That evening, Dwayne’s transmitter pinged. He rolled off his groundsheet and picked it up. The audio transmission was squawky static. But the text transmission came in clear.
OPA! Welcome to the Golden Age of western civilization! Your starfield images place you on 27 April 240 BC. Any luck determining your exact location? Timestamp images place you in proximity to NA. Weather improved? Is comet visible?
The message read like Caroline.
Dwayne texted back the good news that they were in the right spot. The 27th was two days ago. That made today the 29th for them. They were safe inside the window for the arrival of the treasure ship. He texted that the island’s topography was different here and attached photos Jimbo took of the northern peninsula and cove, along with more shots from the hide.
“Take a look,” Jimbo said. He handed Dwayne the night-vision scope he had brought along for his rifle. Through the scope, Dwayne could see a swirling clump of mist out on the otherwise clear sea made by the field opening that was allowing the two-way transmissions to happen. It was comforting to see it spreading there over the water. It was their only way out of here and back to the world they knew.
The field held for twenty more minutes and data was exchanged. A week had passed in The Now since they’d left. The National League won the All-Star Game. Boats made chili, and half the crew was sick from it. Parviz and Quebat ate it but were fine. Caroline added a message just for Dwayne before the transmission ended.
The ice-cold cloud dissipated on the water and the Rangers were alone again.
They took inventory the next day.
There were thirty days of food and three more days of water. Six if they stretched it. There had to be groundwater or a spring where the trees were thickest at the center of the island. Until they found it, they’d collect water from the regular rains that swept the island. Failing that, they’d construct a solar still.
The Rangers settled in for what could be a long watch. The ship bearing Praxus and the Phoenicians could arrive tomorrow or a month from now. They took shifts in the hide while the other slept or explored or read. They each brought Kindles packed with books and articles on the region and the history of the period they were in. Back on the Raj, they’d loaded up on intel but being here on the spot increased their curiosity.
“Knowing is half the battle,” Jimbo said. “Where’s that from?” Dwayne said.
“Didn’t you watch GI Joe cartoons when you were a kid?”
“You mean the toys?”
“I joined the Army because of those cartoons. I wanted to be a badass like Snake Eyes,” Jimbo said.
“I’m sorry I know that now,” Dwayne said.
Jimbo swore he could smell water just like a horse could. He proved it later in the day when he followed a game trail to where a natural spring bubbled up in a pool further inland. His arrival startled some tiny deer watering at the edge.
Dwayne walked the sand out onto the peninsula. The beach was narrow there, nothing more than a huge sand bar. The sea to the east was shallow, and he could walk almost a hundred yards out before the water reached his knees. He had to keep moving. His prolonged weight on the sand sucked his feet in, and he didn’t want to lose his sneakers as Jimbo had.
The water was like glass, and he could see to the bottom. It was white sand and shell. Armies of crabs moved away as he approached. Schools of fish darted and swooped all around him. A four-foot shark glided close enough to touch. As the depth increased, the floor was carpeted with thick seagrass. Dwayne saw a jellyfish moving through the dancing strands. It could be the first of many, and he didn’t feel like dealing with the stings. He retreated back to the shore. At the hide, he told Jimbo about the fish.
“I am bored off my ass. Maybe I’ll do some surf-casting tomorrow,” Jimbo said.
There was a full fishing kit in the survival pack of the Zodiac: a telescoping rod, reel, hooks, and two thousand yards of monofilament line. Jimbo assembled it all and walked down the long beach. He stood in the shallows along the cove and threw lines baited with clam strips into the surf. He had three mackerel and a long pickerel gleaming on the sand behind him within ten minutes.
Dwayne took the first day watch and kept an eye on the sea around them. The sunlight off the wave tops was painful even through his shades. He pulled the bill of his ball cap lower and sipped hot coffee. He glanced down to see Jimbo’s progress only to see his fellow Ranger hopping out of the surf on one foot, using the fishing rod for support.
Jimbo stepped on some kind of fish concealed in the loose sand. Its spines punctured the sole of even his leather-tough foot. The bleeding holes were already swelling closed. Dwayne moved fast to work the barbed spines out of the flesh with the point of his combat knife. Jimbo took it without making a sound.
It was most probably a weever fish that Jimbo stepped on. The first aid was simple. Dwayne made a sink by digging a hole in the sand and lining it with a groundsheet. He heated water and poured it into the hole, then had Jimbo soak his foot in it. The heat would neutralize the venom, but the poison was already going to work. Jimbo’s foot and ankle swelled and turned an angry color. That night he spiked a
