Sleet blew through the trees and froze his fingers to the shovel. Dark shadows shrouded him as he laboured, his breathing ragged and harsh as he struggled to shift the earth. All he knew was that he had to hide it, every fibre of his being concentrated on the task. His hair was plastered to his face and his jacket sodden and heavy, weighing him down. Freezing water pooled in the hole. Then a heavy footstep sloshed in the mud and he looked up into torchlight that nearly blinded him.
"When you get to the bottom, you better stop digging."