The cave stinks, an evil odour that Ciara can feel seeping into her hair.  There is an indefinable slime everywhere.  Not to mention the bones.

“I’m going to murder you for this,” she hisses into the walkie.

“Maintain radio silence,” says Billie.

Round the corner sits the ogre, hunched against the wall, snoring and drooling and farting.  The walkie crackles.  “Ok, you want to get the big toe on its right foot.”

Ciara creeps forward, holding the tagging gun in both hands.  She’s nearing the foot when a bone snaps under her.

This is a terrible summer job, she thinks.


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