They were at least three miles from a town with no name.

A town whose only road was little more than muddy track.

The oxen had come to a halt and one of the wagons had a wheel half-submerged. Two men pushed on the wheel while a third tried to lever it free.

Torrential rain formed thick sheets which made it impossible to see far in any direction, drumming into sodden ground with ceaseless noise.

Grey clouds overhead swirled and clashed with thunder. Sheets of lightning ripped the early evening sky apart.

Oxen, resigned to the weather, stood motionless.

Water dripping from their bodies.

Heads low.

The men shouted at each other. Had to shout just to be heard. One waved to a fourth at the rear, who came running. His hat kept the rain from his eyes but not the rage.

“What the fuck are you lot playing at? Get this piece of shit out of the mud before we sink too fucking deep and get stuck until stinking Summer!” He slapped his hip with a hard-calloused hand. “We should’ve been in town fucking hours ago.”

“We can’t shift it! Weight is gonna break the axle if we push any harder. We’re gonna have to unload.”

“Bollocks to that. Just-”

“John!” An older man leaned against the wagon. Looking exhausted. Clothes drenched, stuck to his skin. Long grey hair in ribbons down his face. Moustache plucking at his upper lip. Closed eyes. Not looked up as he shouted as hard as his hoarse voice could manage. “Listen to the boy, John! We’re not telling you we want to unload for the fucking fun of it. It’s a cunt of a job to pull it all off and then put it back. We’re telling you because it’s the only fucking way we’re getting this goddamn wheel out of the fucking mud!”

John tightened his jaw.

Looked from man to man, then nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m sorry, lads. The storm. It’s just… The storm.”

“We know, mate.”

“Right, then. Let’s do it.” Clapped wet hands together. “George, I want you to go on up ahead and see if you can’t find somewhere we can get the wagons off the road while we let the rain let up. Somewhere firm, mind. We don’t need to get bogged in again. And don’t go too far. We won’t make it far even if we can get this bastard moving.”

George tipped his hat. “I’ll be quick. Be back to give you a hand.”

“Aye,” the old one growled. “You’d better.”

“We’ll take it in turns,” John said. “I’ve been back there, so I’ll take first shift. You both look done in, but Dimiti is eldest. Peter, it looks like you’re with me. Dimiti, get up into your cot and get yourself a bit dry. Have a smoke if you like.”

“Aye.” Tension eased from the old man’s shoulders. “Appreciate that, John.”

“It’s nothing.” Looked up at the stuck wagon and climbed awkwardly into the back. Trying not to slip. Patted the coffin and shook his head. “All this fucking grief over a goddamn dead body. What’s the point, eh? Carting them all the way across the world? Bury them where the poor sods fell, I say. If I die out here, Peter, you can bury me under a tree. I wouldn’t haunt you for it.”

Peter crossed himself and scowled. “Shouldn’t talk like that, John.”

“Right you are, Peter. And I’m sorry. Here, take a couple of these crates.”

“What’s in them?”

“Dirt, if you’d believe it.”

“Dirt?”

“Deceased’s last wishes and all that. Wanted to be buried in Transylvanian soil, but in Munich.”

“That’s a bit odd, ain’t it?”

Shrug. “I only care about the money, Peter. As should you. With the blasted trains starting to take all our business, I’ll cart fucking corpses any day if it’ll pay half as well as this job has. Stack it over by that tree there.”

“Will do.”

The two men worked without talking after that. Grunts of exertion lost to the loud rain and rolling thunder.

John moved the crates and handed them down.

Peter stacked them carefully against the tree. Rubbed at his shoulders every time he moved back toward the wagon for more. But never complained.

Jobs like this paid well for the time away from home. And the chance to see the world when it wasn’t pissing down was enough to keep him happy.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about a campfire.

Drying his boots out.

And a hot meal.

Steaming hot meal.

Meat.

Slabs of it.

Heaped with gravy.

