“Wallace? Where’s that data?”
Andy’s voice broke the silence of my cubicle. My boss was really good at pouncing on unsuspecting drones like that. I switched over to the spreadsheet window and pointed.
“I’ve got most of it. Just waiting for Lesley in International Sales. And you know how she is.”
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At my very first Mid-Atlantic Meteorological Association convention, I literally ran right into my idol, Chris Spencer. Spencer was the weatherman on one of the “Big Three” morning news programs and was the keynote speaker for the convention. After I helped him up, he asked me my name.
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Hop on over to The Lancast, where our friend David Moulton recorded Jeannine and Jason’s story. Like it, retweet it, whatever you want to do to pass it on!
Kadamb reached down for a chunk of earth. Dry and brittle, it gave way easily to his practiced fingers, and the re-pulverized bits sifted back down to where he had disturbed it.
This was the place. Here.
Darting around a huge boulder, Carly saw a hole in the roots of an ancient, gnarled tree. Knowing that was her best bet, she squeezed in, burying herself in the detritus of dead leaves, mud, and rocks.
It wasn’t long – maybe seconds – before she heard them coming. Shambling, shuffling footsteps on the forest floor. Entombed in her root sanctuary, she couldn’t see anything, but she heard them. Just one at first, unsteady, but inexorably moving onward, onward down the forest path. The one was joined by another, and another, yet another. All stumbling together over fallen logs and roots; struggling through the mud and slippery leaves. The sound of their feet almost had a rhythm to it. It could have put Carly to sleep, had she not been so terrified.
But then, all at once, they stopped.
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