Jim hurries south. Clouds build again and a cold wind pushes him on. Twenty-five kilometers from the gate the snow catches him. This time it starts thick, cold, and wet. Twenty kilometers from the gate, Jim is trudging through inches of slippery snow and blinding wind. He is carrying two walking sticks. He stops.
“Which way?”
“West about a quarter mile.”
The hum of the private line comes alive.
“Jim, this is Olson. Where are you going?”
“It’s personal.”
“Don’t talk to me, Jim. The Park Service doesn’t know about this line. Word is going up the chain that you’re getting erratic. Moonan doesn’t need to hear that. Is there anything I can pass up the line to help make sense of this?”
Jim trudges on silently.
“Very well.” The private line hum cuts out.
The snow is so thick Tinkerbell is having trouble tracking. Twice it almost brains Jim, then flies off drunkenly. Jim takes a swing at Tinkerbell with one of his walking sticks.
“Back it off, guys. If Tink can’t fly in this, neither can gliders.”
“What? You’re breaking up, Jim.”
“Crap, the helmet’s getting wet.” Jim takes it off and wipes off the snow as best he can, then puts it under his coat.
“I’ve seen stupid and I’ve seen stupid,” he mumbles, “but protecting my head protector from the elements has to take the cake.”
He puts it on. “Control? Where to now?”
“You’re back! Let me check … 83 meters bearing 030 from your current location. Plus or minus five meters.”
“Got it.”
In spite of his profound burn-out Jim trots the last few meters. He’s in a broad grassy field with nothing to distinguish this spot from any other within 300 meters.
“Here?”
“Best as I can tell. You’re there.”
Jim hammers one of the walking sticks deep into the ground. He uses fishline to tie the second one to it as a crossbar. As he works he talks between gasps.
“This town … had a cemetery. In that … cemetery … at this very spot two people were buried. My mother … and … father. It … isn’t proper that … they rest without a mark.”
He finishes.
Jim looks up at Tinkerbell. “SCREW YOU, Park Service!”
The private line comes on again, “Jim, now is the time for speed. Head for the gate and head there fast.”