Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

SIXTY-TWO

I was walking through a cornfield, the plants tall as they surrounded me on all sides. The leaves - sharp enough to create deep paper cuts - cut into my arms, and my agitation was increasing with every second.

I couldn't make out where I was. The sky was covered in thick grey clouds, its contours tinted with orange, and I could hear the faint sounds of thunder in the distance. The air sparkled with electricity - the magnetism that would sometimes charge the air close to big lightning storms.

My feet ached as I stepped on pebbles. Looking down, I realized that I was barefoot.

I could hear nothing but the rustling of stalks brushing against each other, of semi-ripe cobs bending over within their protective sleeves of leaves in the soft wind.

And the sound of quick moving feet.

I swirled around towards that eerie sound, the blood rushing in my ears.

Who was that?

But the view behind me looked exactly the same as the one in front of me. Row upon row of corn.

Even with the sound of hasty footsteps, like short legs and small feet moving really really quickly, I couldn't see anyone.

Not watching where I was going, my feet caught on something and I fell with a yelp of fear. I wiggled, trying to get away from the warm mass of something that I had stumbled on, afraid that it was in fact something alive. Something that could hurt me.

Then my eyes fell on the head of my obstacle and I froze. I would have recognized that brown thick hair anywhere. The shape of the head. The strong curve of his neck that connected with the well-defined muscles of his back.

"Max?" I whispered and angled my body towards him rather than away.

He was facedown, wearing only black jeans, and I crawled closer, trying to see if he was breathing.

I brushed at his fringe, simultaneously checking his temperature. I sighed in relief at his warmth.

He was alive.

"Max?" I whispered again, bending closer. "Wake up. Please."

The rapid titter-tatter of little feet was gaining on me and my heart rate escalated in response to the rhythmic sound. I placed my hands on his shoulders and shook him.

"Please, Max," I pleaded. "We have to go. Wake up. Please."

The running sounds were increasing in volume, and panic was settling into my bones as I now could also discern the sound of corn plants being pushed to the side and trampled. Which meant that whoever - whatever - was making that sound was getting very close.

"Liz?"

My attention was sharply directed towards his mumbled query, but my relief was short-lived as the running now had reached sound levels that spoke of more than ten pairs of running feet. And they were close.

"We have to move," I told his closed eyes.

He groaned and moved slowly in the red sand. I took a hold of his bicep and helped him to his feet when the rustle got closer. Then stopped.

My body froze at the sudden deafening silence, and I slowly looked up from Max's weak, barely conscious, shape.

Surrounding us, forming a circle around our crouched bodies, were grey figures. They were about as tall as the average six-year-old, didn't wear a stitch of clothing, their bodies like plastic Barbie dolls with no external sexual traits, and their heads disproportionally large to the rest of their bodies.