A/N: First of all I do not own the characters of Roswell, they were created by Jason Katims and his gang. This one was meant to be sort of a cliffhanger yet again and a little proof that Maria can hold her own in most circumstances.
The reaction of most humans when they are afraid is the general pupil dilation, increased heart beat, and a burst of adrenaline which can enable them to do some pretty spectacular things. Michael felt a burst of emotions, a tempest of thoughts and half-reasoning roaring through his mind at all speeds before a panicked whisper from Maria shook him.
"Michael…Michael!"
He could tell her to stay, he could tell her that it was too dangerous for her and that anything could happen and if he lost her…but he didn't tell her. No, instead he rushed in the direction of their campsite as the screams continued and he realized, or at least a part of him realized that there were human children amongst the other campers and they were screaming too.
Maria flew down the path behind Michael, heart hammering against her ribs as she reached for the pistol in the shoulder holster hidden under her jacket. Yes, things had changed since they had left Roswell and she had learned, like the rest of them had learned, how to better defend herself. Sure, it wasn't as good as having powers like dream-walking, blowing shit up, and healing people but it was better than running around with nothing.
Now as she felt the cold, dread weight of the gun in her dominant hand it was finally beginning to sink in that it would never be over. That things could never go back to the way they were and that every possible peaceful conclusion would merely end in violence and heartbreak. She had chosen this and she had known that the outcome would never end perfectly. She would never go peacefully into that good night, she would fight alongside Michael until the very end and she had told him as much.
The air around the camp site as they approached was strangely humid and thick, a characteristic they had never before encountered but one that had made them wary nonetheless. Michael stepped in front of Maria, crouched slightly in the burgeoning darkness and sense of foreboding, teeth bared slightly much like a wolf. All was quiet now; he realized suddenly, when did it get so quiet? Something didn't feel right and the sick feeling in Michael's gut only grew.
Until another scream cut through the silence, a young child lathered in blood stumbling from the woods. A strangled cry came from behind Michael and he didn't have to turn to know it was Maria. Tears blurred her vision, the gun slipping free from her grasp and thumping onto the moist ground. The boy could not have been older than 10 and judging by how red his hair had turned from all the blood he might have been a very blond, towheaded child.
The vacant stare of someone that had mentally retreated from horror was painted so clearly upon this boy's face Michael had to wonder if he'd screamed at all. He was immobilized, staring in horror as the child stumbled and weaved and the fell with a soft THUD! at his feet.
"Michael," Maria slid to her knees beside the boy, gently tugging him into her arms, "Michael! Isabel, Max, Liz…the oth—"
She inadvertently cut herself, choking back a sob as she watched Michael inspect the camp site, watched his back tense and his fists clench into tight balls. Whatever had done this had done it fast and bloody and there was no clever finesse…but there were also no body parts.
Ripping through the remnants of Max and Liz's tent he tore the entire campsite apart until Maria's quivering index finger guided his gaze. And when it met with the object to which she was revealing two things happened:
Michael let out a gut-wrenching scream.
And the little bloody boy opened his eyes.