By Paul G. Landry

Previously on Time’s Daring Delivery… Joe Walker and Jeni Taylor were thrown through a mysterious storm and awakened in a strange, unforgiving wilderness. After hiding their FedEx truck inside a cave, they were captured by armed horsemen and taken to a medieval fortress. Now prisoners in a world that appears to be eight hundred years in the past, they must convince their captors they are not enemies… before fear turns deadly.

The throne room was cool, dim, and filled with echoes.

Rich rugs stretched across polished stone floors. Tapestries lined the walls. Gold and silver ornamentation gleamed softly in the filtered light.

At the far end seated on a throne, King Monburjani.

He was a man in his sixties, regal and imposing, with white hair and a full beard that framed sharp, intelligent eyes. Though age had touched him, authority had not.

Court officials stood silently along the walls as Joe and Jeni were forced to their knees before the throne.

A captain stepped forward, speaking rapidly in a foreign tongue.

Joe tried to rise.

A spear immediately pushed him back down.

“Hey! We didn’t do anything!”

The room fell silent.

Then a man stepped forward.

Aga was in his fifties, dressed plainly but with unmistakable confidence.

Precise.

Intelligent.

Dangerously calm.

He studied them carefully.

Then, in clear English, he spoke.

“You speak this language, yes?”

Joe and Jeni froze.

Joe blinked.

“You speak English?”

The man nodded.

“Learned from merchants. Long ago.”

He turned and quietly spoke to the king.

The court murmured.

Then he faced them again.

“You are accused of spying for Mongol raiders.”

Jeni looked sharply at Joe.

Joe looked back in disbelief.

“Spies? No. No, no. We deliver packages.”

Blank stares.

“We’re from New York. America.”

He hesitated.

“Future. Long story.”

The murmuring in the room grew louder.

The translator watched them with growing curiosity.

The king slowly rose.

Instant silence.

“You are strangers,” King Monburjani said.

“Perhaps liars. Perhaps fools.”

He studied them both.

“But you are not warriors.”

He gestured toward the guards.

“They will be washed. Fed. Held.”

Joe exhaled in relief.

Then the king added:

“Then we decide if they live.”

Joe’s relief vanished.

As the guards pulled them to their feet, he leaned toward Jeni.

“So… good news first or bad news first?”

Jeni’s chamber was unexpectedly elegant.

Warm sunlight filtered through carved lattice windows. Rich rugs covered the floor. Silk cushions were arranged carefully around polished furniture.

Two ladies-in-waiting worked quickly, removing her soaked scrubs and dressing her in layers of linen and wool.

Muted browns.

Heavy fabric.

Jeni tugged at the sleeves.

“Everything’s beige.”

The attendants smiled politely, understanding none of it.

They braided her hair tightly, securing it with pins.

She winced.

Then the door opened.

Princess Kalinda entered.

She was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with striking red hair that caught the light like fire.

Small in stature.

Poised.

Curious.

Kind.

The attendants bowed and quietly slipped away.

Kalinda studied Jeni with fascinated eyes.

“You speak the western trade tongue. Yes?”

Jeni blinked.

“You speak English?”

“Little.”

Kalinda moved closer, picking up Jeni’s discarded scrubs.

“You are not soldiers.”

“Definitely not spies.”

Kalinda touched the unfamiliar fabric.

“Then what are you?”

Jeni searched for a simple answer.

“I help heal people. When they’re hurt. Or sick.”

Kalinda’s eyes widened.

“A healer.”

Jeni smiled.

“Yeah.”

She nodded.

“That’s simpler.”

Kalinda touched Jeni’s dyed hair.

“Your hair… very brave color.”

Jeni laughed.

“You should see the nurses on night shift.”

Kalinda laughed too.

For a moment, they were simply two women sharing an unexpected friendship.

Then distant shouting echoed somewhere inside the fortress.

The reminder returned.

They were not safe here.

Kalinda’s smile faded.

“My father wishes to meet you again. Tonight.”

It was not a request.

Jeni swallowed.

Joe’s chamber was much less impressive.

Stone walls.

One narrow window.

A rope bed.

One chair.

That was it.

Joe wrestled awkwardly with a thick wool tunic.

It was on backward.

Aga watched him with quiet amusement.

“How many people died inventing this thing?”

Without a word, Ali turned the garment around.

Joe scratched his neck.

“Feels like I’m wearing a carpet.”

Aga tied the belt neatly.

Joe looked at him.

“So… big question.”

He took a breath.

“Where the hell are we?”

Aga hesitated.

