Quick
Marcella Chan watched the storm coming in. Black thunderheads galloped like horses across the sky, occasional lightning imitating hoof beats. She wondered how much time she had before it broke overhead.
A tip had come in about some dumping on Staten Island. She wanted to confirm it for her paper. That might get her off the op-ed page.
Marcella looked out over the Staten Island Refuse and Recycling Center through the chain link fence. She spotted a couple of cameras, but it looked like dogs were out of the question. That was good as far as she was concerned.
Marcella took some bolt cutters from her backpack. She cut through the chain links with sure strokes. She bent the fence out of the way and slid through. One hand stowed the tool as she picked her route through the piles of garbage.
Marcella pulled her camera out, took a couple of pictures to test it. Everything looked good. Now all she needed was pictures of the dumping to go with her column.
She also needed to not get caught. Some guys from the EPA, and the FBI, had been killed in other dumping investigations. She didn't want to add her name at the bottom of the list.
Marcella pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. Her long black tresses always came loose from the scrunchies she used to hold it back. Her hand brushed the strand behind her ear as she wandered among the piles of trash.
She wished she had brought her galoshes with the surrounding piles of garbage, and swampy puddles. Her shoes would be ruined by the time she got done looking around the yard. She would have to soak her feet as soon as she got back to her apartment.
No said investigating would be easy. She just had to hang in there and be careful.
Dead reporters filed no stories.
Marcella found a spot near the center of the trashyard. The ground glowed slightly under the night sky. She took a picture. This exactly what she was looking for.
Marcella looked around. She took pictures of the surrounding piles. She was careful to pick out background details so she could find the spot again. The garbage drifted like the sands of the Sahara. The glowing ground might be covered by tomorrow.
A rumble drifted to Marcella's ears. She looked around. Lights pointed in her direction. Maybe the driver saw her, maybe not. She ran to cover behind old appliance boxes and waited.
This might be what her tipster wanted her to see.
Marcella waited as the truck rolled to a stop within walking distance of the glowing ground. Men got out, walked to the back of the twelve wheeled transport. Thunder rolled overhead as they opened the sliding door. She spotted a lift for unloading lowering to the ground as small drops of water fell on her back.
I should have brought an umbrella.
Marcella took pictures of the process in front of her. Blue barrels were rolled on the lift with a dolly, lowered to the ground, and rolled to a spot near the glowing ground. A tap in the bottom let the contents flow into the ground until the barrel was empty. The drained containers went back on the truck.
Marcella had visions of a Pulitzer dancing in her head as she took picture after picture. Rain fell with an obscuring hand as she ran closer to take pictures of the truck itself. If she could get the plate, someone could make arrests and she would get the credit for that.
Marcella skirted the edges of the pool of chemicals glowing at her feet. She looked through her viewfinder at the retreating truck, trying to catch the plate. She snapped several pictures. She grimaced. The rain and darkness combined to cloak the plate. Maybe someone could enhance the pictures and find something. She doubted it.
So much for glory.
Marcella put the camera in her bag. She had to get out of the rain, and figure out what she could write, and what she could hand over to the cops. That would be fun. She stepped in the glowing mass and groaned at the wet sogginess seeping through her sneakers.
She definitely should have worn galoshes.
A jagged streak of electricity struck down as she started to lift her foot up. She quit worrying about her choice of shoes as her hair stood on end for a brief second. She fell into the energized goo. Smoke rose under the leaves of water drifting down.
Marcella picked herself off the ground after the storm had fled away from the city. Everything hurt. She looked around at the looming piles of trash, thankful that no one had found her trespassing. She would take body ache over bullet to the head any day.
Marcella thought about wanting to go home. She found her yellow door waiting for her. Surprise made her pause. She must have blacked out on the way home. She was sure that she had walked home and remembered everything about the trip.
She would worry about that in the morning.