocket watch in his breast pocket. "It's getting late. We'd better go." Doc said, looking at the watch and realizing that the time was dreadfully wrong. As he opened the flap of his jacket to return the watch to his inside pocket, he paused and turned his focus to Jules thoughtfully. "Maybe you should hold onto this," Doc said and passed the watch in front of the boy's eyes.

"Me?" Jules asked as he stared down at the clockpiece. "Why are you giving it to me? I'm just some stupid little kid."

"My Uncle Abraham gave this to me when I was just a little boy, about your age," Doc said, lowering the clock by its chain into Jules' hand. "It helps remind me that, whenever I am, there's someone who loves me out there, in the past, present, and future."

Jules closed his hand around the watch and looked up at Doc quizically, as if waiting for the adult to snatch the watch back and laugh at the boy's stupidity for actually believing that he would give a runaway boy anything. But Doc simply stood and outstretched his hand for the boy. "You ready to go back now?"

Jules sighed and looked away from Doc's face. "Fine. Let's go back," he muttered, just audible enough for Doc to hear.

"Good," Doc smiled. Then he took both the boy's hands and led them out of the church and back to the mission.

"I wish God did help us," Jules said to Doc as they walked through the mission. "Then you and Clara could be my parents and He'd make it possible for that to happen. Wouldn't that be great?"

Doc looked at the boy, astounded. "Yes," he nodded after a moment. "It would be."

When Doc brought the boys back to the mission he saw that Marty was already asleep, sprawled on his stomach and his arm twisted behind his back awkwardly. Clara, however, sat at the dining table, her head in her hands and her eyes closed, looking down at the tabletop, pondering to herself.

"Go to bed, boys. We have a long trip tomorrow," he told the children. Verne ran ahead and Jules shuffled off behind, still not pleased with the fact that he had to return back to the future. Both began preparing their beds for the night, shaking the folded sheets and blankets open. Doc came to Clara's side and sat down in the seat next to her, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Clara?"

She looked up at him at him now, a frown on her face. "Emmett, do you want to live in 1888?"

"What do you mean?" Doc said, surprised by the question. "You know I do."

"Do you really? Or would you rather live in 1985?"

"1985 is my home, but I couldn't live without you. Wherever or whenever I am, as long as you're there, I'll be happy," Doc assured her, rubbing her back. "What's wrong?"

Clara ignored the question. "And when we get back, are you sure you want to destroy the time machine?"

"Of course," Doc returned.

"Even though it's your greatest invention?" Clara added.

"Yes."

"Even though it means you'll never be able to return to 1985?"

"Yes."

"Even though it means you'll never see Marty again?"

Doc paused for a moment to think. He was only now seeing the reality of the situation, perhaps, because up to this time, he had chosen to ignore it. "Sacrifices will have to be made," Doc replied finally. "We can't both have everything we want."

"But I am getting everything!" Clara returned, now seeing what truth there had been to Marty's words. "I have you, my home, my life ... Everything I ever wanted!"

"Isn't that what you want?" Doc asked, confused by the entire conversation. Why didn't Clara just accept the fact that Doc was willing to give up his life in 1985? He had done so for nearly three years and, though at times he missed it, he would miss Clara even more.

"But I want it to be what you want as well!" Clara cried. "And you don't want it! Not as much as I do. You'd prefer to live in 1985."

"What else can we do?" Doc asked, looking longingly into his wife's eyes. "Neither of us is going to get exactly what we want. Someone has to give up something, and I'm fine with it being me. Do you believe me?"

"I do," Clara nodded. "But just because you're fine with it doesn't mean that you'll be happy. I just wish there was some way we could both be content."

"As long as I'm with you, I will be," Doc leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I promise, Clara. Once we are back in 1888 and the time machine is dismantled, I promise that I won't regret it for one single moment."

Clara sighed. "I hope you're being completely honest, Emmett. Because I don't want to be the reason you're unhappy. I can't be. So please, make absolutely sure this is what you want."

"I am," Doc nodded and stood, taking Clara's hands in his and lifting her up from the seat. "Everything will be fine, you'll see."

They moved to the hall where they paused and watched as Jules and Verne finished making their beds. Verne laid his sheet out and then began smoothing it, giving him more room to sleep. Jules' sheet was already laid out, and now he found a sheet and balled it into a pillow. Clara watched the boys with affection in her eyes. "Aren't they beautiful?" she asked her husband.

"They're not our children, Clara," Doc told her. "One day we'll have our own children, remember? These boys aren't ours to keep."

"But you said the future can be changed," Clara objected. "So it doesn't matter if we had our own children in the future, because we can change that here, now. Right?"

"It may be possible," Doc said, "but we can't. Those boys can't live with us in 1888. What if their existence causes something to ripple through the time-line and affect the present. What if it causes Marty or even myself not to be born? It may not be plausible, but anything's possible. We ourselves must be careful to not alter the lives of the citizens of Hill Valley in 1888. Neither of us are supposed to be alive in that time, after all."

"But can't the boys do the same thing?" Clara asked.

"Would you really want them to do that?" Doc looked at his wife. "Would you want to tell them that they shouldn't talk to anyone or do anything because it could alter time? It would hardly be an improvement over their current situation."

Clara sighed and turned to look at the boys again as Jules sat down on his sheet and found a blanket and pulled it over his body. Verne followed this example, resting his head down and closing his eyes. "It doesn't seem right to force them to return to the future," Clara shook her head. "They hate it there, Emmett. And they do deserve better. They deserve a family."

"I know, Clara," Doc agreed. "Under other circumstances, I would be willing to adopt them as our own. But there are too many complications with bringing the boys to the past. The only way would be for us to move to the future or, at the very earliest, my present. Definitely not any sooner ... It would be preposterous to live in a time where I had an earlier version of myself existing."

Clara gazed at Doc, half-expecting him to suggest they return to 1985. But he said nothing. "Then I suppose there's nothing we can do," Clara finally spoke. "If we can't take them to the past, what choice have we got?"

"Precisely," Doc nodded. "Tomorrow we'll bring the boys back to the future and we'll return to 1888. It's the most rational plan."

With that, Doc took off his coat and balled it up for a pillow. He made his bed from a sheet and he and Clara shared the last remaining blanket. Doc drifted to sleep, but Clara, despite her weariness, found it increasingly difficult to find peace of mind. Thoughts kept floating through her brain. She had fallen in love with the boys, no matter how much she wished to deny it. To give them up would be so difficult. She stared up at the ceiling, half-expecting some answer to be given to her from a higher power above.

But the answer never came.

 Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Doc's eyes shot open at the sound of the bells. He sat up, looking around the room, groggily searching for the universal clock in his lab. As his eyes adjusted to the light of the room, Doc realized now where he was. Not home. The mission. He looked toward a window and saw the sun had already risen into the air. It was time to go. Past time. He hadn't meant to sleep so late, but he couldn't help it. He was making up for the many hours he had gone without rest since the incident in 2020.
Instinctively, Doc reached for his coat and pulled out his journal and a pen he had brought with him. He thought for a moment and then wrote: "April 4, 1795 sunrise - It has been a long day in Valle de Collina, 1795. Finally, Marty and I were able to locate Clara and the boys and now it is time for us to leave this time. From here, I assume we will bring the boys back to the future, unless Clara would rather return to the past first. Afterward, I plan on bringing Marty back to 1985 and say my farewells once again. It will not be easy, but it can't be helped. I had hoped to give him a present, a picture of us that was taken in 1885, but I carelessly left it back in 1888 when Clara and I took off for the future. It will be my own little memento, then, of our friendship, as this will be the last time, I am nearly certain, I will see him."

Doc closed the book and returned it to his pocket. Then, pulling on his coat, Doc shook Clara to wake her. She turned to her side, unwilling to open her eyes to day yet. Doc jostled her harder and finally she turned to him and opened her eyes. The brightness of the morning light seeping through the windows forced her to snap them shut once again, but, after a moment, they slid open and she wearily looked at Doc. "What time is it?" she asked him.

"Time to go," Doc replied. "I heard the bells ringing. It must mean breakfast."

"Or mass," Clara sat up, her mussed hair falling down behind her back. "How early is it?"

"The sun came up not too long ago," Doc decided. Now he looked to his right where he assumed the boys and Marty were still sleeping. To his relief, all three were there, just as he had left them. "Wake the boys. I'll get Marty."

Clara stood and walked over to the boys to stir them to awareness. Doc woke Marty and the teen groaned as he slowly sat up, holding his head. "Man, did I sleep," Marty massaged his stiff neck, then looked around. "Is it morning already?"

"Yep," Doc nodded and left Marty's side to help Clara get the boys up.

Marty stood and watched as Doc and Clara got the boys on their feet. Clara straightened their wrinkled shirts and in a very motherly fashion, spit on her hand and cleaned off their dirty faces. Something in the back of Marty's mind was yelling something of deja vu to him, but he was too tired to pay much attention to it. Once the boys were up, Doc began to fold the blankets and sheets and Marty moved to assist him. Once that was done, they placed them in a corner of the room.

"Let's get going," Doc suggested.

"Aren't we going to eat first?" Marty asked. "I'm starving."

"Yeah!" Verne nodded his little head. His stomach growled at the mention of food.

Doc rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "It wouldn't be sensible to head out on an empty stomach. And I'm sure we're all hungry."

Just then, Lucita appeared from the room across from them, carrying two bowls. She placed them on the table and smiled at the company. "Breakfast!"

Then she disappeared and returned a few more times in succession with enough bowls for the entire group. "Eat," she suggested to them. "Before mass begins."

They hesitated for a moment, and Verne made the first move, rushing to the table and pulling out a seat. He climbed up and began picking at the goop in his bowl. He made a sour face at the atole and reluctantly took a bite of the hot grits-like mixture. Marty followed the boy's example and took a seat and, soon, the entire group of time travellers was at the table, eating the ground grain mixture.

Marty polished off his bowl, finding it not too distasteful. Verne, too, managed to get all of his breakfast down. Doc finished slowly, but emptied his bowl and only Jules and Clara left a little less than half of the food in their bowls, neither finding themselves extremely hungry, their stomachs twisted with anxiety over the morning's coming time trip.

When they finished, they pushed in their seats and prepared to leave. "Let's not say farewell," Doc suggested. "It might be best if we slip out quietly."

They followed the scientist's orders and snuck out of the room and onto the mission's grounds. Once back in daylight, Doc breathed in the fresh air, quietly taking in the spanish mission for the last time.

Then, as they prepared to leave, the bells near the church rang again and, after a moment, people began to leave their homes and head toward the chapel. "That must be for the morning mass," Clara thought aloud.

Lucita and her father, too, appeared from their home now and walked briskly over to the group once they were noticed. "Are you coming to mass this morning?" Lucita asked.

"Ah, we were actually just leaving," Doc replied. "We have a long journey. But we thank you for all your hospitality."

Lucita looked at her father and said something to him in spanish. Then she returned her gaze to Doc and said: "Are you sure you won't come to mass? It is a mission tradition to attend every morning."

"Every morning?" Jules exclaimed with outrage.

"Of course," Lucita nodded. "Will you come?"

