Looking In

by Kameka

A small look into the lonely existence of a man who knows that people are out to get him… and his look into a surrogate family that he does not know.

Title: Looking In

Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. The characters are not mine and no money has been made. I'm merely playing in the fandom and killing some time.

Notes: Just something I had the idea for at work, since I've always loved the actor and I thought the character had some great potential. This is actually the second thing for Tremors that I've written, the first being a ficlet that takes place in the first movie. That will be posted as well, as soon as I not only finish it, but also read over it. This has been spell/grammar-checked and read through by me, but it is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Hopefully, there aren't very many.

Summary: A small look into the lonely existence of a man who knows that people are out to get him… and his look into a surrogate family that he does not know.

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Cletus Poffenberger stood slightly slouched over, a lone, silent sentinel with dusty black binoculars years out of date held to his face. His clothing was equally dusty; the original colors unidentifiable as it had become the uniform color of the unrelenting desert he lived in. It was perfect camouflage, blending into the sand and stone surroundings with little help, an act aided by weather-roughened skin. Gray hair ruffled in the wind as he shook his head. "Let's see what you've been up to," he murmured to himself as he adjusted the focus. He trained them on the closest building – closest being a relative term, of course – and quickly found one of the occupants.

Tall and with a face frequently solemn, the man was wearing clothing that was intentionally camouflage. Cletus could almost see the intense, no-nonsense eyes scanning the horizon behind dark sunglasses that shielded the man from casual study. The man turned to where a one-story house had once stood and in his mind's eye Cletus could see the ghost of a long missing woman come out. She would be wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, curly red hair up off her neck. She would say something and the man he watched would turn, laughing. The illusion was shattered as the man abruptly went to a lone truck, climbing in and fiddling with something before driving off. Cletus frowned slightly, wondering if the man would begin his endless sentry duties and perimeter checks, things that Cletus himself would have to watch for and avoid. The man had never approached Cletus' desert home too closely, but it was still something that the scientist would have to watch.

He shifted, bracing himself as he scanned even further, his eye coming upon a derelict-looking town. Wood buildings stood in a cluster, each of them badly needing fresh paint as dust coated their sides. He turned first to what was obviously a general store, looking to see if any of the town occupants were nearby. There were none, although a movement in the window left proof that someone was inside: the young Asian woman, most likely. He had seen her doing enough unloading that he could surmise that it was now her store. He admired that; the grit and determination that such a young woman must have to attempt to scratch out a living in such a harsh existence.

Grit and determination was something that the residents of Perfection, Nevada, a small desert town twice over-run by monsters taken straight from science fiction had in spades. Even now, there was a life-form winding its' way through the soft sand of the ground on a continual quest in its' territory.

He changed his view slightly to see a garden of plants behind a chain-link fence. They were thriving, blooms on quite a few of them. He paused, casting his eyes around his own surroundings, almost barren to those who did not know the desert beauty to look for. With a grimace of envy, he trained on the plans again, his hungry eyes enjoying the lush green of the non-desert plants in the unrelentingly faded landscape. There were decorations in the yard: pots glazed brilliant colors and reflecting the sunlight, wind chimes hanging from the eaves of the house were moving gently. If he stayed still long enough, he thought that he could almost hear the gentle tinkling of the metal tubes and desert shells. Chuckling at his flight of fancy, he held his breath as a woman came through the open door of the house. Her blonde hair was loose as she bent by each plant; a watering can in one hand as the other stroked the living things she had labored over. As he wondered what had happened to the other blonde, one he had watched grow from a small girl into a beautiful young woman, his attention was drawn away from the woman.

An open-back jeep drove through his line of vision, the car's lone occupant waving as he passed the house. It was parked in front of the only metal building in the town and the occupant bounded out, one hand to the battered cowboy hat he wore. This man was the newcomer in the town, having been there less than every other person. Cletus had watched as the man took jeep-loads of strangers out, a tour of driving through the desert looking for the worm beneath the surface. One day when 4-12 had been in a particularly good mood, they had stayed on one of the high rises and watched the entire tour, the man's face animated as he related tale after tale to tourists hungry for adventure. Sometimes the worm had appeared; sometimes it didn't show at all. It didn't matter much: the people had seemed content enough from Cletus' viewpoint. The most fascinating thing was that the man was accepted into the community quite easily. He hung out at the general store, helped the blonde woman, and even helped the solemn loner with things.

It was that acceptance that made Cletus just a bit homesick. He didn't regret his choices. There was no better pal in the world than 4-12 and his life wouldn't be worth living without the animal… But he had to wonder sometimes what it would be like to be accepted, to have neighbors that cared about him, people to help him. People to talk to that could talk back.

He shook his head, dropping the binoculars to his side. He was becoming maudlin, always a sign that this voyeuristic sojourn into the lives of the town should come to a close quickly. With the ease of practice, he went to the last home, a ranch a ways out of the town.

He quickly picked out two occupants: a man on horseback and a woman standing on the back of a pick-up truck. A sliver of disappointment wound its' way through him at the fact he hadn't caught the beautiful woman sunbathing. Grimacing with distaste at just how desperate for contact he had become, he flicked his eyes over her. It was merely to see how she was faring, he assured himself. From the first time he saw the Spanish woman, he had a sense of displacement about her. She did not truly belong in the small town in the middle of nowhere and she didn't want to stay there. Nevertheless, something kept her there.

It was a feeling Cletus could appreciate greatly.

He scanned the horizon once more, not lingering on any of the occupants as he trailed his eyes back to where he had begun. He dropped the binoculars into a threadbare bag he carried, the strap slung diagonally across his chest. That was enough for one day. It was time to step out of the lives of the surrogates he had adopted without their knowledge and back into his own.

He turned quickly and began making his trek back to the place he called home. His step lightened and he walked faster as he wondered just what his pal 4-12 had been up to while he was gone.

He was unaware of the truck that had stopped dead miles away; the occupant scanning the horizon behind dark sunglasses as brown eyes looked for the reflection that had caught his attention.

End

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