Bones in the Sand - Julie Steimle (best fiction novels to read txt) 📗

call me here and then sick your suited flunkies on me?"

The door of the camper flung open. Professor Pratte rushed out with three agents at his back apologizing profusely to the rotund colleague across the desert, kicking up clouds of dirt in his wake as he dodged sagebrush and small cactuses in his path.

"So sorry, Professor Dumas. Gentlemen, he is here at my invitation, please let him pass."

The dark suited men reluctantly parted, allowing the older gentleman walk by. Professor Dumas glanced back at them as he tromped over the rock, grumbling about thugs and crackpot emails.

"Oh, Dumas, I am so glad you have come. Please," the dusty Professor Jacob Pratte said, motioning to the three gentlemen in suits that were standing behind him, "Meet Mr. Agent James Sicamore and his colleagues Agent Palmer and Agent Powell."

"Agents?" the dumpy professor exclaimed, eying the three men suspiciously. "What kind of agents? Who are you and why have you accosted me?"

Agent Sicamore, a man in his thirties with blackish hair with a reddish tinge to it and blue eyes, nodded apologetically. "We are agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm sorry you were not received well, but Mr. Pratte here barely informed us of your coming until this moment."

"So sorry," Professor Pratte said again, blushing and yet eager to gloat.

"Would you come into the camper, Professor...?" Agent Sicamore led in politely.

"Dumas," the portly gentleman said, his eyes raking over Agent Sicamore's face.

"Yes. Would you come into the camper, Professor Dumas? We have much to discuss." Sicamore pointed the way again, waiting patiently.

"Discuss? I dare say. I was called here to look at a helmet unearthed from thirteen thousand years of rock. That's what." The older man marched over the rocky ground to the trailer all the same and stepped on the first step. Turning back, he asked, "We have a lot to discuss? Hmm? I wonder. What would the FBI want with a piece of ancient rubbish?"

He entered the trailer. The entire structure rocked under his weight. Agent Sicamore went in next, followed by Professor Pratte and Agents Palmer and Powell. They closed and locked the door behind them.

"I wonder what those old codgers are talking with the Feds about?" the watching redheaded senior boy asked aloud.

"I still can't believe the FBI are here," one of the girls remarked, squatting onto a rock. "They wouldn't even let us go back to the site until they finished taking all their photos."

A murmur rumbled amongst them. They poked at their campfire, warming their chilled toes and fingers. Though it was a mite warmer than the first of January, it wasn't much warmer.

"Do you think they'll let us continue digging at the site, or are they going to hire professionals and take over?" another boy asked.

The redhead shook his head. "I don't know. I hope we can still go at it. But whatever it is we're digging up, I think the FBI are going to take it from us either way."

They all nodded.

After a moment the trailer door opened. The puzzled professors stared out of the side window as the three FBI agents walked back to their own car and set of silver campers.

One agent muttered to the other, hardly looking at the archaeology students. "Do you think they know about this yet?"

The head agent, Sicamore, looked back at the other two and said, "I doubt it - but let's try to keep this under our hats as long as possible. You two came out here on a whim - which has well rewarded us. You haven't told anyone else?"

"Just you, sir," Palmer said.

Agent Sicamore nodded before passing out of earshot. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

"What are they up to?" the redheaded senior said again.

The others rumbled likewise.

 

 

[1] Mars, in her language.

Chapter Four: A Dream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Even at this first encounter, this first glimpse, I was overcome with disgust and dread." P.14

           

 

Mr. Humphries had this habit of making his students read things they wrote. On most days this was embarrassing, on others it was enlightening. Lately it had been tiring.

That dark sensation was still in the pit of Jeff's stomach, a feeling he just couldn't shake. He had thought the radio call home would get rid of it, but it didn't. Something just wasn't right. It was impossible to concentrate in class with that nagging foreboding in his gut, and the acids crept up his throat. A girl named Amanda Jace had just finished her essay about her expectations of the future, and she was now the color of a radish.

"Thank you, Miss Jace," Mr. Humphries said, nodding while flipping through the usual stack of written essays in his hands. "And now let's hear from one more. Mr. Pearson, please read your paper on your expectations."

It was the same old routine. Jeff glanced up, watching the gangly boy with a pasty pink complexion and a few whiteheads on his chin. The boy appeared nervous as he took the paper from his teacher's hand. His fingers when he spoke. "I have few expectations and many dreams...."

A snicker erupted on the other side of the room. It was a side of the room Jeff rarely associated with as it that included those people his group rarely talked to for a number of reasons. One of them was a football jock named Deacon Wilks along with his two friends, Trevor Dixon and Mike Payne.  One of the reasons they never associated was that Trevor frequently made remarks that purposely riled Brian up. And Deacon usually snorted rudely in agreement with whatever negative commentary Trevor gave. Usually Brian was easy-going, which was the reason Jeff purposely avoided those boys. Because if Brian got upset, their entire group got upset.

