The Mighty Quinns: Cameron
““Home-cooked meals,” he murmured as he stared at the sign. At least Vulture Creek, New Mexico, had one thing going for it. From what he’d seen so far, the place was a dusty crossroad, somewhere on the way to Albuquerque.
He grabbed his leather duffel from the rack above his head and walked to the front of the bus, the aisle clear. None of the other passengers had chosen this destination, and after seeing the town out the window, he figured they could count themselves lucky. They were obviously on their way to more glamorous locations, like Santa Fe and Amarillo and Tulsa. A few passengers were even headed to Roswell to take in the “alien” experience.
Cameron knew exactly how those aliens felt, dropping down into a barren, almost lifeless world. He’d come from Seattle, where it rained almost every day of the year and where green, not brown, was the predominant color. He stepped off the bus and squinted up at the turquoise sky, shading his eyes with his hand.
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