PROLOGUE

Peace and quiet.  Not a sound could be heard, nor could any shapes be discerned in front of Sam Beckett.  Standing in the middle of nothing, Sam could feel something hitting his outstretched arms and upward-turned face. White flakes, about an inch across, passed in front of his eyes.

‘Snow!’ thought Sam, as he reached out further.  ‘I’m in the middle of a snowstorm!’  Not a windy, wet, cold storm; just flakes floating down from the sky.  Light and fluffy flakes.  Flakes that obscured everything around him like the first dry snow of the winter season back home.

Feeling like a kid, Sam swung around and around, laughing at the wonder and beauty of the moment with childish glee.  Never had a leap started out with such magic and wonder.  Never had the mystery been so welcomed.  Sam spun around one more time and fell backwards.

“Uff!” he exclaimed, hitting a hard surface as flakes blew up around him causing a total whiteout in front of his eyes.  He coughed and hacked as something caught in his throat.  Looking up, the mass of flakes continued to float down on him, but the sensations in his hands were all wrong.  The very billowy snow around him was not wet nor cold, nor even compacted.  Batting at it, the snowflakes reappeared instead of floating down to form a solid layer of snow. Sam was coughing as the strange substance acted more like dust.  The snow was not snow, but some form of ash that was sucked down Sam Beckett’s irritated throat.

‘What is going on here?’ thought Sam as he stood up.  There were no reference points around him to tell him where or when he was. Down, right, left, backwards and forwards were the same light gray color.  Only up toward the sky was a lighter gray as the ash ceaselessly continued to descend upon him.  Sam’s level of frustration boiled over.  Looking up, he uttered what sounded more like a pleading prayer, “Help!! Where am I? OH, BOYYYYYY!!”

PART ONE

Standing up and brushing off the white substance, Sam noticed that his hands became as black as when he used to clean out that old wooden stove his Dad used to heat the henhouse in the wintertime.  Not an inappropriate analogy when, to the untrained eye, it still looked like a massive snowstorm around him.  Sam cautiously walked what appeared to be downhill several steps and then hit a hard surface. Stamping on the surface, he threw up more ash but also felt the surface was hard enough to be a macadam road. Sam sighed as he had found something familiar in this disorienting world. Sam was not disappointed, for something did show up. A white rectangular shape formed and out stepped Al Calavicci wearing a brightly colored orange suit and matching hat and feather. Looking around at the eerie landscape, the falling ash passed right through Al, giving his image the appearance of a cascading waterfall.

“Boy, this place would give even the most sane man the creeps. Morning, Sam,” said Al, holding his cigar and handlink in one hand and checking on data with the other.

“Al, this place is so unreal. Where am I?” asked Sam as he brushed the falling debris off himself for the fourteenth time.

“Washington State, to be precise. The current strange precipitation is the precursor result of a volcano eruption at Mount St. Helens. Ah, in forty-three hours, this whole area is going to look like the backside of the moon, Sam. My first suggestion is to get out of here. Start walking that way,” exclaimed Al, pointing to his right.

Sam cautiously took Al’s suggestion, finding that the road surface followed along the same path Al wanted him to go. The road was covered with two feet of ash hiding his and Al’s feet. Al solved his problem by pushing several buttons on his handlink and then rising above the layer of ash.

“Much better. You better rip off some of that shirt and cover your mouth. The ash is quite caustic, as you’ve already found out. Now as to your leaping host, his name is Arnold Beacon. You are forty-three years old, and you disappeared during the explosion of Mount St. Helens on May 18^th, 1980. Today is the sixteenth. So my first reaction was right. Try and save yourself or him. He’s a service station owner a few miles from here in an area that was practically wiped out by the explosion.” Al cringed remembering the amount of death and destruction that was left by this example of Mother Nature’s inner fires.

Sam tried to converse through the rough piece of cloth he had torn from his shirttail. “How about the ‘putting things right that once went wrong’ scenarios? Does Ziggy have any clues?”

“If you’re thinking about stopping this little party popper, forget it! The whole nuclear arsenal of the Department of Defense couldn’t seal off this reject from Dante’s Inferno. It has to be something on the smaller human scale. Ziggy isn’t sure what that is. According to her, the records about who was where and what was when are too sparse after Miss Helen went off. Everything was destroyed or at least buried. This is the biggest boom in the continental United States since the last hydrogen bomb test. Fifty-nine people were reported killed, and two hundred thirty-two square miles of forest were destroyed. Most of their bodies were never recovered. Losses to property reached two billion dollars. So you can see why Ziggy has a problem,” remarked Al as he took another puff from his cigar.

