Back to the Future Part II: A Novel Read online

‘What’s wrong?’ The female gang member stared at Junior with a twisted grin. ‘You got no scroat?’

  Griff nodded in a way that said - yeah, anybody named McFly had to be scroatless.

  ‘What’s it gonna be, McFly?’ he demanded. ‘You in or out?’

  ‘Well’ - Junior hesitated, his eyes darting from one gang member to another - ‘I don’t really think I should, but I guess I should discuss it with my father -’

  That’s right! Marty made a fist where he hid behind the counter. Marty Senior would tell his son just what to do, and he’d tell the gang where to go, too!

  ‘Are you saying no, McFly?’ Griff cut off Junior’s ramblings.

  ‘Uh,’ Junior muttered, ‘well, yes.’ He tried to smile politely. ‘That is, I’m saying, “no, thank you”.’

  Griff grabbed Junior’s shoulders.

  ‘Wrong answer, McFly.’

  He picked Junior up and tossed him over the counter! Junior crumpled with a groan a yard away from Marty.

  Griff’s gang laughed.

  ‘Now, now,’ the Reagan video chided, ‘let’s behave ourselves!’

  Marty looked back at his future son. Junior lay there, eyes closed.

  ‘Yeah, Griff,’ he muttered, ‘sure, whatever you say -’

  No, no. Junior couldn’t mean what he was saying. He was delirious!

  And he was in no shape to face Griff again.

  ‘Stay down and shut up!’ Marty whispered in Junior’s ear. His future son moaned softly with his eyes still shut.

  It was up to Marty - Marty Senior, now. He took a deep breath and stood up.

  Griff grabbed his jacket and pulled Marty back over the counter.

  ‘Now,’ Griff began in a tone that suggested what little patience he had had was long since used up, ‘let’s hear the right answer, or you’re gonna get’ - his free hand made a fist - ‘a knuckle brioche!’

  Marty landed on his feet and shoved Griff back. Marty’s hands automatically closed into fists as well.

  Griff and the gang all took a step back.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Griff murmured as his smirk returned. ‘Since when did you become’- he paused to glance knowingly at his gang members - ‘the physical type?’

  Marty looked down at his clenched fist. He had to watch it. He wasn’t acting like his son, Junior, would act. Doc Brown was right - this changing the future business was tricky. If Griff and the others got suspicious, it might spoil everything.

  He opened his hand and raised it in a gesture of peace. But his voice was still firm as he spoke:

  ‘Look, Griff, the answer’s no.’

  ‘No?’ Griff asked, the single syllable somehow slow and menacing.

  ‘N-O,’ Marty spelled it out.

  He turned and walked for the door.

  ‘What’s wrong, McFly?’ Griff called after him. ‘Chicken?’

  Marty stopped, three feet short of the door. It had gotten awfully hot in here all of a sudden. He could feel his two hands wanting to make fists all over again, and this time, he knew those fists were serious!

  Nobody, but nobody, called Marty McFly chicken.

  ‘I told you he’s got no scroat! ’ the girl crowed.

  The other guy, the one wearing the computers, grabbed Marty’s cap and pulled it off. He waved his prize for the others to admire.

  Marty turned around to look at the gang. He had to control himself.

  Griff’s smirk bloomed into an evil smile.

  ‘Chicken, McFly!’

  Griff and his cohorts made clucking noises.

  That was it. Future or no future, Marty didn’t take that from anybody!

  ‘Nobody calls me chicken! ’

  He rushed Griff.

  The bigger kid grabbed something from his belt with his right hand and put it behind his back. Whatever it was, it didn’t look very big. Still, Marty told himself to be careful.

  Griff swung his right hand forward - only now it -held a baseball bat! Marty had no time to wonder where the bat had come from. He barely had time to duck. Marty’s foot snaked out, catching the bigger guy around the ankle. Griff’s foot went out from under him. That, and the still-swinging bat, were his undoing.

  Griff yelled and plummeted to the floor.

  The rest of the gang stood, all in a line, and stared at Marty in shock.

  Griff grunted as he got back to his feet. His face was flushed, a reddish-purple mask of hatred. Somehow, he looked even taller than he had before.

