Verna Cobb (continued)
By J. L. Young

Verna’s gaze broke, “A hundred and twenty years. That’s not possible.”
“You think?” The younger woman scoffed sarcastically.
“Let’s pretend that I’m not crazy. Theoretically, time travel is possible, just highly improbable.”
“Yet, here you are in my workshop. I’m just a mechanic, not a theoretical physicist, but if I were, that doesn’t help your argument. Nor does it explain why you’re here.”
“I… I can’t explain it.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Verna Faye Cobb.”
“Stay, Verna Faye Cobb,” the younger woman lowered her weapon and stepped over the workbench. She picked up a small black device. It was like a tv, except small, and in color.
“What’s that?”
“Some amazing future tech. We call it a phone. Don’t worry, it’s encrypted.”
“Fascinating. But your sarcasm isn’t productive.” Verna said.
“Yeah, but it’s fun.” She smiled as she tapped on the glass. Her smile melted as she read the results of a search. After expanding one and reading the article, she looked at the photo. She raised her phone and glanced back and forth at the crazy woman and the photo. Even the dress had the same little flowers printed on the fabric. “No, this can’t be.”
“What did you find on your device?”
“You!” She showed the photo to Verna.
“That was taken at the party at Edna’s house.”
“It says it’s the last picture ever taken of you, before you and this Everett guy went missing. Nice car, mmm… ‘63. Not like the boats from that time period.”
“What else does it say about Everett?”
“The article says a guy claiming to be Everett J. Sloane was picked up by a Franklin County Sheriff’s deputy,” she read more, “in 2022. Your boyfriend was a time traveler too.”
“That was sixty years ago. He’d be in his eighties now.”
“Hopefully, he got over the border in time.” She sat down heavily on a stool and caught sight of dust bunnies under the bench and began playing with them with the toe of her boot. She took a deep breath, “During the forties, a fascist regime came to power. They began herding disabled and elderly people into camps. The ‘usefuls’ exchanged work for food and shelter. More like prisons.” She presented a crudely marked tattoo. It read, U-4300492874. “This was how we were identified. I had to fake my death to get out of one of the worker shelters.
She stared into the middle distance, “I found a resistance cell who taught me to read. They saw I was good at mechanical shit, so they taught me to be a mechanic. I was out hunting when that cell got raided. I saw the only family I ever knew gunned down. To exact my revenge, I have been working on a weapon.”
Her eyes locked on Verna’s, “If you are who you say you are, my pistol will not sing its song.”
Verna’s gaze shifted. The empathy welled in her eyes. “What is your name?”
“The only name I have ever known, Shi No Tenshi. It means Angel of death.”