Almost three hours later, Sam reached some signs of civilization, finding a less buried building labeled ‘South End Gas Station.’ Sam coughed and hacked and headed for the front door of the office. Tripping over the front steps, Sam pulled the door open again, disturbing the new-fallen ash. Stumbling in the darkness, he thankfully closed the door behind him. Inside, it was darker as Sam felt around trying to find the light switch. Running his hands over the wall, he found an old switch that did nothing when turned.

“Won’t help, Sam. The electricity is out. The phone is out. And unless this Arnold is a radio hobbyist, you’ll not find any cell phones in this little out-of-the-way neck of the woods place or time either. Ziggy figures that even those cars parked outside would not start without the proper filtering, and that will take time. Thirty-nine hours to go,” explained Al. “Time is the one thing you don’t want to waste.”

Sam fell into a chair totally exhausted. Walking through the ash was three times the usual work, and he still had not recovered yet from his previous exhausting leap.

Al continued, “At your rate of progress, you’re still ten hours from the safe zone. You best grab some grub, get on some good walking shoes and take off. Mr. Beacon’s house is just behind the gas station.”

Sam wiped off his face, nodded and then asked after coughing twice, “OK. Any idea why this guy was out in the ash storm to begin with?”

“Too tough to call. Ziggy has plenty of guesses with these teeny tiny probabilities attached to them, but the plain truth of the matter is that Arnold died and took that answer to the grave with him,” Al said, still looking over his data.

“(Cough!) Al, check with Arnold Beacon in the Waiting Room,” remarked Sam as he wiped his face for the third time, stumbling around looking for a flashlight.

Al shook his head. “No can do. He is completely comatose. Poor guy went out as soon as he woke up. That’s number six on our list of leapee reactions right behind ‘Take me to your leader!’ Verbena doubts he’ll come out of the coma before you leave here.”

Sam looked over at Al, sighed, covered his face and raced out the backdoor to the house. The ash fall had decreased, but Sam’s rambunctious running stirred up more ash, obstructing his vision. The house was merely a hundred feet behind the station though was covered in ash. Inside, by the light of the flashlight Sam could see that more ash had worked its way into the house than into the garage. A thin layer coated everything near the windows and there were some ashy fairies flying through the air. Inside the refrigerator, food had spoiled, so Sam had to look for unopened cans and bottles. Though the propane stove seemed to work, Sam just ate cold beans and applesauce. Not nutritious, but in Sam’s current state, he would eat anything.

“Your diet there is giving my stomach some somersaults, but then it may have been Juan Miguel’s Mexican chili from our office luncheon. Eww!” exclaimed Al. “Better get going there, soldier. Round up some supplies and hit the road, pilgrim!”

“I’m still looking for some good walking shoes,” replied Sam from the back of the closet.

“If you leave now, according to Ziggy, in ten hours, you can run into a police caravan at the Wilkins crossroads. They can give you a lift all the way out of the blast zone. They’ve been checking the main roads for stragglers. People who think they can sneak in and out without getting killed. Some people do lose their lives doing that. You know, twenty-five people were never recovered and are just listed as missing in action,” explained Al as he started to reminisce for the thousandth time. “Of course, I remember the time I just missed this tidal wave on Fiji.”

Sam, ignoring Al, found some good hiking boots, a backpack, swimming goggles and an old scarf for his face to use on his journey. “Ready as ever, I guess,” said Sam. “Maybe a couple of these granola bars,” he added, as he disturbed some ash and found a note on the kitchen table, written in a childish scrawl.

The note read, Can’t do nothing no more. I’m going out the door. Never doing it again. Parting with Dolores my friend. Bye, Gillie.

Sam looked up at Al. “What does Ziggy make of that?”

“Kind of cryptic, Sam. Let’s see. Ziggy, any comments about the note?” called out Al. “Hmm,” he said, drumming his fingers across his handlink.

Sam looked out the window as the ash started coming down harder. “Well?”

“Jeez! This doesn’t look good,” replied Al, looking worried. “Seems he had a little girl living with him. Gillian Hansen. Her mother was a cousin of his who died in an auto accident in 1978. She’d been in a couple of foster homes when she ended up here. She had some kind of emotional problem brought on by her mother’s death, according to the Washington State Department of Social and Health Services. No real details. Both of them are reported missing, presumed dead after the eruption. Since her last name is different, Ziggy didn’t pick up on it at first. She is very depressed over that fact. You’re not going to be able to find her out there in that dusty winter wonderland.”

