The further north she traveled, away from the armed cacti that stood like sentries along the roadside, the elevation climbed. The famed saguaros of the Sonora desert gave way to a multitude of prickly pear, intermingled with bushy shrubs and a few more trees. The Black Hills of Yavapai County rose in the distance, teasing the eye with variety, beckoning travelers onward.
Pulling Gera closer to her assignment.
“There are ghosts in them thar hills,” she drawled aloud. Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Your first big story with the rag, and it may be your last.” Gera gave voice to the pessimistic thought as she sped down the highway, racing toward the faraway mountains. She grumbled to an empty audience in her rented sedan, giving free reign to her frustrations.
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