dulled. Matt was getting used to the gruesome sight.
What he didn't know was why he was seeing it.
And smelling it.
There was a log heading for the blade, and Roger Silbert, the former Zippy Cola executive who'd fired Matt and Andy, was tied to the middle of it like the heroine in a silent movie serial, his mouth gagged.
"Glad to see you brought the ax," Andy said. “Because I'm afraid when I cut this worm in half, I'm gonna end up with two of the slimy bastards. So if you'd cut down the first one that gets up, that'd be a big help."
Silbert looked at Matt with wide, terrified, pleading eyes as the front of the log hit the blade, spraying him with sawdust. There were only seconds left before Silbert would be halved.
Matt threw his ax like a tomahawk at the electrical cable that snaked from the Frick saw to the junction box on the wall.
The cable split in a spray of sparks, shutting down the saw, and the ax stuck in the wood in the wall.
Matt hurried over to Silbert, fearing the worst.
Silbert's head was covered with sawdust, the serrated edge of the blade stuck in his scalp, blood seeping from the wound. But he was alive, simpering and pissing into his pants, the acrid stench of urine competing with the odor of Andy's rot to turn Matt's stomach.
There was also a strange little sore on Silbert's cheek, like a festering blister, only there was something more malignant about it. But before Matt could give much thought to it, Andy grabbed his shotgun, stepped away from the controls, and marched over.
"Why did you do that?" Andy wailed.
Matt faced Andy and stood protectively in front of Silbert. “Because you would have killed him."
"That was the idea, you fucktard," Andy said. He had the guard's gun wedged under the waistband of his pants and the shotgun cradled in his arms. “Move away so I can blast him."
"I'm not going to let you do this."
"You'd like to kill the bastard, too. You just don't have the balls to do it."
"Enough people have died tonight," Matt said. “This isn't you, Andy."
"What are you talking about? Haven't you heard? I'm the most worthless creature that ever crawled out of a woman's snatch."
"Your father was wrong," Matt said. “You were a good kid then, and I know that deep down inside you're still a good man now."
"You ever wonder what happened to Daddy-o?"
"Nope," Matt said. “I was just glad that he left."
"One night, when he was taking Momma up the ass on the kitchen table, I beat him to death from behind with a crowbar," Andy said. “And then Momma and I borrowed your father's saw and cut him up into little pieces. She stewed the meat and we ate him so nobody would ever find his body. We had Daddy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for two weeks before he was finally gone. At least he had the courtesy to marinate himself in beer for most of his life. Can't imagine how much worse he would have tasted otherwise."
"I don't believe you," Matt said.
But he did. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself this was a lie, this was part of Andy's insanity, he knew it was the truth.
"I've been carrying that taste in my mouth for twenty years, buddy. There wasn't enough beer, whiskey, or pussy to wash it way. But tonight, for the first time, it's gone." Andy held the shotgun out to Matt. "Want to take the fall for me again? Huh? What do you say? If they give you the chair, you might not feel a thing."
"I can't get you out of this one, Andy. But I can make sure you walk out of here alive."
"What would be the fun in that?"
The mill was suddenly rocked by the sound of the chopper flying low overhead, and an instant later, a blinding light blasted through the skylight above.
Matt took advantage of the distraction and charged Andy, slamming into him hard and pushing him back against the sorting table, the shotgun falling from his grasp and clattering to the dust-covered floor.
Andy cackled with glee. "You fight like a girl."
He kneed Matt in the stomach, shoved him away, and reached