  ‘All right, punk,’ he said through his teeth, ‘you’ve been looking for

  Uh-oh. Marty knew this was the end, unless he could come up with something - anything. But what?

  He thought about his fights with Biff, and things that had worked back in 1955.

  Back in 1955?

  Marty was desperate.

  ‘Hey, look!’ he shouted, pointing past the Reagans.

  Amazingly enough, this time Griff fell for it - just like his grandfather had so many years ago. He jerked his head in the direction Marty pointed.

  Marty threw a punch. Griff twisted his shoulder into it, blocking Marty's fist with his arm. So, Griff hadn’t fallen for it after all - or not as much as Marty had hoped he would.

  Griff reached for Marty with two hands that were much too large. Marty realised it was time for emergency tactics.

  He kneed Griff in the groin.

  Griff groaned deep in his throat as he fell to his knees.

  Marty jumped around the fallen leader, shoving against the future hacker as he pushed his way through.

  The rest of Griff’s gang fell like dominoes. Marty ran from the restaurant, narrowly avoiding Biff as the oldster leaned into his wax job.

  In a second or two, Marty knew, Griff and the boys would be after him. He ran across the street, straight for the hedge that bordered Courthouse Square. Maybe he could hide behind it. He had to do something!

  There were two young girls on the other side of the hedge. Both of them were drinking from straws attached to clear plastic cups. Marty was tempted for an instant to ask them how they got the darned things, open. '

  Then he saw that each girl stood on her own streamlined skateboard-scooter, sort of a skateboard with a long handle attached to the front. Both skateboards were painted electric pink, and were a bit better aerodynamically designed than things he was used to in the past, but - really - they were not all that different from the scooter he had borrowed from a kid back in 1955.

  And he could borrow one of these again. Griff and the others wouldn’t have a chance. Once Marty got himself on a skateboard, nobody could catch him!

  Marty jumped the hedge. He reached out for one of the scooters.

  ‘Hey, kid, I need your -’

  He stopped short when he realised the scooter had no wheels.

  The girl took a step back as Marty picked up the scooter - or whatever it was. The handle was detachable. Marty took it off. He brought the plastic skateboard shape closer. It had a loop strap to put your foot in, and a brand name in large red letters:

  MATTEL HOVERBOARD! v ‘Hoverboard?’ he wondered aloud.

  He dropped the hoverboard to the ground. It hummed softly, hovering a few inches above the grass.

  ‘All right!’ Marty shouted. This was a skateboard and more. Hey! So there were some worthwhile things in the future, after all!

  He slipped his foot into the strap and kicked it up to speed. Yep, it was just like a skateboard, only - with no friction to slow down the wheels - it was faster! He headed toward the courthouse. Let’s see Griff and the others catch him now!

  ‘There he is!’ he heard Griff yell from the doorway of the CafS 80’s. ‘Hey McFly! You’re a dead file!’

  Marty glanced back at them. Griff shook his baseball bat. Marty smiled at them and skated away. Griff and his three sidekicks ran after him.

  Marty needed to gain a little more distance. He grabbed onto the bumper of a passing hovercar, swooping past Griff’s three sidekicks, who couldn’t stop and turn in time. But where was Griff?

  The car turned the corner. There was Griff, waiting for Marty with his baseball bat!

  Marty saw the swing coming. He let go of the car, swerving away from the flailing bat, straight towards an oncoming car!

  There was no time to get out of the way. The car braked, the driver blasting his horn.

  And the hoverboard rose over the fender and hood of the car, climbing the windshield and roof, then flying off the other side, straight for the park and duckpond in front of the courthouse!

  Openmouthed - and a touch disoriented by what the hoverboard could do - Marty noticed Griff and his gang run to the gangleader’s old car, and pull out three hoverboards of their own-big, ugly things with all sorts of attachments, all probably five times faster than the toy Marty was riding!

  Maybe, Marty thought, he could lose them in the shops underneath the courthouse. He glided over the duck pond. The board slowed, then stopped. Marty looked down. He had run out of gas dead centre over the water.

  Griff laughed.

  ‘McFly, you bojo,’ he yelled. ‘Those boards don’t work on water - unless you’ve got the power!’