Sam closed his eyes and asked, “Does Ziggy have any better suggestions?”

“No! None of her probabilities climb above one percent. So that is why you should get out of here to at least save yourself and Arnold so you can do good another day, or leap, as the case may be. We don’t even know where to start,” exclaimed Al.

“On the contrary. Ask Ziggy to get a fix on her,” asked Sam.

Al shook his head no. “I was afraid you’d ask for that. Why your Swiss-cheesed memory remembers that is beyond me. Ziggy, please get— You already have? Please tell me she’s already at the evacuation center!”

Al’s handlink beeped and twirped until Al had a very disappointed look on his face. “No? She’s eight miles north of here, near Spirit Lake. Sam, that lake became a bubbling cesspool after the eruption. Wait. It seems that Arnold has a cabin up there and I guess she is heading for it. No way will she ever find it, Sam.”

“Then that’s my job here. I have to save Gillian,” said Sam, looking quite determined.

Al slapped the top of his head. “And who’s going to save you? Sam, you can’t navigate out there in that… that… that whiteout prelude to hell!”

“No, but you and Ziggy can. You always know where I am. Then point me toward her and we’ll find her in no time, Al,” said Sam with great confidence.

Al faintly agreed. “Sometimes, Sam. And sometimes Ziggy goes a little ca-ca. They don’t have any GPS’s back in 1980. At least nothing you could carry in your backpack. And the clock is running, Sam. I don’t think that this is a good idea. Go back out and head down the road. Head away from the mountain, NOT towards it!”

“Al, have any of my hunches proved to be wrong?” asked Sam, cocking his head to one side.

“Usually not. I must admit that you have at least a winning record, but you’re gambling with the biggest fireworks the Northwest U.S. has ever seen. And Ziggy estimates that your odds are ten to one against you doing this crazy thing,” exclaimed Al.

“Wouldn’t you bet on those odds?” asked Sam as he put on his goggles and scarf.

Al shook his head no. “In a horserace, maybe. Not with my life!” Al said exasperated as Sam marched out the door.

“Which way, Al?” he asked, looking vaguely in the direction he had come from.

“Sam. This isn’t right. Thirty-nine hours and counting,” Al said, quietly looking at his handlink.

“Al? Range and bearing?” asked Sam as he marched off into the darkness while the ever-present ash fell about him.

“All right. Thirty-eight degrees to the right. Eight point nine miles. And the kid is really moving. She’s going to have to stop for you to catch up with her, Sam,” Al reminded him.

“I will reach her! You go talk to her, Al,” said Sam confidently as he adjusted his goggles and disappeared in the darkness punctuated by the falling ash.

“I’ll do what I can. Good luck, you crazy Boy Scout,” yelled Al before he himself disappeared.

PART TWO

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, NM

March 6, 2006

Donna Eleese paced back and forth in front of the Imaging Chamber door. Her white heels clicked again and again until even Ziggy had to comment.

“Doctor Eleese, you seem to be quite occupied at the moment,” exclaimed Ziggy.

“My husband is not thinking straight trying to save someone way out in the middle of nowhere. What are the odds of his saving the little girl?” she asked, stopping and staring at the large luminous globe above the computer control panel.

“The probabilities have not changed since you asked thirty minutes ago, Doctor; eleven point four percent. Future changes are based on the stamina of Doctor Beckett and the child, and their progress reaching the safety zone,” predicted Ziggy as the Imaging Chamber door quickly opened with a hiss.

Donna swung around with a worried look across her face. “Al, have…”

“Donna, I know what you’re thinking. There is nothing I can do about Sam. He has his mind made up and I can’t change it. You know how determined he can be,” Al said, shaking his head. “You know that as well as I. Nothing short of a volcano eruption can change…”

Fear spread across Donna Elesee’s face. “Al! Don’t even think that!”

“I apologize, Donna. I just have volcanoes on the brain this leap. Sam is just so stubborn when he gets on a project or mission or whatever,” said Al meekly.

“Isn’t there anything else that Sam should be going after? This search for the lost girl is so dangerous. Ziggy?” she asked, whipping her head around.

“Doctor. With the lack of definitive information concerning this time and place, it is difficult to formulate probabilities and provide a precise analytical response. None of the first 2,372 scenarios produce more than a .12 percent probability. The number one scenario is for Doctor Beckett to save the life of Arnold Beacon, and he has chosen to ignore my recommendations,” said Ziggy very flatly with a hint of hurt circuitry in her semi-human voice.

