A Sound of Thunder - end-

"Get up!" cried Travis.

Eckels got up.

"Go out on that Path alone," said Travis.
He had his rifle pointed,
"You're not coming back in the Machine. We're leaving you here!"

Lesperance seized Travis's arm. "Wait-"

"Stay out of this!" Travis shook his hand away.
"This fool nearly killed us.
But it isn't that so much, no.
It's his shoes!
Look at them!
He ran off the Path.
That ruins us!
We'll forfeit!
Thousands of dollars of insurance!
We guarantee no one leaves the Path.
He left it.
Oh, the fool!
I'll have to report to the government.
They might revoke our license to travel.
Who knows what he's done to Time, to History!"

"Take it easy, all he did was kick up some dirt."

"How do we know?" cried Travis. "
We don't know anything! It's all a mystery! Get out of here, Eckels!"

Eckels fumbled his shirt.
"I'll pay anything. A hundred thousand dollars!"

Travis glared at Eckels' checkbook and spat.
"Go out there. The Monster's next to the Path.
Stick your arms up to your elbows in his mouth.
Then you can come back with us."

"That's unreasonable!"

"The Monster's dead, you idiot.
The bullets!
The bullets can't be left behind.
They don't belong in the Past; they might change anything.
Here's my knife. Dig them out!"


He returned, shuddering, five minutes later,
his arms soaked and red to the elbows.
He held out his hands.
Each held a number of steel bullets.
Then he fell. He lay where he fell, not moving.

"You didn't have to make him do that," said Lesperance.

"Didn't I? It's too early to tell." Travis nudged the still body.
"He'll live.
Next time he won't go hunting game like this.
Okay." He jerked his thumb wearily at Lesperance.
"Switch on. Let's go home."

1492. 1776. 1812.

They cleaned their hands and faces.
They changed their caking shirts and pants.
Eckels was up and around again, not speaking.
Travis glared at him for a full ten minutes.

"Don't look at me," cried Eckels. "I haven't done anything."

"Who can tell?"

"Just ran off the Path, that's all, a little mud on my shoes-what do you want me to do-get down and pray?"

"We might need it. I'm warning you, Eckels, I might kill you yet. I've got my gun ready."

"I'm innocent. I've done nothing!"

1999.2000.2055.

The Machine stopped.

"Get out," said Travis.

The room was there as they had left it.
But not the same as they had left it.
The same man sat behind the same desk.
But the same man did not quite sit behind the same desk.
Travis looked around swiftly. "Everything okay here?" he snapped.

"Fine. Welcome home!"

Travis did not relax.
He seemed to be looking through the one high window.

"Okay, Eckels, get out. Don't ever come back." Eckels could not move.

"You heard me," said Travis. "What're you staring at?"

Eckels stood smelling of the air,

But the immediate thing was the sign painted on the office wall, the same sign he had read earlier today on first entering. Somehow, the sign had changed:

TYME SEFARI INC.
SEFARIS TU ANY YEER EN THE PAST.
YU NAIM THE ANIMALL.
WEE TAEK YU THAIR.
YU SHOOT ITT.

Eckels felt himself fall into a chair.
He fumbled crazily at the thick slime on his boots.
He held up a clod of dirt, trembling, "No, it can't be. Not a little thing like that. No!"

Embedded in the mud, glistening green and gold and black, was a butterfly, very beautiful and very dead.

"Not a little thing like that! Not a butterfly!" cried Eckels.

It fell to the floor, an exquisite thing, a small thing that could upset balances and knock down a line of small dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes, all down the years across Time. Eckels' mind whirled. It couldn't change things. Killing one butterfly couldn't be that important! Could it?

His face was cold. His mouth trembled, asking: "Who - who won the presidential election yesterday?"

The man behind the desk laughed. "You joking? You know very well. Deutscher, of course! Who else? Not that fool weakling Keith. We got an iron man now, a man with guts!" The official stopped. "What's wrong?"

Eckels moaned. He dropped to his knees. He scrabbled at the golden butterfly with shaking fingers.
"Can't we," he pleaded to the world, to himself, to the officials, to the Machine, "
can't we take it back, can't we make it alive again?
Can't we start over?
Can't we-"

He did not move. Eyes shut, he waited, shivering. He heard Travis breathe loud in the room; he heard Travis shift his rifle, click the safety catch, and raise the weapon.

There was a sound of thunder.