part five: May 20 - Pine Ridge Research Center

A splitting headache woke Sam from a sound sleep. She glanced at the clock—9:05. She had only slept for about three hours. These headaches still came from time to time; the doctors said they were a result of the damage caused by the failed cerebral catheter implantation and the linkage they couldn’t remove.

Dragging herself out of bed, she fumbled for her first aid supplies and popped some ibuprofen. This was one of the worst headaches she’d had in a long time. Next on her priority list was coffee. The pain was blinding, and she had to physically grope her way around the cabin, fighting off the waves of nausea as she made the coffee. She hoped the caffeine plus the pills would at least take the edge off.

Her hands clasped the steaming mug as she inhaled the fragrant steam. Eyes closed, she went through her relaxation routine, muscle by muscle. Thankfully, the headache was starting to ease. There was no way she could look at a computer screen yet, so she continued to hug the warm mug and waited for the pain to subside a little more.

When she could finally open her eyes without the light sending lances of pain through her skull, she hooked up her handset to download the night’s data.

“Damn,” she thought, wincing. “This headache just won’t stop.”

It wasn’t as bad as before, but it was still enough to annoy the hell out of her. She glanced at the clock again—9:45 a.m. In three more hours, she’d try another pill and another hit of caffeine to see if the combo would finish the job.

She set up the keypad on her handset and prepared to download the data. She tapped the keys on the small computer, but the screen stayed blank. She checked the power plug—maybe the solar cell was disconnected again. Last week, the squirrels had knocked down the antenna completely, and it had taken her two hours to fix that mess.

Backtracking through the power links, she looked for the problem, finally deciding to call down to base camp to check for issues on their end. But not only was the computer link down—the damn cell phone was dead, too.

Great. Instead of catching up on sleep, she’d have to wake herself up with more caffeine and trek all the way back down the mountain to the base camp to figure out what was going on. She had to download her data. She wished she could just submit her reports weekly via an external drive, but Valtech required daily uploads as a condition of her grant. They needed their “look and see what we do for the world” news clips.

She knew she shouldn’t be so cynical—they did fund her research—but their goals and hers were at opposite ends of the ethical spectrum.

With the second mug of coffee kicking in, she walked out to check on Jack. Sam looked across the Guprd to the paddock. The small mountain pony had finished his grain and was now picking through the scattered remnants of hay, searching for the best strands. He watched her as she approached the corral with the lead rope. This wasn’t part of their normal daily routine, and as Sam looked into those deep, intelligent brown eyes she knew so well, she could almost read his thoughts.

Jack’s best quality was also his worst—he was always thinking. He was one of the best trail horses she’d ever ridden, able to pick his way through the roughest trails without a scratch to either of them. But that sharp mind meant she had to stay on constant alert. The moment he knew she wasn’t paying attention, he’d leave her sitting in the middle of the trail while he trotted off.

“Come on, boy. I’m sorry, but we have to make a trip back down the hill today. I know we just got here, and now we have to go right back down,” Sam said sweetly.

He gave her a sideways look and walked to the far side of the corral, watching her.

“Get over it, you little prick,” she growled.

She knew that if she walked toward him, he’d keep just out of reach. But she also knew him too well. Heading into the barn, she returned with a handful of grain he couldn’t resist. As he gently ate from one hand, she grabbed his halter with the other, clipped him to the hitching post, brushed the dirt and debris from his fluffy coat, and tacked him up. She packed her equipment into the saddlebags, mounted, and they headed down toward the research center’s main office.

She never tired of riding through the forest—the whisper of the breeze through the trees, the muffled thud of hooves on the thick mat of needles, and the shifting rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy.

In the early 1900s, the land had been logged bare and used for pasture by small family farms. But when large corporate agriculture pushed those farms out of business, the steep terrain proved unsuitable for commercial techniques. Many farms were abandoned, and the land was reclaimed by the forest. This particular stretch hadn’t been logged in nearly a century, and the thick canopy now blocked the sun in places almost entirely.

With reforestation came the return of bird and animal species that hadn’t been seen in 70 or 80 years. Her little owls were one of them—moving into this newly rewilded habitat. Sam had originally come to the area to survey the rebounding bird population for the Audubon Society, but when she discovered these owls—living in a forested environment that wasn’t their typical habitat—she knew she had stumbled on an extraordinary study opportunity. The Society had been the one to send her to Valtech to apply for the grant.

She was lost in thought when she noticed Jack had the bit in his teeth. She worked the reins down to regain control.

“Okay, you little prick, I know this isn’t our usual routine,” she growled. “Get over it. Remember, I’m supposed to be the boss here.”

She gave him enough leg pressure to move him into his ground-eating, bone-jarring trot—his usual attitude adjustment. Jack was full of attitude, and that was part of why she loved him.

Jack was nearly big enough to be considered a horse—13.75 hands. His breed was some mix of Icelandic pony and something even more stubborn. A friend once told her he thought Jack was “proud cut”—which basically meant he still thought he was a stallion. Wherever they went, if other horses were present, Jack had to prove he was the alpha.

Once, Sam had taken a group into the mountains on a bird-watching tour. One woman brought an American Standard mount—majestic, large, black, and well-muscled—easily a third bigger than Jack. That didn’t stop Jack from issuing a challenge. Sam had only one boot in the stirrup when he charged the larger horse. Yelling at him, she scrambled to get her other leg over the saddle and her boot in the stirrup. She pulled his head around until his nose touched her knee, then put both heels in to spin him. With one eye still locked on the other horse, Jack resisted, crab-walking toward them.

The woman looked on, alarmed, as Jack fought to continue his sideways assault. Sam apologized for her idiot horse, and they kept the two animals as far apart as possible for the rest of the trip.

Now she kept him at that same steady trot until he settled. She figured they’d reach base camp around 10:30. Then she’d find out what the hell was going on.