Al walked over to the computer console. “Thank you, Ziggy. We do appreciate and rely on your advice. Can you update us on the progress of Gillian Hansen?”

“The distance between Doctor Beckett and the girl is six point seven miles, decreasing with constant reciprocating variation of 1,567 plus or minus 468 feet at the present time,” replied Ziggy.

Al pulled out his cigar and nearly dropped his handlink. “What in the name of Admiral Rickover does that answer mean, you overpriced calculator?”

Donna thought for a moment. “Wait! Reciprocating? Gillian is walking in circles! Is that correct?”

Ziggy replied, “Her random patterns are much more complex than that. Every algorithm I use to fit to her motion, she immediately violates, and I must recalibrate the shape and…”

Donna looked up with a slight smile on her face. “Ziggy, she is a lost scared little girl who can’t even see where she’s going. She’s not going to follow some mathematical equation, no matter how much you reduce your data and try to fit it to a curve. At least if she is circling or whatever shape that it is, it will be easier for Sam to catch up with her.”

Al looked at Donna a bit confused. “Yea, Ziggy, will that change Sam’s luck or, in your case, the odds of finding her?”

“The final outcome has changed little, for Doctor Beckett must still escape the blast zone to survive. Estimated success is still only fourteen point seven percent. Thirty-one hours to detonation. I will keep my nano-circuits crossed, Doctor,” said Ziggy sadly.

“Al, go check on Gillian and then report back to Sam. I’m sure he needs the support,” said Donna sadly. “Ziggy, center the chamber on the little girl!”

“Affirmative, Doctor Elesee. Admiral, enter the Imaging Chamber in twenty seconds,” explained Ziggy as her lights brightened in proportion to her computing activity.

Al picked up his trusty handlink. “I’m on it, Donna. We’ll see Sam through this yet,” Al said, encouraging Donna. “Open the door, Ziggy!”

PART THREE

South of Mount St. Helens

May 17, 1980

The bright white rectangle marking the door of the Imaging Chamber was nearly lost among the light gray whiteout of the ashen snowstorm. Al stepped out into the storm two feet above the ash. He squinted into the whiteout and could not distinguish anything. Even though things were silent, Al still yelled to Ziggy thinking that there was a terrible wind accompanying the weird snowstorm.

Al shouted, “ZIGGY? Where is she? It’s like trying to find a polar bear…”

“…in a snowstorm. Admiral, I tire of all these winter references when the composition of the falling ash is fifty-two percent silica, SiO2, twenty-two percent alumina, Al2O30, five percent phosphorous pentoxide…” continued Ziggy.

Al looked up still screaming, “I get the point! No more snowstorm similes. NOW WHERE IS THE GIRL?”

“Proceed fifty feet, one hundred and seventeen degrees due from true north,” said Ziggy as a small figure came into view. With eyes glazed, and covered in a grayish hue, the little girl trudged forward wearing a backpack and tightly holding a very dirty rag doll.

“Gillie! Gillie!” Al called out. “Gillie, can you hear me? Help is on the way!” cried out Al. “Gillie! Gillie! Great! She can’t hear me. She must be too old to hear me. Gillie? Now what? Ziggy! Um, center me on Sam! Jeez. This is a nightmare!” Al punched his handlink and disappeared.

Zipping back to Sam, Al found him caked in ash, wiping the mess from his goggles with a grim determined look on his face. His pace was slow, but his steps kept coming one after another. Not unlike walking in an empty imaging chamber, Sam looked down at his feet one step at a time. Nothing could be seen in front of him, or at any point of the compass around him. His initial fantasy world had turned into a nightmare. Even too much paradise can turn into the proverbial Chinese water torture.

Al looked at his friend and shook his head. “Sam. A little to the left. Twenty degrees. Gillie’s circles are getting smaller. You’re less than three miles from her present location.”

“Fine,” replied Sam flatly with no wasted emotion. Every bit of excess energy he had was being filtered through his legs to finish his mission.

“And at the present rate, you should get to her in three point six hours,” said Al, reading from his handlink and keeping an eye on Sam.

Without an extra eye blink, Sam replied, “Fine.”

“And Ziggy’s probability on going after Gillie is still only fourteen point three percent and nine-to-one odds of you making it back. No change in history, Sam. Neither of you make it,” Al said quietly to Sam.

“Fine,” replied Sam.

Al took out his cigar and squinted at Sam. “And you’re not sounding so good, Sam.”

“Fine,” said Sam for the fourth time.

