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I walk toward the back of the truck to retrieve the shovel I keep stashed beneath the bed. The girl hasn’t moved. She continues to lie on top of the comforter, her hand lazily running through Pup’s fur.
First she ropes in my alters, and now she’s going for my dog. I can’t with this bitch.
“You can dig one hole, or I can dig two. Your choice,” I say. I’m not in the mood to argue with her.
“Why do I have to dig the grave?”
“Because I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“Have you ever considered retiring?”
Retire from killing? Never.
My hand finds the shovel, and I pull it out and hold it toward her. “Get out there and dig, dropout.”
She rolls her eyes and accepts the wooden handle, then stands up and plods out of the truck. When I step out behind her, I look at the sky and study the clouds as I draw a cigarette from the pack in my pocket. I lean against a tree and light it. Her eyes follow the cigarette as if it’s a magic wand.
“What, do you want one?” I ask.
She nods.
“Beg me.”
A scoff slips past her lips, and she tightens her grip on the shovel. “I’m not begging you for shit.”
“Say, ‘Daddy Kane, give me a cigarette because I’m a dropout whore who doesn’t care about her body.’”
“Daddy Kane can suck my dick,” she mumbles under her breath.
A smirk tugs at my lips. Even though her eyes hold so much longing for this little nicotine stick, she turns to head into the woods rather than play my game. I grip her arm and hand her my cigarette, and she looks up with a sneer before taking it from me. With an attitude like that, I’m amazed no one has beaten her to death before now.
I pull out another cigarette for myself and light both. She leans on the shovel and sucks in smoke with her eyes closed. I stare at her lips each time they wrap around the filter, and an uncomfortable feeling spreads through my body like poison.
I turn toward the truck. “I’m gonna let Pup out while we’re stopped.”
“You aren’t worried she’ll run off?” she asks as I open the door. “I had a dog once, but he ran away when I took him on a hike. My dad wouldn’t let me look for him because our trip was over and he wanted to get home. I don’t want that to happen to Pup.”
I whistle for the little dog, and she trots to the front of the truck and hops down. “I don’t have to worry about Pup running off. We’ve been doing this for years, and she always sticks close.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance, the sound carried on the darkening clouds creeping across the sky. Judging by the sharp, thick scent in the air, rain is on its way. We need to dig this grave and get back onto the road.
Aurora seems to sense the urgency as well, because she throws down her cigarette, snuffs out the cherry, then sinks the shovel into the dirt and pulls up a large clod of grass.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask.
“Digging a fucking grave?”
I shake my head and snatch the shovel from her hands. “You can’t do it here at the side of the road. It’ll be too obvious. We have to go into the woods a little ways.”
“You want me to try to dig a grave in that?” She motions toward the forest. “I can’t break through all those tree roots.”
I wrap my hand around her bicep and drag her into the woods. “Ye of little faith,” I mutter.
We walk for a few minutes, Pup scampering at our heels. When we come to a clearing, I push the shovel into her hands and raise an eyebrow. She scoffs and gets to work.
Aurora is much more methodical than I’ve ever been. I usually dig a hole that’s just big enough to shove the body into and just deep enough to keep the wildlife away. She’s really mapping this thing out. Using the shovel’s blade, she’s already drawn a rectangular perimeter. A very large rectangular perimeter.
“Are we burying a body or laying the groundwork for an in-ground pool?” I say. “What the fuck are you doing?”
