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Sweet Bird of Prey: Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere

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Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list June 28, 2001

Title: Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
Author: Scynneh
Disclaimer: Don't own them; they'd be having very interesting summers if I did.
Rating: Maybe Pg-15, just for content.
Author's Notes: Part of the Sweet Bird of Prey series I've embarked on. Post- 'Mixed.' It can be read at: Oh, and the title...if you don't know the song...then you don't know Neil Young....and I cannot say any more..

        The road was open at first light. The ancient corvette eased off the shoulder and onto the pavement. The doors and hubcaps were a shade that could only be achieved after days of dirt had caked on top of the paint. The vehicle's occupant was unconcerned with how the car looked. There were more than a few spots where the finish had chipped off and the rust was eating outwards, giving the car the look of a leper.

        One the side of the road was a car of even more uncertain origins, its billowing smoke cloud hiding both hood and driver. Not one to do a good deed, the driver debated whether or not to pull over, but the possibility of some kind of loot decided things. Hot metal was no deterrent, and the rusty door fell open easily. The only person inside lay across the seat, dressed in absurdly thick clothing for the heat. Rath plucked at the corduroy jacket and shrugged.

        The exposed skin was pale and flushed with something other than overheating. As he grappled with bony shoulders, he got a look at the face of the unconscious man, and that froze him. Long bangs, falling on his forehead, curling over ears, and a mouth that Rath had seen in the morning every day of his life. Another hybrid? The man became a bit more than an easy mark, and Rath frowned at the idea of kindness. The limp body went on the passenger seat.

        The duffel bag, full of syringes, and some questionable vials, was thrust under his seat, and the remains of the car were pushed further off the road- who knew who was following his double.

        A glance at the address taped on the rearview mirror identified his next stop: Roswell New Mexico. Seemed that there had been a rash of funerals, after Liz, then a teen fad took hold, and Tess was tired of being in the town where she couldn't do what she wanted, and where smiling was something to be imported and never used.

        He'd offered to 'swing by', like when Liz had been too much of nuisance for the queen, and his offer was accepted. He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. Now, if his companion was willing to go along for the ride, things would be off on an agreeably odd path.


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