Shades Read Free Page B

into him. He shone the beam in all directions, but there was no sign of the image.
    "Give me a hand," Bulmer said. "Let's get Tiller to Roswell and let someone in the ER take a look at him."
    "No," Tiller objected, shaking them off. "I'm not going to the ER. I'm fine. I saw what 1 saw." He started to say more, but he caught himself and stopped. "I saw what I saw." His voice was low and quavering. Emotion lighted his eyes. Without another word he turned and walked back through the rain and over the muddy ground toward the camp.
    Bulmer pointed his heavy-duty lantern at the ground. He held the beam steady for a moment, studying the crater. The halogen light reflected from the gathering water. "Did you see anything?" Bulmer asked.
    Michael stared into the emptiness where the lights stripped the shadows away. Only hard rock covered with running water met his gaze.
    Whatever Michael had seen was gone, and whatever it had been had gone unseen by the others. He had to think about that. His alien nature gave him different senses and powers than humans, and he still didn't know their full extent. But what he did know was one of the first lessons he'd learned: He couldn't come across as different. Anonymity meant safety.
    He snapped off the flashlight and looked at Bulmer. "No. I didn't see anything." As he turned and trudged up the hill, Michael also hoped he never saw the specter again.
    Max Evans pulled the rented 71 Oldsmobile Cutlass to a stop outside the Mesaliko Native-American reservation. After the jeep had blown up, he had needed wheels again. For the moment, the rented Cutlass fit the bill. He watched the people moving through the village while the yellow dust cloud he'd brought in with him dissipated. The sun beat down on the land, already hot though it was only midmorning.
    He couldn't believe he was just sitting behind the wheel. The Mesaliko people watching him probably thought he was bored or lost. And maybe he was lost. Ever since Tess had left with the baby… his son… there had been an emptiness inside him that he'd never before experienced.
    Max peered at his reflection in the dust-streaked windshield. I sent my son away, and I didn't go with him. What kind of father would do that?
    All his life in school he'd struggled not to get involved with others, to maintain his own personal bubble of individuality. Getting caught up in the lives of others put him at risk because he was different. He'd always known he was different; he just hadn't known how much.
    Yet as distant and reserved as he tried to make himself be, he'd involved himself in the lives of others without hesitation at times. That reservation had broken when he'd saved Liz Parker's life at the Crashdown Cafe almost two years ago. The image of Liz falling back when the gunman's bullet struck her still sometimes haunted Max's dreams. He had made a choice that day to use his powers to heal her, and had thrown them together and apart ever since.
    Opening the Cutlass's door, Max stepped out into the oven heat that settled over the harsh land. The slow ticking of the Cutlass's cooling engine sounded loud in the silence of the village. A child wrapped an arm around her mother's leg and retreated behind the woman.
    Three Mesaliko men in jeans, T-shirts, and sweat-stained denim shirts with the sleeves hacked off were putting a new roof on a community building. Although none of them spoke, the three men rose as one and stepped over the edge of the single-story building. Their boots thumped against the alkaline ground when they landed, then they headed for Max.
    Max held his ground and watched them approach even though he wanted to get back into the Cutlass and leave. He watched the men stop just out of arm's reach, forming a semicircle around him.
    "What are you doing here?" one of the men demanded. He was Max's height and slim build, but his arms and shoulders showed musculature from long, hard hours of manual labor. He kept a roofing hammer in one scarred