Thick and delici-

“Peter! Wake up, lad.”

John was holding a small crate out to him. He hadn’t even noticed. He blinked and nodded. “Sorry. Was lost in a dream.”

John watched the younger man turn away.

He was pushing them hard. He knew it. But the woman had promised an extra five hundred francs if he could get the coffins to Vienna before month’s end. It was a hard trek, and one he never should have agreed to. He’d needed an extra team of oxen to even think about it.

But she’d paid.

And paid a fair sum in advance.

So, he pushed. Pushed them hard. And they knew why. Knew there was a hefty bonus at hand, so they didn’t complain. The journey back would be easier with some weight in their belts. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to push into the face of Winter.

The last of the crates was stacked and John leapt from the wagon to stand next to Peter. The younger man was blowing hard. Had tucked his thumbs into his belt and was almost doubled over. Almost as much sweat as rain on his face.

“You think we can do this without taking the coffin off, Peter?”

“I wish we could, John. I ain’t wanting to move it. Reckon that was the heaviest of the three, too.”

“You mightn’t have to. Here’s George. Hoy! George! What’s up ahead?”

“Mud. Mud. And more fucking mud.” Spat in disgust. “It’s even worse just round the hill there. Puddles almost right up to my knee, almost, in some places.”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

“Shit.”

Dimiti jumped from the other wagon, rubbing hands together. Aimed a sour look to the mountains in the distance and the sullen black clouds reaping their peaks. “I say we untie the beasts and get that coffin over here near the trees. Leave moving the wagons ‘til morning. Fuck all else we can do now, John. We’ll only be digging them out again soon after.”

“If it keeps raining like this, we’ll lose our lead.”

“Then best we get young Peter here to start praying forgiveness for whatever sins the Almighty has set on punishing us for today,” Dimiti growled. “Because judging by this weather, they were mighty bad.”

Peter crossed himself. “I keep telling you to be more careful how you take the Lord’s name, Dimiti. He won’t like that kind of talk.”

Dimiti clapped the younger man’s shoulder. Jerked his head to the wagon. “You go hop on up, lad. Leave the rest to us for a bit. John’ll be in for you soon.”

Hesitated. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “You’ve helped out already, mate. You look done in. We’ll dump the rest and see if we can get the wagon moving.”

Dimiti spat into the mud. Said; “Sure you really want to push on, John?”

“It’s worth trying. Don’t you think we should try?”

“It’s dark now, though. We should be setting camp. Here’s as good a spot as we’re likely to get.”

“I know you think it’s stupid of me. And I’m a bit of a stubborn man as you all know. But I’d like to give it one good try if we can. If we bog down a second time, I promise we won’t go further.”

The older man nodded. “Aye, well. That’s fair enough. I can’t argue you ain’t looking out for us, John. And you’ve always done right. Patient or not. So, I’ll give you my back and you’ll have every honest bit of strength I’ve got left.”

“I never doubted it.” He looked to the ropes lashing the coffins in place. “Here, George. Get these ropes loose, will you? My fingers aren’t up to the trick.”

“Sure, John. Won’t take a minute.”

John nodded. Pushed his hat up a little, then back down again as rain wet his cheeks.

Sighed.

Dimiti grunted. “Gonna be fucking cold this Winter, John. Getting back through the pass might be tough if it’s been as wet as here.”

“I know.”

“Aye. I figured you might. But sometimes it needs to be said.”

“We’ll see how it is when we get to Vienna. Ain’t usually this wet.”

“True, that is.”

“You done, George?”

“Almost!”

Thunder cracked directly overhead, making John flinch and the oxen shiver as the lightning ripped down into a field not far away.

One let out a huff and stamped back feet.

Flicked its tail.

Dimiti couldn’t help but grin. “That were a big one. And close.”

“Made me jump out of my fucking skin.”

