Jeff Jacobson - Wormfood

The truck rumbled slowly across the foothills. Bert nodded. “We’re close. Close. I can smell it.”

“Smell what?” I asked, wondering how Bert could smell anything but his own body. Panic started to worm its way into my brain like a fat, sluggish tumor.

“There.” Bert gestured with the bottle. “There it is.”

“There what is?” I asked, trying not to breathe too fast.

“Slim’s dump,” Junior answered, swinging the truck around on the side of a hill.

The cab tilted to the left and I tried to hang onto the seat so I didn’t slide into Junior, as he shifted into reverse, watching his side mirror.

Bert leaned out, hanging onto the door, and watched the back of the truck while Junior eased down the hill.

“Keep going …” Bert nodded, giving directions. “Easy … easy … Three feet and … stop. Right here. Stop.”

Junior stomped on the brake and, just to be on the safe side, pushed down on the parking brake and locked it with his foot. Then he twisted the key and killed the engine.

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the engine tick. Bert passed the bottle back to his brother, who tilted it to the ceiling. He swallowed and burped, filling the cab with the stench of Old Grandad and strong chili. He grinned and shoved the bottle at me. “Snort?”

I shook my head.

“You’re gonna need it.” The grin got wider.

I took a deep breath and grabbed the bottle, taking a tiny sip before I could stop myself. It tasted like wet leaves soaked in kerosene. “Jesus,” I whispered. My eyes were watering. Bert giggled and grabbed the bottle. Then something else caught my attention.

I turned to Junior. “What’s that smell?”

Junior winked and hopped out.

I whispered, “Shit,” to no one in particular and slid across the seat then cautiously stepped out onto the wet grass. Bert clambered up the wooden slats of the truck like a monkey with one arm and bent down, disappearing in the darkness. He reappeared suddenly, swinging his Maglite around and stabbing it into my eyes.

I squinted into the glare and asked again, “What’s that smell?”

It didn’t just smell like something had died and been rotting slowly. No, this was something much, much worse. It was the kind of smell that seeped into your skin, your hair, your soul.

The light bounced around for a moment, vaguely illuminating the edges of a large pit near the back of the truck. It looked like it had been dug in the middle of a deep, wide ravine. The sharp edges of the hole were about fifteen feet in diameter and the bottom was shrouded indarkness. I leaned forward, one hand on the truck, desperately trying to breathe through my mouth.

Junior joined me on the other side of the truck and finished the Old Grandad with a satisfied gasp. “Makes life worth living,” he breathed, indicating the bottle, and then tossed it into the darkness. It landed with a loud splash. “Sounds full,” he said.

“What is this?” I whispered.

“Our hot tub,” Junior whispered back and the flashlight found his grinning face, filled with deep, black hollows.

A low whine split the darkness. I looked up to find a large meat hook welded to a cable dangling in front of me. It hung from the thick steel arm that jutted out from the back of the truck. The cable was attached to the winch near the cab. Bert moved to the back of the truck, waving the flashlight in front of him. The mud in front of me and Junior suddenly leapt into sharp focus, and the light spilled into the pit.

Ten or twelve dead cows and several dead sheep floated lifelessly in the rancid rainwater.

“Told you it was full,” Junior said.

Some of the livestock had been there a long time. The water in the pit looked thick, like some sort of tomato and meat soup that had gone bad. “Holy shit,” I repeated to no one in particular.

“Me ‘n’ Bert like to come out here and soak in it. Makes our skin all soft and snuggly,” Junior said. “Toss me that hook, Bert.”

He grabbed the swinging hook and turned to me. “Get a fresh one, okay?”

I took a step backward. “What?”

“I can see two new ones down there. We only need one, although both would be fucking great.”

“Wait, hold on just a minute. You … you want me to go down there?”

“You catch on pretty quick for a fucking idiot.”

“You gotta be kidding,” I hissed. “No way. No.” My voice rose to a shout. “Ernst ain’t paying me enough for this shit!” I started to say somethingelse but caught a flash of Bert’s cast out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly a sharp explosion went off inside my skull. I collapsed into the mud.

The darkness was soft and quiet. It felt almost comfortable, but then I heard someone say, “Pussy.” I wanted to say something, to shout, scream, something, but nothing seemed to be working right. Something cold slapped my face and just as I realized it was mud, something tugged at the back of my shorts. I had a strange sensation of being lifted. My fingers brushed against something that felt vaguely familiar. Shoelaces. Shoelaces with knots tied in them. My own shoelaces. I figured out that I was somehow bent nearly double, suspended in midair by the back of my shorts.

I blinked furiously and shook my head. Synapses fired at random in my brain, misfiring and sparking in strange patterns. I kept shaking my head and, suddenly, my vision popped back into place, except that it was rolling back and forth as if something were wrong with the vertical control.

I realized I was looking at the pit as it slid to and fro underneath me. It’s just a dream, this is just a dream , I decided. Some sort of panic attack. I just gotta get control of myself. Everything’s gonna be okay. Everything’s just—

Something at the back of my shorts popped, and I dropped eight feet into the water.

Right before I hit, I could hear Junior and Bert laughing hysterically.

I landed on my side with a flat slapping sound, dropping into a space between two dead cows. It was almost warm, like a bath that’s been waiting a little too long. I fought my way to the surface of the rancid soup, gagging and thrashing. The greasy water was in my eyes, my ears, my nose, and even, oh, Jesus, my mouth.

It didn’t taste dead, like I expected, but horribly, horribly alive, as if I could actually feel the bacteria and viruses and germs and God knows whatever else in that toxic soup swim and flit about across my tongue. The panic tumor in my brain burst, sending adrenaline shooting throughout my body, and I kicked and flailed, feet and hands slamming against soft, rotting meat.

Fibrous chunks of flesh disintegrated under my fingers, floating away from the rolling carcasses. Shadows danced wildly across the cows, making them look as if they were surging around the pit, fighting not to drown.

“Oh God, oh fuck.” I gagged.

The meat hook sunk slowly into the liquid muck to my left.

“Let’s go! We don’t have all night!” Junior shouted hoarsely, cupping his hands over his mouth.

I thrust my chin toward the sky, anything to keep the thick water out of my mouth. My arms thrashed desperately at the hook, managing to wrap my fingers around the smooth, curved metal. I grabbed the cable with my other hand and pulled myself somewhat out of the water.

Things twisted and squirmed all around me. I felt something moving in my right nostril and forced myself to stick a finger in there and dig out whatever it was. I pried it out and caught a quick glimpse in the erratic light of a squirming maggot on the end of my finger.

“Let’s go!” Junior hissed.

I took several quick, shallow breaths, and flicked the maggot away into the darkness, then locked my lips together and rolled the nearest steer over. I gritted my teeth and sunk the hook into a meaty shoulder of the carcass.