Mira dug. Around her, the whispering call grew louder with each pierce of the shovel in the ground. A clamor of voices rising, pushing her forward, beckoning for her to find them.

She forced the blade into the earth. She lifted one foot and with her heel pushed down on the blade. It took a few tries to get it deep enough. Her arms lifted the broken dirt and threw it behind her. She repeated the process, again and again. Dig, push, lift, throw. She did this job with a desperate sense of urgency, because soon the day would be over, and she had to be prepared for whatever was coming.

Her muscles ached from the struggle but she kept on. Her breath was sparse and she choked on the summer air but she didn’t stop. Hair matted, sweat beads dripping, sliding down her neck and into her crevices—give up, her body told her. Give up and go, but she wouldn’t.

With each lift she got better, and soon she fell into a rhythm. Each lift of the dirt brought her closer.

She dug through the topsoil, disrupting the grass and weeds. This was the hardest part and she struggled to get through.

She dug, hoping to finish before it was time. Dig, push, lift, throw. She repeated the movement, each time saying the words. They became her own mantra, a prayer, a song, as she dug. Dig, push, lift, throw.

As she dug, Mira thought of the inmates she’d driven past along the highway. Their image came to her as she lifted another scoop of dirt from the ground. Their bodies hunched over, eyes focused on the ground. She thought of the boy who had turned to look. So young. A child. What had he done to warrant such a fate? What had he done? Or any of the others? She wished she could save them, but they were long gone, lost.

Mira dug. An hour passed. She stood in the shallow pit she’d created, exasperated and tired. Her clothes were coated with the muddy earth. Dirt smeared across her arms and her face.

“I must be getting close.”

Just dig a little farther and maybe you’ll get there, she told herself. It had to be here. Had to be. She had to see this through.

Around her, the voices rose higher still, and as they gained momentum she heard a hymn. The work song sung before, and she dug along with their cadence. Soon, she joined in, her mumbled singing turning to hollering as she threw the shovel into the ground, lifted the dirt, and threw it over her shoulder again and again.