Then answered.

“This kingdom is called Kragistan.”

Joe nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

Aga continued.

“And the year…”

His voice was precise.

“One thousand two hundred twenty-five.”

Joe stared.

Waiting for the rest.

There wasn’t any.

His face drained.

“Twelve what?”

“One thousand two hundred twenty-five.”

Joe did the math.

Slowly.

Painfully.

“We left home in twenty twenty-five.”

He looked around the stone room.

“That’s eight hundred years.”

Aga said nothing.

Reality settled over Joe like a second wool tunic.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

He collapsed onto the rope bed.

It creaked loudly beneath him.

“I miss Wi-Fi already.”

Aga studied him carefully.

“You truly are not spies.”

Joe looked up.

“Buddy, if we were spies…”

He tugged at his rough clothes.

“We’d be way better dressed.”

For the first time, Aga almost smiled.

Almost.

That evening, the great hall was packed.

Long tables.

Banners.

Guards lining the walls.

Joe and Jeni were marched inside.

King Monburjani sat above them.

Princess Kalinda beside him.

And another man.

Mustaba.

Wealthy.

Well dressed.

Predatory.

His eyes studied Joe and Jeni like insects pinned beneath glass.

Aga quietly translated their story for the king.

Murmurs spread through the hall.

Then Mustaba stepped forward.

“Spies,” he said sharply.

“Kill them now.”

Aga translated.

“He believes you are enemies of the crown.”

Joe sighed.

“Of course he does.”

Mustaba pointed toward them.

Execution.

Guards moved closer.

Then…

Kalinda winced.

Her hand moved to her side.

Her face twisted in pain.

She tried to stand.

Failed.

And collapsed.

Chaos erupted.

“Kalinda!”

The king rushed forward.

Servants cried out.

Joe turned toward Jeni.

“Jeni!”

But she was already moving.

Kneeling beside the princess.

Focused.

Professional.

She pressed gently against Kalinda’s abdomen.

Kalinda cried out sharply.

Jeni’s face changed.

Recognition.

She looked at Aga.

“Right side. Fever? Nausea?”

He translated rapidly.

A servant nodded.

“Yes. Yes.”

Jeni looked up.

“It’s her appendix.”

Blank stares.

“It’s going to burst.”

Without hesitation, she reached to a nearby guard and pulled the knife from his belt.

She tested the edge.

“If I don’t operate…”

She looked directly at the king.

“She dies.”

The hall exploded in outrage.

Mustaba smiled.

Perfect.

Aga translated carefully.

“She says she can save her.”

The king stared at his daughter.

Then at Jeni.

“Can…”

His voice trembled.

“Or might?”

Aga answered quietly.

“If nothing is done, the princess dies.”

Silence.

A terrible silence.

King Monburjani looked down at Kalinda, pale and shaking in pain.

Then back to Jeni.

His decision took everything he had.

“Do it.”

He stepped closer.

“If she dies…”

His voice hardened.

“You die with her.”

Joe exhaled.

“No pressure.”

The guards stepped aside.

All eyes turned to Jeni.

A nurse.

Alone.

Eight hundred years from home.

Holding a medieval knife.

And one life hanging in the balance.

The narrow stone corridor echoed with hurried footsteps.

Torchlight flickered along soot-darkened walls, filling the air with smoke and heat as Joe struggled to keep pace beside Aga.

“Jeni can’t do surgery with medieval kitchen knives,” Joe said breathlessly.

Aga glanced at him. “Surgery?”

“Tools. Clean ones. Medicine. It’s all in my truck.”

Understanding flashed across Aga’s face. He was already thinking ahead.

“I hid it in a cave near the hills,” Joe continued. “I need a wagon, and a couple guys with muscles.”

“You shall have both.”

They turned sharply into the fortress courtyard.

Aga barked rapid orders in his own language.

Guards immediately sprang into action.

Within moments, a wagon was dragged into position, horses hitched in haste, soldiers mounting with practiced efficiency.

Joe watched the organized chaos with reluctant admiration.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Medieval Uber.”

Aga gestured toward the wagon.

“We must hurry.”

They climbed aboard.

A sharp crack of the whip sent the horses lunging forward, the wagon rattling over rough stone and dirt roads toward the hidden cave.

When they reached the hillside, soldiers tore away the branches Joe had used to conceal the entrance.

The FedEx truck sat exactly where they had left it.

The soldiers froze.

Joe climbed into the cab.

Aga watched nervously.

“Don’t panic.”

Joe inserted the key and turned it.