George tossed the ropes into the wagon and scampered up. Rolled over the coffin and started looking it up and down. Sour twist of his lip. “This was the heavy one, weren’t it?”

“No, lad,” Dimiti called. “The black were the heaviest. This little red one weren’t much at all.”

“I’m sure this was heavier.”

“That’s only because you got out of having to carry the others. Right, John?”

John shrugged. “They were all fucking heavy to me.” Sighed. “Right, well. It won’t move itself. George, grab the handle there. I’ll slide it up my way. Dimiti? You be ready. We ain’t got time to do this proper with the ropes, so it’ll be hands only. And it’s slippery as shit.”

“Should be right. Ground’s wet mush here. Even if we drop it, it shouldn’t cause no damage. Just need a bit of a spit and polish.”

“Not a scratch, the Lady said.”

“And there won’t be if you keep your grip.”

“Holler out if you can’t keep hold.”

“Maybe I should get Peter back out?”

“No, let him rest. He’s already moved the rest.” Wiped his face. “George?”

The younger man grabbed the handles at the back with both hands. “Ready when you are.”

“Then give it a shove.”

The two men began to haul on the coffin, corded muscle pulling hard. Grunted and groaned as the coffin refused to move.

“Let go, let go,” John roared over another blast of thunder. “George! It’s alright, lad. It ain’t moving. Fuck. Must be caught on something.”

“Reckon some of the planking’s buckled,” Dimiti said, ducking down to get a look. “Can’t see it, but I’m sure that’s what it is. Can you get the rope under? Maybe lift it over the top.”

John shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I felt it shift,” George said. “At the end. It nearly gave. I’m sure of it.”

“You reckon one more go, lad?”

Nod. “I can do it. I’ll get up here behind it right and proper. And give it a shove.”

“Be careful. We don’t want to send it off the edge. Not one scratch, remember?”

“Dimiti’s big and strong,” George said. Grinned. “Like an ox, he says. All the time, don’t you Dimiti? I’m sure he’ll catch it with one hand.”

“And throw it back in your face, young George.” Dimiti grimaced. “But let’s not try it today, yeah?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

“Right then. Give us a shout when you’re ready.”

George climbed up behind the coffin. Anchored himself against the front of the wagon. Placed both hands on the lid. Looked up at Dimiti. Then to John.

Nodded. “Aye.”

“On three?” He took the handle in both hands. “One. Two. Three!”

Dimiti screwed his face into a snarl of effort and pushed with everything he had. Face turning red.

George tugged, trying to lift at the same time.

Felt the coffin scrape.

Then jar to a halt.

“Almost,” George said through teeth. Spittle drooled down his chin as he clenched jaw and gave it another push.

“It’s okay, George,” John said.

“Nearly got it!”

“It’s-”

Wood cracked.

And, with a shocked splinter, the coffin slid toward the end of the wagon.

John pulled on the handle, now trying to stop it as it flew toward Dimiti’s startled face.

The old man danced to one side, making a futile grab at one of the handles. Knowing he couldn’t stop it from flying of the edge.

It landed in the mud with a crash, angling against the wagon.

“Oh, hoy,” George lifted himself up from where he’d landed on his stomach. “I’m sorry, John. It got right out of my grip. I couldn’t hold it in the rain.”

Though anger studded his belly, rain cooled his mind and John simply sighed. “Don’t fret about it now, George. Ain’t your fault. Can’t help what can’t be helped. And I have to admit it’s my fault for pushing onwards when we oughtn’t to.”

Dimiti bent to look at where the coffin’s foot had rammed into the mud. “Oh, shit. John, this ain’t good.”

“What is it?” He jumped off the edge with a splash.

“I think the lid’s come loose.”

“Come loose? How?”

“Not sure. It’s like the hinge has broke.”

“Broke?” John chewed his bottom lip. “How bad?”