"We really must be going," Doc objected. "But thank you for all your kindness and hospitality. We appreciate everything."
Lucita nodded reluctantly. "Very well. Farewell."

With that, Lucita turned around and she and her father walked to the church's doors. "I'm glad we didn't have to go to that again!" Jules sighed with relief.

"There's nothing wrong with church, young man," Clara reprimanded.

Jules shrugged and Marty couldn't help but laugh to himself as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Now he felt something. It was the locket. Damn! He'd forgotten to return it to Lucita. It was too late now, Marty saw, as Lucita and her father disapeared into the church. Well, that couldn't change history too much, Marty thought, and decided it might be best if he not tell Doc about it. The scientist, after making sure Lucita and the mayor were out of sight, continued forward, the small gathering of time travelers following him. "Let's go home," Doc said.

Behind them, church was just beginning. Suddenly, Doc paused where he was and strained his ears to listen. "What's up, Doc?" Marty surveyed his friend.

Doc didn't reply. "What is it, Emmett?" Clara asked.

"I hear something," was Doc's simple reply.

The sound grew louder until all heard it. It was a very familiar sound, one they had all heard the previous day. Only it was louder and closer than they remembered it. And it came from many more mouths than it had the first day. The sound of clopping began to grow, sounding like cracking thunder rumbling through the ground.

Then, through the front gate exploded dozens of Indian riders on horseback, brandishing bows and arrows. "Get down!" Doc cried and instantly pulled Clara and the boys away from the street, Marty hustling just behind. They collapsed on the ground near the side of a building and watched as the Indians began to terrorize the mission. Those who did not have arrows carried torches, and now they began tossing them at buildings and through windows.

After a few moments, all hell broke loose. Those in the church heard the noise and appeared through the doorway. The fist man to open the church's door and look out was met with an arrow to the chest. The war had begun.

The church emptied quickly as men and soldiers raced for their weapons and horses. Doc held Clara in his arms and Clara held the boys against her form, keeping their heads turned away from the scene. "We have to get out of here!" Marty cried as arrows began flying.
The men of the mission began to defend their home. Already buildings were beginning to go up in flames from the inside.

Doc nodded. "The soldiers' barracks!" he cried. His voice could hardly be heard over the noise, but Marty just made it out. He stood and, crouching as he ran, moved toward the gate. Doc, Clara, and the boys followed just behind, but as Marty cut across the street for a clear path to the mission's exit, he was met with an arrow in his face. A fiery Native American, black war paint smeared under his eyes, aimed the arrow right between Marty's eyes, braced to release. Marty clenched his eyes shut, a slight squeak escaping his mouth as he waited for the shaft to slice through his brain at any moment.

Then he heard the blast and his eyes shot open. A spanish officer had fired at the Indian. His arrow twisted away from Marty's face and the Indian collapsed backward onto the dusty road, lifeless and unmoving, his bow and arrow resting by his side. Marty exhaled with relief. "Are you all right?" Doc ran to Marty's side. Marty nodded quickly and Doc accepted the answer. "Clara, come here!"

Clara and the boys ran to Doc, ducking low for fear of being struck by random arrows. Riders sprinted around them, barrages of arrows and bullets firing above them, bodies falling dead or wounded on all sides. Doc lifted Clara up and placed her on the back of the horse formerly owned by the deceased Native American. Then he took each boy and handed them to her. "Take them to the ravine. We'll meet you there."

"I can't leave without you," even as Clara objected she helped seat the boys onto the horse in front of her.

"Just go! We'll be fine!" Doc returned.

Clara didn't balk again and, instead, turned the horse around and spurred the stead forward, escaping, to Doc's relief, without any harm through the gate. "Now what?" Marty cried to his friend.

"We take cover until we have a clear path out of this place!" Doc returned and led Marty away from the center of the war and pulled him against the wall of a building.

Now the citizens of Valle de Collina were rushing toward the gate's exit. Some made it and others were struck by arrows. Marty swallowed, realizing that this time the Indian rebellion would not be broken up so easilly. "What's going to happen?" he called to Doc.

Doc shook his head without replying. Even he did not know what the future held for this soon to be forgotten spanish mission.

The church burned, smoldering smoke wafting into the early morning air, darkening the formerly bright and cheery sky. The entire mission was being torn apart, but Marty and Doc's only concern was finding a way out without becoming a pair of corpses. It was possible to escape through the gate with little or no injury, but it was just as possible to not, and Doc never gambled when the odds were fifty-fifty, especially with his life.

Citizens darted around on foot, some carrying armfuls of clothes or food as they attempted to escape the mission. A woman would be shot down one moment, her child kneeling at her side to shake the lifeless form to awakeness. Other bodies would make it out of the mission and run as far away as possible only to realize they had nowhere to go. Warriors, both spanish and Native American, were dropping all around them and, with each man down, the fighting became more furious.

Doc pulled Marty into an alley, both keeping their heads down. "Doc, we have to get the hell out of here!" Marty called to him.

"I know," Doc replied. "But we may have to wait for this to end in order to insure our safe escape. At least Clara and the boys are all right."

They had been lucky enough to get the three out of the mission just before the battle became so savage, but now arrows and bullets flew at any moving object. Doc didn't want to stay in the mission for long, though. The buildings around them were beginning to burn and the fact that the church had gone up in flames represented the end of this spanish mission. Of whoever survived, Doc was certain none would be living in the decimated mission once the war ended.

Marty watched the crowds as they ran in clumps past horses mounted with both Indians and Spanish. If one person tripped, that person stayed on the ground as the crowd trampled over the body. It was a gruesome sight. "Ayuda!" Marty heard a cry as a form broke through the crowd and tumbled toward their hiding place.

"Lucita!" Marty stood and, hunched over, shuffled quickly up to her. Her dress was torn and her hair was tangled and frizzled. She breathed harshly as she clasped to the edge of the building, resting her body against it.

"Marty, get down!" Doc commanded his friend. It was too dangerous to be running around in this mess!

"Please ... Help ..." Lucita gasped, outstretching her hand toward Marty. Her knuckles were bloodied and torn.

"All right," Marty nodded, taking her hand in his. Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye. An arrow flew straight toward the young woman. "Look out!" Marty spun the girl away from the arrow, but couldn't avoid it himself. It clipped him and lodged into his left shoulder through the back. The force of the arrow pushed him forward and he slammed hard against the building's wall and then slid to the ground as his legs gave out.

"Marty!" Doc rushed up to his friend and kneeled by his side. He pulled Marty's face away from the ground and saw that the teen's eyes were still open, but fluttering up and down in REM. "You're alive," Doc said, as if to assure himself. He took the arrow's shaft in his hand and said: "Hold still. This will only hurt for a moment." Marty could barely hear the words as they echoed through his ears. Everything had happened so fast! He felt a surge of pain in his left shoulder as Doc pulled the arrow out with one tug. Then Doc took off his own coat and, using the arrow's tip as some sort of makeshift knife, made an incision in the material. He ripped a long strip of fabric from his coat and then proceeded to wrap the band around Marty's injured shoulder. "Are you all right? The wound wasn't very deep."

Marty nodded slowly. He was able to lift himself off the ground and sit up on his knees, but still his head felt woozy. He looked over to Lucita who still lay on the ground, on her stomach, unmoving, her face burried in the dirt. "We have to help her."

"Marty ..." Doc tried to stop him, but the teenager crawled over to the prone body and attempted to lift her off the ground. Marty's legs gave way again, still unable to support himself, let alone another human being.

"Doc ..." Marty mumbled. "Give me a hand."

Doc sighed with frustration and, tying his torn coat around his waist, ran over to his friend's side. "Grab her ..." Marty said. "We have to get out of here."

The time for logical thinking was over. Marty was injured and this girl was in danger. Now Doc had completely forgotten they were in a different time period. The scientist lifted the girl off the ground and pulled her into his arms. "Can you walk?" he asked Marty.

Marty pulled himself up using Doc for support. Once he was up, he tried standing under his own weight. He felt wobbly, but was able to stand on his feet. The teenager nodded a response and Doc said: "All right. I'll lead the way. Stay behind and stay close until we're out of the mission."

Then Doc hustled forward. He was unable to go very fast with the load of the spanish woman in his arms, which was good for Marty, because he could hardly walk. Doc found an opened path and made his way through it. Arrows flew everywhere, a few skidding by just before his eyes. He didn't dare look back to see if Marty was behind him. If the teenager wasn't there, Doc would feel compelled to find him, and that would most likely lead to his death as well.

The gate was only a few feet away now and, as Doc scrambled toward it, an Indian rider with a torch in his hand caught site of the scientist. The rider spun around in the opposite direction he had been heading (it seemed he had planned on adding more flame to the church fire) and rode toward Doc and Marty. Crying in a high wail, the Indian tossed the torch at Doc. The scientist was just able to duck away as the torch flew at him. It sailed through the air and into the window of the nearest building, the mission's small prison. Instantly the prison began to catch fire and the Indian rider released another wail of victory and about-faced to continue his battle.

Doc stood again and now he saw Marty had reached his side, thankfully, still standing. They didn't say anything to each other as they both ran forward as quickly as they could toward the gate. Finally they squeezed through the wild citizens and rushed away from the mission. They ran south as many other citizens did until the mission was a good distance away and the fear of being shot was over. Here Doc paused and Marty was glad for the break. The teenager collapsed onto the ground, holding his throbbing shoulder with his right hand.

Doc sat Lucita on the ground. She had still not awaken since they left the mission and now Doc crouched down next to his friend. Both breathed harshly and stared at the mission. Smoke billowed into the sky, almost all the buildings of the mission ablaze.

"Jesus, Doc ..." Marty mumbled. "What the hell?"

"How's your shoulder?" Doc asked.

Marty shrugged, then winced at the pain it caused his left shoulder. "Not too good," he decided after that.

"We'll have to get that fixed in the future," Doc decided. "We have to get back to the train, fast."

"What about her," Marty nodded to Lucita.

Doc stood, picking the girl up in his arms. As a family rushed by, Doc intercepted them and cried: "Stop! Please! Take her!"

The family didn't stop, either not understanding his words or too afraid to halt, probably both. Now a man on a horse, most likely one he stole from the soldiers' barracks, passed them and this time Doc called: "Parada! Ayuda!"

The man stopped, seeing the girl in Doc's arms. Doc pushed her toward the man. "The mayor's daughter," he said, though the man did not understand the english words. "Ayuda," Doc said again. The man was reluctant, but then he took the woman in his arms and lifted her onto the horse. "Gracias," Doc said as the man set the girl in front of him on the horse.

"Wait!" Marty stood grogilly to his feet and stumbled toward the man.

"Marty, what are you -" Doc began, but then cut off his own statement as he saw Marty digging through his pockets.

The teenager pulled out the gold locket and, slowly and carefully, as not to upset his injured shoulder, slipped the chain around Lucita's head. "Go!" Marty gestured with his right arm for the man to ride off. The man obeyed and, without looking at Doc or Marty, spurred forward and disappeared.

"We should hurry," Doc suggested to Marty as he hustled to the teen's side.

