They walked a few steps along the beach and stopped near Lovely. Diane stepped forward, between the torches, and faced Lovely, who placed her left hand on her shoulder, closed her eyes, and mumbled something. Diane had no idea what she said, and she felt no different when the prayer was over. Mercer followed and went through the same ritual.
Methodically, and with no concern about the thunderstorm, Lovely blessed the six archaeologists, one at a time. Then she explained that the island was now safe for them, and they could get on with their work.
The first order of business was the unloading of the pontoon. Ronnie was still on it when Gilfoy asked Lovely, “Can he come onto the island?”
“Keep him on the boat.”
“Will do.”
The campsite was near the torches, a hundred feet or so from the surf, and far enough away not to worry about high tide. Dr. Gilfoy and Dr. Sargent agreed that it was best to camp on the beach and away from the dangers of the bush. Gilfoy had barely survived a cobra bite in India when he was thirty, and he preferred to avoid another encounter with a poisonous snake. Sargent knew that some of the deserted islands in the Low Country were crawling with eastern diamondbacks. He had seen some impressive ones stuffed and mounted.
One team began setting up the tents while the other scampered on and off the pontoon hauling supplies. When it was unloaded, Ronnie offered a quick farewell and good luck and said to call him when they needed something. He watched the storm as he hurried away.
The team had debated using the pontoon to shuttle back and forth each day. Staying in a nice hotel on Camino Island and eating in restaurants would be the easier route, but archaeologists preferred traveling when they had to carry their own toilet paper. They lived for the thrill of surviving a storm. They liked to sleep on the ground when on a dig, and cook over a fire. Each of the six could tell long stories of the great digs of their careers, hardworking expeditions that kept them away from the modern world.
Diane and Mercer shared a large canopied tent, the girls’ tent, with Lovely and Dr. Pennington, a researcher at Howard University and a veteran of several African burial digs. It had four cots with inflatable mattresses. At two-thirty they settled into bed and turned off the lights. There were soft whispers from the other two tents as everyone tried to get comfortable. Things were still and quiet until lightning cracked nearby and thunder followed. Then the rain began.
At times it was heavy and unrelenting and it didn’t stop until dawn, when they staggered out, red-eyed and sleep-deprived, to inspect the damage and see about coffee. Of course everything was soaked, but the campsite was intact. The storage tent was made of heavier canvas and a stronger frame, and it was unfazed. A pot of coffee was soon brewing on a Coleman burner. The morning was cloudy and brisk. The forecast was no rain and a high of near eighty, perfect weather for a dig, but the clouds were hanging around. They interrupted cell phone service, which was unstable at best in clear weather. Internet service was also unstable.
Three “scouts” left to look around while the others fixed breakfast and inventoried gear. Lovely managed to sleep through the noise until eight o’clock. When she emerged from the tent she thanked Diane for a cup of coffee and informed the rest that she’d had a thought during the night. They were searching for the cemetery, not the village, and, as she now recalled, the cemetery was closer to the harbor on the other side of the island. They pulled out maps again and studied them. The scouts returned with grim looks and a report that they were in for some heavy lifting. “Pack the chain saws,” one said.
Over instant oatmeal and bananas, they decided to use the boat after all. They radioed Ronnie and called him back to the island. He arrived an hour later and said the latest forecast was for overcast skies but no more rain. They loaded food and gear onto the pontoon and Ronnie circled it to the bay side where the mainland was less than a mile away. Dr. Gilfoy pointed and said, “This is where the state wants to build the bridge if Panther Cay is approved.”
At eleven-thirty, the team packed itself with plenty of gear — three folding shovels, trowels, chisels, two chain saws, two machetes, goggles, tarps, a first aid kit, a handgun, cameras, sandwiches, and water — and marched off into the woods in search of a trail Lovely was certain they could find. They could not.