Al threw down his stogie. “Sam, I can’t argue with your determination, but I think you have completely lost it this time. Verbena is very concerned about your mental health. You’re acting like someone lost in the trackless uncharted desert. Diminished attention, low emotional response. And Ziggy still says that you’re not getting out of here alive. DO you understand me?”

“Fine,” replied Sam with just a slight hint of emotion.

Al threw up his hands as he reached for his handlink, pushed a button and then popped in front of Sam. “Halt, soldier!” Al said loudly, holding up his hand.

Sam kept trudging forward until he partially passed through Al’s image. Sam stepped back, looked momentarily at Al and then his eyes went back to staring off into the distance.

“SAM! Do you hear me or not?” said Al slowly.

Sam kept looking far away. “Yes, Al.”

“Good. Do you understand your situation?” asked Al in the same slow low tone.

“Yes, Al. I know what I’m doing,” Sam said with a slight twitch looking toward Al.

“That is highly debatable. That great prize-winning brain of yours is only working on one cylinder right now. There have been reports of people coming across survivors who are lost or trying to get away from a disastrous shipwreck or plane crash that are in your current state of mind. Mentally numb. Physically exhausted. Only one thing keeps them going. They’re usually working only on their survival instincts,” explained Al, looking directly into Sam’s ash-encrusted goggles.

“I know, Al. I have to do this,” replied Sam.

“Even if it kills you?” asked Al.

“That’s the risk. That’s why I’m here,” replied Sam as he looked back toward the unseen horizon and walked through Al.

Al got more flustered than usual as Sam walked through him. “Sam! Come back here. S-A-M!!” Al cried out, hearing his voice echoing in the immense Imaging Chamber.

PART FOUR

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, NM

March 7, 2006

Al walked out of the Imaging Chamber brushing himself off. Sammy Jo and Donna stood there waiting for him.

“Al, the chamber is practically a dust-free environment,” said Sammy Jo with a slight bit of amusement in her worried voice.

Al shook his head. “I know, but all that stuff swirling around me, it really starts playing with my head after a while.”

“Now you know how Sam feels. The constant deprivation of the senses plays tricks on your mind,” replied Donna. “He neither looks nor sounds well at all.”

“Yea, but he’s getting pretty close. How he is going to get out of there with a child outside the blast zone is beyond me. The kid can’t walk and will just be dead weight,” replied Al, who seemed to be pulled down by some extra weight himself.

“You know Sam. All self-sacrifice and determination. Anything he truly believed in, he went after until he dropped. You remember how he sacrificed his health just to get Quantum Leap off the ground?” Donna reminded Al.

“Yea, no sleep, no food. Just solving one problem after another. I remember that quite well at Star Bright,” replied Al.

Sammy Jo felt a little kick from her belly as a reminder. “How’s the little girl?”

“Ziggy?” asked Al, looking up at her monitoring station.

“Gillian Hansen has fallen down three times in the last ten minutes but is still moving in a counterclockwise direction,” replied Ziggy.

“Poor kid. Bring her up in the chamber, Ziggy. I’m going back in. Wish me luck,” replied Al.

Sammy Jo looked a bit troubled. “I think Dad needs the luck wished to him.”

“And our prayers,” added a choked-up Donna.

“Sure,” said Al as he gave Donna and Sammy Jo each a hug and returned to the chamber.

South of Mount St. Helens

May 17, 1980

Al came upon Gillie in a confused state. Gone were her backpack and her beloved doll, Dolores. Gone was the stoic determined look that Sam had had. Her arms were now out in front of her, wildly thrashing about. She walked two steps one way, then went left or right for a step or two, and then reversed direction or went some other way. Falling down, she slowly got back up and then went the opposite direction.

“Ziggy, what’s wrong? She changed somehow,” asked Al.

Ziggy replied, “Dr. Beeks suggests that she has gone at least partially blind due to the buildup of ash covering her eyes.”

“What can I do about it? Come on guys, I have to help her,” cried Al as Gillie fell down and got up, then fell down again. “Come on Gillie, get up. Falling down only means you’re not going to get up again. You have to keep moving. Help is on the way.”

Gillie got up, falling down twice more each time in almost the same spot.

“Her vital signs are weakening,” reported Ziggy as Gillie could be seen thrashing around in the two feet of piled ash.

“Come on. Gillie. You have to get up. You can do it, sweetheart,” pleaded Al while thinking about his own girls when they were that age.

Thrashing around for another two minutes, she finally stopped. Ash started to cover her as she coughed and gagged. No tears, no sounds, just silence. And finally no motion.

