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The winter sky was sated with death. Tamara Kindrel felt this certainty in the pulp of her bones, as if some wrinkle in the fabric of reality, maybe just her reality, had bled fear into the collective consciousness of every other scientist, or every tourist who drove north to this pristine, disquieting place. A thick, heavy rain filled the air around her, in the gravel parking lot and the random, lumpy hills framing the valley of the cave entrance.But far off along the eastern ridge, a striking column of sunlight showered down from a closet of dark clouds.The heavy backpack filled with notebooks and tiny envelopes made a large shadow visible on a strangely-hued boulder three feet away.The image made her shudder and remember, suddenly, her isolation. She had come alone and was sure nobody had seen her.After all, what kind of people, if any, visited this place?Freaks, looters, and scientists.And, from what she had learned in graduate school so far, the lines separating those categories were often blurred, if not invisible.It might have been its own bustling metropolis once, in fact she had read about such periods in history when this tiny knot of overlapping topography had been the center of America’s attention.But now, all that remained was a graveyard of every man’s dream. The call came in as planned.Tamara glanced down at her watch as it rang, and noticed a scratch on her inner wrist that had drawn streaks of blood.Damn it, she thought and pressed the “send” button on her cell. “Yeah?” she said. There was silence and static on the other end. “Is anyone there?” she repeated, and fully extended the phone’s flimsy antenna.Standing up did nothing for the reception.So she stood and hiked to the large boulder nearby and climbed on top.God damned piece of crap, she thought, and banged the phone against her knee.“He-lloooooo?” she mocked, knowing she was talking to only herself. Bastard, she thought, though not thoroughly convinced of a prank call.Her fingers fumbled for the rolled pack of sunflowers seeds in her jacket pocket.She felt around for the opening, scooped twenty or so seeds into her curved fingers and withdrew them, careful not to drop them on the dry ground.This act reminded her of Hansel and Gretel, a beloved story from childhood.There wasn’t much she remembered from that era, other than distant pangs of what she still felt now – constant isolation and loneliness.But at thirty-two, loneliness barely bothered her now.And isolation, well, that was just a word society used as a synonym for ‘drifter’ to denote aimlessness and hopelessness.She never thought of herself as either of these; just undeniably outside of everything. Checking the battery reading on the phone, Tamara wondered, as she did sometimes, what it might be like to be a normal person, to behave consistent with what she had always thought of as ‘normalcy’ – go to a dreary office job, come home, make dinner, and sit and watch television all night and then go to bed, never delving too deeply into any particular issue or aspect of the human existence, never becoming quite so introspective as to imply a connection with something deeper than the shallowest exoskeleton of civilization.Maybe in my next life, she thought. The phone rang again. Two rings, three, four.Her fingers tapped the plastic casing as she deliberated, making her internal decision about now, as well as the future.She knew who was calling, or who was supposed to call.Someone was scheduled to call and give further directions.Okay, she thought. One last chance. “This is Tamara,” she said, and waited. Silence. “Hello?” More silence. Tamara sighed, and gave in to the uncontrollable anger that welled in her body.“Look, you son of a bitch, you have three seconds to speak or I’m gonna throw this God damned phone int—” “He’ll kill you,” someone said. Her chest tightened at the articulation of those three words, sensing somehow that this stranger was telling the truth.It was a woman’s voice, thin, shaky, but determined.Tamara didn’t recognize it.“What did you say?Who is this?” Four beats of silence.Then, “he’ll kill you.Stay away.” Think, Tamara, think, she narrated.Who does it sound like?A neighbor?Friend?Someone in the department? Her training reminded her to keep the woman on the phone one way or another.She opened her mouth, unsure of what was about to come out.“Do you know who this is?” “Yes,” the woman answered in a clipped voice.“I know.” “You said stay away.Away from what?Or who?And how did you get this number?” “He’ll kill you,” the woman enunciated more slowly now, as if trying to impart one final thought before dying.“Leave now, or you may never get another chance.”Then the line went dead. The sinister sky glared back in gigantic, mocking glory, suffused with its medley of dark secrets.And then the phone rang one last time.
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