Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow - By L.L. Muir Page 0,1

content to watch only what came into view. He tugged harder on his hood, to hide his blond hair, folded his arms, and tucked his cold hands into his armpits, grateful for the thick soft cotton of his new sweatshirt.

Small glowing lights moved among the plants, headed for the center of the field. As Jamison shifted from foot to foot the specters spread into a circle about fifty yards out from the tree. At first, he thought someone was going to burn the field, but the lights were as steady as the robed people carrying them.

But they weren’t actually carrying them. The light came from under their white clothes as if each person wore a single, battery-operated Christmas light on one shoe. He would have laughed at the costumes if he hadn’t just noticed that the neighbors were standing in a ring, in the middle of...of...a crop circle!

He, Ray, and Burke had climbed up pretty early—around eight o’clock. They’d looked over that field for an hour or so before it got dark. They would have noticed a freaking crop circle!

Come on. Come on. If those two didn’t hustle, they’d miss it. They’d never believe him if the circle somehow disappeared by morning. He’d never believe it. They’d also never believe the lights—coming from...wherever.

They’d believe the robes, though; this group wasn’t just eco-friendly, they were eco-nuts. Calling themselves Somerleds, they lived like the Amish or Mennonites—kinda keeping to themselves, living simply—only instead of wearing black all the time, they wore white. Ray told him they wore only raw wool and raw cotton, and as far as his friend knew, they only ate raw food as well. No meat. Strictly vegetarians.

At least if they were sacrificing something, or someone, they wouldn’t be eating it afterward. For some reason, that put Jamison a little more at ease. He still stayed back from the window, though. Who knew what might light up next and clearly show the Somerleds the face of their new neighbor/spy?

The circle of lights and bodies settled. Nothing else moved through the field; all were contained in that deep bowl of drying husks, the sides towering over the tallest of heads, the tassels waving in the breeze like flags above a circus tent.

Very clever; no one in that flat county would notice the meeting place unless they were flying overhead...or perched in one of Granddad’s windbreak trees. They would never get away with this closer to the mountains.

But just what were they trying to get away with?

Movement.

A taller one—had to be a man—moved around the circle, stopping at each person for a minute. When he stopped near a small figure, the two hugged. For just a second that hot girl’s face was lit up over the man’s shoulder, her hair spilling down the guy’s arm, and Jamison was hit by an invisible Mac truck.

She was there. She was part of it. He’d fallen for a circus freak.

Jamison moved to the side of the window, wanting a better look, but more afraid of getting caught than before.

“Just show them a little respect for the good neighbors they've been to me,” his granddad had asked in his letter.

Jamison had never been so near Somerled people before. For the last two days he’d tried not to stare and had done a pretty good job, he’d thought. He was a good actor, just like most kids in big city high schools; you had to walk a thin line between ignoring the dangerous people and showing them enough respect, and do both without drawing their attention. He’d managed to live a pretty invisible life in Texas and treating the Somerleds like dangerous gang members had been a good plan...

Until a girl his age had pulled up in a green BMW and caught him with his mouth hanging open. Her clothes marked her a Somerled, but her car was anything but simple. What was up with that?

He wouldn’t call her pretty, but she had a look that said one of these days she’d be beautiful. Her nose was kind of cute and boxy on the end. Her eyes were so dark you couldn’t tell where the iris ended and the pupil began. There was something warm and melty about those eyes, like chocolate in the bottom of a black cup.

She styled her brown hair the same as every other American female did—long and straight. It swung like a heavy drape when she walked.

And she wasn't overly hot, or at least he'd never be able to tell with