“Admiral, Gillian Hansen’s respiration is becoming difficult,” Ziggy reported.

“I have to go tell Sam,” exclaimed Al. “Ziggy, center me on…”

Gillie coughed again. “Ziggy, send me…(Cough!) too…” coughed Gillie. “Send me too…” she said, as her hand reached out and then fell back into the ash.

“Whoa. Wait. Gillie? Gillie, can you hear me?” asked Al, shouting at her.

“The girl must be near death if she can now hear you, Admiral Calavicci,” interjected Ziggy.

“Um. (Cough!) (Cough!) Are you an angel? Are you going to take me?” she asked, not even trying to look toward him.

“Angel? Been there before,” Al said under his breath. “Yes. I’m an angel. But I’m only here to help you. Help is on the way. Um, Arnold is coming to get you.”

“Daddy? No, ready to go,” she mumbled and coughed twice again.

“Gillie. No, Gillie, you have to hang on. Sam! Wait, um, Gillie, you are not leaving here yet. I know you’re tired, but you’re not leaving just yet. Verbena!” Al cried out desperately.

From his handlink, a channel was opened. “Her vitals are on a slow decline. Al, she is in the last stage of the acceptance of death. You have to get her up. She can’t breathe lying down. She has to believe that she is going to live. Try to give her some hope.”

“Right! Gillie. Stand up. Come on, sweetie. Stand up for the angel. My name’s Al. Al the angel. Jeez, that’s corny. Come on, sweetie. Stand up. Please. Stand up for the angel. You can do it, darling!” Al said, trying to coach her up.

She coughed again and scratched her nose, but made no other movements.

“Come on, Gillie!” yelled Al.

“Don’t frighten her, Al,” replied Verbena sternly through the handlink.

“You mean, like me? Great. Gillie, Gillie. Don’t lie down. Sit up. Get up,” pleaded Al.

She twitched slightly and replied, “Go on. Take me, Al,” she said quietly.

“At least she’s still coherent. No, Gillie. Stand up, or if you can’t, sit up. Come on, sweetie. You can breathe easier. Please sit up. Sit up, darling,” asked Al patiently.

“No. Too tired,” she said, turning on her side. “Must sleep.”

Al lowered himself to her. “That’s not a good idea. Come on, sweetie. Get up. I know you’re tired, but you have to get up.”

“No,” Gillie said, quietly coughing twice again.

“Um, all right. If you want me to help you, you have to sit up, Gillie. That’s the rule. If you want to come with me, you have to sit up,” pleaded Al.

“OK!” she replied with whatever annoyance she could muster. She sat up, with her head above the ash.

Al breathed a little better. “That’s better, Gillie. Now grab hold of your knees. Good. Wrap your arms tightly around your knees. You can put your head down on your knees. Just rest there. I’ll be back soon to get you.”

She coughed twice and then laid her head on her knees.

‘Whoa! That should keep you safe for a while,’ thought Al, wiping his forehead.

“She is doing better. Her vitals have steadied. She is not nearly as close to death as she had been,” called out Verbena.

“Ziggy, if she has any change in her position, report it to me. Now center me on Sam,” called Al as he disappeared.

Sam Beckett, though physically exhausted, kept his mind working. During long hours of studying back at M.I.T., he could go without sleep studying for his next exam or working on his latest theory and while still looking like death. People would wonder if he was connecting with the world, even though he had a blank look on his face while staring at the wall. Sam knew differently. Deep in the innermost recesses of his highly intelligent mind, he could pull back and keep his sanity going through his basic quantum physics lessons. Step by step, he could recall every bit of his studies. Just recalling the basics was simple enough to keep his mind occupied. He would use this trick when he was tired or bored, or when life just didn’t make sense. The one thing he could always depend upon was himself and his own mind. Despite his leap-riddled brain, he still found it a peaceful retreat. He continued his memory exercise. “The calculation of the second law of thermodynamics as it applies to quantum flux is…”

“SAM! SAM! Over here!” Sam heard, breaking his mental recitation. Still walking in the same direction, Sam shook the mental fog from his eyes, removed his filthy goggles and squinted into the gray haze. Though now smaller, the ash looked almost dead white. Sam stared into haze until he saw a flash of color, dull orange, then bright orange of Al’s brightly colored suit.

“Come on Sam! Um, fifty feet or so. She won’t believe me. Call out to her!” cried out Al.

Sam tried to run, but couldn’t. “Gillie!” he cried out in a coarse dry voice.

“Daddy?” she said quietly. “Daddy?”

