profound that Oscar’s nostrils decided to surrender and accept that they were overrun. He could see Neve working hard not to retch. That was one good thing about predawn calls—no food to lose. They followed the supervisor along the gangway and around a corner, where he stopped and shined his flashlight out into space. The wavering beam picked up two enormous augers—parallel screws each three feet wide and thirty long, sitting beside each other like shotgun barrels. They were set in half-open tubes that rose at 45 degrees from some point below where Oscar and Neve stood to a concrete dam wall overhead. The massive screw on the right was turning, hypnotically rising and rising, lifting foul-smelling oily sludge up to the top holding tank. Its twin, the screw on the left, was still.
“There,” the supervisor shouted, leaning out over the rail and pointing the white circle of his flashlight beam downward.
At the bottom of the left screw, the light caught pale flesh. A naked body was caught in the metal. It had been savagely sectioned by the massive helical blade and was twisted at awful, unnatural angles. Oscar felt his gut tighten; behind him, he heard Neve vomit quietly through the grille floor.
“Smoke?” he loudly asked the supervisor.
The man appraised him through slitted eyes. “A dollar.”
Oscar shook his head and reached into one of his many pockets. He produced a sealed condom in a plastic wrapper. Worth more than a dollar, but Oscar simply didn’t have spare cash. The supervisor inspected the date on the seal, pocketed the prophylactic, and lit a cigarette for Oscar. The cheap smoke tasted like burned soil but settled his roiling stomach.
“You’ll want to get down,” the supervisor shouted, opening a metal hatch and revealing another, narrower steel ladder.
The three descended to the thick concrete wall of the lower outlet tank from which emerged the twin screws and the most awful smell Oscar had ever inhaled. He offered his cigarette to Neve. She shook her head.
Three flukes of the screw blade had embedded themselves in the girl. At first glance, it looked as if she were embarrassed at being found in this awkward pose and had turned her head shyly away from spectators and into the half-tube—then Oscar saw that the blade had taken hold of her face, torn it from her skull, and stopped only after it had crushed the naked bone of her lower jaw. One leg had been severed and wrenched from its hip socket. Her torso had been split open, and one arm was gone. Steady rain had washed away much of the blood, but it could do nothing to hide a pink loop of intestine that trailed down toward the lower tank.
Oscar looked at Neve. The color had drained from her cheeks. He turned and yelled above the rumble of the other, working screw: “Her body tripped a load switch?”
The supervisor shook his head and spat into the sewage. “Her body fizzed the motor. Fucking shit thing was on its last legs. I’d been trying to run it out to the new financial year. My maintenance budget—I can hardly buy a fucking tube of white grease, let alone spring for a motor rewind. If the motor had been new, or working like number two there, the girl there would be mincemeat already—it’d chew her up like sausage. It’s used to shifting slurry, nothin’ solid. Auger blade hit bone, and that was that. The strain fried it.”
Oscar noticed bolt holes running up the sides of the tubes.
“Shouldn’t these things be covered?” he asked.
The supervisor scratched his nose. “I think they were, once.”
Neve wiped her mouth and shined her light into the pit of effluent from which the augers rose. “I don’t understand. Aren’t there bars or a filter to catch big things in the mix before they get here?” She gestured toward the long helices.
“Absolutely,” the supervisor replied, and lit another cigarette. His match flared brightly in the methane-rich air.
Oscar looked up to the landing they’d just descended
“There,” the supervisor shouted, leaning out over the rail and pointing the white circle of his flashlight beam downward.
At the bottom of the left screw, the light caught pale flesh. A naked body was caught in the metal. It had been savagely sectioned by the massive helical blade and was twisted at awful, unnatural angles. Oscar felt his gut tighten; behind him, he heard Neve vomit quietly through the grille floor.
“Smoke?” he loudly asked the supervisor.
The man appraised him through slitted eyes. “A dollar.”
Oscar shook his head and reached into one of his many pockets. He produced a sealed condom in a plastic wrapper. Worth more than a dollar, but Oscar simply didn’t have spare cash. The supervisor inspected the date on the seal, pocketed the prophylactic, and lit a cigarette for Oscar. The cheap smoke tasted like burned soil but settled his roiling stomach.
“You’ll want to get down,” the supervisor shouted, opening a metal hatch and revealing another, narrower steel ladder.
The three descended to the thick concrete wall of the lower outlet tank from which emerged the twin screws and the most awful smell Oscar had ever inhaled. He offered his cigarette to Neve. She shook her head.
Three flukes of the screw blade had embedded themselves in the girl. At first glance, it looked as if she were embarrassed at being found in this awkward pose and had turned her head shyly away from spectators and into the half-tube—then Oscar saw that the blade had taken hold of her face, torn it from her skull, and stopped only after it had crushed the naked bone of her lower jaw. One leg had been severed and wrenched from its hip socket. Her torso had been split open, and one arm was gone. Steady rain had washed away much of the blood, but it could do nothing to hide a pink loop of intestine that trailed down toward the lower tank.
Oscar looked at Neve. The color had drained from her cheeks. He turned and yelled above the rumble of the other, working screw: “Her body tripped a load switch?”
The supervisor shook his head and spat into the sewage. “Her body fizzed the motor. Fucking shit thing was on its last legs. I’d been trying to run it out to the new financial year. My maintenance budget—I can hardly buy a fucking tube of white grease, let alone spring for a motor rewind. If the motor had been new, or working like number two there, the girl there would be mincemeat already—it’d chew her up like sausage. It’s used to shifting slurry, nothin’ solid. Auger blade hit bone, and that was that. The strain fried it.”
Oscar noticed bolt holes running up the sides of the tubes.
“Shouldn’t these things be covered?” he asked.
The supervisor scratched his nose. “I think they were, once.”
Neve wiped her mouth and shined her light into the pit of effluent from which the augers rose. “I don’t understand. Aren’t there bars or a filter to catch big things in the mix before they get here?” She gestured toward the long helices.
“Absolutely,” the supervisor replied, and lit another cigarette. His match flared brightly in the methane-rich air.
Oscar looked up to the landing they’d just descended
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