Even as Bulmer spoke, Tiller groaned and his eyes flickered open. "Did you see it?" Tiller asked.

"The lightning that hit the ground?" Bulmer asked.

Michael gazed silently at the football-size crater that had opened in the ground. He tried not to think about what would have happened to them if the bolt had struck them with all the water around.

"Not that," Tiller said. "The ghost. My father's ghost."

Bulmer shook his head. "That wasn't a ghost, Tiller. That was just lightning that came way too close."

"No," Tiller argued. "I saw my father's ghost."

Michael found the flashlight he'd been holding till the incredible force slammed into him. He shone the beam in all directions, but there was no sign of the image.

"Give me a hand," Bulmer said. "Let's get Tiller to Roswell and let someone in the ER take a look at him."

"No," Tiller objected, shaking them off. "I'm not going to the ER. I'm fine. I saw what 1 saw." He started to say more, but he caught himself and stopped. "I saw what I saw." His voice was low and quavering. Emotion lighted his eyes. Without another word he turned and walked back through the rain and over the muddy ground toward the camp.

Bulmer pointed his heavy-duty lantern at the ground. He held the beam steady for a moment, studying the crater. The halogen light reflected from the gathering water. "Did you see anything?" Bulmer asked.

Michael stared into the emptiness where the lights stripped the shadows away. Only hard rock covered with running water met his gaze.

Whatever Michael had seen was gone, and whatever it had been had gone unseen by the others. He had to think about that. His alien nature gave him different senses and powers than humans, and he still didn't know their full extent. But what he did know was one of the first lessons he'd learned: He couldn't come across as different. Anonymity meant safety.

He snapped off the flashlight and looked at Bulmer. "No. I didn't see anything." As he turned and trudged up the hill, Michael also hoped he never saw the specter again.