A
s
Allison pried her eyelids open only to discover complete darkness, it
occurred to her that this was the wrong time of year for hailstorms.
Reaching for the flashlight in her bedside table, her groping hand
found instead the wall--and then the satin-lined lid directly
overhead.
There Was No Bell was written by Rachel Unger, who has watched the sun rise from a mountaintop, faced down a tarantula in the wild, and seen the Milky Way from the desert. She used to play with dirt for a living. Having finished her thesis work on Devonian carbonates, she returns to the demanding mistress that is fiction, chastened and humbled.
