The Damned Thing

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“Mr. Slade…?”

Carter Slade looked up from the dusty map that he had been poring over for most of the morning. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a hand, acutely aware of how damp his shirt was. It clung to him like a second skin and he was sure that he looked unwashed — which he was. Leading this dig in the middle of the Nevada desert didn’t afford very many opportunities for cleanliness. Swallowing, he answered with as calm a voice as he could manage. “Yes, Eloise?”

Eloise Green, a 24-year old graduate student, stepped into the tent’s interior. She noticed the casual, bachelor way that Carter had of strewing his belongings all over the ground, but she found it somewhat charming. Carter Slade was old enough to be her father (or much older brother, she preferred to think), but he had kind of a Tyrone Power quality to him that made her weak in the knees. She smiled at him, hoping that he didn’t think she was some kind of tart looking for a good grade. She smoothed down the front of her jodhpurs and cleared her throat.

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