Marty slid his hand over his shoulder and down his arm until he came to the metal brace that had been clipped around his wrist in the future to keep track of him while he was in the orphanage. As he moved his hand around the bracelet, it seemed to fade. Marty's eyes went wide as the metal band completely disapeared as if it had never been there!

"Doc," Marty held out his arm toward the scientist. "Look!"

"What?" Doc squinted at his arm. "Is it hurt?"

"No, that thing from the future," Marty explained. "It disappeared!" Doc looked at Marty confoundly, as if he had no idea what the teenager was talking about. "The one I got at the orphanage," Marty elaborated.

Doc's jaw fell open and hung there as he began to think about why that would happen. Then, as if lightning had just struck his brain, Doc dug into his coat's pocket and pulled out the newspaper clipping from the future. The clipping no long mentioned anything about the orphanage. Now the article's title had changed from "EASTWOOD ORPHANAGE: WHAT THE GOVERNMENT'S NOT TELLING YOU" to: "THE LOST HISTORY OF HILL VALLEY." Doc skimmed the article until he came to a paragraph that he read allowed. "The mission of Valle de Collina came to an end some time in the late 1700's or early 1800's when rebel Native Americans attacked the town. No buildings were left undamaged. The only thing even noticeable left was the former church, which was torn down when the town was resettled in 1865."

"What does that mean?" Marty asked.

"If I'm not mistaken, the orphanage was built from a correctional facility in our own time. And that was rebuilt from the mission's previous jail that had been left unharmed. But the prison wasn't left unharmed, not now anyway."

"It burned down when that Indian tossed that torch at you," Marty confirmed.

Doc's brow furrowed. "Then our interaction in this year caused the orphanage not to exist."

"But that's a good thing, right?" Marty asked. "I mean, it was a horrible place." Even as he spoke, he realized that his daughter would not have to end up in that hell-hole. But now he was beginning to wonder exactly where she would be taken in the future if the orphanage never existed.

Doc shook his head. "It's too late to change that now anyway," he said, folding the paper back up and shoving it in his pocket. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

Marty was all for that. He was still a little wobbly, but felt better than before. They began the journey and walked slowly, leaving the mission behind as the town of Valle de Collina became history.

 Twenty or so minutes after they left the mission, Clara and the boys had reached the ravine's edge. They hadn't stopped once, and the horse galloped on and on until they had finally reached their destination. Once there, Clara stopped the horse and climbed down. Then she helped each of the boys off the horse's back and she looked out into the distance in the direction of the mission. Smoke still poured into the sky and she now realized it might be some time before she saw her husband again, if she saw him again.

"Are you two all right?" she asked each boy.

Both nodded, though their faces were chalk white. They had seen much too violence in their stay in this dreaded time and it would be a relief to get them out of there and back to 2020. It may not be the best time, but it was far better than this.

A few minutes passed and Clara began to grow worried as she paced back and forth. She realized that her husband would take longer to get to the ravine, especially if they were on foot, but it could also mean that they hadn't made it out of the mission yet ... or at all.

Now Clara remembered the walkie-talkie from the future Emmett had given her. She felt for it in her pocket and, relieved it hadn't fallen out, she pulled it free and said into it: "Emmett! Emmett, are you there?"

A moment passed and Clara held her breath. Then a reply: "Clara, is that you?"

"Emmett, where are you?" the schoolteacher cried, relieved.

"We left the mission a few moments ago," Doc explained. "We're heading toward the ravine on foot, so we'll be there in an hour or so."

"Are you hurt?" Clara asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, but Marty took an arrow to his shoulder," Doc said.

"Oh," Clara didn't sound very upset to hear this news, and she even sounded callous to herself. "Will he be okay?"

"He'll need some medical attention in the future," Doc explained, "but I'm sure he'll survive. The arrow doesn't seem to have punctured anything vital."

"That's good," Clara said.

"Clara, I want you to locate the DeLorean," Doc told her. "I used the projection device to camouflage it."

"I thought it could only create scenery," Clara said thoughtfully.

"I tweaked it a bit. The device made the car seem invisible to the naked eye. It should be somewhere near the ravine's edge. Find it and turn the device off. I want the boys to help you if they can. If we don't show up by the end of the night and you don't hear from us, you should leave us behind. The train's in the ravine. Do you see it?"

Clara glanced over the ravine's edge. "Yes," she nodded. "But I won't leave you behind."

"In all likelihood you won't have to," Doc explained patiently. "But I want you to know what to do just in case. Hopefully the boys can find some way to start the car without the keys."

Clara sighed and Doc continued: "Do you understand, Clara? Please, just listen to me. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I understand," she finally said.

"Good. We'll be there soon," Doc said.

"Emmett, don't go away," she said. "I ... I want to keep talking."

Doc didn't reply for a moment. "Of course not," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything," Clara said. "Explain how the time machine works."

"That will take some time. There are a lot of details ..." Doc began.

"Go ahead," Clara insisted. "I just want to hear your voice."

"All right," Doc agreed and began his tangent of the time machine's construct. "The Flux Capacitor," he began, "as you know, is what makes time travel possible. Let me begin there, and explain what accessories were needed to form the device ..."

 It had been a long hour for Marty. Doc had talked non-stop about the time machine to Clara through the walkie-talkie since she contacted them. And that certainly did not make him feel any less woozy. Finally, though, they made it to the ravine's edge. Clara had failed to do as Doc had asked and find the DeLorean, too busy listening to his voice. The boys had entertained themselves by throwing rocks into the ravine. When they arrived, Doc was a little annoyed that she had not located the car. This was soon forgotten, however, as Doc easily found its location and snapped off the device and the thing powered down. The DeLorean appeared before their eyes just where Doc had left it and the scientist smiled.

It was time to leave.

"Everyone in," Doc pulled open the passenger's door. Clara got in first and Marty strolled over, still holding his aching shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" Doc asked his friend as Marty carefully climbed into the car.

"Like I got shot with an arrow," Marty quipped. "What am I gonna tell my parents?"

"Don't worry about that," Doc assured him, then ushered Jules and Verne into the car. "Are you boys ready?"

Jules frowned at this question as he climbed across Marty's lap, Verne following behind him. "This sucks," the older boy replied as Doc closed the door.

"You watch your mouth, young man," Clara reprimanded. "Little boys shouldn't use that sort of a language."

"Don't tell me what to do," Jules muttered as he squeezed in as best he could.

Doc came around to the driver's side and, fishing in his pocket for the DeLorean's keys, pulled them out and climbed in. He started the engine and flicked on the hover circuits. The car came to life and Doc steered the DeLorean down into the ravine. He pulled it into the boxcar and everyone climbed out. Concealing the car inside, Doc led everyone to the train's doors and opened them. Clara climbed in first, the most anxious of all of them to leave 1795. Next were the boys and then Doc helped Marty up the steps. Then Doc collected some leaves and twigs from an area of the ravine and loaded the fusion generator.

Clara and Marty sat in the back seat, Jules by Marty's side and Verne on Clara's lap, there not being enough room for all to fit on the seat. They buckled their seat belts and Doc flicked on the train's hover circuits. The machine, much to Doc's relief, hummed to life and he backed the thing down the ravine until he had enough run-off space.

He typed a few numbers into the key pad. "Clara, are you all right with us going back to 2020 first?"

Clara frowned. "Are you sure we'll be safe there?"

"I'll go back a month after we left. That should be enough time for things to cool down," Doc explained. "We'll drop the boys off and get Marty some first aid."

Clara sighed, glancing at Marty's shoulder wrapped in a bloody slip of fabric. "I suppose. I wouldn't want to return to 1888 without you."

"All right," Doc finished inserting the destination date. Then he took a seat and buckled his seat belt. "Everyone set?"

Without waiting for a response, Doc pushed forward on the acceleration lever. The train chugged forward, slowly gaining speed. As the train hit 85, the panel before Doc began to glow blue and the windows were filled with bright illuminance.

A moment later, the Shonash Ravine of 1795 was empty.

The train slowed to a stop in the Eastwood Ravine. Doc moved quickly, climbing out of the train and backing the DeLorean out of the boxcar. Then he ushered Marty, Clara, and the boys into the car and floated them out of the ravine.

"How long will this take?" Clara asked as they flew through the bright morning's sky.

Doc hesitated to answer. "Not long," he finally spoke. "When we get there, Marty, I want you to wait in the car."

"Get where?" Marty stared at his friend.

Doc didn't give a reply. Clara, though, easily deduced where Doc was taking them. It was really the only place he could have gone in the future. It wasn't long before the DeLorean bumped onto the driveway of 1720 Auburn Street. Marty let out a low whistle as he surveyed the huge mansion. "Nice place," he said under his breath. "Where are we?"

Doc climbed out of the car without answering. "Wait here," he told Marty. "Clara, boys, come with me."

Clara climbed out of the DeLorean and Jules and Verne followed. Marty still didn't understand why he couldn't go with them. Maybe Doc was afraid to move him, although he had walked all the way from the spanish mission to the Eastwood Ravine with little trouble. But he was too bleary to think much of it as he set his head back against his seat and closed his eyes. Marty just wanted to go home already.

Doc rang the familiar doorbell, "The Power of Love" sounding through the house. The door opened a moment later to reveal Marty McFly, age fifty-two. Marty 2020 ran his hand through his gray hair and smirked. "The whole family's here, huh?"

Doc gave Marty a quizzical look, but then shoved the comment out of his mind, focusing on more important matters. "Have you got a first aid kit?"

"Yeah," Marty 2020 nodded. "Why? And what're you doing back here, like, a month after I last saw you?"

"There will be time to explain that later. I need a Laceration Ligature," Doc said.

"Yeah, okay," Marty nodded. "Come in."

Marty moved away from the door and Doc stepped in, Clara and the boys following suit. "Make yourselves at home," Marty told them, then disappeared upstairs.

"Look at this place!" Verne exclaimed. "It's as big as Disneyland!"

"It's not that big," Jules rolled his eyes. Then he moved to the living room and jumped onto the couch. Verne followed, grabbing for the remote on the coffee table and flipping on the wide-screen television.

Clara jumped as the noise exploded from the set, her eyes going wide as she examined the thing. "What is that?"

"A television," Doc explained. "I think I told you about it once. It captures moving pictures and replays them. Fascinating, isn't it?"

"It's loud," Clara shook her head. "Can you lower the sound?"

Doc nodded and shouted to the kids: "Boys, turn that down, please!"

Verne obeyed and Clara stepped away from the living room. "I was hoping we wouldn't ever have to come back here," she sighed.

Doc approached her, placing his hands on her shoulders soothingly. "It couldn't be helped. I wanted to see Future Marty anyway to ask him something."

"What?" Clara turned around to look her husband in the eyes. Had he been planning something he hadn't told her about?

"I want him to adopt the boys," Doc explained. "This way it will solve everyone's problems. We'll be able to move back to 1888 and we can be sure that the children will have a safe home with a loving family. I hope Marty is willing to consider it."

"Emmett!" Clara objected.

"Marty's a fine father, despite what his children may tell you," Doc said, believing Clara's grievance came from her fear of Marty's paternal skills.

