He found himself staring into the woman’s eyes, inches from his own, and he screamed.
But they were dead eyes, and her face was not the bloodstained horror that had scuttled toward him. It was the girl, the partygoer who had screamed
get her off me
and she was lying on his windshield, where she had landed when he’d struck the van, and Gary’s eyes were drawn helplessly to her midsection, where she had been feasted upon, and in the red and green strobing lights he could see the slick crenulations of her intestines, and with that he passed out.
* * *
He could hear the sound of running water, and at first he thought he was dreaming. It sounded like a little creek, a brook, really, and the splashing he would normally associate with a small waterfall. It was ordinarily a happy sound, a rela
