The Distant Affair
October 14. The tremor split the tent at 0400. I was awake, listening to the wind shear against the nylon, when the ground shuddered with a low, visceral groan that vibrated through the soles of my boots. The zipper on the sleeping bag tore. The seismograph tripod toppled, shattering the glass housing of the primary sensor. I lay in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs, the taste of...
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