Last Call by Sean Costello

herself into a crouch against the dirt wall and began to rock, hands clapped over her ears, dry tongue running her raw, toothless gums.

4
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    Sunday, June 28

    JUST AFTER SUNRISE, site foreman Rob Toland parked his Jeep in front of the mobile office trailer and switched off the ignition. It was still early and only a few crewmen had arrived ahead of him, a small circle of them standing by the Porta Potties, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.
    Before getting out of the vehicle Rob checked himself in the rearview, thinking, Fucking mess : nose taped; two black eyes, the left one swollen shut; a goose egg the size of a golf ball in the middle of his forehead. Jesus.
    He got out of the Jeep, not moving very fast.
    Rudy, one of the machine operators, was approaching him now, saying, “Man, you look like shit. What happened? You try some errant moves on that flag girl last night? Jesus, look at you. Yo, Adrian! ”
    Rob touched his nose, then his swollen eye. “Son of a bitch blindsided me. Broke my damn beak. Didn’t even see it coming.”
    “You an ugly motherfucker anyway.”
    “Fuck you, Rudy. You seen her yet?”
    “Who, Patty? Nope.”
    Rob scanned the site, eager to find Patty and get some answers. Like why he’d come to at one in the morning in the dirt behind Zak’s all by himself. Had she really just left him there? And who was that psycho? An ex boyfriend she neglected to tell him about? Or a hus band? No matter which way he imagined it, he couldn’t get his mind around it.
    There was no sign of Patty, but what he did see pissed him off: one of the big Cat 5230 excavators with the bucket left straight up in the air.
    He said to Rudy, “Where’s Ziggy?”
    “Not here yet, boss.”
    Cursing, Rob headed for the excavator. “How many times do I have to tell that shit stain to lower his bucket when he’s done for the day.”
    Trailing him, Rudy said, “Shit for brains.”
    Rob climbed aboard the machine and fished through the ring of keys on his belt—then he spotted a tangle of multicolored wires, some of them spliced, hanging out of the ignition panel.
    “What the hell?”
    He glanced at Rudy ten feet below sipping coffee, then tried the key and the engine started, spewing diesel exhaust as he gunned it. After giving it a minute to warm up, he worked the controls and the bucket began its descent, tilting forward as it came down.
    He could see Rudy watching, saw his eyes widen as something slid out of the bucket to land at his feet, Rudy leaning in for a closer look now, saying, “Sonny Jesus,” and dropping his coffee in the mud as something else hit the ground, more heavily this time. Rob could hear it over the din of the machine, splashing into the muck as it landed, but couldn’t tell what it was.
    Now several more objects Rob could see only in glimpses—pale, shapeless chunks—struck the ground and Rudy spun away to puke up his breakfast. Rob left the bucket ten feet up in the air and jumped off the excavator, jarring his ribs where his attacker had kicked him. And when he saw what it was, he felt his own stomach lurch and he looked away, up at the hovering bucket.
    He saw Patty Holzer’s severed head up there, toothless and so terribly pale, teetering on the edge of the blade, staring down at him between the bucket’s blunt teeth.
    * * *
    Dean said, “You really have to leave so early? I could buy us breakfast. It’s cafeteria food, but it’s not so bad. You sat in that cubicle all night, Trish; you really should eat something.”
    He was leaning on the sill, close enough that Trish could kiss him through the open window if she decided to, and it annoyed her vaguely that she was okay with that. She said, “Thanks, Dean, but I really should be going. I had some car trouble on the way down and I can’t risk being late for work. Not if I want to live.”
    “Well, don’t worry about your dad, okay? It’ll be days before he even knows where he is. I’ll keep an