The engine roared to life.

The horses screamed in terror, rearing violently.

Soldiers stumbled backward, drawing swords.

“Whoa, whoa! It’s okay!”

Joe killed the engine.

Silence crashed down.

Everyone stood frozen, breathing hard.

Aga stared at the truck.

“It is alive.”

Joe climbed out with a crooked grin.

“Yeah. Don’t feed it after midnight.”

Aga clearly understood none of that.

They opened the cargo doors.

Boxes and crates lined the interior.

Modern labels.

Plastic packaging.

A world from another age.

Joe moved quickly, gathering everything Jeni might need, first aid kits, alcohol, gloves, antibiotics, sterile tools, gauze, all meant for the hospital in Queens!

Soldiers loaded the supplies onto the wagon.

Once finished, they carefully replaced the branches over the cave entrance.

Hidden once more.

The wagon turned back toward the fortress.

Time was running out.

Princess Kalinda’s chamber was dim and warm when they returned.

Bowls of steaming water lined the room.

Torches cast flickering shadows against the walls.

Kalinda lay pale and still atop a long wooden table.

Her breathing was shallow.

Jeni barely looked up as Joe entered.

She had transformed.

Gone was the frightened traveler.

In her place stood a nurse, focused, calm, utterly professional.

She scrubbed her hands furiously with soap and alcohol.

Joe handed her gloves, then a surgical mask.

Aga and several attendants watched, then awkwardly copied her movements.

“Watch her breathing,” Jeni told Joe. “And her pulse. Don’t look away.”

Joe nodded.

“Got it.”

She crushed pills into water and gently lifted Kalinda’s head.

“It’s all we have.”

The princess swallowed weakly.

In the shadows, King Monburjani stood silently, fear etched across his face.

Torches were brought closer.

More light.

Mustaba stood nearby as well.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hopeful, but for the wrong reasons.

Jeni laid out the improvised surgical instruments.

Scalpels.

Clamps.

Gauze.

Her hands trembled.

For just a moment.

She stopped.

Closed her eyes.

Breathed.

Steady.

Joe saw it.

“You’ve watched this done a hundred times,” he said softly. “She’s lucky it’s you.”

Jeni opened her eyes.

Nodded.

She looked at Aga.

“No one touches anything unless I say.”

Aga translated immediately.

Everyone froze.

Silence filled the room.

Jeni picked up the scalpel.

“Okay.”

She looked at Kalinda.

Then at Joe.

“Pulse and breathing. Don’t stop watching.”

“On it.”

Jeni hesitated only a second.

Then she cut.

Joe winced.

Aga turned away.

The room shrank to tiny sounds.

The clink of metal.

The drip of water.

Kalinda’s breathing.

Jeni worked with quiet precision.

Clamp.

Gauze.

More light.

Joe handed her tools before she even asked.

Learning her rhythm.

Sweat gathered on her brow.

Her hands remained steady.

She searched carefully.

Then…

“There you are.”

The swollen appendix.

Red.

Dangerously close to rupture.

Jeni exhaled.

Careful now.

Clamp.

Cut.

Out.

She dropped it into a tray.

The metallic sound made everyone flinch.

Silence.

No bleeding.

Good.

Very good.

She began to stitch.

Fast.

Precise.

Confident.

Joe never took his eyes from the small polished mirror he held beneath Kalinda’s nose.

Fog.

Fog.

Fog.

Steady breathing.

Finally…

The last stitch.

Jeni tied it.

Then stepped back.

“Done.”

No one moved.

Not yet.

Then…

Kalinda inhaled.

Slow.

Even.

Peaceful.

The entire room exhaled as one.

King Monburjani gripped Aga’s arm, overcome with relief.

Mustaba’s jaw tightened.

Joe stared at Jeni in disbelief.

“So…” he said, forcing nervous humor into the moment, “you free for house calls?”

Jeni gave him a tired smirk.

“Let’s keep her alive first.”

Attendants carefully lifted the princess back into bed.

Jeni stayed beside her.

Protective.

Focused.

Already her patient.

As the room slowly settled, the king approached.

He looked down at his daughter.

Then at Jeni.

His voice was quiet.

Reverent.

“You may have changed your fate tonight.”

Jeni glanced at Joe.

Neither of them said it aloud.

But both were thinking the same thing.

For the first time since arriving in this impossible world…

They might actually survive.

Next on TIME’S DARING DELIVERY… Princess Kalinda awakens, and remembers the strangers who saved her. King Monburjani offers Joe and Jeni a place within the fortress… but not everyone welcomes their survival. Mustaba begins plotting in the shadows.

