wishes.”
His green eyes flashed amusement as he grabbed the bin from my lap. Flipping past the section I’d looked through twice, he skipped to an entirely different year, then pulled out a handful of microfiche. He quickly fanned through the stack before pulling out a thin square of plastic with a triumphant smile. “Here it is. This whole section had been filed in the wrong year.”
I gaped at him. “Um, thanks.” As I took the microfiche from his hand, I saw that the plastic edge was labeled with the year I’d been looking for. “How in the world did you know it would be there?” Even more amazing, how did you know that this particular microfiche held the article I sought? There were at least ten other misfiled microfiche he could’ve chosen from. Only a machine could read the microscopic print.
Maybe he was just guessing, I told myself as I slid the microfiche under the lighted viewer, then began to scroll through the articles. When I slowed to a stop at the article I wanted, Drystan peered over my shoulder, reading out loud in his lilting accent, “‘Crows and Ravens All Over the World Fall Out of the Sky: Biologists Speculate.’” A pause. “That’s a right strange subject. What’s it for?”
I tensed, not planning to share the reason behind my research. I cast a suspicious sideways look his way. “Not any stranger than you finding it without x-ray vision. Seriously, how’d you do that?”
“Talent.” Just as Drystan gave a confident grin, a song began to play. I smiled when I recognized his ring tone as one of the Welsh songs he’d been humming.
He grabbed his phone from his back pocket. “’ello? That’s brilliant! I’ll pick it up on my way out—Oh? Okay, then. Be right down.”
Hanging up, he started to walk backward. “The media room closes in five minutes. I’m gonna run and grab my flash drive. Be right back.”
Glad for some brief privacy, I waved him on, then turned back to read the article. After I’d scanned the article twice, I took notes on the basic gist in the leather journal.
* Thirty years ago, crows and ravens inexplicably dropped from the sky at the exact same time all over the world.
* Two-thirds recovered after a few minutes and flew away, but one-third of the Corvid birds in the Corvus genus died across the world that day.
* After studying their bodies, scientists speculated something stunned them and that their drop from the sky had caused their hearts to stop.
* No one could point to any worldwide phenomenon that could’ve caused the birds to react the way they did. No weather event, no atmospheric event, no environmental event…nothing correlated across the entire world at the exact same time.
I’d just jotted down the last note when the lights popped off, sending the windowless room into darkness. The only light came from the machine in front of me. Apparently, I’d been so focused on the article I’d barely moved. I stood on tiptoe and waved my arms above the tall bookshelves to activate the motion sensor in the lighting.
Nothing.
I sat back down with a sigh, then quickly put the microfiche back. Once I’d shut down the machine, the stairwell door click closed. I snorted, wondering why Drystan bothered to be quiet when he came back. On his way out, he’d let the heavy metal door slam like a garbage truck on trash day.
“Hey,” I called out. “Do me a favor and move around back there so the lights will come back on.”
I was surprised he didn’t respond. Maybe he’d tried and it didn’t work, so he was just waiting on me by the door where the exit sign’s red glow gave off extra light. Hugging the leather journal to my chest, I tugged my backpack up on my shoulder. My eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, and I realized I could make out my hands and stuff, so light was coming from somewhere. At least it was enough for me to make my way back to the stairwell.
As I walked out of the back section, I saw a thin dark-haired
His green eyes flashed amusement as he grabbed the bin from my lap. Flipping past the section I’d looked through twice, he skipped to an entirely different year, then pulled out a handful of microfiche. He quickly fanned through the stack before pulling out a thin square of plastic with a triumphant smile. “Here it is. This whole section had been filed in the wrong year.”
I gaped at him. “Um, thanks.” As I took the microfiche from his hand, I saw that the plastic edge was labeled with the year I’d been looking for. “How in the world did you know it would be there?” Even more amazing, how did you know that this particular microfiche held the article I sought? There were at least ten other misfiled microfiche he could’ve chosen from. Only a machine could read the microscopic print.
Maybe he was just guessing, I told myself as I slid the microfiche under the lighted viewer, then began to scroll through the articles. When I slowed to a stop at the article I wanted, Drystan peered over my shoulder, reading out loud in his lilting accent, “‘Crows and Ravens All Over the World Fall Out of the Sky: Biologists Speculate.’” A pause. “That’s a right strange subject. What’s it for?”
I tensed, not planning to share the reason behind my research. I cast a suspicious sideways look his way. “Not any stranger than you finding it without x-ray vision. Seriously, how’d you do that?”
“Talent.” Just as Drystan gave a confident grin, a song began to play. I smiled when I recognized his ring tone as one of the Welsh songs he’d been humming.
He grabbed his phone from his back pocket. “’ello? That’s brilliant! I’ll pick it up on my way out—Oh? Okay, then. Be right down.”
Hanging up, he started to walk backward. “The media room closes in five minutes. I’m gonna run and grab my flash drive. Be right back.”
Glad for some brief privacy, I waved him on, then turned back to read the article. After I’d scanned the article twice, I took notes on the basic gist in the leather journal.
* Thirty years ago, crows and ravens inexplicably dropped from the sky at the exact same time all over the world.
* Two-thirds recovered after a few minutes and flew away, but one-third of the Corvid birds in the Corvus genus died across the world that day.
* After studying their bodies, scientists speculated something stunned them and that their drop from the sky had caused their hearts to stop.
* No one could point to any worldwide phenomenon that could’ve caused the birds to react the way they did. No weather event, no atmospheric event, no environmental event…nothing correlated across the entire world at the exact same time.
I’d just jotted down the last note when the lights popped off, sending the windowless room into darkness. The only light came from the machine in front of me. Apparently, I’d been so focused on the article I’d barely moved. I stood on tiptoe and waved my arms above the tall bookshelves to activate the motion sensor in the lighting.
Nothing.
I sat back down with a sigh, then quickly put the microfiche back. Once I’d shut down the machine, the stairwell door click closed. I snorted, wondering why Drystan bothered to be quiet when he came back. On his way out, he’d let the heavy metal door slam like a garbage truck on trash day.
“Hey,” I called out. “Do me a favor and move around back there so the lights will come back on.”
I was surprised he didn’t respond. Maybe he’d tried and it didn’t work, so he was just waiting on me by the door where the exit sign’s red glow gave off extra light. Hugging the leather journal to my chest, I tugged my backpack up on my shoulder. My eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, and I realized I could make out my hands and stuff, so light was coming from somewhere. At least it was enough for me to make my way back to the stairwell.
As I walked out of the back section, I saw a thin dark-haired
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