Buried: A Cainsville Story

Shovelful by Damn Shovelful

I am suffocating. I swear it.

I glance around the empty stretch of land. I am a pawn, sent here because I was supposed to be, and I have no idea what that can mean but, for perhaps the first time, my lack of questions has nothing to do with the compulsion of the Elders, and everything to do with the one thing I am looking for but can not see.

I do not have time for questions. I need to find her.

When my phone rings, I nearly fumble it. The last few days have done nothing but fray my nerves as, I suppose, they were designed to do, to leave me dancing on the edge, with no idea of who I am or what I believe.

I glance at the screen and the sense of relief is all encompassing. A more dramatic man would fall to their knees. I just breathe a sigh and answer. "Olivia? Where are you?"

There is a muffled sound on the other end of the line. A crackle. She is trying to say something, but the connection keeps cutting in and out and her voice is vague and garbled.

"Olivia, I can't hear you. I need you to tell me - I was told I could find you by the gargoyle the town made for me. Are you here? Dial any button - once for yes, twice for no."

One beep.

"I don't see you. Are you hiding? Is it too dangerous to speak? Are you injured?" I hear the panic rising in my voice. I wince. This is exactly what he wants. I'm giving him exactly what he wants and...

...I don't care.

The connection goes dead. I look down at the phone just as a text message comes in. It's Olivia.

"Look down."

I do. And that's when it clicks.

Somewhere in this large expanse of land, buried under the rain drenched soil, is Olivia. And I have no idea how I will find her in time.

Another text message.

"I'm sorry."

I am suffocating. And if I can't get to her soon, so is she.

I close my eyes. Breathe. Think. Think. Think.

I run to my car to retrieve my shovel. Because of course I have a small shovel in the trunk of my car. One never knows when one might need something like that. I can almost hear Olivia's laughter at that thought, and my chest squeezes.

I pull the shovel from the trunk, take my crowbar with it for good measure, and head back, all the while trying to work out why Tristan would do this.

Because you are Gwynn. Tristan is trying to push you into your role. Save the girl. Be the Fae King. Win the prize.

Except Olivia is not a prize to be won. And she is usually perfectly capable of saving herself. And if she did not want me, even this daring rescue would not make her want me.

If I can save her. Which Tristan wants me to do. Meaning she is in the most obvious place in this open field.

My gargoyle is the headstone to her grave. Protecting her. Like I haven't.

What is it that Tristan is always saying? He is always trying to get everyone to open their eyes. What is he trying to get me to see?

I begin to dig, hauling shovelful after shovelful of dirt over my shoulder with the speed of someone whose life is on the line. Because it is. I see that now.

I do not know who I will be if I find Olivia and she is already dead.

I continue to dig. I am dirty and sweaty and out of breath by the time my shovel hits the wood with a thunk. It is only about three feet down. Any more time and I would have been better off calling in a crew to get her out. As it is, I do not expect a satisfying conclusion.