Bones in the Sand by Julie Steimle (literature books to read txt) 📖

the door, will you! It's insanely cold, and you are letting in a draft!" bellowed, Professor Dumas who didn't share his opinion. They did this nearly every morning, calling from his bed for Professor Pratte to come to his senses. Professor Pratte stepped outside and shut the door.

Breathing in the air, he sighed. They had one more week, and soon the project would be over. It had been clear to him that the FBI would indeed take the spaceship and not let him display it in the university museum. The FBI would also take the helmet and the one skeleton for their own research. But the rest they were allowed to keep. Agent Sicamore had informed him personally that they would allow him to keep his research, and he would get his credit in due time, but something at present would prevent them from allowing him to present his findings to the university. They said it was a matter of national security and whatnot, but the FBI agent wouldn't elaborate. They only said that it was a delicate situation that had to be treated with a great amount of secrecy and caution.

Of course, that meant the college students who had been working on the site had not been allowed to go onto the reservation or the city for supplies - not even for a rest. Unfortunately Professor Pratte had a hard time breaking the news to them the first week. Kyle Smith seemed especially irked and led his classmates in a brief protest. It lasted a few hours. But when Professor Pratte informed them that if they continued to protest he would be forced to give them an incomplete on their grade. They all quickly went back to work. As for Kyle, he sulked then verbally joined Professor Dumas in his assumption that the FBI were up to no good. The problem was, they weren't entirely wrong.

Professor Pratte walked through the camp of his archaeology students. They had tents on the far side of the site on the flat side near the hills. Set up on one side was a portable camping grill with gas lamps in areas to see into the night. Some of the tents were sagging from the long use, dust blown in drifts around them on one side. A line of clothes strung across the whole area, drying their clothes and even some shoes that had been soaked in an impromptu water fight the night before. Nearly all of the students were asleep. Only Kyle Smith was awake.

He claimed he liked to watch the sunrise, a likely habit for a city boy who had never spent much time in nature. Professor Pratte personally thought the young man was watching the FBI. Their silver trailers were in front of the rising sun. Beyond them were the distant buttes and desert mountains. But the sun was glorious behind that, reflecting light and color in the thin clouds.

"Up early, Kyle?" his professor asked.

Breaking out of his silent reverie, the young man blinked then looked toward him. "Oh, Professor. Uh, yeah, I guess."

Professor Pratte smiled as he gazed toward the rising sun. "It's going to be quite a day. I dare say the groundhog didn't see his shadow in Arizona. It's going to be hot."

Kyle sighed. He looked back at the silver trailers. "I guess."

They remained silent for a moment, both drinking in the morning as long as they could. The sounds of quail, cooing in their unique way among the brush serenaded them. A small brood of them lived in the underbrush across the desert in the hills. The students watched them pass by occasionally.

The sun rose up, hotter and brighter. Both men blinked as they finally turned to look away. The silence of the desert and the distant sounds from the dirt road not far from the reservation to the north surrounded them with a sense of distance and insignificance. Kyle sighed, heading back toward the tents.

"Going to breakfast?" Professor Pratte asked him.

Kyle nodded. "I need to start up the griddle for pancakes this morning. My turn."

The professor patted him on the back. He looked to the silver trailer.

The sound of rocks, then steps, and the scattering of spooked quail came from over the hills. He figured it was probably a jackrabbit or a brave coyote come to steal food, though he looked once. Then he turned, walking back through the campground. He had to duck under the makeshift clothesline to get there.

The echo of a cell phone rang inside the silver trailer. Professor Pratte lifted up his head at the sound. He glanced back at the FBI trailer. The cell phone continued to ring. Someone inside stopped it from completing the requiem after a few bars.

The sound of rolling of rocks from the hills grew louder. Then came heavier footsteps. Professor Pratte turned to have a look at the approaching animal in the hills to the north.

The trailer to the east thumped around. Faint swearing came from within. Professor Pratte smirked at it.

The sound of the rockslide from the hills grew more prominent. Kyle also turned to see what was coming. Expecting a shaggy, thin, doglike beast padding over the hill - instead they saw jet black hair rise over the crest, on top of a human head cut 'George McFly' style, soon accompanied by a fiery, curly mop of hair that reminded them of the rising sun. They did not see much of their faces at that distance. Soon they could see the shapes of two young human beings. Both individuals lifted their dark eyes toward the camp, panting as they hiked up the hill. They looked strikingly pale under the morning sun. Boy and girl, perhaps only in high school. The black-haired figure was the boy. He had two prominent scars on his face and deep indigo eyes as mysterious as night itself. The blonde was the girl, a head shorter than the boy, with eyes so green they looked like they were cut out of smoothed emeralds and hair as wild as a bonfire. The boy smiled and pointed to the site. When the girl also saw their campground, she grinned. Her face seemed to have been carved from heaven itself.

