Walking With Ghosts (A short story)
in combat gear and stab vests and heavy shoes. Twenty men and one woman, with their hopes and their perceptions of life hanging on a single chance. They attacked the walls with fingers and feet until their nails and knuckles were bleeding and scraped raw.
    And when the cry went up that one of them had found fresh mortar they all dug it out. Blood coated the brick. There was no time to fetch tools. No time to lose. In a few minutes they had dislodged a brick. The big cops got their hands in there and pulled hard. More bricks tumbled on to the floor.
    Josie was listening for any sound. Anything at all. When more bricks rained down she glimpsed feet.
    “She’s there!”
    The feet moved. The rest of the wall came shattering down. The cops paused for one heartfelt moment of sheer joy, a moment so great few of them would ever experience its wonder in their lives again.
    It was the moment little Kayleigh Bryant opened her exhausted eyes, and said: “Hi.”
     
     
    THE END

 
     
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