passenger side of the car. I try to break my fall against the wreck with my left hand but it hits something squishy, gelatinous, and slippery. I half fall, half slide to the ground, landing on my left side just below the passenger door.
“Aw, shit,” I hear Hurley mutter. “There she goes again.”
The smell of decay is suddenly so pungent, it’s as if I’m bathing in it, and the source of the buzzing sound becomes apparent as I swat at the hordes of flies hovering around me. My stomach lurches as I look at the disgusting, smelly mess on my hand and arm, and just when I think it couldn’t possibly get any worse, I see that it’s all down the side of my scrubs as well. Then, just to make matters more interesting, I realize some of it is moving.
Maggots!
I brush frantically at the ones clinging to my arm and though some of them fall off, most of them prove surprisingly tenacious.
“What is that?” I say, gesturing toward the nasty pile of goo on the ground.
Hurley and the two sheriffs stare at me like I’m a life form from another planet and none of them offer up an answer. But Arnie does.
“My guess is it’s what’s left of the upper part of that person,” he says, pointing toward the car.
Belatedly I look above me and see the remains of a well-clothed, bug-ridden, rotting corpse hanging halfway out of the broken passenger side window. One arm, or what’s left of it, is hanging down the outside of the door and a steady flow of reddish brown goo is dripping off the fingertips into a puddle on the ground. Adding to the pool is what’s left of the corpse’s head, which is hanging onto its body by the thinnest of sinewy threads. Oozing from this is a grayish-colored jellylike substance. Both of the eye sockets are empty and I can see maggots crawling around there as well as in the nose, mouth, and ears.
I tear my eyes away from the horror of the hovering corpse and realize that everyone is watching me, waiting to see how I’ll react. As the new kid on the block, this will be one more test to deem my worthiness and I’m determined to pass muster. I summon my resolve, set my scene kit to one side, and stand up. My scent receptors must be growing numb because already the smell doesn’t seem quite as bad, despite the fact that my skin and clothing are covered with putrid goo.
As calmly as I can, I open my kit and remove a container of disinfectant wipes. Then I begin the arduous task of trying to bathe with a chemically ridden washcloth the size of a square of toilet paper. Realizing I’m not going to have a meltdown, the group shifts their attention back to the wreck. Relieved to be out from under their scrutiny, I do the same, wiping absentmindedly at the pungent miasma on my arm as I examine the scene.
I can see now that there are two bodies. The driver—most likely a man, based on the hair and clothing—is lying on the ground near the front bumper on the driver side. Both legs are badly fractured, and judging from the fact that the windshield is shattered but intact, I guess that he most likely dragged himself out of the car and along the ground as far as he could, where he then died.
Peering inside the passenger side I see that the legs of the corpse closest to me—this one appears to be a woman—are pinned beneath the dashboard. The front grille of the car is crumpled against the trunk of a large oak tree. In the back of the SUV are several suitcases, and beside the body in the front seat, covered with blood and Lord knows what else, is a lockable briefcase. Behind the car I see a mowed-down trail leading back through the brush and trees, presumably the path the car took before it came to rest.
Arnie echoes my thoughts by saying, “They must have been really moving when they left the road to have made it this far into the woods.”
I nod in agreement and pluck another wipe from my container, feeling something tickle along my shoulder as I do. I idly scratch at the spot and watch as Arnie
“Aw, shit,” I hear Hurley mutter. “There she goes again.”
The smell of decay is suddenly so pungent, it’s as if I’m bathing in it, and the source of the buzzing sound becomes apparent as I swat at the hordes of flies hovering around me. My stomach lurches as I look at the disgusting, smelly mess on my hand and arm, and just when I think it couldn’t possibly get any worse, I see that it’s all down the side of my scrubs as well. Then, just to make matters more interesting, I realize some of it is moving.
Maggots!
I brush frantically at the ones clinging to my arm and though some of them fall off, most of them prove surprisingly tenacious.
“What is that?” I say, gesturing toward the nasty pile of goo on the ground.
Hurley and the two sheriffs stare at me like I’m a life form from another planet and none of them offer up an answer. But Arnie does.
“My guess is it’s what’s left of the upper part of that person,” he says, pointing toward the car.
Belatedly I look above me and see the remains of a well-clothed, bug-ridden, rotting corpse hanging halfway out of the broken passenger side window. One arm, or what’s left of it, is hanging down the outside of the door and a steady flow of reddish brown goo is dripping off the fingertips into a puddle on the ground. Adding to the pool is what’s left of the corpse’s head, which is hanging onto its body by the thinnest of sinewy threads. Oozing from this is a grayish-colored jellylike substance. Both of the eye sockets are empty and I can see maggots crawling around there as well as in the nose, mouth, and ears.
I tear my eyes away from the horror of the hovering corpse and realize that everyone is watching me, waiting to see how I’ll react. As the new kid on the block, this will be one more test to deem my worthiness and I’m determined to pass muster. I summon my resolve, set my scene kit to one side, and stand up. My scent receptors must be growing numb because already the smell doesn’t seem quite as bad, despite the fact that my skin and clothing are covered with putrid goo.
As calmly as I can, I open my kit and remove a container of disinfectant wipes. Then I begin the arduous task of trying to bathe with a chemically ridden washcloth the size of a square of toilet paper. Realizing I’m not going to have a meltdown, the group shifts their attention back to the wreck. Relieved to be out from under their scrutiny, I do the same, wiping absentmindedly at the pungent miasma on my arm as I examine the scene.
I can see now that there are two bodies. The driver—most likely a man, based on the hair and clothing—is lying on the ground near the front bumper on the driver side. Both legs are badly fractured, and judging from the fact that the windshield is shattered but intact, I guess that he most likely dragged himself out of the car and along the ground as far as he could, where he then died.
Peering inside the passenger side I see that the legs of the corpse closest to me—this one appears to be a woman—are pinned beneath the dashboard. The front grille of the car is crumpled against the trunk of a large oak tree. In the back of the SUV are several suitcases, and beside the body in the front seat, covered with blood and Lord knows what else, is a lockable briefcase. Behind the car I see a mowed-down trail leading back through the brush and trees, presumably the path the car took before it came to rest.
Arnie echoes my thoughts by saying, “They must have been really moving when they left the road to have made it this far into the woods.”
I nod in agreement and pluck another wipe from my container, feeling something tickle along my shoulder as I do. I idly scratch at the spot and watch as Arnie
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