Crossover Earth '98
Just a Vagabond Jay Shaffstall
The woman at the roadside tavern had known me. Or had known him, the one I must find.
From that tavern, the trail led to a bridge. He'd prevented a bus full of children from toppling off the edge of the bridge. I had stood at the railing of the bridge, traffic flowing past me, wondering. Why did he save them? As much alike as we seem to be, there are elements to his personality I cannot understand.
I think he may be insane.
The driver of the bus had seen him hop into a westward bound bus that had slowed down for the accident. So I start walking west. At a rest area, I steal a car.
I find I know how to drive, which surprises me. My past is still a blank, but I apparently retain whatever skills I had. On the passenger seat of the car is an open briefcase. I leaf through the papers inside. The car belonged to a physicist who works in Phoenix. One of the scientific journals catches my eye; traffic is light, so I start reading, glancing at the road occasionally.
An article on experiments by Dr. Donald Martin catches my eye. The experiments deal with probing the nature of reality. I read the rest of the article with a growing conviction.
A honking sound interrupts my reading. I look up; the car has drifted across the center line, and another car is approaching quickly. I stay in their lane, wondering what they'll do.
The cars collide head on. At the last moment, I can see the face of the man in the other car. He seems astonished. I'm thrown through the windshield and beyond the wreckage. When I finally stop rolling, I stand, still carrying the scientific journal. Both cars are unusable, so I continue walking west, cutting overland.
I will continue to track him, but I must also find Donald Martin, and soon.
Sherrif Peal shook his head as he surveyed the wreckage. Two cars, each travelling about sixty-five miles per hour, had collided head on. The one driver was crushed by his own steering wheel. He'd apparently bled to death over the last hour. The other driver was nowhere to be seen. He'd apparently been thrown free of the wreckage.
Peal had followed Vagabond this far, but he was beginning to question the wisdom in it. He owed his life to the Traveller who'd come through his town months ago, but Vagabond was clearly cut from the same cloth, at least physically. If Peal was to get to the bottom of all this, he'd need some help.
He needed to beat Vagabond to the Traveller.