tents to confirm no movement, she then turned it back on and flashed the beam across the wall of the square to survey the strata. It appeared to be about as far down as Wesley’s camp, which would put this skeleton mid-nineteenth century.
It was a guess. It could be older, having been pushed up by erosion, or much younger even, having been buried in a shallow grave. Unless she could study the bones under good light it was all a guessing game.
Much as she wanted to investigate further, Annja couldn’t risk spending too much time bent over the dirt when she hadn’t secured the area.
She felt Eric move beside her, and pressed a hand to his knee to stay him.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
She made the signal to film and lifted the tarp. As he carefully leaned forward, she hooked her fingers through a belt loop on his jeans. He understood what she was doing and dared to lean farther.
Annja held firmly while Eric filmed, starting from the foot bones and all the way up and along the extended arm. When he slapped her ankle, she tugged him back.
She should have brought along a plastic bag to collect a soil sample, but this had been a spur of the moment decision to come here. She always carried one in her backpack for such an occurrence. Watching the periphery, she determined all was still quiet. She gestured for Eric to follow her back over the mound of dirt where she paused.
Taking the camera from Eric, she then looked over their tracks. Not so messy, and the dig grounds were not clean and smooth. This area was used a lot. Maybe no one would notice the extra footprints.
With a signal to follow, Annja put her light in her pocket. She then crept along toward the tent. Without clear sight of the ground she had to be cautious of stones or ruts in the dirt that might trip her. Or a stray tool. She worked slowly and scanned the horizon as she did so. The moon was half-full and the air was clear and bright. If anything moved, she’d notice the silhouette against the blue-gray sky.
Keeping her distance five feet from the tent, she straightened and insinuated herself alongside one wall. Ears keenly perked she heard snoring from within. One single snore. It didn’t mean only one person was inside, only one who snored.
Would Slater stay overnight at the camp? Possible. Did that mean he was the security? Pretty lax, if he was snoring.
She moved onward. Eric kept filming. The man had a remarkable sense of his surroundings and did not trip. He must be an athlete; grace came naturally.
The truck was parked ahead. Taking a straight line because there was nothing to hide behind, Annja swiped at the breeze that moved her ponytail from in front of her shoulder to the back. Then she paused.
There was no breeze. And she hadn’t moved her head.
“Annja?” Eric whispered.
She must have moved her hair, flipped it over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. It was the only thing that made sense. Until a strange flutter made her look down.
“I hear it,” Eric whispered. “They’re here.”
“Nothing is…” For some reason the protest didn’t feel right. She didn’t know what was causing her sudden nervousness, or making her hear things.
It had to be an insect. Beetles were noisy, their carapaces clattering against wings in flight. It had sounded like that, like…a fluttering.
“Just a bug,” she whispered, and signaled they continue.
There were scads of colorful beetles native to Ireland. And if not that, it could have been a wasp or some big insect she was glad she hadn’t seen.
Gripping her ponytail to pull it forward over her shoulder, Annja let go of the guessing games and focused.
She reached the truck, pressed a palm along the metal side and walked the length of the bed toward the back. Something clanked behind her.
That was no insect.
Eric swore and slapped a palm to the truck bed. Annja’s heart pounded. The muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened. For a moment she stood like a statue, as did Eric. He’d
It was a guess. It could be older, having been pushed up by erosion, or much younger even, having been buried in a shallow grave. Unless she could study the bones under good light it was all a guessing game.
Much as she wanted to investigate further, Annja couldn’t risk spending too much time bent over the dirt when she hadn’t secured the area.
She felt Eric move beside her, and pressed a hand to his knee to stay him.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
She made the signal to film and lifted the tarp. As he carefully leaned forward, she hooked her fingers through a belt loop on his jeans. He understood what she was doing and dared to lean farther.
Annja held firmly while Eric filmed, starting from the foot bones and all the way up and along the extended arm. When he slapped her ankle, she tugged him back.
She should have brought along a plastic bag to collect a soil sample, but this had been a spur of the moment decision to come here. She always carried one in her backpack for such an occurrence. Watching the periphery, she determined all was still quiet. She gestured for Eric to follow her back over the mound of dirt where she paused.
Taking the camera from Eric, she then looked over their tracks. Not so messy, and the dig grounds were not clean and smooth. This area was used a lot. Maybe no one would notice the extra footprints.
With a signal to follow, Annja put her light in her pocket. She then crept along toward the tent. Without clear sight of the ground she had to be cautious of stones or ruts in the dirt that might trip her. Or a stray tool. She worked slowly and scanned the horizon as she did so. The moon was half-full and the air was clear and bright. If anything moved, she’d notice the silhouette against the blue-gray sky.
Keeping her distance five feet from the tent, she straightened and insinuated herself alongside one wall. Ears keenly perked she heard snoring from within. One single snore. It didn’t mean only one person was inside, only one who snored.
Would Slater stay overnight at the camp? Possible. Did that mean he was the security? Pretty lax, if he was snoring.
She moved onward. Eric kept filming. The man had a remarkable sense of his surroundings and did not trip. He must be an athlete; grace came naturally.
The truck was parked ahead. Taking a straight line because there was nothing to hide behind, Annja swiped at the breeze that moved her ponytail from in front of her shoulder to the back. Then she paused.
There was no breeze. And she hadn’t moved her head.
“Annja?” Eric whispered.
She must have moved her hair, flipped it over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. It was the only thing that made sense. Until a strange flutter made her look down.
“I hear it,” Eric whispered. “They’re here.”
“Nothing is…” For some reason the protest didn’t feel right. She didn’t know what was causing her sudden nervousness, or making her hear things.
It had to be an insect. Beetles were noisy, their carapaces clattering against wings in flight. It had sounded like that, like…a fluttering.
“Just a bug,” she whispered, and signaled they continue.
There were scads of colorful beetles native to Ireland. And if not that, it could have been a wasp or some big insect she was glad she hadn’t seen.
Gripping her ponytail to pull it forward over her shoulder, Annja let go of the guessing games and focused.
She reached the truck, pressed a palm along the metal side and walked the length of the bed toward the back. Something clanked behind her.
That was no insect.
Eric swore and slapped a palm to the truck bed. Annja’s heart pounded. The muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened. For a moment she stood like a statue, as did Eric. He’d
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