Blogtober 2023
Clarkton pulled the SUV into the tall grass and weeds just short of the edge of the sinkhole crater. Not knowing how the dead would react, or if the creature would be present, he wanted to make a stealthy approach.
Nicole leaned over the backseat and handed pump-action shotguns to the men, keeping another for herself. They all stuffed their pockets with spare shells and pushed the vehicle doors closed with a muffled click instead of the usual slam.
Clarkton walked point, following the path until he saw the edge of the crater, at which point he knelt down into a belly crawl, unpleasant memories of Marine boot camp drifting through his mind, the nasal whine of his drill instructor a distant echo.
Murphy and Nicole followed suit, and they peered over the edge into the bottom of the sinkhole.
About 50 men gathered around the center of the crater. Groups of threes and fours lifted up large rocks and carried them toward the edges. Although they had only started working recently, a hole in the ground bigger than a car was already visible.
“What a nightmare,” Nicole said. “Killed by a monster and brought back to life to work in a quarry. It’s like something out of Dante’s Inferno.”
“Nicole, get your phone and take pictures of this,” Murphy said.
She unpocketed her iPhone and took video, tapping the still button to record pictures as well.
“What do you suppose they’re digging for?” she asked.
“A ship,” Clarkton said.
Photo credit Adobe Stock #553770900
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