Clara sighed. She couldn't tell him the truth, that she didn't want to give up the boys. He was still unwilling to allow the children to return with them to 1888 and now Clara wasn't sure that decision would ever change. But she still had some time with the boys, and perhaps some time to coax Emmett into seeing things her way. Before they left, she would be sure to give her most valiant effort.

Marty Senior returned a few moments later, a white case with a red cross painted on the front in hand. He entered the dining room, sat the case on the table, and opened it. "Here," Marty pulled out a metal device. It was wide and shaped like a "U" and appeared that it could be flexed to fit around something, like a clamp. "Who got the war wound?"

Doc didn't smile at the jest. "You'll know soon enough," Doc said, accepting the device from him. "Just don't come outside," the scientist added as he left the room and disappeared out the front door.

Marty shoved his hands in his pockets and began to whistle timidly. "Awkward, huh?" he mumbled a moment later.
Clara turned her eyes to him, but said nothing, her face solemn. "I mean, that conversation we had in 1795," Marty added. "I've been meaning to say ... I'm sorry about that."

"You remember that?" Clara asked.

"Yeah," Marty 2020 nodded. "Although I'm kind of groggy on what happened that morning after I went to sleep. It's all a blur. It seemed so clear before this morning, but now I can't remember one damned thing. Guess that's 'cause you guys showed up. Listen, whatever happens ... damn I wish I could remember ... I just want to say that I'm sorry for what I said. You're good for Doc and, well, I guess I was a little jealous."

Clara accepted the apology with a nod of her head. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Marty. I'm sorry, too. For everything."

"No problem," Marty grinned. "Man, that's been bugging me for thirty-five years. Don't know why I didn't mention it to you the first time you guys showed up, but I'm glad I got it off my chest now."

Clara nodded solemnly and turned her gaze away from Marty Senior.

Doc returned to the DeLorean and pulled open the passenger's door. "Hold still," he told Marty. The teenager obeyed and Doc took the metal device and clamped it around Marty's shoulder, right where the wound was. He extended the device a bit, to make sure it covered the wound completely, then he touched a button on the machine and it squeezed Marty's shoulder like a blood pressure pump.

Marty grabbed at his shoulder and squeaked out: "What the hell is this thing, Doc?"

"It'll keep the wound sanitized and make it heal faster," Doc explained. "It'll only take a day or two for it to become nothing but a mere scratch."

"Are you sure?" Marty was skeptical. "What if I need a doctor?"

"You should be fine," Doc assured him. "The wound wasn't so deep, so it shouldn't take long for it to heal."

"Wait a minute, Doc. I can't go home with this thing on my shoulder," Marty asserted. "I had a tough enough time explaining that weird metal bracelet on my wrist."

"What'd you say?" Doc now pulled his head from the car and looked out to the house's door.

"I just told them it was a new style at school. How lame was that?" Marty looked up to his friend. "Doc, where the hell are we anyway?"

"A friend's place," Doc said simply. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

"Hey, Doc, hold on --" the scientist was gone, back to the doorway before Marty could stop him. "Perfect," the teenager mumbled. He didn't know what the big deal was. Whoever this future friend was, Marty couldn't understand why Clara and the boys were welcome and Marty wasn't. Irritated, Marty pulled himself out of the car and began stumbling to the doorway.

When Doc returned to Marty's dining room, he told the musician: "Marty, I think you should go upstairs to your room for a while. I'm going to show, uh, our guest his room."

"Wait a minute, Doc," everything began to click in Marty 2020's head. "Is that me that you got that device for? I mean the me of the past?"

"Marty please, those memories will come to you soon enough," Doc said. Already he had said too much. "I don't want Marty or, uh, your younger self to know where we are. I think that would be too much future information for him to have. And if he knows his future will be so successful, he may be disappointed if it ends up not happening."

"What do you mean not happening?" Marty demanded. "It happened! It's done!"

"To you, yes," Doc nodded. "But when we first came to 2015 you lived in Hilldale and worked an office job. The future is never written, Marty, I'm sorry to say. The way your younger version plays out the events of his life will determine if indeed this life becomes your ultimate future. Even then, with a time machine in hand, that could all be changed."

"Jesus, I hope not," Marty 2020 mumbled. "I think this is about the best future I could have asked for."

"You'd better go upstairs," Doc said in return. Then he heard a knock on Marty's front door.

"Who the hell could that be this early?" Marty Senior moved toward the door.

Doc grabbed his arm to stop him. "I'll get it. You go upstairs and go back to sleep."

Marty was prepared to argue with the scientist, but decided against it, knowing that Doc had a suitable reason for sending him out of the room. As Marty turned around and walked up the stairs, he called out: "Front door open."

With that verbal command, the front door popped open and Marty Senior disappeared upstairs just as his younger self stumbled into the doorway. "Wow," Marty surveyed the room. "This place is huge!"

"I thought I told you to wait outside," Doc hustled up to his friend's side.

"Who's the guy that owns this place?" Marty ignored Doc's question as he looked around the room. "He must be rich!"

"He's not here now," Doc fibbed quickly. "Let me show you a room where you can rest."

Doc led Marty away by the arm, upstairs. "Jesus, how many rooms does this guy have," Marty said, glancing around the upstairs hall.

"This is your room," Doc said and pulled Marty into one of Marty 2020's guest rooms. He sat him down on the bed and said: "Lie down. You'll need to rest for the device to do its job properly." This statement wasn't entirely true. It was best not to move about much, but the device was similar to a cast. It still allowed you to move around freely, but Doc didn't want Marty going anywhere.

"Ah, come on, Doc. I want to check out that TV downstairs," Marty protested.

"Just stay here and don't get up. Here," Doc handed Marty his walkie-talkie. "Call us on this if you need anything."

"Doc, I can walk you know. I was hit in the shoulder, not the leg," Marty reminded him.

"You shouldn't leave the bed," Doc repeated and dropped the walkie-talkie on the bed next to Marty. "Just don't go anywhere."

Then Doc left the room, closing the door behind him. All bedrooms within the house had doorknobs instead of fingerplate ID's as was the case with the front and back door, so it wouldn't do much to impede Marty should he choose to leave. Two obstinate Marty's in one time-frame was not a good thing in Doc's opinion.

Doc ambled down the stairs until he reached the dining room where he met Clara. "Both Marty's are in bed," he announced.

"Marty's in bed?" Clara asked, surprised. "How much longer will we be here, Emmett?"

"A day or two at the most," Doc said, very quietly.

"A day?" Clara demanded. "A day or two? I thought we would leave within the hour! Maybe two or three, but not days!"

"Marty needs time to heal. I can't send him back to 1985 in his condition," Doc explained.

"Can't you leave him here and take us ahead two days so we don't have to wait?" Clara demanded.

Doc considered this thought, then shook his head. "I'd rather not use the time machine unnecessarily. And someone has to keep the two Marty's apart. If our Marty realizes this is his future home, it may change his future if he decides, since he's going to be rich in the future anyway, not to be as persistent about his musical goals. And that's something that Marty definitely might do. I don't want to be the reason he ruins his life."

Clara sighed. "Two days?" she asked him. Doc nodded. "And I thought we'd be back home by supper time."

 Before noon, Marty Senior was again awake. He took a shower and then said his good mornings to Doc and company downstairs. "You guys ready for breakfast?"

"Starving!" Verne ran forward.

"Jen and Marlene'll be down in a few," Marty told them.

"Marlene?" Doc asked. "Has she moved back in?"

"Yeah. Ever since that wacky jaywalking charge, the judge allowed her to come back home and live with us under probation since she's still twenty-one. Remember?" Marty went to the pantry and pulled out a canister of instant oatmeal.

"Oh, right ..." Doc said after a moment. With no orphanage in Hill Valley, Marlene's sentence must have been lessened. He now remembered that only few states and towns had orphanages run by the government in the future. Most were the same as the ones in 1985, and those government-controlled ones were becoming more extinct as the harsh living conditions were being realized by the public.

They all sat down at the dining table. Jen and Marlene appeared ten or so minutes later as Marty put the bowls of oatmeal under everyones' noses. "You remember Mr. Brown and his wife," Marty said to Marlene as she sat down.

"Good to see you again," Marlene nodded to him and accepted the bowl Marty held out for her.

Doc didn't remember meeting her directly since 2015. Whether Marty Senior was talking about that incident or the one that happened a month ago, which Doc would never recollect, the scientist wasn't sure.

They ate their breakfast, for the most part, in silence. "Hey, Doc," Marty's voice cut through the quiet like a knife. "I just remembered what happened to the train. After all that work you did to revamp it. You didn't fix it yet, did you?"

"You mean the hover circuits?" Doc asked Marty. The musician nodded and Doc said: "No, but I don't see the point in that since we'll only be using it for a few more trips."

"Is it still in the ravine?" Marty asked. Doc nodded a response. "You know, maybe you should get it out of there and hide it in the forest again. Besides, how are you going to take the thing apart once you go, uh, home?" Marty glanced over to his daughter. She didn't seem too interested in the conversation as she swallowed another spoonful of oatmeal.

This Doc hadn't thought of. "I suppose you're right about that. It would be awfully risky to fly the DeLorean in and out of the ravine every day just to dismantle the train. Maybe you're right."

"We could start working on it today. We could probably have it done before you leave since, uh, your guest's wound won't be healed until tomorrow," Marty grinned.

Now that Doc thought about it, it was a good idea. If he got Marty Senior out of the house it would decrease the chances of Marty finding out exactly where he was. And it would give him and Marty's future self some time to be alone so Doc could pop the question as to whether he would look after the boys once they left. "All right," Doc nodded.

"Great!" Marty smiled and shoveled another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

When their meal was done, Jennifer took the dishes to load in the dishwasher. "Will Jennifer be around today?" Doc asked Marty casually.

"No, I think she has some grocery shopping to do today," Marty said. "Right, hon?" he called to his wife.

"Yeah!" Jennifer called back.

"And how about Marlene?" Doc asked.

"She can't really go out without adult supervision," Marty shrugged. "She'll probably hang at home today, since she's not a big fan of grocery shopping."

"Oh," Doc frowned. At least they had better odds if only Marlene was there. And Clara could keep an eye on Marty's daughter to make sure she didn't stumble into Marty's room.

"Yo, Doc," they all heard a statically voice call. Doc went to Clara's side and pulled the walkie-talkie from her pocket.

"Yes, uh, Marty," Doc said quietly, Marlene still being in the room.

"Your pal have some grub in this place? I'm starving!" Marty moaned.

"I'll bring you up some oatmeal," Doc replied.

"Oatmeal?" they could hear the disgust in Marty's voice.

Doc signed off without responding. "Jeez. Did I really grumble that much?" Marty Senior asked as he and Doc went to the kitchen to get a bowl of oatmeal for Marty.

"I'm afraid so," Doc laughed as he spooned the oatmeat into a bowl, then headed upstairs to deliver the meal to Marty.

"How long do I have to stay in bed?" Marty demanded as Doc entered the room.

"Until your wound's healed," Doc said.

"Are you serious? But I feel fine!" Marty objected.

"Please, Marty, it's for your own good. Just don't get up. I don't want to prolong our stay here any longer than I have to," Doc handed him the bowl of oatmeal.