Sam reached the spot where the girl sat in the ash. Gillie looked up toward Sam’s voice. Sam reached over and picked her up. The girl’s expression didn’t change.

“Yeah, it’s me Gillie. You’re safe now,” Sam said, feeling like he could shed tears, but his face was just too caked with ash.

“Daddy? DADDY!” she cried. “Oh, Daddy,” she said grabbing him and also tried to shed tears. Her grip on Sam was as tight as the tired little girl could give, but her love was there.

“Sam, you can’t flush out her eyes yet. Just tie something around her face. She needs to get medical attention somewhere. You still have to get out of here, Sam. There’s only eight hours ’til the eruption,” Al said, looking over his handlink.

Sam pulled an old shirt out of his back, brushed some of the ash out of her eyes that were swollen shut and tied the shirt around her.

“Don’t be afraid. Your eyes are just very tired, Gillie. We’ll get you out of here,” said Sam gently.

“It hurts, Daddy,” Gillie said weakly as she hugged Sam even tighter.

“I know, darling. Just trust Daddy. Daddy loves you and will get you out of here,” Sam said, holding on tight and looking over to Al.

“Wuv you,” she said, falling limp in his arms. “Sorry run way,” Gillie said while falling into a deep sleep.

“She has a severe case of snow blindness complicated by the irritation of the ash, Sam. Not much you can do here. Better head that way, due south. Eighteen hours until H-hour,” Al said, pointing to the right.

Sam finally lost his blank look and smiled at Al. “Thanks, Al.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Whether you listen to me or not,” said Al as he walked beside him on top of the ash.

Two hours later, Sam had walked two miles. Sam’s legs gave out twice in less than a minute. The little girl seemed to weigh a ton. Sam stopped for a minute, but did not dare put poor little Gillie down. Once she felt security in the arms of her daddy, Sam did not dare take away that feeling. Sam was so very tired. He looked at the girl’s face. Even covered with ash, she was sleeping peacefully. Sam hoped that they were dreams of pleasant things far away: friends and toys and being safe. Her face seemed to glow. The glow got brighter as her face lit up. Sam smiled and then looked up. The cold gray sky brightened. Just a hint of dark blue came through the falling ash. Sam thought he could even see the moon trying to shine through. What a joyful change in hue over the gray that had encircled him since the leap began. Even the falling ash seemed to be letting up.

Sam turned to his holographic observer “Al? Is everything going to be all right?”

“No, Sam. That’s what a lot of people thought at this point, but in another six hours, the mountain is still going to blow. The ash fall has been clearing up a bit for the last hour or so,” said Al.

“I better keep moving. Got to keep moving! Which way, Al?” he asked, pulling Gillie in closer.

“Keep going the way you are. The distance from the mountain is more important than the direction,” Al told Sam, though he knew with his slow progress, there was no way he could make it.

After another thirty minutes, Sam had to rest. He dropped to his knees, but didn’t put Gillie down.

“Got to rest. Got to rest,” he said, putting his head down. Al stood there quietly giving Sam some peace. Sam closed his eyes. Sam could feel the warmth of the little girl against his chest. He could feel her breathing. In and out. In and out. Sam could hear her heartbeat. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. His heart was his pressing against hers. Tha-thmup. Tha-thump. Together, the sounds became more intense. Tha-thump, tha-thump. Tha-thump, tha-thump. Tha-thump. Louder and louder until Sam’s eyes popped open, as the sound was coming not from deep inside him, but from overhead. He was hearing a noise coming from the ash storm.

“Sam! At two o’clock. It’s a whirlybird. A helicopter. Come on, Sam. Wave to him,” called out Al, waving to the helicopter even though they couldn’t see him.

Overhead through the now spiraling ash was a large copter with two bright spotlights illuminating every flake. Gently, Sam laid down Gillie who started to stir. He jumped up and down trying to get their attention.

“They see you, Sam. They must have seen something through the haze. Great Lord Almighty. Your guardian of leaps must have been on your side this time. I can’t believe this. It must be a miracle,” Al said, shaking his head with tears streaming down his face.

“Over here! Over here!” shouted Sam as Gillie started to wake up.

“Here they come, Sam. I never saw a prettier bird. Ziggy’s blowing a fuse that she didn’t see that coming. What a beautiful sight,” cried out Al. “Ziggy reports that the background noise in the computer control room has just increased by 23 decibels! Probably due to a party breaking out!”

The copter came toward Sam with a crewman in a helmet waving at them. He dropped a wire ladder as ashes blew everywhere. The crewman in a jumpsuit climbed down to the bottom of the ladder.