  As if to demonstrate the meaning of power. Griff tossed his hoverboard to the ground. And what a hoverboard! It was three times the size of the board Marty was riding, with twin jets in the back, and fins beside, not to mention those spikes all around the edges. In fact, it didn’t look much like a skateboard -or hoverboard - at all. It looked, Marty thought, a lot more like a chain-saw. Trapped over the pond, he had plenty of time to read the name of the board, too, written in gold letters on a jet black background:

  THE PIT BULL.

  The board came to life with an electric growl. Griff climbed on, bat once again in his hand. He kicked off, r
unning the board in a tight circle, then throwing the front tip of the Pit Bull into the air, doing the closest Marty imagined he could to a wheelie with a board that had no wheels.

  Griff grinned at Marty. Marty tried to urge his own board to move some way, any way, but only succeeded in almost losing his balance. The board was stuck, and Marty was dead meat.

  Griff grinned at the three members of his gang.

  ‘Hook on,’ he said.

  The two guys and the girl pulled three tow lines

  Craig Shaw Gardner

  from the back of Griff’s board as they climbed onto hoverboards of their own. Griff cocked his bat back. ‘I’m gonna take his head off.’

  Griff gunned his board. The four of them came straight for Marty.

  Marty was still stuck above the pond on a board that wouldn’t budge! His eyes froze on Griff’s bat, growing larger with every passing second.

  Marty, the soon-to-be-heedless sitting duck.

  Chapter Five

  Griff went into his backswing.

  Marty balanced on the hoverboard, six inches above the duck pond. He was trapped.

  Griff started his swing, ready to drive Marty’s head out of the park.

  There was only one thing Marty could do. He pulled his foot out of the hoverboard strap, and stepped completely off the board.

  He dropped quickly into the pond. Water that was much too cold splashed around him as he fell. Griff's board buzzed above him, missing Marty's head by inches. And Griff couldn’t stop his swing. His hoverboard lurched wildly, sending Griff and his hangers-on straight for the courthouse.

  Marty closed his eyes as his head went under. He had taken a breath on his way down - but how long could he stay under?

  He opened his eyes underwater. The pond was very clear and clean. He couldn’t see any sign of Griff or the others overhead - only clear blue sky.

  In fact, it was very quiet out there.

  He decided he’d better come up for air.

  He opened his eyes again when he got above the water. There were three unoccupied hoverboards hovering near the pond.

  There were also four brand new holes in the smoked green glass that covered the lower part of the courthouse shopping mall - one each, Marty guessed, for Griff and his three gang members.

  And, to top it all off, there were a whole bunch of uniformed security guards running around in the wreckage. Even from his pond-level vantage point, Marty could tell that the guards were very unhappy.

  Grabbing the pink hoverboard, which had remained hovering just above the water, Marty swam for shore. From the far side of the park, Marty could hear old Biff yelling ‘Buttheads!’ Marty wondered which particular buttheads Biff was referring to. Probably all of them.

  Marty climbed out of the pond. He was drenched. His future clothing seemed to weigh four times as much as it did when he was dry. He dragged his soaking wet body over to the little girl who owned the hoverboard, who, along with her friend, seemed content to stand around and watch all the excitement. Marty pushed his damp hair out of his face as he held the board out to her.

  ‘Thanks a lot, kid.’

  ‘Keep it!’ she said as she held up her new possession, so large that she could barely lift it. ‘I’ve got a Pit Bull now!’

  She and her friend both climbed on the monster hoverboard that had once been owned by Griff and zoomed away.

  So now Marty had a hoverboard. He doubted Doc would let him keep it. Still, Marty tucked the pink board under his slippery arm - you never knew when this sort of thing would come in handy.

  In the meantime, he might be a little wet, but his mission had been a success. He had told Griff and the others just where to go. Now all he had to do was meet Doc. and this future trip was history!

  But there was something wrong with his jacket. It ballooned with air, as Marty heard twin fans whirring on either side of his ribcage. Hot air blasted up from the collar to his face and hair. A small, bright orange patch had lit on the cuff of his sleeve. The patch read DRYING MODE.

