The car stumbled up the narrow dirt and gravel pathway until the tires could no longer find traction. Like an exhausted pack mule, it moaned, refusing to forge ahead.

"This is as far as we go," said Jack and he put the car into park.

Lyla pointed to the summit. "We need to get up there."

"I mean this is as far as the car goes." 

She got out and followed him to the rear of the car. The trunk had gone quiet. Her fearful eyes went from Jack to the trunk lid, then back again.

"Stand back," he cautioned, then popped the trunk. The foul odor forced her to turn away.

Keenan lay on his back, his legs twisted, his milky dead eyes staring up at Jack. In the pale moonlight, she couldn't determine if a subtle smile was widening across his concave face. 

She whispered, "You sure he's—"

"I'll carry him," he replied. "You bring the shovels."

He poked Keenan, watching for a reaction. The corpse's eyes were fixed, unblinking. Jack yanked the corpse by its arms and slung it over his shoulder. The body had become more rigid. Keenan exhaled a thin, rancid breath as the remaining pockets of air evacuated his body. Gray fluid leaked from his mouth.

Lyla gagged. 

An object dropped from the corpse's hand and bounced on the ground. 

"What was that?" Jack asked without turning around.

"Oh, my God!" Her voice cracked. "It's the ring." She stuffed it into her pocket and grabbed the tools.

He offered no words.

They started up the unforgiving topography in the dark. Lyla's knees ached as she trudged up the steep, irregular hillside over clumps of scrub grass interspersed with bulkheads of rock. It wasn't long before she heard Jack gasping for breath. Insects attracted by the sour odor of decay swarmed the body.

"You wanna maybe take a rest?" she suggested.

He shook his head and soldiered on. His foot slid into a rut, throwing him off balance. The body very nearly slipped from his broad shoulders.

"I can barely see where I'm going." He adjusted the cadaver back into position and pushed himself forward, up the hill. Droplets of perspiration rolled down Jack's red face.

"We're almost there." She offered encouragement. 

At the top, a cluster of oak trees with spider-like branches waved with the choppy currents of air. The boughs of the old trees moaned when the wind whipped up.

She jogged ahead and pushed aside the tall grass, stepping over the ancient stone marker with the word AMES carved into its surface. She dropped the tools amidst a grouping of small gravestones.

When Jack released the corpse, it slid from his shoulder. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gulping air. After a pause, he climbed to the summit where he joined her. A gust of wind sent a swarm of dried leaves twirling and dancing among the groups of gravestones. He surveyed the random arrangement of stones and wheezed, "Where do we dig?" 

She took a few steps toward the back of the plot of land. "There might be room over here." 

"Okay." He panted. "Let's do this." He grabbed the shovel and wasted no time, plunging its blade into the turf. 

She gripped her hoe and chopped away at the jumbles of weeds and clover. The first few feet of soil were moist and the digging proceeded relatively quickly but as they excavated deeper, their tools met with resistance from compressed earth and clay.

He speared his shovel into the dirt and looked at his painful split palms, which oozed blood. He tossed his shirt onto the ground then pulled his t-shirt over his head, handing it to Lyla. 

"Can you tear a couple of strips?" he asked. "To wrap around my hands."

"You want me to rip your T-shirt?"

He nodded.

She tore a length of fabric from his t-shirt and ripped it in two. 

"That'll work," he said, coiling the cloth around each bleeding palm before returning to his grueling task.

While they labored, Lyla caught an occasional view of Jack's muscled body, glistening with perspiration. She chastised herself.

What is wrong with you? Hey, let's have a romantic moment while we're digging this grave, said no one ever.