Then the scientist left the room and he and Marty Senior prepared to return to the ravine. Before he left, he told Clara to make sure Marlene or Jennifer, should she return early, didn't enter Marty's room. Then he and Marty took off in the DeLorean to repair the train's hover circuits. Jennifer left not too much later to run her errands. Marlene headed upstairs to listen to her radio, and so it left Clara and the boys alone downstairs.

The boys immediately turned on the television. Clara had to get used to the moving pictures. It was difficult for her to see that they weren't real, but soon she began to slightly enjoy the box. It wasn't a Jules Verne novel, but it would do in a pinch. Jules, for the most part, ignored Clara. He was still upset about being back in the future, that was obvious. Hopefully, Clara thought to herself, neither of us will be here for long.

 It wasn't long before Marty became restless. No television to watch, no walkman to listen to. How the hell was he supposed to keep himself entertained? He had slept some since their arrival, trying to catch up on the sleep he had lost during their time trips. Now, though, his biological clock seemed to catch up with him and he wasn't tired anymore.

Annoyed with lying still on the bed, staring at the white walls, Marty pulled himself up and crossed the floor to the door. He peered out and looked around. No one was around. "Doc?" he called. There was no answer. He exited the room and shuffled to the stairs. He climbed down slowly, wondering where everyone was.

When he made it to the living room, he saw Clara and the boys watching TV. But Doc was nowhere to be seen. "Clara?" he said and the schoolteacher glanced over her shoulder. "Where's the Doc?"

"Marty," Clara stood immediately. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I'm not tired," Marty objected. "Where's Doc?"

"He's repairing the locomotive," Clara said quickly. "You should go back to bed."

"Come on, Clara, can't I watch TV with you guys?" Marty pouted and Clara took his right arm and led him back to the stairs.

"Emmett says you should rest," Clara returned. "How's your shoulder?"

"It's feeling better," Marty admitted as they climbed up the stairs. "When will Doc be back?"

"I'm not sure," Clara said truthfully.

Marty sighed as they made it to the second floor. A figure caught Marty's eyes as it walked out of a room, toward them. "Marlene?" Marty said, surprised.

"Marty?" she said, equally shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, I thought you were in the orphanage," Marty mumbled.

"What?" Marlene shook her head. "What are you talking about? And I thought you said you'd never come back to dad's after what happened last month."

"Dad?" Now Marty realized that Marlene thought she was talking to her brother. "Oh, uh, yeah. Wait a minute, you mean this is my - er- dad's house?"

"Yeah," Marlene looked at him quizzically. "Where have you been?"

Marty shook his head. "I don't know," he sighed.

Clara now pulled Marty toward his room. "Oh, Marlene, Marty's not feeling well, so he's going to rest in the room."

"All right," Marlene said slowly, still confused by everything that was happening.

Clara led Marty into his room and shut the door behind them. "Jesus, why didn't you guys tell me this was my house?" His anger quickly turned to cocky pride. "Damn, I knew I'd make it big! Way to go McFly!"

"Marty, you should try to forget about this," Clara told him quickly. "Emmett doesn't want you doing anything in the past that could make this reality change. Just forget that you ever saw this."

"Jeez, I don't know if I can," Marty looked around the room. "I can't believe this is all mine!"

As Marty settled back in the bed, Clara said: "Do you see now why you have to stay here? Your future self could show up at any time."

"Oh. Right," Marty nodded. "Guess that would be trouble."

Clara heard a rap on the door and she left Marty's side and opened it. Marlene peered in, looking worried. "What is it?" Clara asked.

"Those boys of yours," Marlene said after a moment. "Do you know they're not downstairs anymore?"

"What do you mean?" Clara demanded.

"They're not in the house. They're gone." Marlene stressed.

"Not again!" Clara cried, shocked and annoyed. "How could they run off again?"

Clara opened the door to leave, then she turned back to Marty and said: "Please, Marty, whatever you do, don't leave this room."

Marty nodded slowly and Clara disappeared from the doorway. Marlene called to her: "Do you need any help?"

Clara replied: "No, no thank you!"

Marlene turned back to Marty and stepped into the room. "All right, Marty, why are you really back here?" she demanded.

"I ... I don't know," Marty shrugged. "I guess maybe I wanted to settle things with dad."

"Since when do you care about your family?" Marlene glared at the imposter. "You know, Marty, you're a real jerk. After all dad did to push you to do something with your life. This is how you repay him! By turning your back on your family!"

"What'd I do?" Marty demanded.

"You know everything you did!" Marlene hissed. "Me and dad may not have been on speaking terms for a while, but at least I didn't do what you did to him! At least I didn't sue him!"

"Sue him?" Marty asked. "I sued him?"

"Yeah," Marlene nodded. "Over something so stupid! You bugged his will and when you decided to leave, said that you deserved one-third of his money because that's what you were entitled to after his death! Damn, I don't know how you got away with it! You're such a little prick , you know that?"

"I-I-I'm sorry," Marty finally spit out.

"Yeah, well, that's not good enough," Marlene said sourly. "You think money's more important than family! And now you're back for God knows why! What'd you spend all of dad's credits? Why can't you just stay out of our lives? I thought that's what you wanted!"

"I-" Marty began, but Marlene didn't give him a chance to reply.

She spun around and cried: "Just get the hell out of here and stay out of our lives!" Then she slammed the door behind her as she left. The walls shook with the angry slam of the door and a picture slid off the wall and clacked to the floor. Marty put his hand up to his head and sighed.

"Jesus, my son's even more of a jerk than I thought!" he mumbled. Now he was really anxious to get the hell out of the future before he found out something else he didn't want to know!

As soon as Clara disappeared, pushing Marty upstairs, Jules jumped to his feet. "Come on!"

"Come on where?" Verne demanded.

His brother replied by grabbing Verne's thin wrist a little too hard and yanking him out of his seat. "We're leaving."

"Why? I don't want to go back out there!" Verne struggled to pull his arm from his brother's grasp, but Jules was bigger and more powerful than his younger brother.

"They're not gonna let us stay here," Jules told him with a scowl. "They're going to leave and then we're going to be on our own again! And then we'll have to go back to that dumb orphanage! Do you want to go back there?"

Verne dragged his feet, but his brother was able to pull the boy across the floor. "No ..." Verne mumbled.

"That's what'll happen," Jules pulled his brother up to a window near the front door and slid it open with his free hand. "Once they're gone, they'll make us go back to that orphanage!"

"Nuh-uh," Verne shook his head in protest. "No way!"

"You think you can trust them?" Jules demanded. "You think you can trust any adult! Then stay here and see what happens! Stay here an' see if they can be trusted! But I'm not! I'm not going back to that orphanage!" Then the boy released his brother's arm and, without looking back, climbed out the window.

Verne looked over his shoulder, debating in his mind whether he should run upstairs and tell the woman that Jules had taken off or to ... "Wait!" Verne pulled himself through the window and landed outside. His brother was waiting for him, his arms folded over his chest, not at all surprised by his brother's appearance.

"Let's go," he pulled Verne up to his feet and led him across the street.

The faint sound of thunder rumbled overhead as dark clouds began to fill the sky. A storm was coming.

 Clara searched the fist floor of the McFly homestead to no avail. The boys had disappeared again. She let her eyes off them for one moment and they took off! Why didn't they trust her. Probably because they shouldn't, Clara answered her own question. If only Emmett would have listened to her. None of this would have happened. But now she'd have to make up for it. She had to find the boys!

She quickly ran upstairs and barged into Marty's room. Marlene had scarcely left before Clara threw open the door and asked Marty for the walkie-talkie Emmett had given him. She took it from him and, pushing in the "TALK" button, said: "Emmett? Emmett, are you there?"

After a long pause, Doc's raspy voice came over the line. "Clara, what is it?"

"The boys are gone," she explained quickly. "They ran off again, Emmett!"

"Great Scott!" Doc's familiar idiom returned. "Clara, we have to find them before they get themselves into trouble." There was genuine worry in his voice.

"I know," Clara nodded.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be right over and we'll find them together," Doc signed off and turned to Marty. His future friend had stopped digging through the toolbox for the screwdriver Doc had asked for when Clara's worried voice came over the walkie-talkie. Now he stood before Doc, waiting for the scientist to speak.

"Marty, I have to go. The boys ran off," Doc began to hustle toward the DeLorean.

"Hey, hold up, Doc," Marty grabbed Doc's shoulder to stop him. "Listen, it won't be that hard to find the boys. And you need to finish fixing the time machine anyway. I'll pick Clara up and we'll find them."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Doc answered slowly.

"Don't worry about it, Doc," Marty assured him. "It's no problem. Me and Clara kind of have experience with this anyway," the middle-aged musician quipped, reminiscing on the previous mission he and Doc's wife had gone on nearly thirty-five years ago.

Doc sighed. He wasn't sure Clara would be happy about Marty's involvement. From what he had deduced in 1795, Clara and the teenager had had some words while Doc was gone, though his wife hadn't admitted to anything of the sort when he prodded her just after they arrived in the future. Though Marty of 2020 was over the dispute, he had had thirty-five years to settle down. Clara was still holding somewhat of a grudge, or at least was not yet willing to absolve Marty no matter which time he hailed from.

Marty Senior must have noticed the look of worry on Doc's face. As he moved toward the DeLorean, after collecting the keys from the toolbox where Doc had placed them, he said to the scientist: "Don't worry, Doc. We'll find them."

With that, Marty climbed into the DeLorean and the car floated out of Eastwood Ravine and disappeared into the grim sky. Definitely not good flying weather, Doc thought to himself. I hope it doesn't rain.

Then he turned back to the train to finish work on the hover circuits. He resisted the urge to contact Clara and explain to her the change of plans. It would just cause another dispute. And Doc had enough hassles to worry about.

 Clara heard the DeLorean land outside. She stood, waiting impatiently for her husband to enter the room so they could begin their search for the boys. The area in and around Hill Valley had grown so much in one hundred plus years, and they could be anywhere. At least, she was certain, they wouldn't go to the time machine. She thought the boys, like herself, had had enough time travel for a lifetime. But then why did they run off?

She pushed all thoughts out of her mind as Marty's door swung open. "Welcome home, Marty!" a chipper computer voice chimed. And there stood the middle-aged man himself, his gray hair sticking up on all ends and spotches of grease covering his face.

"Where's Emmett?" were the first words out of Clara's mouth. Not only was she surprised to see the elderly Marty, but shocked that her husband wasn't with him.

"I let him stay behind to finish the train," Marty explained. "We can find the kids ourselves. I know this area like the back of my hand."

Clara took a step back, reluctant. "I don't know ..." she drawled slowly.

"Hey, come on, Clara. It's no big deal." Marty took a step toward her and she backed up another. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if we should be alone together," Clara said, her face serious.

"What do you mean?" Marty Senior's face twisted in bewilderment. "What, are you afraid I'm gonna steal you away from Doc?" Marty chuckled at his own joke, but Clara remained solemn. "I don't get it, Clara," Marty frowned at her somber attitude. "What's going on?"

