I’ve been at multiple sites, but never one this remote. Never one that feels like it could be the only source of humanity on the planet. We are truly in the middle of nowhere.
Ella, mercifully, has fallen asleep in her car seat, exhausted from her earlier meltdown. I’m grateful she’s not awake to sense my sudden spike of anxiety.
What am I doing? I’ve brought my fourteen-month-old daughter to a desert camp four hours from the nearest city, with no cell service and no easy way out if something goes wrong.
But then I see the excavation site beyond the camp—a slight depression in the landscape where the sand has been carefully brushed away to reveal stone. Even from here, I can see the geometric patterns, the deliberate placement. Something was built here. Something significant.
My archaeologist’s heart starts racing. Henry was right. There’s something here.
Khalid parks our SUV next to the other one, which has already disgorged its passengers. Calvin gets out and stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the camp. Khalid walks past him to greet a group of people who must be the camp staff. Six of them total.
“Welcome!” A woman in her fifties with a warm smile approaches our vehicle as I climb out. “I’m Fatima, the camp manager. We have everything ready for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, offering my hand for a shake. “Dr. Georgia Halford.” I gesture to the car seat, “That’s my daughter Ella. She’s asleep.”
“Ah, the baby! Yes, Mr. Aarons told us. We’ve set up a special tent for you. extra space, closer to the facilities. And we have a playpen and some toys. I have my own grandchildren, and I know exactly what’s needed.”
The joy in her voice eases some of my anxiety. Hearing what seems like excitement over having a toddler around makes me realize how worried I was that the staff wouldn’t accept Ella. “That’s incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”
“Come, let me show you around before the little one wakes.”
Lois offers to stay with Ella while I get oriented, so I follow on a quick tour. The camp is impressively organized. The central tent serves as a dining area and meeting space, with tables and chairs and even a small library of reference books. Each personal tent is equipped with a cot, storage, battery-powered lights, and surprisingly decent ventilation.
Mine is larger than the others, as promised, with space for Ella’s portable crib and playpen. There’s even a small rug on the ground. It’s not much, but it’ll help keep the sand at bay.
“The latrine facilities are here,” Fatima continues, pointing to a discreet area. “Shower tents here—solar-heated water, quite nice actually. Kitchen there. We’ll provide three meals daily plus snacks. Any dietary restrictions, you let me know.”
“This is amazing,” I tell her honestly. “I’ve worked on digs with far less infrastructure.”
She beams. “Mr. Aarons was very specific. He wanted everyone comfortable. Especially for the baby.”
Especially for the baby? Now, that doesn’t sound like him.
Or maybe it does. He made it clear from the beginning that he would do whatever was necessary to get me on this dig.
I glance across the camp to where Calvin is talking with Khalid and Edmond, his posture rigid, his gestures clipped. He’s still wound tight from the sandstorm incident.
The memory makes me wince.Like an adult.God, what was I thinking? Yes, he was freaking out, but I could have handled it with more grace. More tact. Instead, I snapped at him in front of everyone, and it probably just reflected poorly on me.
He’s my boss. He’s funding this entire operation. And I might not like everything he says or does, but so what? I’m getting paid a boatload to do my dream job, and I got to bring my daughter along. I can suck up any annoyance.
“Dr. Halford?” Fatima is looking at me with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes—sorry. Just… taking it all in.”
“It’s a lot, I know. But you’ll adjust. Everyone does.”
She continues the tour, introducing me to the other camp staff. There’s a cook, two assistants, a maintenance technician, and a communications specialist who manages the satellite phone and internet connection, which I’m told is limited and not entirely reliable.
The last tent is a smaller one near the excavation site itself. “This is the work tent,” she explains. “For your artifact processing, documentation, storage.”
Inside, I find a work station that has lighting, storage containers, documentation supplies, and even a setup for digital recording. Three people are already there, organizing equipment.
“Dr. Halford!” A young man in his twenties bounds over, hand extended. “I’m Omar, your lead technician. This is Yasmin and Tariq. They’ll be assisting with excavation, documentation, and preservation.”
I shake hands with all three, immediately impressed by their eagerness and professionalism. I’ll have to ask them later about their work histories, although I know that if Calvin has hired them, that means they’re the best of the best.
“This is an incredible team,” I tell them. “I’m lucky to have you.”
