While Jack furiously dug heavy shovelfuls of sod, Lyla's contribution amounted to clearing loose dirt from the pit. She raked a large scoop that spilled from her blade before she could remove it from the hole. Out of breath, she leaned on the handle of her hoe, wondering if she were only succeeding in getting in his way. After a short break, she returned to the task.

Thirty minutes of hard labor later, the grave was finally excavated waist-deep. Exhausted, Lyla tossed her hoe and clapped the dirt from her hands.

"Let's put him in the ground," she said.

Jack climbed out of the pit, extended his hand, and helped her to the surface.

"You okay?" he asked, assessing her condition.

She nodded, clearly lightheaded. They crossed the burial ground and found Keenan on his back a few yards from the summit of the hill. Overhead, the boughs of the tree waved in the wind.

"So this is it," Jack said, filling his lungs with air. "We need to get him from there to there." His eyes went from corpse to the hole they'd dug. "We're on the one-yard line."

The what?

"You ready?"

"I'm ready," she said with assurance.

I hope I'm ready.

Each grabbed one of Keenan's ankles.

"Okay," he said. "One...two...three!"

Lyla planted herself and gave a hard pull. Pop. She went down on her butt with Keenan's boot in her hand. She froze, paralyzed with the revolting image of his detached foot inside the boot. She winced, tossing the boot over her shoulder.

"Get up!" he said.

"Is his foot...?"

"What?"

"I thought it came off." Lyla gritted her teeth at the thought of it.

He shook his head and pointed. She was relieved to discover that Keenan's shriveled foot remained attached to his ankle, his toes curled under.

Jack flung the boot up toward the gravesite. "Come on," he huffed. "Feels like the storm is moving in."

As she rose to her feet she could hear the wind building, cutting through the field grass. She clamped Keenan's bony ankle and, despite the unbearable odor, they dragged the corpse up the remaining stretch to the summit and into the ring of gravestones.

The wind attacked, raging, and pelting them with soil and plant matter. Lyla and Jack's eyes were like split seams in the worn fabric of their faces. They maneuvered the body to the edge of the pit and shoved Keenan in. He tumbled into the hole, landing on his shoulder before coming to rest on his back.

"You have anything you'd like to say before we cover him up?" Jack raised his voice over the clattering of leaves and pebbles against the hard turf.

The wind diminished. The trees stood still in eerie silence.

She thought for a moment. "I don't know any burial prayers."

"Make one up." He lobbed the loose boot into the grave with the body.

She got down on her knees and, with unexpected reverence whispered, "I never was your kitten, Keenan. I think you knew that. But... you lived such a troubled, violent life. I hope you can finally find peace."

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the silver snake ring then tossed it into the grave. It bounced, coming to rest on Keenan's chest. She waved the insects from the corpse's skeletal face.

"Good-bye, Keenan."

Lyla and Jack took their tools in hand. A hissing wind pushed through the grass to the top of the hill where it threaded its way through the treetops, whipping Lyla's hair against her face. Her shoulders ached, her back muscles cramped, and her lungs burned but she persisted.

You got this. It's almost over.

They shoveled dirt for what seemed like an eternity. Blotches of dim light played across Keenan's shrunken face as the wind shook the branches overhead. In the moving shadows, his eyes and lips seemed to be twitching. She averted her gaze.

Finally, the body was no longer visible. She dropped to her knees, this time not in prayer but as a victim of fatigue. She watched Jack shovel the last of the dirt into a mound atop the corpse. Keenan Ames lay three feet underground not far from the remains of his relatives.

Jack shook the soil from his shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves. He grabbed the shovel and took a few steps before muscle spasms brought him to a faltering stop.

"Give me just a minute." He grimaced, rubbing his aching thighs. Having finally completed the grueling, morbid mission, he breathed an exhausted sigh of relief. "So...," he panted.

She looked at the grave. "It feels like it's over, don't you think?"

"I can't feel anything right now except pain." He grimaced. "Everything hurts."

"Me too," she commiserated.

Their heavy breaths set the tempo for the song of droning cicadas and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Harsh distorted music erupted, obliterating the tranquility. From their position at the crest of the hill, Lyla and Jack watched in horror as a pickup truck accelerated up the hill spitting clods of turf. As the truck's bouncing headlights found them in the dark, she froze.