Sacrifice of Buntings Read Online Free PDF Page B

Lark virtually bubbled with energy.
    “I’m serious, Rae. Birding buses don’t wait for anyone, not even trip leaders. They’ll leave without us. Do you have all your stuff?”
    Rachel pulled her fingers through her hair and thought about it. She was wearing a long-sleeved shirt over her tank top, check , long pants, check , socks and tennis shoes, check, check . Her binoculars were inside her backpack along with a field guide, a Georgia checklist, insect repellent, sunscreen, water, snacks, and some money for the ferry and lunch. As an afterthought, she added her travel guide and the program with the field trip description.
    “How about your name badge and your trip ticket?” Lark asked.
    Those were items Rachel had forgotten.
    Snatching her badge holder off the bedside table, she slipped it around her neck and stuffed the ticket in behind the name tag. Check, check .
    She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, stopped, and scooped her auburn curls into a ponytail, feeding it through the hole in the back of her cap and forcing upon it some semblance of control. Swiping a final layer of sunscreen across her nose, she said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
    “Then let’s go.”
    The hallway was empty, which meant either everyone else was sleeping, or the two of them were running quite late. Based on Dorothy’s pacing of the foyer, Rachel guessed the latter.
    “There you two are,” Cecilia said, shoving a cup of coffee into Rachel’s hands. “We need to hurry.”
    Lark drove. Rachel waved at the one or two protestors standing at the end of the drive. Five minutes later they pulled into the parking lot at the convention center.
    “That’s the bus. You had better step lively,” said a volunteer, wearing a beige sweatshirt embellished with the conference logo. She pointed them toward the bus—a retired Greyhound, painted green, with “Okefenokee Swamp Tours” stenciled on the side in hot turquoise.
    Rachel climbed the steps and found herself standing in an aisle between two rows of worn, cloth-covered seats. Birders packed the inside. Birding scopes, backpacks, and jackets were jumbled into the overhead storage, and Guy Saxby sat front and center, holding out a hand for their tickets.
    “Glad you could join us, ladies.”
    Rachel worked to extricate her ticket from behind her name badge with one hand. Giving up, she tried handing her coffee cup to Dorothy, who kept staring at Saxby and wouldn’t respond. She must not have read her program book. “Dorothy!”
    The woman startled, a pinkish stain flooding her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled, taking the cup.
    Rachel suppressed a smile.
    Dorothy continued to preen while Rachel fished out her ticket. The older woman shifted her weight from side to side, fluffed her hair with her free hand, and chattered nonstop to Cecilia about how excited she was to go on this particular field trip.
    “Here you are,” Rachel said, handing Saxby her ticket. She waited for Dorothy to notice she was ready to take back her cup.
    “Thank you,” Saxby replied, gesturing for her to pass.
    “You’re welcome.” She signaled Dorothy to give back her cup. Dorothy just kept up the patter.
    “I can take that back now,” Rachel said.
    Dorothy’s face grew redder.
    By the time Rachel had recaptured her coffee, Lark had moved to the back of the bus. Rachel followed, winding her way through the elbows that jutted out into the aisle. Behind her, Dorothy pulled Cecilia into the empty front seat reserved for the second trip leader.
    “Check it out,” Rachel said, slipping past Lark to sit next to the window. “Dorothy has a crush on Saxby.”
    “Dorothy and half the women on the bus.”
    There was truth in that statement. A lot of the female birders had crammed themselves into the front seats, where they twittered like a sacrifice of female buntings lusting after the feeder bird. In the back around Lark and Rachel sat mostly couples and a few stray men.
    Rachel watched Dorothy laugh at