(From the story Night Paving)
...“Get the machines running,” the foreman shouted at the men who were still standing and uninjured. “You”—he pointed at Bobby—“grab a shovel and start laying down that asphalt.”
“But the truck,” Bobby said, completely confused. “Shouldn’t we at least see if anyone needs help?”
The foreman stopped and turned to face Bobby.
“Grab a shovel and start tossing asphalt. I’ll handle the others.”
Bobby shook his head in utter confusion, but did as he was ordered. He found a shovel and stood behind the dump truck once again, waiting for the tar to come pouring out. In the meantime, the foreman had already begun rounding up the survivors and had them working double-time picking up the tattered bodies of their comrades.
Now I know I’m losing my mind, Bobby thought as he watched the scene unfold. And not one person is questioning this? What is going on?
As the crew began dragging the bodies toward him, Bobby watched in horror as the foreman walked calmly over to the eighteen-wheeler, opened the driver’s side door, pulled a gun from his jacket, and fired three shots into the cab. He then turned around and motioned for someone to come and collect the body of the driver.
“What the hell is going on?” Bobby muttered.
One by one, the crew began depositing the dead bodies just in front of the dump truck. From behind him, Bobby could hear someone starting up the steamroller.
God, no! They wouldn’t.
The foreman walked back as if nothing had happened and pointed at the steamroller. Bobby turned and watched the driver nod his head, then jam the machine into gear.
This is not happening. There is no way this is happening.
The steamroller inched past him, making its way around the dump truck to where the bodies were being piled.
“All right,” the foreman shouted to the driver. “Plow ’em under.” He turned to face Bobby. “Make sure you cover up what’s left. I’ll have him do a second pass to tamp it down, but try and get as much covered up as you can.” Without another word, the foreman walked to the remaining workers and had them get started removing the debris from the wreck. Everyone was silent and did as they were told.
Bobby couldn’t see what the steamroller did, but he could hear it, which was probably worse. There was a soft crunching sound, followed by a few pops as the weight of the machine pulverized the bones, and finally a squelching as the flesh and remaining bones were driven into the soft ground. The dump truck started and began to roll forward again, dropping heavy amounts of asphalt behind it for Bobby to shovel and sift about. The steamroller, just as the foreman said, had spun around and was now coming behind him to smooth out the remains.
Bobby tried not to think about what he was doing, or what he had seen. His mind tried in vain to convince the rest of his body that nothing had actually happened—that he had imagined the entire thing. It was only when he saw part of a man’s forearm sticking up out of the soft tar, the watch on his wrist cracked, but still ticking, that Bobby knew this nightmare was real. He quickly tossed liberal amounts of asphalt on top of the arm and moved forward, ignoring the squishing sound the steamroller made behind him as it flattened out the mess.
After what felt like hours of work, Bobby chanced a quick look back at the scene of the accident and nearly choked. Where there had until recently been a tremendous car crash, there was now only a few oil slicks and some broken glass. The wrecked cars and semi-truck were gone. Even as he watched, members of the crew were busy scrubbing away the oil and sweeping up the glass. In about an hour, Bobby guessed, no one would ever know there had been an accident there. It turned out he was wrong; it took only another forty minutes for the entire scene to be cleaned and paved over...