Where the Bodies are Buried


How shallow was a shallow grave?

He’d never dug one before.  The hole before him, which he’d gouged out of the sandy soil in the heat of the desert looked deep, but now he’d pushed the man’s body into it, suddenly it looked awfully shallow. Could animals or other things get down to the body? Or maybe that was the point? Just deep enough for cover, but not so deep that it took too long for the flesh to turn to corruption.

This was really something TV should have taught him better. He hunched down and drank from his water flask.  Dragging the body the hundred feet from the car had been exhausting enough so he wasn’t about to drag it back.

 

Something squawked overhead.  It looked real. Not a drone. Maybe a bird.  Nothing man-made that would record what he was doing.

Then an idea hit: there were bound to be other bodies buried out here.  Maybe he should find another grave and dig down a little?  Maybe he could find the body of a ‘whacked’ guy and see how the professionals did it? A little river of sweat ran down his back, reminding him that it was a stupid idea.  He took the map (which had instructed him where to bury the body) from his satchel and tucked it into the dead body’s pocket.  They’d written ‘bury with body, do not burn” on it.  It was paper, so would decay quickly enough.

Overhead more of the birds were circling.  That didn’t look too good.

He stood up.





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