the smuggler’s bible


“Look, it’s simple. Just like that—feed the fuse in real careful.”

“God, what if it blows before we’re out?”

“We measured. There’s plenty of time.”

“I mean if we trip or something.”

Anita frowns and spools off another inch and a half of nitrate cord. “For good luck,” she says.

A match flares and the sounds of their footsteps echo down the tunnel. Anita pumps her arms, feels the old familiar burn in her lungs. She wants to look back, just for a second—to know that it’s all been worth it. But then again, so did Orpheus.