The door to the FBI trailer burst open. Mr. Sicamore stormed down while still in his pajamas, cursing, followed by his two other agents who were also just out of bed. They didn't see the two teenagers at first. They marched right toward the camp with one purpose. Agent Sicamore clutched his cell phone like it was the cause of every miserable thing that had ever happened in his life. The agent whipped his eyes straight onto Professor Pratte and took a determined breath. "We have to shut the area down."

Professor Pratte blinked, looking from the approaching teenagers to the disturbed FBI agents. One of the agents - Agent Palmer probably - glanced to where Kyle was still staring. Kyle had been unable to take his eyes off the girl since the second he saw her. The two teens were nearly upon the camp.

"Sicamore!" Palmer yelped, grabbing the head agent's arm.

Almost immediately, a mirth-filled laugh erupted from the approaching boy'.

Agent Sicamore turned around at the sound. His eyes widened in horror. Clearly he wished the two teens were nothing but a bad dream.

"Nice pajamas," the dark-haired boy called out to the FBI agent with a flippant hand gesture as he crested the hill in long strides. He descended directly into the valley towards them.

The blond girl followed, striding more confidently at the boy's side with, her eyes smirking at the FBI agents. Dimples dug into her nearly angelic cheeks. Both teens carried backpacks and sleeping bags.

"Who are - ?" Professor Pratte attempted to ask.

"You can't be here!" Sicamore went white-knuckled and stiff legged with nothing more than complete anger towards the boy and girl.

Tisking, the dark-haired boy folded his arms in amused mockery. "Really, Sicamore. It is a free country. I learned that much from my history class."

The FBI agent's jaw tightened. Instead he steamed like a teapot, as if there was nothing polite he could say to the boy and yet nothing he dared say as well. Finally the head agent bit out, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm surprised at you." The girl smirked, holding the straps to her backpack with hardly a look at anyone else except for the FBI agent. Her voice had a Celtic-sounding accent to it. "You of all people know full well why we have come. I for one want to see the helmet."

The agent to Sicamore's right gaped. The other concentrated his glare on the newcomers.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Agent Palmer," the boy interjected. "It isn't like you can hide anything from us, after all." Then he let his eyes fall on the professor and at Kyle who were standing there in a rather stunned silence. He smiled politely to them and nodded.

"Who are you?" Kyle managed to ask, swallowing the saliva that had been gathering in his throat.

The dark-haired boy glanced at Agent Sicamore from the corner of his eyes and replied with a wry smile. "He hasn't told you what you've unearthed?"

The professor collected himself. He could only comprehend one thing - the FBI had been dreading this visit. And yet these were two teenagers. Not adults. Not an alien army. Teenagers. And yet, taking how unusual they were, he realized that these two were most definitely connected with those bones they were digging out of the rock.

Kyle irritably shook his head at the boy. "We unearthed a man in a helmet and a spaceship, but what does that have to do with you?"

The girl's face immediately lit up. She grabbed the boy's black jacket sleeve. "You found a ship!"

Kyle nodded apprehensively, taking in their reactions.

She nearly was hopping up and down from excitement. "Jafarr! Do you know what this means? They found the crashed ship of Arrand!"

At first the boy cringed - at what exactly they could not tell - but that expression quickly vaporized when she finished her statement. He stared back at her, his own amazement overwhelming his annoyance. "Well, I'll be a tunneler. That explains what I saw."

"The crashed ship of whom?" Agent Sicamore asked, peering at the girl with interest.

She took one look at the FBI agent, her green eyes darkening. "That is none of your business."

The look in her eyes made Professor Pratte want to take a small step back. Taking another step back, Professor Pratte took a silent mental survey of both teenagers' physiology, as he was now sure the pair was connected to the bones in the ground. Her hair cut was unusual, as was her mixed hair color, exotic eye shape, and eye color. Without thinking, he stepped closer to see if she might even have the same bone structure in her face as the skull. But without touching her and tilting her head, it would be difficult.

She stepped away from him the moment he got too close. "Do you mind?"

Immediately, the boy she called Jafarr stepped in between them, eying the professor sharply.

"Amazing bone structure," the professor murmured, gazing now at Jafarr's angular face.

"Flattered," Jafarr replied in his perfect American accent and then turned back to his female companion. "Well, Zormna, I say we make camp."

"Zormna?" Kyle and Professor Pratte murmured.

"Make camp?" the FBI agents exclaimed.

"No, No! You will not be making camp!" Agent Sicamore protested, stepping forward and thrusting his nose into the dark haired boy's face. "You cannot stay here!"

Jafarr didn't seem too pleased with that, but he appeared to expect it. "Agent Sicamore, give it up. Zormna and I aren't leaving this place until we give those bones a proper burial. They belong to us, and you know it. So why don't you give it a rest and be glad you got your little peek as long as you did."

Professor Pratte drew in a breath. Pure admission. They were connected!

The FBI agent scowled and was about to say something, but the