Carcass, Rotting [Part 4][Short Story][Adult Content].
In case you missed it, head over to part 1 and start from the beginning.
The Girl in the Workshop
A thrumming sound filled the workshop and the smell was unmistakable. Diesel and lubricant. It was a place that George Bluff felt like he still had control within the mill. A shadow board lined the wall above a workbench, every tool occupying a designated space. If a tool was removed, a painted shadow of it would remain, gently reminding the user it was awaiting its return. A small, white box sat askew on the edge of the bench. Its label read ‘Sodium Valproate’. It was typically used to treat epilepsy and bipolar disease. In George’s case, his doctor had prescribed it for his violent outbursts. George was not at his workbench. He was at the sparse desk in a small room off the main floor. A small screen illuminated his face as he reluctantly tapped buttons intermittently and squinted at the screen.
“Tracey. That fucking dipshit,” he said under his breath.
Pat Tracey had been rushed off to hospital after having suffered a near-fatal heart attack. Clearly, George cared more about his time than about the welfare of Pat Tracey. George breathed deeply. A series of questions and checkboxes appeared before him. Date of the incident, nature of the incident, how did the incident occur? The list of questions were intrusive and accusatory. George’s mind reeled back to the moment Pat’s eyes bulged, thinking he was getting what he deserved. The vision was stolen from him.
“How’s the paperwork going, George?” Jack said, as he appeared in the doorway. “If you need a hand, just call.”
“I’m going to be the one with heart problems soon, Jack.” George’s eyes remained on the screen poring over the interrogation list.
“It won’t take you long. I just came in to ask..”
The rubber stoppers of George’s chair squeaked loudly against hard linoleum floor as he rose up suddenly, flinging a finger at Jack.
“If you hadn’t of been in that room, Pat Tracey would have got exactly what he deserved; a clot between his eyes and a big fat one in his pathetic heart.” George’s impulsivity washed over his body like the darkness replaces the fading sunset. He couldn’t claw his way back. George could feel his heart pumping, filling his musculature with adrenaline. His own mind had created the endogenous drug he needed to carry out his rage-fuelled act.
Small footsteps patted the reflective safety flooring, eyes looking up and around in awe, taking everything in for the first time. The cave seemed enormous to her young eyes. Something that Pooh and Tigger would explore with their other friends. Coming to an opening, she knew only one thing; if she could fit, she would explore. Grace stepped across the threshold. As her eyes affixed to one spot, her body froze. Sniffling turned to deep uncontrollable sobs and within a moment, she began wailing.
Rupert’s fatherly instinct took over and he rushed into the workshop and over to the office door where his daughter was now shrieking. He immediately covered the eyes of his little girl and scooped her up instantly as he stared in shock and horror. Slumped against the far wall, George had collapsed and fainted after the tremendous emotional toll his rage had taken on his body. His fists were cut and bloodied. Six feet from him lay the body of now deceased Jack Priddle. His facial features unrecognisable and his white hair, now red with his own blood. It seeped from gashes in his cheeks and from his eye sockets. Jack’s ear had also been bitten off in the uncontrolled fury of the attack. Rupert held back every urge he had to throw up and summoned the strength to get his little girl as far away as possible.
The Abattoir
Stands of trees sat huddled in family units upon the surrounding landscape, their shapes covered in sparkling snow, their grim shadows casting a greyness over the blanket of white beneath them.
Gabe walked out through a side door of the main processing floor to the outside air. He removed the face mask. The cold air slapped his face. He scratched around his eyes and cheeks in an attempt to alleviate the skin irritation it had caused. The faces of his daughters, Cassie and Beatie strobed through his mind. Birthdays, Christmases, every evening he saw them after work. They adored him and he was struck by his own ability to create such loving, kind spirited children. Now it was torn from him and it took everything he had to will himself through this period of his life. Gabe pursed his lips against the filter of his cigarette. He charred its end with the flame of a cheap plastic lighter and drew in heavily, closing his eyes as he did so. The nicotine eased his nerves and settled his muscles. His mind wandered. He flicked off the ever-growing stretch of ash that had accumulated as he stared off into the distance. A humming beyond the trees caught his attention and within moments, he saw the headlight of an oncoming snowmobile.
“What on Earth...” Gabe said to himself. He turned and called out to Howard who was just packing up some of the specialised cleaning equipment and chemicals, “Howard, get out here. I’m gonna need you.” Moments later, Howard appeared, adjusting his trucker cap.
“Shi-” The word fell out of his mouth before he finished enunciating it.
The driver of the snowmobile gingerly crept closer to the building muscling a clothed sausage of a human three-quarters hanging off the snowmobile. It finally stopped and the rider, a teen with the idea of stubble lingering over his face was unable to hold the body any longer. It fell completely off the vehicle. “Help me, please! Mr Hess was caught in a hole up the mountain and he’s freezing. His foot’s frostbitten and we have to get him into town!” Joseph’s words tumbled and trailed off, much like the rope, now snaking behind the snowmobile, once securing Garfield in place.
Gabe’s thoughts of his family were now packed away in an internal mental recess. His mind focused on the man now slumped in the snow. He knelt down and inspected the man. “Mr Hess! Can you hear me?” Gabe began to shake the man. He looked across to Howard who had now knelt next to Gabe. Howard leant over Garfield and turned his head, directing his ear toward Garfield’s mouth. Nothing came from it. He checked his pulse. Nothing. Howard looked up at Joseph, his eyes apologetic.
Joseph removed his goggles and wiped his eyes, “But.. Mr Hess.. We were just talking to him. He is going to be ok. We got him out. He’s ok! He’s ok! Just continue resuscitation until we can get help!” Joseph refused to accept the facts. His mind protecting him. The realisation of Garfield’s death would not set in for some time.
“Why was Garfield trapped in a hole?” Howard asked, interested in how it all happened.
“He was repairing the fences. There was a heap of wire. This is his snowmobile.” Howard looked at Gabe. “That snowmobile belongs to Reverend Kinder.”
Click here for the conclusion!
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