Clara sighed. He had apologized for his actions, but she knew this was the same Marty who had accused her of trying to control Emmett some twenty-four hours ago, and that Marty didn't seem ready to apologize anytime soon. She was having trouble distinguishing between the two, probably because they really were the same person. But he was thirty-five years older now. Perhaps she shouldn't judge him for uncivil remarks he had made, in his eyes, so long ago in the heat of an argument. "Nothing," she told him, deciding to push the miff out of her mind. "Do you think you can find the boys?"

"We did before, didn't we?" Marty grinned, pleased to have finally won her over.

"Yes," Clara nodded. "I suppose we did."

"We make a good team," Marty added as he opened the door for Doc's wife. "Together, we're sure to find them."

Clara smiled, somewhat reluctantly, as she passed through the door. Marty followed just behind her. As he crossed to open the passenger's door for her, he saw her manage to pull it open with a tug. Marty smirked at the accomplishment. "Guess not all things about the future are lost on you."

Clara smiled slightly at the comment and slid into the car, closing the door behind her, and Marty climbed into the driver's seat. He started the engine and the car floated into the air and through the sky as sprinkles of rain drops began to mist from the dreary clouds above.

 Jules dragged his brother across the pavement. He had taken them a good distance, across town to Hill Valley's town square; he could think of nowhere else to go. On the first night he and his brother had escaped from the orphanage, they had chosen the Hill Valley clock tower underground mall to hide the night away in. The boy believed it would be as good a place as any to hide in case the time traveling adults took up a search, as they had in 1985, to find them.

Now, across the street from them stood the clock tower. The hands on the face of the clock were glued forever at 10:04 for whatever reason Jules did not know. What was the point of having a clock that didn't work?

"Let's go," the older boy commanded.

"No!" Verne resisted, pulling away from his brother. Since they had left, the young boy had had much time to think and, though he was only four, he had much to think of. Now it was time for him to have his say. For once, his older brother wasn't going to call all the shots or tell him what and what not to do. "I don't want to! I don't want to run away anymore! I want to live with the girl and be a family!"

"She's not your family! And she doesn't want to be!" Jules returned obstinately.

Thunder drummed above. The early evening was growing darker as the clouds masked the sun. Verne looked up at the sky, his eyes wide and innocent. For as long as he could remember he had hated thunder and its dazzling cousin, lightning.

"I don't want to!" he objected. "I want to go back!"

The thunder boomed again, this time very loudly, making a street sign not far from them shake frenziedly. Drops of rain began to spatter across the ground very slowly.

"We can't go back!" the older boy urged. "We can't! They'll make us go back to the orphanage! They're going back and they're going to leave us here!"

His voice was raising over the commotion of the storm. The rain began falling harder. It now felt like they were standing under a cascade as their clothes became completely drenched. Both began to shiver as the frigid downpour fell over their forms. The older boy's breath was visible in the air as he spoke and the ground seemed to shake under the booming thunder.

"No!" the younger boy shook his head. "They won't! They won't! They--"

His words were drowned out by the harsh clash of thunder above. It was beginning to become difficult to see anything and the older boy could barely make out his brother's features through the screen of furious rain. "They will! They are! Let's go!"

The water dripped over the young boy's face. Frightened, Verne allowed his body to go lax as his brother grabbed his hand and pulled him across the pavement, Verne shuffling his feet and following behind. He had wanted a family so bad. But now that wasn't going to happen. It didn't matter where they went, or when ... No one would ever love them. And Verne began to hate adults.

They stopped when they came to the street. The rain was falling so hard now that they could hardly see anything. The older boy could just make out the clock tower some yards across from them through the torrent's veil. He pulled his younger brother across the street, both dragging their feet through the flood of water. Midway across the road, Verne pulled his wrist from his brother's hand.

Jules stopped and looked at his brother, aggravated. "What are you doing?"

"I want to go back!" Verne cried. "I don't care if we have to back to the orphanage! I don't want to hide anymore!"

"No! We can't go back there! We can't!"

The younger boy backed away and his brother watched him seriously. "I don't want to run anymore!"

"I'm not going back!" the older boy cried defiantly. Then he extended his hand and said: "Come on! I'm going now and, if you don't come, I'm going without you!"

Thunder boomed loudly and bright light illuminated their forms for half a moment, then all went somber again. The young boy remained firm, his arms folded across his chest as the two stood in the middle of the street.

"Fine!" the older boy cried and turned his back to his brother. Then he dashed across the street toward the steps which led to the underground mall, his feet swishing in the ankle-high water. "Then you're on your own, bojo!"

The young boy stood there in the middle of the street, watching his brother as he stepped onto the sidewalk before the stairs. Jules turned to look at him, waiting, expecting his younger sibling to come running after him as he always did, but he did not move.

"You'd better come on!" the older boy shouted through the blare of the storm, gesturing for his brother to follow.

The young boy remained stubborn. He was tired of hiding. He was tired of being alone. He just wanted to be happy. And if he couldn't have that, then he might as well be back in the orphanage. It didn't matter to him either way.

 The rain had appeared unexpectedly and had advanced across the town like a well-trained army, the men raising their rifles and firing drops of water at their adversaries. Marty Senior had flicked on the DeLorean's lights and the windshield wipers at high speed, but still could hardly see anything through the monsoon.

"I can't see a damned thing!" Marty cried, peering down through his window at the street below.
He had flown into Hill Valley's town square as their search of Greensward had turned up nothing, but now it would be impossible to spot anyone.

Lightning lit up the gray clouds and, a few moments later, thunder crackled behind it. It was enough to get Marty to glance up to sky with worry.

"Is it safe to be this high?" Clara asked nervously, her hands clenching her seat tightly.

"No," Marty 2020 admitted. "I'm pulling over! We sure as hell don't want to be hit by lightning."

He pulled the DeLorean down onto the street and pulled to a stop at the side of the road opposite the clock tower. He and Clara sat in their seats, the windshield wipers sloshing the rain back and forth across the front window. To his left, Marty Senior could just make out the courthouse clock tower. He looked away from the clock tower and frowned at Clara. "Damn, I hope the boys are all right in this downpour!"

Clara nodded, staring out the front windshield. "Where did it come from?"

Marty shrugged and glanced back out the window. A dump-truck had flown down from the sky, the driver, too, finding the skyway unmanageable. The truck came in from behind the clock tower and skidded over the street Marty had landed the DeLorean on, its lights shining across the road. Suddenly, a figure splashed in front of the lights. Marty hadn't noticed it before and neither had the driver. The dark figure stood defiantly in the street, unmoving. Marty and Clara both heard the truck's wheels screech as it tried to stop, the truck sliding across the slick road.

"Holy shit!" Marty's eyes went wide.

 The small boy hadn't seen it coming. He had been watching his older brother with resentment for the last minute. He wasn't going to hide anymore. He wasn't going to be pushed around by his brother. He was never going to be happy. He accepted that. But he wasn't going to run. Not anymore. He was not going to run.

Then the lights splashed across him. He glanced at the truck barreling at him and he didn't move. Not an inch. He was terrified. He couldn't move. The truck's wheels squealed as the vehicle loomed at him, like a vicious creature announcing its attack.

The boys arms hung limp at his sides and he stared dumbly at the truck.

The vehicle finally came to a stop, but the figure was gone now, no longer visible in the lights.

The small boy lay on the ground behind the truck, unmoving, the heavy drops of rain falling across his lifeless form.

Marty pushed open the DeLorean's door and stood, the rain falling across him with such force that it nearly pushed him to the ground. Clara had heard the truck, but did not know what had happened. She gawked openmouthed at Marty as he climbed out of the car.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Someone got hit," Marty Senior said, slicking his wet hair out of his eyes. Then he sprinted from the DeLorean.

Clara fumbled at her door until she found the handle and managed to pull it open. She climbed out and watched as Marty ran into the darkness. The rain was ice cold and she saw nothing but shadowed figures as she peered into the murk. Then, she slowly hustled to follow Marty.

Marty ran past the truck, peering into the driver's window. The driver clutched the wheel, his knuckles red and his hands unable to let go. He stared with wide eyes out at the darkness before him and mumbled: "I didn't see him. I didn't see the kid. God, I didn't even feel 'im hit! But he did! Dear God ..."

Marty ran behind the truck and there he saw two figures. His eyes widened as he recognized the first: a boy with brown hair who sat on his knees trying to pull his blond haired brother's body up into his arms, pleading over and over: "Come on, bojo, wake up! Wake up! You're all right. Wake up!"

"Jesus," Marty said and kneeled next to the boy. The water dripped from his hair as he stared at the older boy.

The older boy looked back, tears in his eyes. "No ... I didn't want ... Marty ... do something ..."

Marty picked Verne's body up in his arms and looked into his still face. His eyes were shut and Marty knew that he was too late. He searched frantically for the boy's pulse on his neck and wrist, but did not find the rhythmic thumping. He picked the boy up in his arms and stood.

Now Clara had reached him and when she saw Marty holding the small boy in his arms, she gasped.

"No," she shook her head, her damp hair lying flat against her back. "Marty ..."

"Get the kid," Marty said to her, motioning with his head toward the older boy.

Marty ran to the DeLorean and slipped the young boy into the area between the seats. Marty Senior climbed onto the driver's seat and began pumping Verne's chest. Then he breathed into the boy's mouth, plugging his nose with his finger, but it was hopeless. Clara returned to the car, grasping Jules in her arms, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She sat the boy in the passenger's seat.

"Marty ..." she said softly.

Marty finally relinquished his efforts. He shook his head at Clara and she felt a strong sadness grasp her. She didn't cry, because she just couldn't fathom what had happened.

Marty climbed into the driver's seat. The rain was dispersing now and, as quickly as the storm had come, it had passed. "Get in," Marty said, his voice noticeably shaky.

Clara climbed in slowly next to the older boy who was now staring down at his brother. It was like a bad nightmare. A horrible nightmare. He still couldn't believe it. He had been with his brother his entire life. Why hadn't he listened? The bojo! Why hadn't he come when his older brother had called?

Marty peeled away from the clock tower and pulled the DeLorean into the sky.

"Call Doc," Marty told her. "Tell him to get the time train ready."

Clara looked at Marty, her eyes wide with wonder. He didn't look at her. He didn't blink. His face remained determined. He was planning something. But what? What could he do?

As she fumbled to pull out the walkie-talkie, she brushed her hand across the back of Jules' head to comfort him. His skin was a pale blue just like the younger boy's. Just like her brother's. He didn't move. She had come into wake him up one morning. And he didn't move. He didn't open his eyes. He never woke up. And she never spoke to him again.

There was nothing she could have done. And it was all her fault.

 Doc had just finished screwing in the last component of the hover circuits when the rain really began to pour down. At that moment, he climbed into the locomotive to get out of the storm. When it let up, he would test the hover circuits and take the train to the forest. The storm didn't last long and, after it finished, just as Doc began to fumble with the hover switch, Clara's voice came over his walkie-talkie.

"Emmett! Come in!" Her voice was distressed.

Quickly, Doc pulled out his walkie-talkie and called into it: "Clara, what is it?"

There was silence. Now Marty 2020's voice came over the line. "Is the train fixed yet, Doc?"

