Ray Mercer is forty-one years old and his knees hurt. He climbs power lines in the hills of western West Virginia for Appalachian Electric, which pays him enough to keep a roof over his head and a truck that starts most mornings.
The job is simple: storms come, lines fall, Ray climbs up, fixes them, comes down. Sometimes he drinks coffee from a thermos. Sometimes he does not. On a Tuesday in October, Ray is on a pole outside Welch. Rain is falling sideways. He is tightening a connector on a transformer when he sees it—a blue ball of light, maybe the size of a grapefruit, sitting on the insulator two feet from his hand....
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