A voice at the dig

The wind had been pushing dust across the ridge all morning. Tahnee crouched beside the exposed curve of a fossil, brushing away grit with a soft paintbrush. Omar checked the sky, then checked it again. “Those clouds are moving faster than they look,” he said. “We should cover the trench.” Zach glanced at the half-cleaned fossil. “We’ve got ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.” “Fossils don’t care about our timetable,” Tahnee replied. Her voice was quiet, but she did not look up. “If rain gets into those cracks, we could lose the surface.” Zach gave a short laugh. “Right. Because the dinosaur’s been waiting here for a hundred million years, but today’s the day it gets impatient.” Omar folded the map and tucked it into a waterproof case. “Joke later. Tarpaulin now.” For a moment, nobody moved. Then Tahnee set down the brush. “Zach, take that end. Omar, help me secure the corners. We can photograph the fossil before we cover it.” Zach picked up the tarp. “All right. You’re the boss of the dinosaur.” “I’m the boss of keeping it safe,” Tahnee said. This time, she smiled. A gust rattled the equipment. The three of them pulled the cover tight just as the first drops struck the red earth.