Joseph read on, despite the noise. "It is my hope to one day make it into a great university and graduate with a master's degree and a Ph.D, so that I can get out of the neighborhood where I live."

Another snicker exploded on that side of the room. Joseph flushed but continued reading.

Jeff glanced up, interested not so much in the reading but at what stirred so much mockery. Yes, Joseph was awkward, but he was also on the school's basketball team. He was known to be nice. However, his clothes were a little ratty and worn - and not in the fashionable way. Jeff really had not noticed it until then.

"...I live in the city. But my mother thinks the city is too dangerous of a place for me to go to school so I come to Pennington where it is safer...."

It was Deacon's snickers that erupted most often. He was whispering something to the others while making motions in front of his nose as if Joseph smelled. The tall boy tried to ignore it, yet he slouched in embarrassment.

"You see, where I live the neighborhood is full of gangs. The guys here don't know what it is like to be truly afraid. They have it easy," Joseph said.

Deacon snorted. Mr. Humphries glared at him and the three boys on the other side of the room. They quieted down immediately.

"...People here don't fear being jumped in the street for the shoes they wear, or the color hat they have on," Joseph read from his paper.

Jeff blinked and gazed across the room, wondering why anyone would care about shoes and colored hats. But then he reminded himself that this was the United States and even the gangs were fashion conscious. It almost made him laugh, but he stifled it.

Joseph continued, lifting his eyes from his paper. "In fact, I don't think anyone in Pennington understands what real danger is, except for possibly Jeff Streigle."

All eyes fell on him, including Zormna who smirked - pressing her lips together to keep silent. Jeff immediately flushed, his ears feeling hot.

Joseph continued to read, going red himself. "Everyone else here takes for granted the life that they have. But I won't. I, like Jeff Streigle, will fight for a better life."

Jeff was now utterly red. He sank in his seat. Others smothered chuckles.

"...I will reach my dreams because they are mine, and I won't give up. I will have what I wish for." Joseph sat down.

Mr. Humphries nodded approvingly, ignoring the whispered feedback. "Very good paper."

"It looks like you have a fan." Brian leaned across his desk, whispering to Jeff.

Jeff shook his head, wondering when his classmates would stop staring. Usually people didn't stare so much at him. He had always found a way to slip into the background in most classes, despite being different from the group.

Their teacher smiled with satisfaction and opened his text. "Ok, now let's get into the next chapter. You should have read about Oliver's falling in with Fagan. What of it? Tell me, students, what do you feel about what you just read?"

The class moaned, opening their copies of the novel. One of the students raised his hand immediately. It was Deacon Wilks.

"I think maybe Oliver knows what Joseph feels like," he said.

His side of the room snickered. They shot sneering looks at Joseph who sank in his seat more.

Mr. Humphries frowned. "None of that, Mr. Wilkes, or you will find yourself in detention."

The boy smirked, yet nodded at the teacher.

A girl in the back raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Carter." Their teacher pointed to her.

She stood up. Clearing her throat she blushed. "Well, I think...I think it was planned, wasn't it? Didn't Mr. Monks make it so those people found him so he would look bad, you know, to steal his inheritance?"

Mr. Humphries nodded. "Indeed. Would anyone like to comment?"

A few people were silent. It wasn't a profound remark, and usually that girl, Jill Carter, stayed quiet in the back of the room letting the more opinionated students speak. There was a plethora of them in that room.

Jill swallowed, her eyes drifting toward Jeff. "Well, maybe Jeff can tell us?"

Jeff blinked. He was half dozing in his thoughts, fighting that dark sensation in his gut and half tired from his lack of sleep the night before. Her words jerked him awake.

A snicker erupted from the opposite side of the room again. However, Jill looked sincere. Mr. Humphries scowled at the right hand side of the room, but he glanced back at Jeff to see if he would speak.

"What was that?" Jeff uttered.

Zormna shook her head, lowering it face first against the desk. She closed her eyes.

Mr. Humphries glanced at her and raised his eyebrows, looking at Jeff. "Do you have anything to say about Oliver's situation?"

Jeff blinked again, still fighting the awful feeling that was creeping inside of him. It was distracting him from everything else around him. "No, not really."

Another snicker erupted, now spreading through the entire room.

Jill looked disappointed. Persistent, she frowned at him. "But you used to know gangsters didn't you? You said so last semester."

Jeff face felt hot again. That dark feeling subsided with his increasing embarrassment. Lifting her head, Zormna propped her chin on her hand and her elbow on her desk, waiting to see what story he would come up with.

Jeff sighed and stood up. The dark feeling in his gut made it difficult to concentrate. "What was the question?"

The class erupted with laughs again. Everyone knew Jeff to be