Hello! It's been awhile – I'm deeply sorry about that! Between NaNoWriMo and finals I've been pinched for time. I wrote this the first night of winter break, but never got around to editing it until now.

So, I hope you enjoy!

Owen was hesitant to open his eyes, once he regained his footing. A strange sensation had come over him when that thing had run at him and knocked him down; a feeling of the floor suddenly dropping out from under him, as though he was at the gallows. His breath was sucked from him, some invisible vacuum grabbing, tearing at his lungs. He would have made more noise if he could have, but the only sound he'd been able to manage had been a surprised oomf! as he was torn off his feet. He waited, expecting to hear the others' calls. Yet, it was completely silent, all except for a meaty thump beside him.

The report of this sudden noise caused his eyes to shoot open. His heart raced as he came to the realization that he was no longer in Cardiff.

The ground was barren and here and there small attempts at vegetation could be seen. There were plenty of dried, brown weeds wiggling their ways through the cracks in the stale, dusty brown ground, which blew around in circles as the breeze fluctuated, then settled, like the raspy breath of an old man; but overall, all that was visible from where Owen stood was dirt.

He took a deep breath and instantly began coughing. The air was grainy, frigid, and arid, and it pressed down on his shoulders, an unpleasant weight. He brought his eyes up, and shielding them with his hand, he found it, that golden orb in the sky, staring right back down at him with a ferocity that forced him to glance away. The sky was clear, and so pure it was as though someone had tripped, spilling a fresh can of vibrant, pale blue all over. It contrasted mightily with the sorrowful brown that dominated the terrain.

"Aw, hell."

Owen jumped with a start, his neck on a swivel. He found the monster who had attacked him and his team picking itself up from the ground. Where's my gun, he thought as he hurriedly searched his clothing. Then he halted, remembering it had been knocked away from him back in Wales. Wherever he was now, he was sure he was very far away from there. But still, there had to be a weapon somewhere.

The creature was on his feet by now, and was taking its time, leisurely sweeping dust from its jeans. It eventually looked up, its gaze landing on Owen.

Owen's heart stopped. The thing's goddamn eyes were black again, and they were right on him. Pitch black, they were like two fragments of space that had been woven and squeezed into a pair of crystal bulbs.

It smiled toothily, displaying rows of dazzling teeth. It blinked, and suddenly the black in its eyes was gone, replaced with a pale apple green. This made Owen blink, because the thing now looked like a perfectly average man, not a monster. But if Owen had learned anything, it had been that sometimes the most toxic dangers can come in disguise.

It peered around, seemed to find something on the horizon, then set off at a brisk pace.

Owen, left quite literally in the dust, followed after him. He wasn't sure what to do, and although he knew this thing he followed could turn around any moment and most likely kill him, he found himself running to catch up to it. "Hey!" he yelled, his voice sounding very small amidst the desolation of their surroundings. He glanced around again, a bit unnerved by the openness.

The thing looked back at him over his shoulder briefly, but continued to stride toward his destination. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he responded, his eyes straight ahead.

"Where are we? What the hell have you done!" Owen said.

"You think I did this?" It smirked. "Buddy, you took words right out of my mouth."

"No, you're the freak who jumped on me. You're responsible."

It shook its head. "I have no more of a clue than you do. For all I know this could be Utah!"

That was unlikely. Owen knew that if it hadn't done anything to get the both of them into this mess, than the thing at fault had to be the rift. It had done unexplainable shit before, this wasn't too big of a leap from its norm. But, he severely doubted that they were in Utah; the rift had never transported anyone to an entirely different continent.

The two of them moved forward, and shapes began to grow from the horizon. They continued, and became more defined. Squinting his eyes, all Owen could make out were brown...structures? As he followed the thing at a brisk pace, he watched as before him, a small town grew out of the dirt. It looked old-fashioned, like a set that would be found in an old western movie.

They neared the town, and the thing stopped abruptly. Owen caught scent of horse feces.

"Fan-freaking-tastic," it mumbled, as Owen stopped beside him. "Not this place again."

