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You remembah a big patch of ground on the way to the Mass Grave that could also be a mass grave. It's just smaller and more trampled so you took it to be part of the road.
To get through the packed topsoil there you get out a pickax head and start dibbling and levering biggy chunks until the ground gets more crumbly. Then it's backhoe time, the handle thinned and shortened to a comfy size.
You dig a crumbly 'ole down the most sunken part in the middle, scrabbling like a rat to clear out the bottom when there's too much dirt, keep going.
The ground gets bitey (caustic) quickly; theres rocks in ere, arranged in kindy a deep well, but walled only 2/3 around.
These bodies are also chopped in the neck and spiked in the heart, like the ones in the shallow graves, but also sprinkled with burny dry-y white stuff (quicklime) so they're all parched to jerky. And they've all been stamped on the forehead wivva Whitey symbol, da Birdy one. Something about it makes you cringe a little, you don't know why. You hold yer breff n chuck a good few inna Pouch, less than ten, when the walls of your dig collapses on itself.
Welp, yu're too whipped to do all dat again. Plus it's sun-drop, time to get back.
You check around the second dig, see if there's smaller graves like there were around the first one.
There are: closer to the Skirts, within sight of End Main.
You have a rest and do just one more, where the grass is new, a plain wooden marker still standing. The soil's moist here; just the backhoe is enough. You hit the cheap coffin in four feet; it's crumbled from the soil's weight n moisture.
The corpse inside is little small; female Humie, should be quite young when she got topped. And she [i:lit]is[/i:lit] topped: the face and head from the middle of the nose upwards has been worked to shit wiv sumn heavy. One arm chopped off at the uppers, above the elbow; the opposite shoulder is broke, looks like an axe chop.
This one's nearly eaten through by buggz, no flesh left, just patches of shrinky deddy black skin. No chop to the neck, no brand on the head, no spike inna chest. They buried this 'un before the Plague mebbe; or before they knew it was a Plague.
Derrs sum Humie playthings and nicey shoes buried wivva. Mebbe Seafood'll likem.
Another song floats to where your mouth is as you dig her out of the soil, holding her in both hands.
>DERRZ NO BRAIN INNIZ HEDD
>N SHE SMAELS REELY BEDD
>*heeeep*
>SHE STILL SNIFFEN GLUUE-UUUE-UUUUUUE
"[red] [i:lit] hhhhh [/i:lit] [/red]"
>nerr
>diddit jezt moov
"[red] [i:lit] khkk [/i:lit] [/red]"
>YEZZITMOVVED AHH
You manage to just stop your yelp from making it all the way out. The dedder wot started bein funny you throw on the ground and yez Dagga's out.
For the few seconds that you wonder where to stab something that doesn't breeve n doesn't bleed and wots got its head already caved in, you calm down.
Dis dedder not doin much, just some light wriggly bitey bites. Ooh, dose look sharp doe. Rags->her bitey mouf, her->Pouch.
