Tom stumbles upon a discovery that challenged everything he had ever read about the Roswell crash in Forty-Seven. A satellite that cannot be allowed to go into orbit. Cradling a homing beacon that would signal a fleet of unwelcomed visitors to the fragile blue marble floating in the vastness of space, Earth. Home to eight billion unsuspecting casualties. Can Tom prevent the launch? Can the old man put an end to what his father had started? Putting an end to the hideous creature Sirius and the clandestine moon base, Trinity...
Only mad dogs and Englishmen would come out in the midday sun, so what was Tom doing in the middle of the New Mexico desert? Even his shadow had the sense to find shade beneath his boots. Pulling a soiled handkerchief from a pocket wipes his forehead of sweat. Uncorking a water bottle, takes a mouthful, holding the cool water before swallowing. A ambling breeze offers a timely reprieve from the blistering heat that beat down upon the three young men.
The breeze wheezes a lungful of dust into the air and the men watch as it swirls and waltzes across the desert dance floor. A tumbleweed races after the tiny dancer in the sand as if not to be left behind.
Tom wipes his forehead again looks about the immediate area for a likely plot to dig.
Studying a map he tries to estimate their position with landmarks about them. A compass wavered erratically among the magnetic rocks. Wondering if they had wandered off the grid, he looks back from where they had come, hoping they would still find his vehicle from that morning.
A small outcrop of rocks catches his attention.
“Marshall! Over here!” He calls out pointing to the pile of rocks in the near distance.
“Coming! …Travis! Over here.” Marshall informs a colleague to join him.
Tom kicks at a rock, dislodging it and awakening a small tan-colored lizard from its midafternoon siesta. Watching it scurry away in search of another sanctuary.
“Sorry…” Apologizing, watching the Prairie lizard scamper off, “… Rummage inside this lot.” He instructs the other two studying the rubble of rocks.
Taking another slug of water, gasps for a mouthful of air that never came. The warm dry air burning dry his lungs. Marshall lights a cigarette and sends a plume into the still air.
“How can you smoke in this heat?”
“What heat?” Taking another drag and watching it drift away in the breeze.
Seeing a vein in the rock, Tom pulls out a long nose hammer to wedge the rock apart.
‘Crack!’ Giving it a short sharp strike with the hammer.
‘Crack!’ Striking it again.
Splitting the rock open and examines it as though it were an autopsy. Searching for exposed fossils and remnant remains of a time before time.
“Nothing…” He mutters beneath his breath, “…Any luck guys?”
“Nah_, just an old arrowhead… I think?” Travis examines the jagged flint artifact, handing it to Marshall for a second opinion.
“Hmm….” Taking a water bottle pours water over the arrowhead. Washing away dirt holds it up to the sun, “… Navajo, could be Apache. Hard to tell till we get back.”
“Keep looking…” But before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.
‘Bang!’ Striking a nearby rock and ricocheting into the desert.
“What the…?” Tom instinctively crouches behind a bolder and peers about for the source.
‘Click-clunk.’ Sounds the cocking Winchester.
A young woman stands above them, a leather satchel slung over a shoulder. A leg of a hare protrudes from the opening. Her sights set down the barrel at Tom who raises the soiled handkerchief in his hand as though to surrender.
“You want me to put that thing out of its misery?” Seeing the rag waving over his head.
“Eh? What? No… No.” Shaken by the appearance of the gun-toting woman.
Tom goes lowers his arms, only have the woman lift the rifle barrel.
“Keep them up where I can see ‘em… You too.” Now pointing the barrel at Marshall and Travis.
“We’re not armed lady,” Tom informs her.
“I ain’t no lady mister.” She informs him.
Without warning, she fires more shots echo in quick succession causing him to dive to the ground.
Shots whistling over his head.
‘Bam!-Click-clunk. Bam!-Click-clunk. ‘Bam!-Click-clunk.’
Bullets ricochet off rocks trailing a shrieking Roadrunner running for its life, as though being chased by Wylie Coyote. Marshall and Travis stay down in fear of being shot.
Tom gingerly gets to his feet to try to arbitrate a surrender.