[Note: if you didn’t press your time-travel remote on the previous email, and missed the first half of this story, you can read it here]
Even though you know it’s useless, you press the time-travel button on your remote, and look at your inbox.
As expected, nothing happens.
You refresh, but there’s still no new emails.
“So I can only get the email if I go back 10,000,000 years first, huh,” you say to yourself.
You stuff your phone back in your pocket and walk over to me. I’m wearing a welding mask, trying to join two electronic components together.
I flip up the mask and wipe my brow. “I’ve managed to form a connection back to our time, but it’s weak, and I haven’t tested to make sure we end up on the right day. It’s going to take me a little while longer. Did you spot anything dangerous?”
You stare at me blankly.
My eyes narrow suspiciously.
“You were watching out for danger, right?” I say.
You shuffle your feet.
“Well … I kind of got another email from you, and I might have been reading that … but it was only for a couple of minutes …”
Suddenly there’s a noise in the alien ‘forest’, only a few dozen feet away from us.
We both freeze.
You turn to look at me … and see me staring at you furiously.
“What … have … you … done?” I hiss.
A low growl echoes out from just beyond the edge of our vision.
I start furiously fiddling with some wires. “Gah … I haven’t hooked up the main battery yet so I can’t test this out on anything bigger than a loaf of bread! I have no idea if it’s calibrated correctly. If only I had something small which I could use to test …”
My eyes snap toward you. “Your phone!”
“Huh?” you reply, confused.
“Your phone! Give it to me! Quickly!”
You fumble your phone out of your pocket, and toss it to me.
Again, growls come from the mist beyond us. But this time … more than one.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I say, pressing a few buttons. A blue holographic sphere appears over the top of the machine I’ve been building.
“Um, Daniel …” you say. “I can see shadows …”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” I hiss.
I shove your phone into the blue sphere.
“Come on, please work …” I say.
And then —
Your phone pops up with a new notification. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good … it’s connecting to our time! Now just have to make sure it’s the right date …”
I pull out your phone and look at the notification on the screen:
From: Daniel Throssell <daniel @ persuasivepage.com>
Subject: The worst time to send a sales email
(Huh. A fitting subject line, all things considered.)
“Yes!” I say, throwing the phone back to you. “That’s the email from the day we need to jump back to—”
I’m cut off by the most bloodcurdling shriek I’ve ever heard …
… as one of the ‘things’ stalking us from the shadows comes flying out and lands on my time machine, crushing it to pieces.
I stagger back, reeling.
For the first time, you see the monster clearly.
And … it’s horrible.
It’s like some mutant gorilla. But it stands twelve feet tall, easily. On its head are eyes facing every direction. It has four giant fangs poking up from its lower lip. Three arms come out of its scaly black torso. Sharp, quivering spines protrude from its back.
You want to throw up, cry and faint all at the same time.
The creature turns to face you, and sizes you up for a moment.
Then, it takes a step towards you …
Opens its mouth …
And lunges at your—
The creature’s head explodes in a disgusting green spray.
Behind it, you see me with a giant, smoking shotgun which I’ve pulled out of my time capsule.
“Darned if I’ll ever let MY email copywriting island be ruled by some friggin’ monkey — even if it’s eons in the future!”
Then I turn to you, and scream:
We take off running as the other giant-gorilla-monsters start giving chase.
I fire shots as we run, but there are just too many of them. Each time I knock one down, two more seem to take its place.
“Crap … I don’t have that much ammo!” I curse.
BLAM! BLAM … *click*
My shotgun runs out of shells. I toss it away in disgust, and keep running.
As you look behind you at the horde closing in on you, you realise something:
You are going to die.
There’s no way you’re outrunning these things.
You’re going to die, ten million years in the future, long after everyone else has forgotten about you.
It’s a sad thought.
And you think:
“Well, I’d rather die reading something fun.”
So even as you run for your life from the monsters bearing down on you, you pull out your phone, and start reading your last ever email from me …
(Story continues in your inbox)