X-Files Fanfic 15: Groovy

Time: 4:00 PM
Must include:

a) Stapler

b) Having a drink

c) Someone swearing at their broken down car

d) The word, “Groovy.”Word Count: 500-2000 words.

Title: Plattsmouth, Nebraska

“This damn car,” Bill swore under his breath.

He glanced around, and shook his head.

Why did the radiator always break down in the middle of nowhere?

The car always ran fine in the city.

It even ran fine when he was on long, frequently travelled highways.

But here, in the middle of the wasteland that was Nebraska, it blew the radiator cap.

He slammed the hood of the car and looked at his watch - 3:10.If there was going to be any traffic along this road, it wouldn’t be until after 5, when someone might drive home from work.

If that someone lived in the hills of Nebraska, and commuted to Omaha.He tried to remember the last road-sign he’d seen.

To the best of his recollection, it was another 40 miles to Plattsmouth - where he needed to be.

What he didn’t know was if there was anything between here and there.

And he didn’t remember the last time he’d walked 40 miles.

Maybe never.He got into the car and thought about walking.

He thought about how long it would take.

He thought about how late it would get, if he pushed himself and walked four miles per hour.

No.

He would tire too fast.

If he walked 3 miles per hour, a sustainable pace, he would get there at 4 a.m.

If he made it.

He didn’t know what kind of animals were out here.He decided to wait in the car until morning, and start out in the day.

The spring weather was warm, but not unbearable.

But it was only 3:20.

He decided to walk down the road a ways, in case there was a small town or farmhouse nearby.

He decided to to turn around and come back to the car at 5.He took a sip of water from the thermos, and got out of the car.

He walked briskly along the shoulder of the road.

Why did UFO sightings always happen in the middle of nowhere.

At least this middle of nowhere had better weather than Nevada, or New Mexico.

He chuckled at the thought of his friend, always in the heated desert near the Roswell crash recovery site.He tucked his thermos into his briefcase, and started walking down the road, toward his destination.

It was warmer out than he thought, and it wasn’t long before he had his jacket slung over his shoulder.

As he walked, he thought about the predicament he found himself in.

It was so strange that someone like him, a simple army man with aspirations of owning his own home and having a family, had ended up doing this job for the State Department.

He’d never been interested in espionage, intrigue, or high-profile investigations.

Then again, maybe that was why the State Department had hired him.He checked his watch - it was 4:00 exactly. He was about to open his thermos for a drink of water when he heard the distant clunking sound of a car less maintained than his own.

Then again, his car had stopped running, so maybe that wasn’t the right way to think about it.A few minutes later, a Volkwagon Beetle rolled into sight.

He sighed, and stuck out his thumb.

A ride with a hippie would be better than no ride at all.The car rumbled to a halt alongside him, and a squirrelly young man gazed out at him, “Where you going, man?”“Just as far as the next town.

That’s my car, back there.”“Bummer.

Hop in.”Bill got into the small car, holding his briefcase on his lap, “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”“You’re welcome.”

The car slowly rolled to a forward motion, and the driver introduced himself as Paul.“I’m Bill,” was the automatic response.“Bill.

I’ve got a brother named Bill.

What are you doing out here, Bill?”“I’m a newspaper reporter.

I’m supposed to be reporting on a stray weather balloon sighting in Plattsmouth.”“Groovy.

My brother Bill lives in Plattsmouth - that’s where I’m going.

Why don’t you ride the rest of the way with me?”Bill didn’t hesitate long.

At least Plattsmouth would have a gas station where he could talk to someone about car repairs, “I would really appreciate that.”“All right!”

Paul fished a short, skinny cigarette from the glove box, drifting into the other lane.

Paul lit up and took a long draw, “You look like a stiff, but I’m gonna ask anyway - want some?”Bill shook his head, “You’re right, I’m a stiff.

No thanks.”“Sure, Bill, whatever.

You’re reporting a weather balloon sighting?

Isn’t Plattsmouth a long way to report a balloon?”“Well, yeah, but the person who reported it called it a UFO, so my boss told me to get the scoop.”“And you’re a stiff, so you assume it’s a weather balloon.

It couldn’t possibly be little green men.”“No, it coudn’t be,” Bill agreed.

They passed a farmhouse.

”How far to Plattsmouth?”“About 20 miles, now.

We’re pretty close.”Bill nodded, “I really appreciate the ride, Paul.

I would have been working a long time.”“You would have.

And in those shoes, your feet would have been barking.”“These shoes are not made for long walks.”The sound of the siren made Paul swear.

He threw the smoking stick out the window, and rolled down his window to try to air out the car, “You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”Bill shook his head, “No.

Like I said, I appreciate the ride.”30 minutes later, Bill spoke softly to Sheriff Weston, “My credentials are in order, as you can see.”“They are,” Sheriff Weston stapled arrest papers to the report Deputy Anderson had written for Paul.

He looked at Bill, “I know you said you hitched a ride with this guy after your car broke down.

We even verified that your car did break down.

What I don’t understand is what you’re doing here.”Bill looked around the small station, “Listen, Sheriff, why don’t we go somewhere quiet where I can buy you a drink and explain.”

Step 1. Serve
Step 2. Resist from Within