Dogged in the Dirt
I’m hunched in the brush, miles into the forest, the brook quietly babbling behind me. I have a clear view of the packed-dirt pathway, the bright summer sun beating down on it. I’m wearing camouflage, which feels ridiculous. I’m no soldier, and I’m not a hunter—not of animals, anyway—so the camo feels like dress-up. But I can’t be seen. If I’m seen, the venture isn’t exactly over, but it won’t be as successful as it could otherwise be. And that would be a shame, because I’ve been working on this for about three months. I consult my laptop. Ping, ping, ping. They’re getting closer, and my pulse kicks up a couple notches. I check my bionanite dish—the emitting signal is strong. I check the monitor to ensure all four digital video cameras—two in the brush, …