"I was just about to test it," Doc answered. "Why?"

"Wait," was Marty's simple answer.

"Wait? For what?" Silence met his questions. Marty had signed off. But something definitely was wrong. Doc could feel it. Both Clara and Marty were acting unusual. Something terrible must have happened.

 Marty pulled the DeLorean into his driveway. First thing was first. He had to try to save the kid. It was still possible, with futuristic technology, to snap him back to life. Marty climbed out of the car and, without speaking, pulled Verne's limp body into his arms rushed to his front door. As the computer voice welcomed his return, Marty rushed to the dining table and laid the boy on top. Then he found the first aid kit he had pulled out when Doc first returned earlier that morning and clicked it open.

Clara, with Jules in her arms, stepped into the house. She wasn't sure what the future Marty was doing, but still prayed to herself that he could think of some way to save the boy's life. As Marty Senior began digging through the container, Clara heard distinct steps coming down the stairs. She twisted her head to look in that direction and there stood Marty, that metal covering still clamped around his shoulder. "What's all the commotion?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marty Senior's face twisted in this direction too, and his eyes widened even more. "Whoa ... This is heavy!" He felt a great strain in his chest and then his legs gave out. As Marty Senior toppled to the ground, his head banged against the dining table and Marty's future self was out cold.

"Jesus!" Marty ran up to himself. "Is that ...? Was that ...?"

Now Marty's eyes curled up to the other body. He stood slowly, staring at the small boy. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled. "What the hell happened?"

His head turned to look at Clara, but she simply lowered and shook her head with mournfulness. "Is he ... Is he ..."
Marty reached his hand out, as if he wanted to do something for the boy. "He is," Clara finally said, though Marty had known the answer to his unasked question. Now, without thinking, the teenager began digging through the first aid kit. Everything inside looked unfamiliar to him. He had no idea what his older self had been searching for.

"Clara!" Marty heard Doc's voice shout. "What's going on?"

Clara lowered Jules to the floor now and pulled out the walkie-talkie. Taking a deep breath, she said: "Something happened, Emmett."

"What?" Doc demanded. "And why didn't Marty want me to test the time machine yet?"

Marty's eyes went wide and his head shot to the body of his fallen self, his arm sprawled across his face. He could tell that he was still breathing. Thank God he hadn't killed himself! Whether that would be a paradox or not, Marty wasn't sure, but he definitely wouldn't be looking forward to that day in his life, if indeed it had been his last. Now, though, he realized what his wiser self had been thinking.

"Tell Doc we're heading over there. Now!" Marty pulled Verne's body into his arms and grabbed the first aid kit. Perhaps Doc knew something that was in there that could bring the boy back from death. But if he didn't, there was always another option.

Clara quickly relayed the message to Doc and, picking Jules up in her arms, followed Marty out to the DeLorean. They all climbed in, Marty setting Verne's lifeless form down between the seats. He fumbled for a few moments as he figured out how the hover circuits worked. It was the only lever in the vehicle that looked unfamiliar to him, so he clicked it on and then pulled it back. The car flew into the air. When he decided they had cleared enough space from the ground, Marty released the lever and pushed his foot on the gas pedal. Veering the vehicle to the right, Marty took the DeLorean away from his future self's home and toward the Eastwood Ravine.

 Doc was becoming more nervous with every moment that passed. What was going on and why wasn't anyone giving him a straight answer? Had something happened to the boys? Doc stopped wringing his mind to find an answer. It was best, he told himself, to just wait to hear it directly from the proverbial horse's mouth.

Fifteen or so minutes later, the DeLorean appeared in the sky in the distance. As it came closer, the car wavered into the ravine. The way the vehicle shifted recklessly through the air, it was as if the driver had never flown before. Then, as Doc climbed out of the train to meet the car's passengers, he realized why. Marty climbed out of the driver's side door and Clara came out the passenger's, Jules sliding out behind her. However, it wasn't Marty Senior, but his seventeen year-old counterapart.

"Marty? What are you doing here?" Doc demanded. "You're supposed to be in bed."

Marty didn't reply as he shoved his head back into the DeLorean and appeared with Verne's limp body in his arms. "Great Scott!" Doc's mouth dropped. "What happened?"

"The rain," Clara explained, as she and Jules had been the only ones to witness the accident. "It was raining so hard. Some vehicle hit him and ... He's not breathing, Emmett!"

Doc rushed up to Marty and accepted the boy from him. Pulling his coat free from where it still remained tied around his waist, Doc laid it out on the rocky floor and placed the boy on top.

"I brought that first aid kit," Marty said as he returned to the DeLorean. He came back with the kit and handed it to Doc. "Do you know how any of that stuff works?"

Doc nodded, pulling open the case. He fished around for a device and pulled it out. It looked like a gas mask filled with gizmos and a red, rubber balloon attached to the end. He strapped it around the boy's face and clicked it on. It whirred to life, a pumping sound emanating, and the balloon began to fill with air and inflate, then deflate over and over. "It's supposed to get the heart beating again," Doc explained. "If it's not too late."

After a few minutes, a red light lit up and the machine shut off. Discouraged, Doc pulled the mask off the boy's face and tossed it into the first aid kit. He stood slowly and said: "It's too late."

Marty shook his head. "Hell no! Doc, we have to use the time machine! We have to go back and save him!"

Doc walked slowly past Marty, his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. "We can't ..." he drawled. "It would be a paradox."

"A paradox? Why?" Marty begged.

"It's difficult to explain," Doc shook his head. "You probably wouldn't understand it, anyway. But believe me, it is. If you don't believe that the boy is dead when you find him, then there will be no reason to go back and save his life."

"So that's it! We're just gonna let him die?" Marty cried with frustration.

"It's too late," Doc sighed.

Now Clara came to Doc's side and touched his shoulder. "Emmett, please. If there's anything you can do ... Anything! ... do it. Please, I can't let someone else die because of my mistakes. I was supposed to be watching him Emmett and ... God, I love him so much! There has to be a way! There has to be something! Something you can think of!"

Doc looked into Clara's eyes. His brow furrowed as he thought. He thought as hard as he could. He hated to see his wife like this. It wasn't her fault, nor had it been when her brother passed. But she had an unreasonable sense of guilt. She had proclaimed herself the protector of the boys since the day they had returned to the present, 1985. And in her eyes, she had failed. If there was anything to do, by God, Doc was going to figure it out!

Now the scientist spun around and rushed to the boy's lifeless side. He kneeled down and dug through the first aid kit. He came up with a bulky device with an end that stretched out like a metal popsicle stick. Doc examined it for a moment and then turned to Clara. He clicked a few buttons on the device and said: "There might be a way. Where'd the accident happen?"

"Right outside the clock tower. Nearly a half hour ago," Clara decided.

"All right," Doc nodded. "Marty, get in the time machine. We're going to fix this. All of it!"

Marty grinned for the first time since they'd left 1985. Doc sounded determined, like they really could succeed. The teenager rushed toward the train and climbed in. As Doc moved to follow him, he was stopped by the soft touch of Clara's hand on his shoulder.

"Emmett," she said, her eyes wide and glassy. "Please, do whatever you can. He can't die. I love the boy too much."

Doc nodded and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll do everything I can."

With that, Doc climbed into the train and the doors snapped shut. Doc rushed up to the front panel and began loading the train's "MR. FUSION" tank.

"All right, Doc, what's the plan?" Marty asked. He was determined that this mission would be a success, with no mistakes like what had happened in 2020 with the police.

Doc sat down in the conductor's seat and clicked on the time circuits. "Here, take this."
Doc handed Marty the device he had pulled out of the first aid kit. "What's this for?" Marty asked, slipping the device into his jeans pocket.

"It's a Vital Depressor," Doc explained as he pulled back on the hover lever and the train floated into the air and out of the ravine, leaving Clara and the two boys alone in the deep gorge. As it did, he began typing in the destination time. "We'll go forty-five minutes into the past. That should give us enough time to get to the clock tower and prevent the accident. Can you get the boy out of the street before the truck arrives?"

"Yeah," Marty nodded, still standing behind the conductor's seat.

"You're going to have to time it just right," Doc explained. "You have to make the accident appear to have happened. If you - your future self - and Clara don't believe the boy to be dead then we'll cause a paradox. So don't save the boy until just before the truck arrives. Then place the tip of the device in the boy's mouth, against his tongue and click the 'ON' button. It will slow his heart beat within a matter of moments so that his pulse can't be felt and his breathing can't be noticed. This way, he'll appear to be gone when he isn't. I've set it so the effects should only last for about thirty minutes. That should be long enough."

"Okay," Marty nodded. "Let's do this."

"Right," Doc agreed. "Buckle up."

Marty jogged to the seat in the back, sat down, and pulled on his seat belt. This didn't sound like it was going to be too easy, but Marty was sure he could do it. He had to!

Doc pushed forward on the train's "ACCELERATE" switch and the train zoomed forward, gaining speed. The hover circuits seemed to be working perfectly now, but that was the least of Doc's worries. He was determined to save that boy!

After a few moments, the train hit 88 miles per hour and the locomotive disappeared, fire tracks jutting ahead in its wake.
 

The train escaped through the late afternoon. Marty peered out his window. Everything was still dry, but the early evening was cloudy and he saw a flash of lightning and, after a few moments, a bellow of thunder. The time circuits had shut off the instant they had arrived the forty-five minutes in the past and now Doc continued at the steady speed of 90 miles per hour, staying high in the sky.

Marty was becoming ever more nervous and anxious as the train hovered into the town's square and the clock tower came into view below. Doc slowly brought the train down behind the clock tower as the rain began to drizzle and then pour. Marty stood as the train settled on the ground and went to the doorway.

With the train stable, Doc stood and ran hurriedly to the doors and opened them for Marty. "Remember, you have to time it perfectly. And don't forget the Depressor!"

"Right, Doc," Marty nodded and climbed out of the train. If he messed this up, he could destroy the entire universe.

Marty ran around to the right side of the clock tower and peered around the corner into the street across from him. He could just make out the two figures of the boys, standing in the street. They were screaming at each other. One figure ran across the street while the other remained, defiantly unmoving.

Marty heard a car float down from the sky and settle onto the street behind him. It was the DeLorean and his future self and Clara were inside. If his other self had just pulled up a little closer, he would have recognized the boys. But now there was nothing he could do about that. He felt the Depressor in his pocket. He had to time this perfectly.

Marty began running along the front face of the clock tower. There was too much rain for anyone to notice him, which Marty was thankful for at least. Verne stood in the street for a long moment and now Marty saw the lights from the truck spill over the young boy as it floated into the street. He was too late! The truck's wheels screeched as the driver tried to skid the vehicle to a stop. Marty sprinted across the grass that surrounded the pond outside the clock tower and into the street at full speed. The small boy was staring at the oncoming truck with shock, unmoving. Marty dove at the boy and pulled him out of the way of the massive vehicle!

The two figures fell onto the ground into a puddle of water. He did it! He saved the kid! But he wasn't finished yet. He glanced up and saw the figure of the older boy staring into the obscured night, attempting to figure out what had happened.

The young boy sat up and looked at the teenager. "Marty?"

