Coming in November 2000!
ROSWELL'S FIRST FANZINE!

PAST TEASERS

by Irene Shafer

Now the words had all been spoken
And somehow the feeling still wasn't right
And still we continued on through the night
Tracing our steps from the beginning
Until they vanished into the air
Trying to understand
How our lives has lead us there

Looking hard into your eyes
There was nobody I'd ever known
Such an empty surprise
To feel so alone

--Jackson Browne, “Late for the Sky”

The end came, not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with the tortured sound of tires squealing on wet pavement and the frantic tattoo of a semi’s horn cutting the silence of the New Mexican night. . .  

*

Max was heading back from covering a brush fire just south of Albuquerque, when the garbled message from Isabel came in over the Cherokee’s on-board computer.  He winced at the transmission noise and made a mental note to have the techs at the reservation lab take another look at it.  The unit was still pretty buggy and at this point in the Confrontation, he needed to be able to depend on his communications system more than ever. 

It had been ten years since they’d gone into hiding.  Ten years since their first interactions with the Others.  And while they knew Max and his people were in New Mexico, they couldn’t get a bead on where. 

That anonymity was due, in no small part, to the work of the team they’d assembled.  He, Isabel and Michael owed the Apache a rather large debt of gratitude.

Would they ever be able to repay it?

Max stifled a yawn and forced his eyes open wider. He cranked down the window in the ancient 4x4, hoping the blast of cool night air would revive him. With a free hand he massaged his forehead, sparing a few moments to reflect on the challenge that was his life.

The whole dual-existence thing had worn thin years ago.  Working.  Fighting.  If he could have gotten his editor to take him off this fire story or quit his job entirely, he would have. 

Before Nasedo had been killed (in the end, it turned out he could die), he’d managed to stockpile a fair amount of money for them.  It hadn’t lasted long, but at least it had helped them establish their base on the Mesaliko.  Still, Max’s press pass had gained him access to all sorts of useful information and spared him from having to explain his interest.  Somehow he’d managed these past 10 years (God, was it 10 years already?) to hold down a job and fight for his very life.

They all had.

They’d had no choice.

And it would all be over soon.  One way or the other. 

A signal from the com let him know when the decryption was done.  Punching up the translate filter, he waited for the audio, then froze when it came through.

“. . . get there as soon as you can, Max!”   Isabel’s normally smooth tones were stressed, not just from the connection.  “. . .I tried to stop him. . . . Michael! . . . know how he is . . . took off before . . . could get a message to you.”   

A map popped up on the tiny monitor, showing a flashing marker, outside of Roswell.  He was just north of Roswell now, heading south on 285. 

Flooring the accelerator, Max one-hand-typed a quick note back to Isabel telling her he’d meet her there in thirty minutes. . .

(to be continued...)

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Teaser Date:  September 6, 2000
Last modified:  October 10, 2000