TV Series Placement: Summer 2001 – Post-Season 2

September 2002

Now that their best chance for returning to the home planet has left without them, the "Czechoslovakian" residents of Roswell (code for aliens) must adjust to a more permanent existence on earth than they were expecting. Seeing a possible future for the two of them, Maria nags Michael about money, sending him packing on a salaried weekend trip to help a geologist study a proposed chemical company site. As the group camps out under the stars, a round of spooky ghost stories provides entertainment – until one of the guys sees a real ghost. The kicker? Michael can see it too.

River Dog has also been plagued by the shades of the past in recent days, and he brings Max out to the desert to bear witness as the apparition threatens him. He tells Max of an ancient Mesaliko prophecy that tells of vengeance being exacted by the tribe's ancestors if Visitors are allowed to remain among them – Visitors like Max, Michael, and Isabel. As the hauntings increase in both frequency and violence, the alien teens and their friends know they must uncover the true origin of the phantoms – whether physical, mystical, or alien – before the ghosts follow through on their deadly threats.

Pale lightning, the color of splintered bone, tore jagged streaks in the dark night sky. Thunder pealed, still a little distant, but definitely growing closer.

Lying on his back on top of his sleeping bag near the campfire, Michael Guerin stared up at the swirling storm clouds. Excitement coursed through him, and… surprisingly… the sensation felt good. Usually, given the secrets he held, excitement was a bad thing.

"Hey, Guerin."

"What?" Michael asked, not bothering to look at the speaker and resenting the interruption.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Didn't know I was."

"Well you are, and I think it's about time you stopped. Getting caught by a storm out here isn't exactly something most folks want to do."

"Sure." Michael adjusted his laced fingers behind his head and tried not to look so cheerful. That morning he'd been glum and taciturn. Taciturn had been the word Junior

Doggett had used. The word wasn't one that Michael had ever used, or intended to use. Except maybe on a test in school now that he'd decided to carry on with getting an education.

The lightning sparked again, threading the sky with spidery shafts. The air mass over the desert floor shifted, dropping at least five degrees.

"Going to be cold tonight," Junior said.

"Maybe you shoulda brought your flannels," Flynn suggested. Where Junior was narrow-shouldered and short, Flynn Boyd was big and burly, outspoken and rude. Flynn was one of the reserve backs on the Roswell High football team.

Michael didn't hang with either one of the guys back in school, but the summer had conspired to bring them together. All of them had been hired by Kurt Bulmer, a local geologist, to help survey the tracts of land outside Roswell where they'd camped out less than an hour ago.

The loud detonation of thunder sounded almost overhead. The sudden gust of wind that followed the crash gave the impression a cannon had gone off nearby and dusted the campsite with blowback that carried a spray of sand. The dome tents quavered under the onslaught, then once more looked like gaily-colored toadstools bubbling up from the harsh, broken ground.

Michael couldn't help himself. He grinned. The others were freaking, and he felt more alive than ever.

I'm free, Michael thought contentedly. No arguments with Maria for the next couple of days. No questions about what I'm going to do with myself. No discussions of responsibility.

Of course that freedom couldn't last. There was still the schedule at the Crashdown Cafe to return to in a couple of days when the surveying gig petered out. School had ended for the summer only a few days ago, and so had his chance to return to his home world.

Tess had gone, though, and she'd taken Max's baby. But Michael supposed he was pretty okay with that even though Tess's betrayal and murder of Alex still caused his stomach to knot up every time he thought about it; Max wasn't ready to be a dad no matter what he thought, but Tess wasn't the answer to that problem, and Michael still wanted Tess to pay for what she had done to all of them. To Michael's way of thinking, there was always plenty of time for Max to play dad later. It would be tough dealing with Max till he accepted that, but hiding out in a small town while not being quite human was pretty tough, too. Michael was all about tough living.

Lightning flared again, followed immediately by the sudden crash of thunder.

"Tents can leak," Junior grumbled.

"Nah," Flynn replied.

"Moisture passes right through tent walls," Junior argued.

"Only if you touch the tent wall while it's raining, numbskull," Flynn retorted. "Just don't lean up against the tent wall after the rain starts."

"And if I roll over against the tent wall while I'm sleeping?"

"No prob," Flynn said. "I'll just zip you up in your sleeping bag nice and tight. Kurt's got plenty of duct tape in the gear we brought."

Two of the other guys at the camp started to laugh. Junior cursed them all. For a guy who knew big words, Michael decided, Junior pretty much knew how to talk trash with the best of them.

Gathering himself with a lithe move, Michael spun around and sat up on the sleeping bag, roping his arms around his knees while he stared at the two verbal combatants. "Hey, Bert and Ernie," he said.

Flynn glared at Michael while Junior joined in with a reproachful look. Hostility and guilt all mixed into one convenient little package, Michael thought. Could be daunting, guys, but Maria's got you both beat.

"What?" Flynn snarled.

"Bored?" Michael asked. He wore a dust-streaked T-shirt and jeans. Baths were a couple days off after they returned to civilization. Maria couldn't have handled the rough living, but the hardship was cake to Michael.

"What are you talking about?" Flynn asked suspiciously.

Michael stared out across the campsite, knowing he had the attention of the other four guys on the work crew. All of them had gathered around the bonfire in the middle of the campsite. Only a short distance away, Kurt Bulmer sat in his private dome tent and worked at his notebook computer by the light of an electric lantern.

Tiller and Perry rounded out the work crew. Tiller was just a guy Michael had passed in the halls, somebody spending time in the institution to get on to the next phase of his life. Last year Tiller had dropped out of school after his ex-navy father had committed suicide, deciding to work to help out his mom and three younger sisters.

Perry was a gamer who was so geeky, he didn't even fit in with the brainiacs like Junior and his friends. As usual, he wore sunglasses even at night and a black T-shirt with a nearly naked anime babe wielding a sword and pistol. Seated only a short distance away, cross-legged, Perry unconsciously shuffled cards from a collectible card game he and the other gamers played at school and at the Crash-down.

"We're all bored," Michael explained. He glanced up at the lightning-streaked heavens. So far they'd been lucky and the rain had held off. "It's night, but the time's what? Maybe nine o'clock? Way before our usual bedtimes, and we don't have anything to do."

"Probably not before Junior's bedtime," Flynn said, drawing a scathing retort from Junior.