11
When Jeremy finally turned to pull out his foldable shovel to dig the test trench into the surface detritus and soil, he risked a glance at the woman.
Except she wasn’t there.
He looked around, but there was no sign of where she’d gone.
It wasn’t likely that he’d imagined her. Granted, he hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep, but…
He circled the tree she’d been leaning against—marked with the orange tape, which was still there—looking for some evidence that she’d been real and he wasn’t hallucinating.
He found his proof.
A worn Pulaski fire axe, its wooden handle almost black with months of ground-in soot.
He looked again.
No detectable footprints across the blackened soil, but then his own weren’t showing either in the soft organics.
She hadn’t climbed the tree. It still