These episodes are taken from my original screenplay work, titled ‘Time’s Daring Delivery’ © Copyright 2025 - 2026 By Paul G. Landry.

✍️ EPISODE 1 TIME’S DARING DELIVERY - The Storm That Wasn’t

By Paul G. Landry

Low clouds hung over New York City, heavy and dark with the promise of rain.

At the FedEx loading dock, a delivery truck backed slowly into position, its warning alarm echoing across the wet pavement.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Joe Walker stood beside the truck with a coffee in one hand and absolutely no enthusiasm in the other.

In his thirties, with a rumpled uniform and the easy movement of someone who had once been much more athletic, Joe looked like a man surviving on habit, caffeine, and sarcasm.

Dock workers swarmed around him, loading crates into the truck with practiced urgency.

Joe glanced toward the sky and grimaced.

“Looks like a swamp out here,” he muttered. “Sam’s after shift. First round’s medicinal.”

The Crew Chief, a broad-shouldered man in his forties, scanned a tablet and barely looked up.

“Full load, Joe. Medical supplies, electronics, and hazmat for the Coast Guard. Locker code’s in your app.”

Joe froze.

“Hazmat?” he asked. “What did I do to deserve that karma?”

The Crew Chief smirked.

“You showed up.”

Joe sighed dramatically and signed off on the manifest.

The rain began almost immediately.

Forklifts slid the final containers inside. The rear doors slammed shut with a heavy metallic thud.

Joe climbed into the cab, locked up, and gave the crew a lazy salute.

“Try not to miss me.”

Then he pulled out into traffic.

The city streets had become rivers.

Rain hammered the windshield so hard the wipers could barely keep pace.

Thunder rolled overhead.

Joe squinted through the blur of brake lights and streaming water.

Something felt strange.

The streets were unusually empty.

Then he saw it.

A stalled sedan on the shoulder.

Its hood was raised.

Beside it stood a woman, waving desperately through the storm.

She was soaked.

Shivering.

Joe drove past.

Then checked his mirror.

He paused.

He groaned.

“Ah, hell.”

He signaled and pulled over.

The woman ran toward the truck through sheets of rain.

Joe leaned across and popped the passenger door.

“Get in before you drown.”

She climbed in quickly, dripping onto the floor mats.

She was in her thirties, hospital scrubs barely visible beneath a soaked raincoat. Her eyes were sharp, though exhaustion and worry had clearly taken their toll.

Joe immediately turned the heater on full blast.

“Car dead?”

“Completely,” she said, hugging herself for warmth. “Of course today.”

She shivered.

“I’m a nurse. First shift. They’re going to kill me.”

Joe extended a hand.

“Delivery driver. Professional rule-breaker. Joe.”

She smiled despite herself and shook it.

“Jeni. Thank you. Seriously.”

Joe nodded.

“Seatbelt. If we hydroplane, the paperwork’s a nightmare.”

She laughed.

It was exactly the kind of reaction he’d hoped for.

Joe eased the truck back into traffic.

Rain pounded the roof.

The wipers thrashed.

Lightning flashed.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

But something about the storm had changed.

The sky darkened unnaturally.

Not cloud-dark.

Something deeper.

The air inside the cab began to hum.

Joe looked up through the windshield.

The clouds were moving strangely.

Rippling.

Pulsing.

He narrowed his eyes.

“That’s not weather.”

Without warning, a violent gust slammed the truck sideways.

Joe fought the wheel.

Jeni gripped the dashboard.

“Joe.”

A low, rising howl filled the air.

Electrical.

The dashboard lights flickered.

The radio died.

The headlights dimmed.

Then a faint blue glow began creeping across the windshield.

Joe stared.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I officially hate this.”

The glow intensified.

It swallowed the cab.

Static crawled across the metal frame.

The hair on their arms rose.

The truck shuddered violently.

Then…

It lurched upward.

Jeni gasped.

“We’re not touching the road.”

Blinding white light exploded around them.

A deafening crack split the air.

Then…

Blackness.

Silence.

Jeni woke first.

She gasped and sat upright.

“Joe. Joe!”

Beside her, Joe groaned and rubbed the side of his head.

“I feel like I got microwaved.”

They looked through the windshield.

Neither spoke.

This wasn’t New York.

There was no city.

No traffic.

No road.

Only endless dry hills stretching beneath a blazing sun.

Red dirt.

Waist-high yellow grass.

A shimmering heat rising from the earth.