  Five seconds later, he was no longer wet. Hey! As far as Marty was concerned, this future stuff was getting better and better!

  But it wasn't perfect here - not with what still bothered him. He knew that by saying ‘no’ to Griff, he had managed to save his son. But he had also learned, thanks to Biff Tannen, that his own life had gone ‘down the toilet’! His son was safe, but what about him? Marty needed to do something about his own future!

  ‘Save the clock tower!’ an old man in mechanic's coveralls yelled as he walked back and forth in front of the courthouse. ‘Save the clock tower!’

  What? They wanted to tear down the clock tower again? Marty figured that when the rest of the building had been turned into a shopping mall, that old, stopped clock had to have real historical value.

  ‘Hey, kid,’ the old guy called as Marty walked past, ‘can you thumb a hundred bucks to help save the clock tower?’ He held out a silver box with the inscription ‘Portable Thumb Unit’.

  Marty hesitated.

  it’s an important piece of history,’ the other guy added earnestly. The circular name patch over his pocket said his name was ‘Terry’.

  Marty remembered Doc’s warning not to get involved in anything else in the future.

  ‘No, sorry,’ he replied as he took a step away.

  But Terry wasn’t going to give up that easily.

  ‘Kid,* he asked, glancing back at the weathered tower, ‘you know the story? It was sixty years ago, November 12 1955. Back then, a hundred bucks was worth something. I remember it because that old buzzard over there’ - he pointed across the street at Biff, who had started to polish Griffs car again -‘tried to shaft me out of three hundred bucks for fixing his car,’ Terry continued. ‘I never forget about money. Anyway, there was this big storm ‘Yeah,’ Marty interrupted, ‘I know all about it. Lightning struck the clock tower at exactly 10:04.’ ‘Hey,’ Terry replied a bit testily. ‘Don’t tell me, kid. I was there.’ '

  ‘So was I,’ Marty added under his breath. He turned again to go - and stopped.

  There, on the opposite side of the street, was a big screen showing baseball footage. Marty had seen that kind of special screen in ball parks - they were the latest thing back in 1985. He imagined that, here in the future, those big screens must be everywhere.

  The baseball footage disappeared, replaced by a banner headline:

  CUBS SWEEP MIAMI IN WORLD SERIES!

  Huh? Things really had changed.

  ‘The Cubs win the World Series?’ Marty wondered aloud. ‘Against Miami?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Terry nodded in a particularly wistful way. ‘A hundred to one shot. Who woulda thought?’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘Sure wish I could go back in time and lay some bets on them Cubbies.’

  Actually, Marty hadn’t been thinking about the Cubs.

  ‘No,’ he began, ‘I just meant that Miami He

  stopped himself, and stared at the other man.

  ‘What did you just say?’ Marty asked.

  ‘I said,’ the man obligingly repeated, ‘I sure wish I could go back in time and put money on the Cubs.’

  Go back in time? Money on the Cubs?

  ‘Yeah!’ Marty agreed enthusiastically. He looked over at the Blast from the Past antique store. There, still in the window, was the digest-sized answer to all his future problems. He walked closer to get a better look, reading the dark red lettering on that silver cover even more carefully than before:

  GREY’S SPORTS ALMANAC:

  50 Years of Sports Statistics 1950-2000 Includes

  Baseball, Football, Horse Racing, Boxing! -

  It was foolproof, thought Marty, the perfect moneymaking plan. He would take that book back to 1985 and have the results of every major sporting event until the end of the century. And next to the book was a sign in the window: ‘We buy antique bills and coins’. So he could even pay for it from his own wallet. It was perfect! He’d make sure that his future didn’t end up down the toilet.

  Marty entered the antique store and told the saleswoman what he wanted.

  She pulled the Sports Almanac out of the window display for Marty, and launched into a salespitch. ‘This one has a very interesting feature - a dust jacket.* She pulled the jacket loose to show him. The actual cover underneath was identical in design to the dust jacket: silver, with red lettering and pictures of sports figures. ‘Books used to have these to protect the covers - of course, that was before they changed to dust repellent paper,’ she explained, re-attaching it. ‘And if you’re interested in dust, we also have this quaint little device from the 1980’s; it was called a “dustbuster.’ ”