You just have to dig for it. A cold, wet button pressed against my neck. A small, rough tongue flicked my ear. I opened my eyes to utter blackness, unable to see or move. “Muffin?” I croaked, feeling the warm, furry body snuggled awkwardly between my shoulder and chin. “You’re alive, baby?” As I came more fully awake, I discovered that I was lying on my right side, one arm pinned beneath my body, an enormous weight crushing the breath out of me. Why couldn’t I move? My sluggish brain grappled with the question. As Muffin squirmed, a stream of something grainy whispered against plastic. Dirt. Dirt as in soil! Plastic as in lawn and leaf bag. Memory returned in a confused jumble. You are nothing more than a big disposal problem. Understanding broke over me in a great, sickening wave. Bear had solved his disposal problem by burying Muffin and me. We were underground, maybe buried under tons of soil.
