They came at length to a deep swale. Water slithered dark and silent over smooth stones, and the first full light of day blinked only now and then through the dense timber.
“Is this the place?” asked the woman.
“It is,” said the man. He was older,
laconic at all times.
“Will there be birds?”
“This is not a place for birds.”
Somewhere beyond, trees parted and a
sword of light cleaved briefly through the liquefied shadows. Only then did she
see the glowing thing in his hands.
“What do we do now?”
“We bury that which has led us
astray.”
The ground proved spongy. The man
ripped a hole in it, dropped the glowing thing into the dark opening, then
swept soft detritus and threads of green grass overtop to seal it.
“It will slowly die in there,” he
said.
“So, we can go find some birds in the
forest now?”
“Yes. Birds.”
“Good.”
“And good riddance to that damned
smartphone,” said the man. “It’s always led us in the wrong direction.”
—Mitchell Hegman
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