The Bone Artists Read Online Free Page A

or maybe that was just what earth, wear and tear, and a flood did to a wooden box. Almost all of the other marked graves were above ground, corpses safely covered by stone or within the mausoleum itself, much smarter for flood country.
    This grave, he noticed, wasn’t marked at all.
    â€œAre you going to keep watch or help?” Micah asked, out of breath. He jammed the trowel between the lid and side of the coffin, wiggling it.
    The lid began to give and Oliver felt his courage waver. “Keep watch, I guess. Um, let me know if you need help.”
    But actually please don’t.
    He swiveled, closing his eyes again as the sounds continued, painting almost as vivid a picture as if he were watching the robbery itself. His mind filled with sudden doubts. He really should have read up on the penalties for getting caught doing this stuff. Was it better or worse that they were stealing from a dead person? No injured parties, really, but trafficking in body parts couldn’t be nothing in the eyes of the law, either. Shit. Maybe he should have told Sabrina more about this. She was clever, clever enough to stay away from shady crap like this. . . .
    But not clever enough to stay away from me.
    â€œBingo,” he heard Micah whisper. There was another sound,the worst one, listening to the quick, meaty chop as Micah severed the fingers from the hand. Flesh. Jesus, that meant the body couldn’t be that old. Micah winced, trowel scraping along the bottom of the box as he scooped up the bones.
    â€œThis is so disgusting,” Oliver hissed.
    â€œThere’s no blood or anything.”
    â€œNot the point, man.”
    â€œI’ve got what we need,” Micah said, ignoring him. “Let me cover this back up and we can—”
    â€œHey!” Oliver froze at the sound. It was a man’s voice, loud and clear, calling to them from across the yard and back toward the entrance gate. “Hey there! Is someone there? What do y’all think you’re doing over there?”
    â€œShit! Run!” Micah shoved the trowel and a plastic baggy into his backpack and took off running, closing the gap between the unearthed grave and the back fence of the cemetery.
    Oliver tripped into a sprint, chest squeezing with sudden panic. They were caught. It was over. That guy would call the police and they would get picked up, bye-bye, Austin. . . .
    â€œFaster than that, moron!” Micah whispered, dropping to his knee and motioning for Oliver to hurry his ass up. Oliver pumped his legs faster, listening to the man bang his fists on the iron gate, shouting at them still and getting louder. He didn’t hesitate, grabbing the closest bars and using Micah’s hands to vault over the tall, sharp points of the fencing. Micah landed beside him a second later and grabbed him by the sleeve, yanking him along a weedy, paved plot to cut diagonally back toward the car.
    Was that a siren? Was his mind messing with him?
    As they fled, Oliver took one last look behind him, breath lodging in his throat as he noticed the figure in the distance. Just a shadow, maybe, just a trick of the eye, but it looked like a tall silhouette stood over the unmarked grave, watching them run.

O liver dragged his feet as he went to the back room. Six forty-five p.m. Briony would be there any minute to pick up the package. He shouldered the curtain aside near the register of the shop, vaguely aware of his dad trying to sell a customer on a refurbished coffee table. Ugh. Coffee. He could use a gallon right about then.
    He hadn’t slept. Not at all. When he’d closed his eyes he’d heard Micah’s trowel hitting the coffin lid. He’d heard the fingers separating from the hand, so much severed meat. He’d heard that man shouting and the rattle of the iron fence. He’d seen the shadow watching them, right by the grave. Too close to the grave.
    Sirens sounded all the time during the night in the city, but each