July 9

The Original Roswell Crash Site (Part 2 of 3)

[…continued from July 8 entry…]

 

“This can’t be the original site,” Maxwell Kipling said.  “There’s nothing here.”

“What do you expect?”  The guide waived his arms to indicate the wooded area.  “You think a giant saucer blazed through here on fire, destroying everything in its path?  You think it made a huge crater in the earth for everyone to see?”

The agitation in the guide’s face made his features seem blurry again, and it reminded Maxwell of the face on a badly Xeroxed wanted poster.  Or, the black-and-white mugshot at the back of a true crime paperback about serial killers.

He’s taken my money for this special tour, Maxwell thought.  And now he’s lured me away from civilization, into a hidden area of the woods, to kill me.

“You got all my money for the tour.” Maxwell tried to hold back, but the whimper still crept into his voice.  “I don’t have any more to give.”

“I’m not asking for more money,” the guide said.  “Come here.”

The guide sounded like an angry teacher, or a superior officer.  Beneath his T-shirt, the man’s chest looked broad, his arms strong.  He wore cargo pants with lots of pockets — multiple places where weapons could be hidden, or a cloth handkerchief and a vial of chloroform.  Maxwell looked around at the woods, remembered how long they’d walked, and how they might have gone in circles.  If he wanted to run away, he had no idea which way to go.

“Over here,” the guide said, pointing to the ground in front of him.

Maxwell headed slowly where the guide indicated.  Was he expected to kneel?  Put his hands behind his head and wait for his execution?

The guide pointed again, to get Maxwell to hurry.  “Look.”

A large, flat section of slate rock spanned the ground where the guard pointed.  Sections of twigs and dead leaves covered a portion of the rock.  “Move that aside,” the guide said, kicking at the twigs with his shoe.  “You’ll see what you came here to see.”

Maxwell was puzzled, unsure if he was supposed to move the rock or the obscuring twigs.  Then he noticed a crack in the rock, and he kneeled to push aside more twigs, revealing a dark opening in the slate rock…ragged at the edges, and about four inches in diameter.

“Go ahead,” the guide urged.  “Reach your hand in there.”

 

[…continued tomorrow…]