There was an arch above the dusty path that wound through the town, splitting it into two halves. On that sturdy wooden arch, made out of three whole skinned tree trunks, was a painted sign that read: SUNRISE WYO.

The thing moaned audaciously. "Out of all the places on the earth we could have ended up in…"

"Sunrise?" Owen said. He looked around and saw they were now in a wooded area. Evergreen trees of some sort crowded in around the small buildings in front of them, surrounded by lots of wilted, yellow brush. He huddled into himself and rubbed his hands together. In the thirty minutes they'd spent walking there, thick clouds had gathered in the sky, masking the sun.

"I never shoulda gotten rid of that sarape." It proceded forward, looking at the buildings, which seemed to blend into the ground. Some of them were actually becoming part of the ground - their wooden walls and roofs were rotting, and they emitted a pungent stench that stung at Owen's nose, as though he'd just whiffed ammonia.

"Where are we?" Owen asked.

It sighed. "Wyoming. I been here before, awhile ago." He paused. "It looks exactly the same as it did in 1861."

Owen was taken aback, but when he spoke, he did so flatly. "You look young for your age."

"What? No," it said, blinking. "I wasn't alive in 1861. I just...visited."

How many time travelling aliens were there?

"We should ask the locals. If we're lucky, there's an airport somewhere nearby," offered Owen.

Without speaking another word, the thing ducked into one of the one was larger than the others. It appeared as though it had another story, and there was a sign hanging above the swinging doors that told Owen with large painted letters that it was a saloon. He followed the thing inside.

As soon as he stepped through the doorway, he found the air to be so heavy with the smell of old wood and alcohol he nearly choked on it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside, and even when they had, it was still dark. The only light came from the scattered oil lamps - vases pinned to the walls, with dancing flames inside them - and the needle-like rays of sunlight that poked weakly through the uncurtained windows.

Owen found the thing speaking to a withered white-haired man who was wiping dishes clean behind the bar. He approached them, pulled by curiosity.

"Clint, I see you got some new clothes, even stranger this time," the bartender was saying, regarding the thing with a small eye that peeked out from under a bushy, white eyebrow.

Clint?

The thing huffed. "Shoulda seen my sarape."

The bartender ignored its comment. "Where's the giant that was with you just a moment 'go? Ya got someone else with you." He nodded toward Owen.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout him. Might as well be the dirt on the bottom of my-"

Owen stepped forward, cutting it off. He smiled at the bartender without showing any teeth. "Hello, I'm Owen. Would you excuse me and my…friend...for a moment." Then, without waiting for an answer, he grabbed it by the arm and pulled it away.

The thing looked at him curiously, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows. "What?"

"Can you tell me what the hell is going on?"

The thing glanced around, then leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone. "Elkins, the old man I was talking to? He's the same guy who was here in 1861."

Owen frowned. "We've traveled back in time over a hundred and fifty years?"

It nodded. "Ain't the first time I done it." After a second his expression turned overcast. "Shit."

"Huh?"

"Wait a sec," it said. "Hey, Elkins!"

The bartender looked up from his glass.

"Am I sheriff?" it asked the old man.

"Are you what?" Elkins said, his face contorting with confusion.

The thing turned back toward Owen, a goofy smile that was most likely inappropriate in the situation. "He said I just walked outta here with Sam. I'm not sheriff yet, either. That means-"

"That means you just almost knocked into yourself," Owen finished.

"Which is bad."

"Very," Owen agreed. "Wow. How the hell did we get here?"

It shrugged. "Don't ask me. You're the one who works for a shady billion-dollar-group that has no trace on the internet."

"Oy, you're the creepyass alien with black eyes," Owen snapped back.

It rolled its eyes. "Alien? Come on."

"Are you boys gonna buy sumthin'?" Elkins called.

Before heading toward the door, the thing whispered, a faint smile on his lips, "Don't wait for Elkins to hook you up a date with his best girl."

Owen lingered back for a second, wondering what it meant. He figured he didn't want to find out.

This is why for the second time, Owen found himself following the mysterious thing, who he had no clue about. There was nothing else he could do, for he was stranded, and he had a feeling the only way that he would find himself back home, was if he kept close to the thing that had attacked him.