Fabric. Printed fabric—like a shirt.
“The light, Haven!”
“Just find a different spot to dig,” she says in a thick voice, pointing the flashlight to the area beside where we were digging.
“Give me the flashlight, girl…” Rooke’s voice moves as he stands up and goes over to her.
I scrape soil away from the area where I found the shirt, trying to unearth it like a fucking archeologist. I already know what it fucking is, but I can’t seem to stop digging.
“I’m sorry,” Haven whispers. “I thought I remembered where I—you can just dig somewhere else. There’s lots—there’s lots of sp-space.”
“I need the light, sweet girl,” Rooke coaxes.
It bounces around me, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to get it out of her hands or if she’s trying to bring herself to shine it where I’m digging. Either way, it’s too erratic for me to get a clear view of what I’m doing.
Haven whimpers. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, girl. Nothing to be sorry about. Just give me the light so we can see what we’re doing?—“
“No! But—please—just dig somewhere else…”
The light bounces up, then down, and stays pointed at the heap of freshly turned soil.
“I’m sorry!” Haven says through a gasp. I see her fall to her knees at the edge of my vision, but I’m too busy focusing on what’s in front of me to check on her.
“Fuck!” I fall back, flicking my hand to displace the beetle that made a mad dash up my arm.
But they’re everywhere, like I hit their nest.
If their nest was a dead body.
Notourdead body.
This one is much, much older.
At least, the arm I unearthed is.
Andbodyis a bit of a stretch. Because as I fall back, the shovel hooks on the shirt and tugs the arm out of the soil.
I land on my ass. The arm hits my leg. Which wouldn’t have been possible if it had still been attached to the rest of the body.
“Jesus, fuck!” I yell, scrambling to my feet.
I shake off my clothing, stomping and slapping at myself because it feels like there are beetles crawling over every inch of my skin.
My heart slams against my ribs, my lungs too tight to draw a breath. But I somehow find the air I need to splutter out, “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry—“ Haven starts mournfully, her hands on either side of her face as she stares at me with the same horror I feel burrowing inside my guts.
“There’s a fucking arm there!” I point to the decomposing limb. “Is there…is there another body here already?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracks, a lopsided, manic smile popping onto her lips. “Well, not awholebody.”
“What?” I yell.
She shrugs, showing me her teeth in an awful smile that looks closer to the edge of insanity than I feel right now.
“It’s not exactly in one piece,” she says, the words lilting like she’s trying not to laugh.
