Read by Rashida Smith
Originally Published in Postscripts
I brushed at the crust. Dirty grains clung to the sweat of my palms. The shadow underneath, too clean-edged to be a phantasm, didn’t change. “Here,” I said. “Help me.”
“It’ll just be another ammonite.” But he knelt and set to scraping beside me.
I jerked back, staring at the dark linen we’d uncovered. Suspicion lifted the hairs on my nape and I dug faster, harder, in danger of damaging the specimen with haste.
An arm emerged from the salt. Beside me, Hareem had uncovered a knee. Working feverishly now, we followed the contours, salt flying from our fingers, until the entire body lay bare to the sky.
Hareem let out a low whistle. “Now this,” he said, “will fetch a fiefdom.”
Rated R: Contains Violence and Gore