“I’d have to get a look at it in the morning to be sure. Maybe I can fix it…”

“I bloody hope so!” John stamped a foot. “Fucking shit. That’s all we need, isn’t it? She’ll never pay our bonus if we’ve busted it up, will she? She sees that, she’ll lose her fucking mind. You know what these rich folk are like!”

“I’m sorry, John,” George said again. Looked to Dimiti. “I didn’t expect it to go like that.”

Dimiti picked at the coffin lid.

Frowned.

“Hang on.” He gave the lid a shake, showing it was loose. “Doesn’t look like the hinge is damaged at all. Could be it’s supposed to be like this. Here, look.”

He felt the lid click as a mechanism inside triggered smoothly.

And the lid opened.

A mad flash of lightning speared into a hill half-hidden by trees. Tore a small smoking crater.

But no man looked in that direction.

“I ain’t a very religious man, John,” Dimiti said. Dry mouth. “But if that ain’t the perfect vision of the Virgin Mary herself, then I’m a blind man and don’t you dare ask a Bishop to cure me.”

John found himself staring.

His uncle had been a rich man. Had loaned him the money to buy the wagons he’d needed to start this business. On the day he’d settled the loan, his uncle had served him tea.

In porcelain cups. He’d been almost too afraid to touch them in case his fingers left a mark.

Pure as snow, he’d thought them.

The most perfect shade of white he’d ever seen.

Until now.

Her skin didn’t look anything like he imagined a dead body would. It looked soft.

Alive.

Like he could reach out and touch it.

He had to squeeze his fingers into fists just to stop himself from doing so.

Red lush lips.

Raven hair.

George slid down the wagon.

“What’re you two staring at?” Then stopped himself as he saw her. “Fuck me. She’s beautiful. Ain’t she Dimiti? She’s beautiful.”

Dimiti stood there, tears edging his eyes.

Shook his head. “More than anyone I ever saw.”

“Why’re you crying, Dimiti?”

The old man wiped at his eyes with the cuff of his hand. “My Lenda was beautiful, too. When she was taken. I just can’t help it, lad. It’s like I’m seeing her all over again. It ain’t right for young girls to die like this. Ain’t right at all.”

“You were married? I didn’t know that.”

“I was young, once, lad.” The tears didn’t stop. “She died in our first year. Couldn’t bring myself to look at another.”

“Close it up,” John said, voice strangled and thick. “Close it up now.”

George couldn’t pull his gaze away from her. “But-”

“Shut it, damn you! Show some respect for the dead. And if not respect, then do it before you catch sickness. It ain’t healthy to be around the dead, you fool.”

“He’s right, lad,” Dimiti said. Closed the lid as quickly as he could, trying not to get mud inside. Scrubbed his eyes and motioned for John to grab the other side of the coffin. “Let’s get it over there as quick as we can.”

“And seal it,” John said. He wasn’t sure why he felt so afraid, but fear bubbled in his belly. Made worse by the shocking roll of thunder which caused every hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. “Seal it up again.”

“It weren’t sealed.”

“What do you mean it weren’t sealed?”

“No wax. You saw.”

“Well, do something. I don’t want it to open again. Make it stay shut.”

“Aye.”

The three men lifted the coffin over to the trees, laying it down near the stacked crates of earth. They moved it without words, each lost in thoughts of their own. Each handling the weight with as much gentleness as they could manage.

When it was done, they stood nearby in pouring rain.

“She was so beautiful,” George said. Flushed. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking about her now. It’s like she was alive. Even her mouth. She was smiling. Did you see that?”

“She weren’t smiling, you fool,” John snapped. “She’s dead. It’s not a woman in there. It’s just a body. Sorry, Dimiti.”

“It’s alright. Let’s get the wagon loose.” He looked back at the coffin, a small frown playing across his old face. “Poor lass.”

“She’s in a better place,” George offered. “Peter can pray for her tonight.”

“Sure he can,” John said, shivering. “Now run off and get him out here. Let him pray over the wheel before anything else. I don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than we have to.”