Chapter Thirty Nine
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The head flopped off and Margaret screamed. The way it rolled was completely comical and surreal and quite possibly the worst thing she had ever seen in her entire life. There was no possibly about it. It was real. It was horrible. And she crumpled on the spot where she stood near his kneeling corpse at the same rate that Shannon’s quivering exquisite pecks slackened. Then sagged, like the rest of him, as his body slouched forward. Things you can just never unsee, she thought, groping blindly at the delicate fringe of her world. Trying to pull up on the reigns. Make it heel.

But it was no use. Her nerves were like a blender full of Phillips head screwdrivers set on puree. Her butt muscles clinched and quivered, threatening to spray her too short-shorts with diarrhea magma. To turn a phrase in d...

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