Darren Wearmouth - Critical Dawn

Charlie Jackson felt like they were on the edge of a great discovery. Pippa had emailed him earlier to say that she’d “made the find of the century” in an archeological dig to uncover what happened to the missing colonists of Roanoke Island.

Typical Pippa, he thought. Keeping the huge news to herself and making him wait. It didn’t help that she’d told him to start work on the report. It was the worst part of his job. He preferred to be out in the field being the one to make the finds.

He looked up at his screen and grudgingly continued to work on the report, all the while trying not to be distracted by her excited email.

4:00pm, April 2014, Manhattan

On August 18, 1590, a privateering expedition on its way back to England from the Caribbean stopped off at Roanoke Island. John White, the governor of the colony and passionate advocate of the new world, took his men ashore. They found the settlement completely deserted. Infrastructure had been dismantled, no trace existed of the hundred-and-eight residents, and they couldn’t find any signs of struggle. The colonists were never found.

The only clue was the word ‘CROATOAN’ carved on a fort post and ‘CRO’ carved on a tree. Events surrounding the disappearance remain a mystery to this day.

The aim of the Quaternary Productions dig is to try and establish the fate of the colonists with firm evidence. After geophysical surveys following the investigation of aerial photography in the Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge, the initial findings are as follows…

Charlie pushed the keyboard away after those few hundred words, unable to concentrate. All he could think about was that email. What had they found? More than just bones, that’s for sure. His mind raced with ancient artifacts, caches of treasure. Unable to stand it, he got up and decided to go chat with the temps.

He poked his head around the door leading to the next office and cafeteria and listened for chatter around the coffee machine.

“They’re not in today,” Mike Strauss, his colleague in their open plan office, said.

“Want me to get you a brew?” Charlie asked, welcoming the distraction.

“Sure.”

Things had changed since Quaternary Productions agreed to a deal with National Geographic to make a documentary about finding the lost colony at Roanoke. The place had become louder and more congested with contractors, but not today. Mike and Charlie were pulling overtime. It seemed the others weren’t so keen.

The small coffee room was deserted. Charlie got the pot boiling and prepared two mugs as he pondered the current project. His main job had been site identification for potential pitches to places like the History Channel and National Geographic. His team traveled the country, surveying and digging. After winning the contract, the focus shifted to how quickly information could be cobbled together, rather than how thoroughly, because of the production targets. It was always that way when they landed these kinds of deals.

He wasn’t about to get pretentious over projects that paid the bills. Charlie felt lucky to have a reasonably paid job to do what he loved. Most of his friends from college had to find work in other industries.

Finishing up the coffee duties, he headed back into the office.

“Here you go, Mike. Black, no sugar,” Charlie said. “What’s with the plain purple sweater? A little dull for your usual tastes.”

“It’s casual Friday. Thanks.”

Mike had regularly freelanced with Quaternary Productions during the last six years. Charlie got to know him well since joining the company three years ago. He was renowned for his tasteless and bright woolly sweaters, usually stretched over his bulky torso, and his long, greying hair made it look like somebody had placed a mop on his head. A few of the production crew called him ‘the mad scientist.’ He liked the nickname.

“One more hour and I’m out of here,” Charlie said.

“Hey, Pippa says she’s got some really exciting news about the Roanoke dig. From the areas you identified.”

Two weeks ago, Charlie had carried out a ground-penetrating radar survey in Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge. The uniform sandy soils made it an ideal method, and the results were encouraging.

Due to budget limitations, he’d returned to the office while a small team of archaeologists used his tomographic images to guide their excavations.

The team was restricted to certain areas because of the nature of the land and had sought special permission to dig. He was confident they’d find something with the results. Whether or not that had anything to do with the lost colony was another matter.

Charlie checked his watch. “She emailed me yesterday. Said it would blow my mind. Didn’t reply when I asked for details.”

Mike laughed. “A broken piece of pottery or the stem of a clay pipe blows her mind. I wouldn’t get too excited.”

Mike’s skill was in the identification of finds. He loved the big-ticket items recovered from digs. A four-hundred-year-old Scottish pistol found in a well at Jamestown was the kind of thing that got his juices flowing.

Charlie could always see a look of disappointment on his face when he was presented with a clear plastic bag of buttons and buckles to sort though.

“She’d better hurry up,” Charlie said, “otherwise, she’ll have to wait a couple of days.”

“You’ll wait. I can tell by the way you look at her.”

“Whatever. I’m not the one that calls her a younger version of Halle Berry.”

Mike shrugged. “It’s the hairstyle. You going climbing again this weekend?”

“Yeah. Heading to Keene Valley. Should be a blast.”

“If you say so.”

Charlie shook his head and continued with the interim report. The aim was to complete it by the end of the day, using the information provided by Pippa if she showed. He disliked leaving work unfinished.

Three sites were targeted with Ground Penetrating Radar to identify anomalous signals that might correspond with subsurface archaeological features. The inland locations were selected in the hope of shedding new light on the fate of the colonists.

The Roanoke site two contained hyperbolic reflections indicating the presence of reflectors buried beneath the surface possibly associated with human burials. Priority was given to this location due to time and financial constraints.

Pippa Quinn breezed through the door. She placed her laptop bag on the desk between Charlie and Mike and ripped open the Velcro fastening. “Afternoon, guys. I hope you’re sitting comfortably.”

“Comfortable as any other Friday afternoon,” Mike said.

She fired up her laptop, connected it to a docking station, and smiled at Charlie.

He loved working with Pippa. She exuded infectious energy and always had a healthy appetite for their projects. When he studied geology at Stanford, he found the subject dry. The lecturers seemed to beat the life out of it, and he doubted he’d ever find a satisfying job upon graduating.

Pippa helped change all that.

At twenty-eight, she was two years older than Charlie. He had vague memories of her from college when he turned up for his interview. The enthusiasm and sparkle she showed for the role made him desperate for the job, and he wasn’t disappointed in the three years since.

“This could be potentially ground-breaking. I’m serious,” Pippa said.

“Don’t tell me. You’ve found animal bones with signs of butchery and a nineteenth century comb?” Mike said.

“Come on. You think I’d come all the way back here for that?”

“Uh huh.”

Typical Mike. He often helped provide some balance with his healthy skepticism, although he occasionally fell into cynicism. He amused Charlie, probably without realizing it.