tap, tap, tap... (Life: 2/?)

Six hours at a time he had to be in there. Six hours.

It wasn't the worst job going, he knew that.. he was thankful for that, but still... six hours!?

Lying still in there -- you had to lie still, there was barely enough room to get in, let along move or scratch or roll over -- he would watch the road. Eyes alert, or as alert as they could be for each of those six hours, those three hundred and sixty minutes; twenty-one thousand seconds.

How many days had he done this? How many taps?

Tap, tap, tap...

All without seeing anyone out of the ordinary, anything beyond the monotony, beyond the, tap, tap, tap.

All without being spotted though, either; that was something.

His work wasn't quiet, each 'tap' carried way-out across the scrub. They could probably hear him four miles away... probably. He didn't like to think about it. Each tap clearly drew attention. But still, everyday, he wasn't found; everyday after his six hours he got to go back and sleep under his crappy blanket; everyday: Tap, tap, tap...

Maybe he would have called it a miracle. He would have before, for sure. The odds were against them and the fact that they were still here? Still doing this... It was something special, for sure. But miraculous? Nah. No way.

Dumb luck?

Yup.

Luck he had gotten here. Luck that whatever had dug this hole had done a damn good job. And... Tap, tap, tap... Luck he had drawn this detail.

Those that had to work out there, moving around in the open, they had it bad. The medics too. Unlucky they had to deal with the sick, unlucky it was so damn contagious... Unlucky that they chose such a noble profession.

And those out there -- two guys and a girl -- on the other end of his scope. They were unlucky too.

Tap, tap, tap.

But now, he thought, at least they were at peace.