We don’t go out on Route 34 much, out by the national forest. Not that there aren’t meth heads and such - those are universal and eternal, it feels like - but there’s just not a lot there. We’re pretty far off the highway to start with, and once you get onto those forested mountain roads, you can drive for miles without seeing another set of headlights. There are a few little shopping centers, mostly anchored by gas stations and a rotating cast of one-and-done businesses that dry up and blow away in the wind after a year. You never know what you’re going to find.
Now, on this occasion, my partner Greg and I were called out because a trucker had spotted “a bad accident” and radioed it in. Greg and I were both in a pretty good mood, laughing and joking. It sounds grim to think about first responders having fun, but honestly you have to deal with the job some way. You spend a lot of time confronting existential horror dead on, and you either compartmentalize it or you burn out. Or, I guess, you become a sociopath.
We were technically in a bit of a hurry because the trucker had mentioned seeing blood, which meant at least one person was probably hurt, but we both knew that what it really meant was that either it was a minor injury and the victim was fine, or we were heading to a dead body, because chances were that truck had been the only other vehicle to pass by all day.
I’d just finished telling an extremely funny story, thankyouverymuch, about my boyfriend insisting that his egg allergy didn’t apply to deviled eggs and then yakking up all over my mom’s couch at Christmas dinner, but when I glanced at Greg for him to laugh appreciatively, he wasn’t even looking at me. Totally zoned out, like Benadryl in a K-hole.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
He took a long time to respond. “Is that place new?” was all he said, pointing up and out the window.
I followed his finger. There was an unfamiliar sign on a tall pole, a light hanging over the trees like an alien moon. It was a dingy white that put me in mind of old teeth, or puked-up deviled eggs, but it wasn’t because of age; the lettering was shiny and crisp and its bulb was glowing like a spotlight. I couldn’t tell how far away it was, couldn’t begin to guess what exit it was off of or what type of restaurant it was advertising. It just said, in bold black letters against the fungus-pale background, “EAT.”
“Dunno. I never come out this way. Diner, I guess.”
Greg didn’t answer.
“Maybe it’s twenty-four hours? For the truckers. They’re the only ones who ever drive here. We can grab a coffee there after if you want to try it?”
He shook his head but didn’t say anything. I thought it was weird, given how animated he’d been a minute ago, but it takes you like that sometimes. Greg had only been with us for a year; I’d thought he was adapted, but maybe he’d just been better at hiding his burnout.
With the mood thoroughly killed, I kept driving and pulled us over at the mile marker where the incident had been spotted. At that point in my career, I’d thought I had seen everything. I don’t think that anymore.
The accident. I don’t want to go into huge detail. It would be… upsetting. Plus, probably HIPAA violations? I’m not sure. I never listened too hard at the trainings.
The car was a basic sedan, a few years old, nothing special. Might have been a Honda. Inside it were two people. Well, two former people. A man and a woman. The man had been driving, but he wasn’t in his seat any longer. He’d… I mean, I’m no forensic expert, but I think he had lunged out of his chair and bitten the woman right in the throat. His teeth were still locked together in her meat. And she… I assume it had to be defensive violence, but she had his hand in her mouth and it looked like she’d bitten off and swallowed two or three of his fingers before they’d careened off the road together and slammed into the trees. The airbags had smashed the whole little scene like a diorama up against the seat backs. They were both extremely dead.
I did the only thing I could do. I started following the protocols. Check for vital signs. Look for medical alerts. Start… separating them for transport. Greg wasn’t helping much, but I assumed he’d be over once he finished throwing up or sublimating his shock. He was clearly having a rough night, after all. I generally cope by focusing on the pragmatic, on the immediate, and I’ve got the ADD hyperfocus thing going on, so I truly wasn’t looking at anything other than the job in front of me.
That’s why I didn’t see it until so late.
What attracted my attention was actually another car pulling up, a police unit just doing the required visit for a traffic accident. We’d already notified them of the likely situation, so he hadn’t been running the sirens or lights, but his headlights swept across the whole macabre scene like cleansing fire, throwing everything into harsh relief.
Including Greg’s shadow, huge and towering over me where I knelt by the passenger door, trying to unclench the dead woman’s jaw from her friend’s hand.
After that, everything happened really fast. I’ve gone over it in my head, and I think it played out like this:
I looked up and saw Greg. He was staring at me, but he didn’t seem to be seeing me. His eyes were wide as saucers, and his teeth… I could see them glowing in reflected light, even though - and I’m sure of this - the cop’s high beams were behind him. His whole face was a black shadow, but I know I could see his eyes and his teeth, like they were floating in space, like they were hovering over the trees, fungus-white and blazing like stars.
The cop shouted something. I don’t remember what. Something like “Hey!” or “Stop!”
Greg grabbed me, both hands on my upper arms, his grip so hard it hurt and I cried out.
I tried to stand, but between the slope, the wet grass, and the… detritus, I just knocked us both over.
Greg made a sort of gurgling snarl and leaped up like a gymnast. I’d never seen him move that fast in my life, and he was never a guy to turn down a doughnut, so he wasn’t usually quick or graceful. He came at me, teeth first.
He hit me, but I’m not sure if it was with his fists or his head. I was barely on my hands and knees by then and I went sprawling.
The next clear memory I have, the cop was shaking my shoulder and asking me if I was okay. It was Fernbody; I’d met him casually on a couple of previous stops where both EMTs and police were mandated, but I didn’t know him well. Greg’s body was a dark lump on the ground. I thought he’d been shot at first, but Fernbody told me he’d had to tase Greg to stop him coming after me, after which he’d just fallen unconscious. That wasn’t normal, but what part of this night was, so far?
I babbled a lot. I think I asked Fernbody about the sign for the new diner, but he hadn’t seen anything. He did throw up after he saw what was in the car. He told me that Greg had been gnashing his teeth and trying to bite me. He said Greg said he was hungry before he lost consciousness.
I’ve been on administrative leave for the last month. They won’t tell me why. I heard they did an investigation and declared that the car crash was caused by fentanyl, and that Greg had gotten some on his skin and had gone crazy and now he was on a psych hold. That was bullshit; Greg never even touched the car, you can’t absorb a meaningful dose of fentanyl through the skin, and it doesn’t cause hallucinations anyway. I wrote a statement about it. I don’t know what happened to that.
Even if they let me off of leave, I don’t think I’ll go back to work. I feel like I’ve dealt with enough. I don’t want to see more.
Last week I drove back along Route 34. There isn’t a new diner there.
But I did see the sign that night, same as Greg did. I test myself a lot, imagining biting, tearing, eating. Seeing how I feel about it. I’m putting on weight. My boyfriend makes jokes about it. I eat a lot of snacks.
I don’t like it when I start feeling hungry.