Had had ’em ages afore, but lost track o’ the upper world after a time. What they done to the victims it ain’t fer me to say . . .“The Shadow Over Innsmouth” · H.P. Lovecraft (1936)• GRINDING ROCK •Cody GoodfellowOne foot in the green, and one in the black, Tim Vowles kept telling himself, but the edge of the burn had got away from him. All he could see was black smoke and shadows, and the eye-frying orange and hungry red of the fire all around him.A flaming jackrabbit bolted past, and Vowles reflexively smashed it with his shovel before he realized he should have chased it. The suffering bastards spread the fire like Roman candles, but they always knew the way out.A minute ago, he’d been at the end of the twenty-man tool line with the other seasonal volunteer firefighters, cutting a fallback break in the dark, and the crew boss was saying everything was under control. The fire had nowhere to go, the evening breeze was driving it back on itself. But the wind changed and he straggled.
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