Their FedEx truck sat crooked in the middle of it all, as though it had fallen from the sky.

Joe blinked.

Slowly.

“That’s new.”

They stepped outside.

Silence greeted them.

No wind.

No birds.

No distant engines.

Nothing.

Only heat.

Only stillness.

And somewhere deep inside both of them…

the unmistakable feeling that they were no longer where they were supposed to be.

Or when.

The heat hit them like a wall.

Bone-dry air pressed against their skin as Joe and Jeni stepped cautiously through the tall yellow grass. Every footstep crunched loudly beneath them.

No buildings.

No roads.

No power lines.

Nothing.

Only endless rolling hills beneath a merciless sky.

Jeni pulled out her phone and stared at the blank screen.

“No signal.”

Joe checked his own.

Dead.

He looked around helplessly.

“Please tell me this is Jersey.”

Jeni scanned the empty horizon.

“Even Jersey has a Starbucks.”

Joe let out a nervous laugh and circled the FedEx truck.

The vehicle looked perfectly intact.

Just impossibly out of place.

He opened the rear doors.

Boxes had shifted during whatever had happened. Medical supplies, electronics, sealed containers, everything rattled in chaotic disarray.

“Great,” he muttered. “Either we’re lost…”

He looked toward the horizon.

“…or abducted.”

Jeni wasn’t listening.

Her eyes had locked onto something in the rocky hillside.

A dark opening.

A cave.

“Joe…”

He followed her gaze.

The cave sat in silence.

Black.

Still.

Watching.

The only shelter in sight.

They exchanged a hesitant look, then climbed back into the truck.

Joe carefully guided it over rough stones and uneven dirt until the cave opened wide enough to hide the vehicle.

Metal scraped rock.

The truck groaned.

Finally, he eased it backward into the shallow cavern and shut off the engine.

Silence returned immediately.

They worked quickly, dragging dead branches, tumbleweed, and dry brush across the entrance until the truck was nearly invisible.

Joe pressed the lock button.

Beep.

He stepped back and admired their work.

“Home sweet apocalypse.”

They left the cave on foot.

A narrow dirt path wound down through the valley.

The ground was hard-packed and dry.

Then Jeni stopped.

“Joe.”

Thin grooves cut through the dirt.

Parallel lines.

Too deliberate.

Joe crouched.

“They look like wagon tracks.”

Jeni’s face tightened.

Before either could say more…

Voices.

Distant.

Shouting.

Then…

Hoofbeats.

Growing louder.

Joe turned sharply.

Over the ridge came riders.

Half a dozen men on horseback.

Their dark cloaks snapped in the wind.

Steel flashed in the sunlight.

Swords.

Spears.

Armor.

Joe stared.

Not costumes.

Real.

He swallowed hard and forced a smile.

“Okay…”

The riders charged.

“Either Comic Con got weird…”

Dust exploded around them.

The horses surrounded them in seconds.

Voices shouted in a language neither understood.

A spear pressed against Joe’s chest.

Hands grabbed Jeni.

“Hey! Hey! Easy!”

Rough rope yanked Joe’s wrists behind his back.

Jeni was bound just as quickly.

Joe glanced back toward the cave.

Invisible.

Perfect.

Good.

The riders hauled them onto horses.

Moments later they were racing across the valley.

Dust thundered beneath pounding hooves.

Ahead, rising from a distant hill…

Stone walls.

Massive towers.

A fortress.

Ancient.

Immense.

Impossible.

Joe watched it grow larger.

The jokes disappeared from his face.

The fortress gates groaned open.

Heavy timber reinforced with iron.

Joe and Jeni were dragged inside.

The world beyond was alive.

Blacksmith hammers rang against metal.

Smoke curled from chimneys.

Goats wandered between market stalls.

Vendors shouted.

Soldiers marched.

Children ran through muddy streets.

Everything felt loud.

Chaotic.

Primitive.

And terrifyingly real.

People stopped what they were doing to stare.

Whispers followed them.

Children pointed.

Some threw pebbles until a guard barked sharply and sent them scattering.

Joe turned slowly, absorbing the impossible scene around him.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Definitely not Jersey.”

Jeni moved closer beside him.

Neither knew what would happen next.

The guards shoved them forward.

Toward the towering stone keep.

Toward judgment.

Toward whoever ruled this place.

And somewhere hidden in the cave beyond the valley…

Joe’s FedEx truck…

These episodes are taken from my original screenplay work, titled ‘Time’s Daring Delivery’ © Copyright 2025 - 2026 By Paul G. Landry.