Page 37 of Wait in the Truck
“Kade…” Rhett looks at me, waiting for the go-ahead.
I shove Ridge forward, feet first. The chipper roars to life. What happens next is a goddamn symphony of horror.
The blades catch on Ridge’s boots first, chewing through the leather like a starved animal. Then?—
CRACK.
His ankles snap like fucking twigs.
Rhett makes a strangled sound.
I hum. “Now we’re cookin’.”
A wet, sloppy crunch follows as the chipper grinds up his calves, muscle and tendon being stripped apart in bloody ribbons. Thick, red mist sprays from the other end, painting the barn walls in a fresh coat of horror.
It smells like copper, sweat, and raw meat left out in the sun.
The machine growls, grinding through Ridge’s thighs. A chunk of flesh gets caught in the gears before the blades shear it clean off, sending a wet slap of flesh flying past Rhett’s face. He makes a garbled choking noise.
I grin. “Careful.That almost hit you.”
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring in abject horror.
I return my attention to Ridge, or what’s left of him.
The machine is angry now. His spine resists—for half a second—before there’s a horrific snap and he’s dragged through, rib cage chewed up like it’s nothing but a pile of twigs.
His skull is the final challenge. It catches in the blades. Rattles. Then—BOOM.It explodes like a fucking water balloon, sending bits of brain, scalp, and bone shards across the barn floor.
An eyeball lands near Rhett’s boot with a soft, wet plop, and he stumbles back like it’s a live grenade. I wipe a smear of something that is definitely not water off my cheek.
I eye the green pallor of Rhett’s face before chuckling. “Well. That was dramatic.”
By the time we’re done, Ridge Everett is unrecognizable pulp.
The pile of gore steaming at the base of the compost heap looks like something that shouldn’t exist outside of a fucking nightmare.
I clap my hands together. “All right. Skid steer time.”
Rhett looks haunted, but he goes along with it. He trudges toward the loader—a hulking, hydraulic bastard used to transfer compost from one pile to another.
Only today, it’s being used for man mulch.
The machine hums to life, hoisting Ridge’s juiced-up carcass into the spreader. The tractor rumbles beneath me, and Ridge Everett becomes fertilizer for next season’s crop yield.
I steer the machine out onto the potato field, spraying his remains in a fine, nutrient-dense mist. His flesh, bones, and brain matter settle into the soil, sinking deep into the earth that will consume him.
Rhett watches from the headland in stunned silence as the last of Ridge Everett disappears.
Sweet dreams, motherfucker.
SAGE
21
My eyelids flutteras I claw and scratch my way toward consciousness. I take in the sunlight hitting my face, the crisp sheets beneath me, and the fluffiness of a pillow that is clearly not my own. My breath hitches with that knowledge. But where am I? Slowly, I open my eyes to a room I’ve never been in before. I look around, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and how I got here—whereverhereis.
I blink, drawing in a ragged breath, and suddenly I know. The entire room smells familiar. LikeKade. But… what am I doing in his bedroom?