“Are you injured?” he called out over the noise of the rotors.

Sam shook his head no. “The girl needs help!”

The man nodded, signaled the copter and a sling was lowered. Gently, they secured Gillie in it. She kept asking what was going on, but could not be heard over the noise. Once she was safe in the helicopter, Sam slowly climbed the ladder where Al was waiting for them. The other man joined them, fastened them in their seats, closed the door and they took off for the sky.

“We’ll get you both to the hospital shortly!” he shouted to them as the copter headed away from the mountain. Sam could finally see the great sofa-shaped edifice bellowing out clouds of ash over the countryside. Everything was ash gray. Sam rubbed Gillie’s head and then looked over at Al.

“You outdid Ziggy again, Sam,” replied Al, shaking his head while reading the output on his colorful information link. “Both Arnold and Gillian survive and move to Eugene, Oregon. Gillie grows up and becomes a therapist who works with the blind. Married to a pharmacist and has three kids. Um, Nancy, Jennifer and Al. Guess that makes me a godfather. She is fully recovered, thanks to you. You’re the only one who believed in her.”

Sam kept silent, closed his eyes, leaned back in his seat and smiled, feeling very good about himself.

“And with that, Sam Beckett, you should leap right about now,” announced Al very confidently.

Sam, still smiling, disappeared in a dazzling display of blue quantum particles, leaping to his next adventure.

To Al, the entire holographic image faded and became the indistinct color of the inside of the Imaging Chamber. Al let out a great sigh of relief after finishing a very heart-wrenching leap.

“Sam, you are one of a kind,” Al said quietly to himself. “You were right and I was wrong… again.” Then, speaking a little louder, “But then, I had when you leaped right on the nose. Good. At least I was right about something. Ah, well. Ziggy, open up this door!” he called even louder. Al lit up a new cigar and left the chamber, wondering what Sam’s next little task would be.

EPILOGUE

The blue electricity’s familiar pull dissipated slowly, leaving Doctor Samuel Beckett wondering where and when he had landed this time.  He blinked, trying to take in the new surroundings, which was hard to do being that it was pitch black.  Sam looked down at himself, seeing that he was dressed in a sloppy pair of jeans with a checkered shirt, and he had nothing but a beat-up backpack at his feet to help indicate who he was and what he was doing there.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was finally able to make out that he was in a forest of some kind, and apparently his host had intended to camp here for the night.  Looking behind him, the leaper saw a small campfire burning and noticed the bag was open, as if the leapee was just going to unpack a few things.

It felt desolate there, and the scientist couldn’t help but shiver a bit, even though it was quite warm out.  It was bad enough leaping into an unknown person and place, but even worse when all alone.  Sam hoped that Al would show up soon so that he could see a familiar face and find out why he was here.

Surprisingly, a white light came from behind the quantum physicist, and he turned around to see the Imaging Chamber Door, adding to the luminescence from the campfire, as Admiral Albert Calavicci stepped through it.  “Heya, Sam, I guess we got lucky this time.  Ziggy’s proclaiming the nano-search time today to be a record!” the observer stated happily.

“I think she might be right,” returned Sam with a small smile.  “So, what do you have for me, Al?”

The expression on Al’s face turned quickly to one of playful annoyance.  “Hey, you just got here.  We haven’t run anything by Ziggy yet.  I just thought I’d let ya know what was going on, that’s all.  All we know is that the date is June 6, 1960, and you’re somewhere in South Carolina."

“All right, good, so I know my when and part of my where.  How about who I’ve leaped into and why I’m here?”

Al chuckled at Sam’s impatience.  “Beeks is on her way to the Waiting Room as we speak, so just hold yer horses, Sam!” the observer replied jovially.  He always enjoyed talking to his friend without having to wrack his brain about those kinds of things, but the leaper seemed to like to get down to business.

As Al figured, Sam wasn’t enjoying the chitchat.  There was a cold wind blowing now as smoke blew in his face.  After coughing and sidestepping the blowing smoke, he said incredulously, “Hold my horses?  Why don’t you go back and speed things up with Ziggy if you have nothing better to do?”

Al shrugged.  “All right, I can see you’re cranky,” he commented as the Imaging Chamber Door re-opened.  “I’ll come back after you’ve had your nap.”  Without a word more between them the Door closed, leaving Sam alone again… but not for long.  The time-traveler felt a heavy object come into contact with his back and he fell to his knees, now wishing that he hadn’t ushered Al away so quickly.