Mass Grave

3 Outlaws burying their kin

Mass Grave
I watched as the boys dug; deeper than they ever dug before. Probably because we had more bodies to bury than we were used to.

The silvery moon sat way up in the midnight sky but it could’ve been mistaken for high noon seeing how hot the sonofabitch was.

“We tired, Nate.” The large Dutchman slid his forearm across his neanderthal forehead. He whipped the sweat away in one quick motion. “We tired an’ we hung’ry.”

I inhaled hard, drawing the mucus from my nostril cavity into my mouth where it mixed with the bitterness of the tobacco. 

“Ah don’t give a bullfrog’s s**t what you is.” I retorted, spitting the salty-yet-bitter concoction into the hole they dug. “If y’want any part o’this fucken loot, Ah su’ggest y’dig!”

He grumbled and returned to work without much objection. “Better.” My nag snorted, as if to put those boys in their place.

Aside from the metallic pangs of their shovels and their occasional grunts, not a sound could be heard. It was almost as if the desert itself was mourning the loss our fallen brothers. It was almost hypnotic until that damned fool, Slim Jones, broke the spell. 

“Nate, We been diggin’ for almost five goddam fucken’ hours. The hole is fucken deep ‘nuff, doncha thank?” Slim rested against the shaft of his shovel, panting hard as he set his steely gaze upon me. “Ain’t like they ‘gon wake up o’sumptin”

Annoyed, I slipped out my saddle and walked closer to the edge of the mass grave. “Ah’m gettin’ real fucken tired o’yer belly-achin’, boys. We got a plan an’ we agreed t’stick wid it. Now, are y’tellin’ me yer tryna have a change o’heart?” My hand rested on the butt of my pistol. My free hand pointed to the stack of bodies that lay dead on the wagon. “You gon’ try and disrespect ‘em dead boys like that? Ain’t even gon’ give ‘em no proper burial?? ‘Specially since they so kindly risked they own lives fer th’sake o’ this fucken job? Them be OUR BOYS!!”

The Dutchman continued to dig, minding his own business. “Y’killed ‘em!!” Slim threw down the shovel. That WASN’T part o’the goddam fucken’ plan!! Y’blew ‘em up miles-fucken-high cause y’were an ant’s dick from gettin’ caught an’ hanged yer damn self!!! That WASN’T the plan, Nate!!!”

“Naw? Well, neither was this.” I drew the gun and fired before returning it back into its holster. The pungent smell of gunpowder began to mix with the aroma of the desert. 
Slim’s hand crawled to his chest as if he were trying to plug the hole where fresh blood began to cascade from. 

Those once steely eyes began to bulge, looking up at me in complete shock, as if he didn’t comprehend what had just occurred. He staggered back, trying to skin his own gun, but it was futile. “Y’were always too thin-skinned fer me, Slim. Quite honestly, Y’make me nervous.” 

He fell onto his back and continued to bleed out. The shining moon glimmered as it reflected off of the blood that began to saturate the fibers of his sweat-stained shirt. Skim’s bug-eyes rolled into the back of his skull. I watched until his chest ceased movement.

The Dutchman finally stopped digging and looked to the newly-departed Slim Jones. He poked him once, then twice with his shovel before looking up to me for guidance. 

“Leave ‘im for th’scavengers.” I called back nonchalantly as I lit myself a cigarette. “He don’t deserve no prop’er burial.” 

“We’ll split his share eighty-twenty.” I knew the Dutchman was too stupid to disagree.
“Awrighty, Nate.” He pushed the lifeless corpse to the side and continued digging. “Doggies gon’ get a snack t’night. Yessiree.”

My eyes slid over to behind a small community of dead brush where a rambunctious pack of emaciated coyotes lay in wait. Their dried tongues slid across their starved lips. I cracked a smile. 

They knew they’d be eating well tonight

Author's Note

Any critique would be much appreciated :)