Wearing a mining helmet, Greg Turner scales a wobbly 30 foot ladder and squeezes his 6' 2" frame into the window of an abandoned white clapboard church. On a June afternoon, the temperature inside the attic hovers in the 90's (°F). The spongy floor, caked in layers of guano, reeks. The roar of cicadas competes with the tell-tale chitter of thousands of bats.
In the darkness, Turner gently leans his head toward a marooned bat pup plucked from a splintering beam. He puckers and blows a huff of air over the flea-ridden and furry newborn, trying to remove the parasites that coat its body. "At least that might give him more of a fighting chance," says Turner, of the two-inch mammal that resembles a sinister fox-faced mouse with wings - which, despite the parasites, is still free of the biggest threat facing its species in years.
The sweltering eaves ...
