Weathered gnaw marks suggested animals had long ago foraged on the soft tissue of the body, indicating this person had probably been dead for about a year. Maybe he’d died shortly after the last time Zoe and her friends had visited this area of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Or perhaps they’d missed him, and this person had been left to decay and disintegrate in this harsh but beautiful landscape that reduced fauna and flora back to dust.

The thought of the latter pained her.

Dirt-encrusted clothing was scattered nearby. A crucifix lay in the dirt.

She moved toward the rosary. She photographed everything with her Nikon before placing the clothing into a paper sack and adding it to the box in the hopes the items would further aid identification. Every piece of information mattered. Zoe held up the red beads of the crucifix and admired the dying rays of the sun as they shone through the cloudy orbs, the light refracted into a soft ruby glow.

Hope.

The crucifix represented hope to some in a dangerous world, but you needed more than a plastic cross to survive a hostile desert environment.

Without a miracle, or good Samaritans providing caches of water and supplies, migrants died. Even with traffickers “helping” them, migrants often became lost in the wilderness and perished.

Or they were betrayed. Forgotten. Sacrificed.

Zoe shook off the feelings of guilt and melancholy. She’d done what she could. It was enough. It had to be.

She and her three best friends had bonded over stainless steel mortuary tables when they’d interned one summer with the Medical Examiner in Tucson before starting their graduate studies in Phoenix. Over the last six years, the four of them had spent many days scouring the wilderness for the dead. They were familiar and trusted enough by the ME’s office that they held affiliate status there, and were legally allowed to record and, in cases of fully skeletonized remains or those with only ligament attachments—Body Condition Scales 7 and 6 respectively—carefully collect and transport the remains to the overworked mortuary.

Helping to provide closure for heartbroken families was the reason Zoe had once spent all her spare time combing the desert for victims. And the fact she’d been consumed by her need to constantly search for the dead was the reason she’d finally had to leave.

Well, it was one of the reasons.

Zoe wiped her brow again and looked around at the lengthening shadows. It was early January, but the day had been unseasonably warm even for the Sonoran Desert. It didn’t bode well for the upcoming fire season or deadly heat of summer. She took a deep gulp from the large water bottle at her side, and then shook the remainder. She was almost out. Out of water and out of time. She needed to head to the pre-arranged meeting point.

She eyed the setting sun with frustration.