In The Cave
“Wait, Chet,” Bernie said. This was yesterday. We were outside this cave, or abandoned mine or whatever it was, somewhere in Death Valley. “There are no supports. Don’t go in there.” But I had to. I smelled a rat, one of those big desert rats. I don’t like them, not one little bit, don’t like their smell, either, which is kind of like mice except more sour, like they’re always eating something rotten.
The next thing I knew, I was deep in the shaft, smelling the rat, and hearing him, too, scurrying on ahead of me. “Chet! Chet!” Bernie shone the light inside. I saw my own shadow, stretched out way ahead. And what was that? Uh-oh. A skull. A human skull, sitting straight up on the hard-packed ground. And beside it lay a can, a big flat kind of metal can, pretty much the shape of a Frisbee.
“Chet? What’s going on?”
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