legs. I just let myself drift somewhere else and turn things over to my body, let it take care of things for a while on autopilot. It was easy.
The night slipped into a soft haze of brief, frozen images. Pushing the mangled intestines and dead worms into the bathtub. Junior jaggedly slicing the thick hide of the steer, splitting it straight down the back. Peeling the hide, exposing the muscles. Blood pooling on the table. The cloying, sickly sweet smell of blood and fresh meat and death. The guttural sound of the chainsaw, engine straining as it chewed through dense meat. One of the thick back legs, severed at the hip, being slammed onto the sticky table in front of me. Raising the cleaver …
And eventually everything, the sight of raw meat, the sounds, the smells, everything, faded away into a fine red mist.
CHAPTER 13
I rode in the back of the truck again, braced up near the cab, wedged in between two large coolers that held the meat, because Junior was worried that I might get the cab dirty. My clothes were still wet, and my arms were covered in dried, sticky blood up to my elbows.
I grabbed my tacky elbows and held my arms close, ignoring the blood. I didn’t want to think about the meat in those coolers. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever. I wasn’t paying attention to where we were, and wasn’t prepared when the truck slid to a stop on the rain-slicked pavement. The coolers slammed into the cab.
Junior started pounding on the back window. “Let’s go, dickhead. This ain’t a goddamn taxi.”
I pushed myself awkwardly to my feet, using the coolers for support and gingerly inched toward the back of the truck, joints stiff and aching from the cool night wind. Suddenly, the truck lurched forward a couple of feet and I stumbled forward, almost going to my knees. The engine sounded like a pit bull strangling itself on a fraying leash. I could hear Bert cackle and Junior pounded on the back window again. I grabbed the steel bar and jumped out.
The truck pulled away immediately. Bert stuck his upper body out of the passenger window, waving his cast wildly. “See ya tomorrow, Archie!”
I hope not
, I thought. As the night swallowed the red taillights, I headed up the driveway.
The clouds had rolled on and the rain had finally died, leaving lakes of shallow, wide puddles that filled the long driveway. I walked out across a sea of stars, heading for Grandma’s trailer, each footstep shattering the sky and sending expanding ripples of rolling stars into the darkness.
And before I realized it, I was home.
A faint blue light flickered in the windows. Grandma must be still up, watching television. I hoped she wasn’t waiting on me. I didn’t know what time it was, only that it was late, real late.
I crouched at the end of the driveway, near a corner of the garden, and plunged my arms into one of the puddles. I scraped most of the blood off my arms, but I wondered how I was going to get cleaned up enough to even go inside so I could take a shower.
When I got closer to the trailer, a match flared in the darkness near the back door. The orange flicker illuminated Grandma’s face, sending tiny brown shadows dancing across her wrinkles. She was sitting on the top step, lighting her pipe.
“Howdy, pilgrim.” She smiled, gray smoke curling out of the upraised corners of her mouth. It was an old joke. The Duke had been Grandpa’s favorite.
“Hey, Grandma.” I sat heavily on the bottom step, rested my arms across my knees and let my head fall on my forearms. The exhaustion suddenly caught up with me, making my muscles feel like they were filled with the little steel pellets that Grandma loaded into her shotgun shells, and I seriously considered sleeping out on the wooden stairs.
Grandma spoke, her voice low and solid behind me. “I’ve been wondering about you. Sounded like them Sawyers.”
I took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. I didn’t know what to say. Where could I
The night slipped into a soft haze of brief, frozen images. Pushing the mangled intestines and dead worms into the bathtub. Junior jaggedly slicing the thick hide of the steer, splitting it straight down the back. Peeling the hide, exposing the muscles. Blood pooling on the table. The cloying, sickly sweet smell of blood and fresh meat and death. The guttural sound of the chainsaw, engine straining as it chewed through dense meat. One of the thick back legs, severed at the hip, being slammed onto the sticky table in front of me. Raising the cleaver …
And eventually everything, the sight of raw meat, the sounds, the smells, everything, faded away into a fine red mist.
CHAPTER 13
I rode in the back of the truck again, braced up near the cab, wedged in between two large coolers that held the meat, because Junior was worried that I might get the cab dirty. My clothes were still wet, and my arms were covered in dried, sticky blood up to my elbows.
I grabbed my tacky elbows and held my arms close, ignoring the blood. I didn’t want to think about the meat in those coolers. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever. I wasn’t paying attention to where we were, and wasn’t prepared when the truck slid to a stop on the rain-slicked pavement. The coolers slammed into the cab.
Junior started pounding on the back window. “Let’s go, dickhead. This ain’t a goddamn taxi.”
I pushed myself awkwardly to my feet, using the coolers for support and gingerly inched toward the back of the truck, joints stiff and aching from the cool night wind. Suddenly, the truck lurched forward a couple of feet and I stumbled forward, almost going to my knees. The engine sounded like a pit bull strangling itself on a fraying leash. I could hear Bert cackle and Junior pounded on the back window again. I grabbed the steel bar and jumped out.
The truck pulled away immediately. Bert stuck his upper body out of the passenger window, waving his cast wildly. “See ya tomorrow, Archie!”
I hope not
, I thought. As the night swallowed the red taillights, I headed up the driveway.
The clouds had rolled on and the rain had finally died, leaving lakes of shallow, wide puddles that filled the long driveway. I walked out across a sea of stars, heading for Grandma’s trailer, each footstep shattering the sky and sending expanding ripples of rolling stars into the darkness.
And before I realized it, I was home.
A faint blue light flickered in the windows. Grandma must be still up, watching television. I hoped she wasn’t waiting on me. I didn’t know what time it was, only that it was late, real late.
I crouched at the end of the driveway, near a corner of the garden, and plunged my arms into one of the puddles. I scraped most of the blood off my arms, but I wondered how I was going to get cleaned up enough to even go inside so I could take a shower.
When I got closer to the trailer, a match flared in the darkness near the back door. The orange flicker illuminated Grandma’s face, sending tiny brown shadows dancing across her wrinkles. She was sitting on the top step, lighting her pipe.
“Howdy, pilgrim.” She smiled, gray smoke curling out of the upraised corners of her mouth. It was an old joke. The Duke had been Grandpa’s favorite.
“Hey, Grandma.” I sat heavily on the bottom step, rested my arms across my knees and let my head fall on my forearms. The exhaustion suddenly caught up with me, making my muscles feel like they were filled with the little steel pellets that Grandma loaded into her shotgun shells, and I seriously considered sleeping out on the wooden stairs.
Grandma spoke, her voice low and solid behind me. “I’ve been wondering about you. Sounded like them Sawyers.”
I took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. I didn’t know what to say. Where could I
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