Recapitulation: Sometimes, when you want to rob a grave, you have to do it the old fashioned way. Barry and Jenna have found their way to Gertrude Wilborough’s grave at night, and proceed to dig it up. However, they’ve come to an impasse as to which of them will do the actual work.
Being buried alive constitutes one of the most traumatic experiences to most humans, indeed most living creatures that do not burrow underground. Even more frustrating is the tantalizing proposition that freedom is but two hundred and thirty pounds away. The woman, trapped beneath the hulk of a man, writhes beneath him, as much to release her legs from the dirt and to gain unhindered access to fresh air as to get out from beneath the overbearing weight of the man.
For his part, he moves the dirt with the dispassionate motions befitting a sloth. At this rate, he could move a mountain, but it would take years. Nonetheless, he has time, as well as a superior position to the woman. The manufacturers constructed their caskets well; the casket’s integrity resisted the additional weight of two people wrestling atop it. In the alternative, the casket collapsed while the legitimate diggers heaped their dirt atop the casket, shifting the dirt downward into a more permanent position.
They have another breathless conversation, this time with the man in the dominant position, the woman’s lungs compressed flat. His terms brook no compromise, she will dig half the dirt, he will dig the other half. They will loot the corpse, replace the dirt, and leave this place. He will wait out his three and a half weeks until his reinstatement, she will go off and do whatever the hell she wants. Unwilling to die from asphyxiation, she assents to the new plan.
Repetition is the watchword by which they execute their duty. The shovel blade pierces the earth, the shovel blade removes some of the earth, the shovel blade dumps the dirt onto the pile. Given enough time, and a sufficient protection system, and a means by which to bypass the crushing gravity at the center of the earth, these two could dig through the earth to the other side. Of course, their petty bickering has robbed them of the needed time, and now they must grapple with the oncoming sunrise.
He jumps into the hole, now up to his waist, and commences helping. She moves for the edge, but he grabs her by her hair and drags her back down. Together they orchestrate a deep enough hole, and clack their shovels against the coffin. Well done, well done. She ducks down to fiddle with the lid, while he hefts himself off of the casket in order to allow her more room to unlock the lid. The man sits with his legs dangling over the edge, hands holding on. There is some more movement, and she pops up holding a sheaf of papers. The man takes the sheaf, flips through them, assimilating the information. As the sun has now started to rise, and the graveyard is cast into soft focus, we shall move in closer for a more detailed examination of these mysterious papers.
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