Marty pulled the Depressor from his pocket and shoved it into the boy's mouth, pushing the metal rod against his tongue. He clicked the "ON" button and the boy's eyes began to flutter, then drooped close; then his head dropped backward and he fell unconscious. Marty caught him and lowered the boy gently to the ground. Then he stood up and ran in the opposite direction, down the street. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the older boy had just arrived next to his brother and had dropped to his knees. Marty rounded the corner of the clock tower opposite the one he had emerged from and watched as the scene continued from a safe distance.

His future self ran from the DeLorean and ran past the truck that had almost hit the young boy. He stared into the driver's window as he ran past and then continued until he reached the figures in the street.

Then, crouching down, his older self picked the boy up in his arms and stood as Clara approached. He ran back to the DeLorean and placed the boy inside. Then Clara arrived with the older boy and, after a moment, they were all inside his car. Then the vehicle took to the air and disappeared toward his future self's mansion.

Marty breathed a sigh of relief, grinning with pleasure as he jogged back to the train behind the court house. Doc met him there. Apparently he had been watching from the opposite side of the building. Both he and Marty were soaking wet from the downpour of rain, but neither seemed to notice.

"Well?" Marty grinned at Doc.

"Mission accomplished!" Doc smirked. "Let's go home!"

Doc collected some more refuse for the trip and they both climbed into the train. He input the destination time for one minute after they had left and, after a few minutes had passed and the storm had completely subsided, the train hovered into the air and zoomed away into the future.

After a moment, the time machine lifted into the sky and disappeared in a flash of bright blue light. Clara looked to the boy, sprawled across her husband's torn coat. God, she loved him so much! He couldn't be dead! Emmett had to do something! Find some way to bring him back to life!

She kneeled down by the boy and took his hand in hers. She couldn't live with herself if he ... She felt something. She swore that it wasn't her imagination! A faint ticking in the boy's wrist. She felt his pulse! She grabbed the boy in her arms and hugged him tightly. He was alive! She knew it!

The boy awoke groggily, looking around, dazed. The girl who had been watching him was hugging him now and he was confused as to what was happening.

"Mommy ..." he said slowly. "What's wrong?"

Clara pulled away from the boy and looked at his blue face. His beautiful face! She grabbed Emmett's coat and wrapped it around the boy's body. "Nothing! Nothing's wrong!"

Clara cradled the boy in her arms and brought him to the DeLorean where she rested his freezing body in the passenger's seat. Jules had been watching from a distance, unsure of what was happening. But now he had heard his brother's voice! The older boy ran up to the DeLorean and peered in. There was his brother, sitting on the passenger's seat, smiling, alive and well! "You're alive!"

He grabbed his younger brother in his arms and hugged him. "Yeah," the little boy nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Stupid bojo!" the older boy sobbed. "You're alive!"

Clara grabbed her walkie-talkie and spoke into it. "Emmett! Emmett, can you hear me? He's alive! You did it! He's back!"

The little boy watched all this with wonder. He wasn't sure what was happening. "Does this mean I don't have to go back to the orphanage?"

Clara laughed and the laugh turned into a sob as she kneeled down next to the boy and embraced him tightly.

 Fifteen or so minutes later, the train lowered into the ravine's chasm and Marty and Doc climbed out. Moving toward the DeLorean, they both immediately saw Clara sitting in the passenger's seat with the young boy on her lap, and the older boy standing by her side.

Marty grinned. "All right!"

Clara looked up at the words and smiled. She put the small boy on the ground and ran up to Doc and embraced him. "You did it, Emmett! I knew that you could! He's alive."

Doc hugged her back. "Yes." Now he pulled away from her. "Now we can go home."

Clara's face became very serious, very stern. She shook her head. "No. I can't live without them, Emmett. I can't!"

"But we can't raise the boys in 1888! There are too many dangers!" Doc objected. "Please, Clara, you have to understand."

"I do understand," Clara drawled. She looked to the boys and smiled. "I'll do whatever I have to do to be with them. Even if it means moving to 1985. But no sooner, Emmett. I don't think I'm ready for 2020 yet."

A smile spread across Doc's face as he turned to look at Marty, who returned the grin. Doc returned his gaze to Clara and pulled her against his body. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said and leaned in to kiss her, forgetting about the group surrounding him.

"Yuck!" Verne stuck out his tongue. "Gross!"

Doc pulled away and smiled sheepishly. "Clara, Marty, boys ... Let's go home!"

 The next evening, Doc said his goodbyes to Marty Senior, Jennifer, and Marlene. Marty 2020 was all right, just a bruise on his head. Marty 1985 made sure to wait outside in the DeLorean as the farewells were traded.

"Thank you, Marty, for everything," Doc shook his old friend's hand. "You've been a true friend to me through everything."

"You bet," Marty nodded, one hand holding an ice pack to his forehead. "But don't be a stranger."

"I'm afraid I won't be coming back," Doc shook his head. "After we get moved into 1985 I'm going to dismantle the train."

"Well, just in case you change your mind," Marty shrugged.

With the farewells done, Doc and his family returned to the DeLorean and, waving goodbye to the future McFly family, flew off toward the ravine.
 

"Well," Doc kneeled in front of the boys. "How do they look?"

Marty looked at the boys, now both dressed in Western attire. "They look great, Doc!"

They stood outside the train tracks some yards west of the Eastwood Ravine. Doc had landed the train securely on the tracks as they made their final preparations for the next and final time trip and also took the liberty to detach the boxcar, opting instead to leave it and the DeLorean behind. He hid the boxcar in the forest, where he planned on keeping the train until it was fully dismantled.

Clara approached Doc's side and, straightening the bonnet on her head, smiled at Marty. "I don't believe you've been formally introduced, have you? Marty this ... This is Jules," she pulled the brown haired boy forward. "And this is Verne," she took the younger boy's hand and moved him in front of her.

"Hey!" Marty laughed. "I knew those two looked familiar! I can't believe I didn't recognize them before! Then we could have avoided all of this crap!"

Doc shrugged. "Perhaps it was for the best." Then he announced: "I guess we're heading out."

"Not for too long I hope," Marty said, just in case Clara had changed her mind again.

"Nope," Doc shook his head. "Just long enough to pack up everything in 1888 and travel back to October 27 to wish you well. Then we'll come back tomorrow morning to unpack. My garage isn't much set up to house a family, but it'll do for a temporary substitute. We'll have to find someplace bigger soon."

Marty nodded in agreement. "That place is barely big enough for you and Einstein. So listen, I guess I'll stop by tomorrow."

Doc nodded and extended his hand and Marty shook it. "How's the shoulder?"

"Great, Doc," Marty grinned. "You were right. It was fine by this morning. Thank God, because my mom would have freaked if she found me with a flesh wound! And it would set off a hell of a lot of questions that I wouldn't have any answers to."

Doc nodded again and climbed into the train. "I'm glad everything worked out." Then Doc turned to survey his family. What a beautiful family! When Clara had delivered the news that they weren't leaving the boys in the future and, in fact, planned on raising them as their own children in 1985, the boys were ecstatic. Now they were all going back to the past for a few days to pack up everything they wanted to keep with them (and for Clara's sake, Doc was sure there would be many boxes, to remind her of home). There was a storage compartment in the back of the train Doc had inserted, as he had before planned on moving to the future when he first constructed the time train. The boys didn't mind coming along and Clara insisted upon it. Luckily, Doc was able to find authentic western clothes in 1985 so the boy wouldn't seem out of place when they arrived in the past. Not to mention he had desperately needed a new coat.

"All aboard!" Doc called and Clara led her children to the train and they climbed inside. "Come on, Einie!" Doc called to his pet, who, by strange determination, Doc had decided to take along. The old dog climbed up the two bench steps and into the train, Doc following behind.

"See you in the future," Marty waved to his friend.

"You mean the past," Doc added wittily, concidering he still had to visit Marty's past self from a week ago. Marty chuckled once under his breath and the scientist nodded a silent farewell to him as the train's doors snapped shut. The locomotive chugged forward a moment later along the railroad tracks until it disapeared over the Eastwood bridge from both Marty's sights and time.
 

By the time they had gotten all of the boxes into Doc's garage, the place looked more like a closet than a home. There was no straight path and, once inside, you had to squeeze your way through pillars of boxes just to get to one of the areas Doc had kept clear, which included Doc's beds, both of which had makeshift walls of boxes built around them.

Doc dropped the last box inside the house and, patting his damp forehead with his handkerchief, surveyed the cramped room. No, the garage wouldn't do for his new family. He would have to find some way to get a bigger place. Doc turned around and went outside to join his family and Marty. They had set up lawn chairs on the pavement outside Doc's garage, as Clara had objected to staying inside the mess of a lab for any time longer than she had to. Doc took a seat in a lawn chair next to the one Clara sat in. She was wearing a dress of the time, as Doc had helped her pick out some clothes for herself and the boys earlier in the afternoon. Doc laughed to himself as he remembered the reaction his wife had had to the womens' jeans, which he was almost certain his wife would never, or not at least for some time, wear. Clara held out a glass of lemonade she had been sipping through a straw for Doc as he settled into the chair. The scientist accepted the glass thankfully and turned his attention to Marty and the boys who stood on the pavement outside Doc's home.

"Come on, Marty! Where's that hoverboard you brought back from the future? I want to try it out!" Verne begged Marty, pulling on his pant leg.

"Doc said it might not be a good idea to use that in public areas," Marty answered, his eyes wondering around the busy district outside Doc's home. "Besides," the teenager grinned, "I've got something even better." Then Marty hustled back to his truck which was parked outside Doc's garage.

Now Doc turned to look at Clara. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Clara took the lemonade from Doc's hand and took a sip. "It will be a lot to get used to, but I'm willing to do it."

"Should I wait to dismantle the train?" Doc asked.

"I can't give up the boys now," Clara shook her head. "Even if I can't stand this time period, I'll live with it for them ... And for you." She smiled at her husband. And she was truly beautiful when she smiled, Doc noted.

"I'll wait some time," the inventor decided. "Just in case."

"Are you thinking of keeping it?" Clara seemed to read his mind.

"I've thought about it," Doc admitted, "but I won't. It's not worth it. But I think I'd rather get our affairs settled here before I take it apart completely. It's the only logical thing to do."

Clara nodded in agreement and she and her husband turned their gazes back to their children.

Marty now emerged from his truck with his skateboard. He placed it on the ground and kicked off, riding past the children.

"It doesn't even fly!" Jules said in disgust.

"It's like a board ... with wheels!" Verne said, astutely.

Marty turned around with a wide u-turn and slowed to a stop before the boys. "Get on!" he sneered humorously. "Let me show you what a board with wheels can do!"

Marty pulled the kids onto the skateboard and pushed off again.

"Be careful!" Clara sat up in her seat and called after them. "Marty, don't break their necks!"

"They can take it!" Marty laughed. "Nothing can keep these kids down."

She leaned back in her seat; It was true.

Clara glanced at her husband and then back at her boys, clinging to Marty's leg as he pushed them slowly across the pavement of the sidewalk, and smiled inwardly to herself.

Finally, she was home.