The shovel connected squarely with the back of his head and the vibrations nearly shook the handle of it from her hands. The drunken urinator toppled over without a murmur and she put the shovel down, blade first against the ground, and leaned on it. For a moment or two she felt numb, then she began to shake a little. Two dead. She'd murdered two people now. She couldn't claim heat of the moment any more. She'd have to make sure no-one ever found the bodies.
Two graves, drat and bother. She hadn't thought of that, and she didn't much relish the idea of digging the first. Oh well, it looked like Jimmy would have a companion in death then. Kind of funny, when you knew how homophobic he'd been in life. Inspiration struck her then; she'd bury them with their hands around each others throat. Make it look as though they'd been fighting over something, and some kind soul had covered up the bodies. That wasn't such a bad idea.
She pulled the shovel up and dragged the second body over to Jimmy's, it hissing and slithering across the grass like a sad snake. She dropped it gladly, and hefted the shovel. She plunged down into the ground, and started to dig.
An hour later by the illuminated face of the watch that Jimmy had bought her for their first anniversary together she had a hole that went as far down as her knees. It wasn't six feet long, she'd dug it to the length of Jimmy and figured that she'd fold the other guy up on top. She was sweating, was developing a loathing for the smell of loam, and had burst the blisters that had formed within minutes on the palms of her hands. Every shovelful of soil tossed up and to the side was an agony now, one she didn't think Jimmy, dead or not, deserved. She'd already decided she wasn't going down six feet. Deep enough not to attract animals, that'd have to do. Who came out this way anyway?
As if answering her question, she heard the soft growl of an engine at the roadside, slowing down and coming to a stop. She thrust an angry wrist across her forehead and swallowed a curse; she'd never let Jimmy swear around her, and she sure as heck wasn't going to let him make her start, not with him dead now and all. She rubbed away the sweat, feeling it spring back again as soon as her wrist was away and listened. There was the slam of a car door, but only the one. That was good.
She hoiked herself out of the shallow grave and pulled the shovel up after her. Now, she thought, just walk away. Decide it's a lover's tryst and leave. Please. She moved quietly away, listening to the squeak of night-damp grass beneath her sneakers, watching the darker shadows against the faint light from the road. A shadow moved uncertainly towards her, and she froze.
She waited, patiently as a cat outside a mousehole, letting the shadowed figure stumble forward across the field. Her eyes were accustomed to the gloom, she could see the right hand held out, blindly seeking any obstacle that might be in the way. With a sudden start she realised that the newcomer was going to walk into the shallow pit she'd started as a grave.
A few more steps and a sudden short scream; the shadowed figure plunged into the grave. Their scream was shut off abruptly as their jaw connected with the ground on the far side of the grave, and she swung the shovel like a batter going for a home run.
And that makes three, she thought, hearing the dull crack of bone against metal and feeling the shiver of the shovel handle run up her arms.