When a black road grader begins stalking the streets of Schenectady, NY, its residents soon find that the road to Hell is paved with blood.
Detective Rowe: Let’s go back now—to when you first saw it move. Is that all right?
Westbrook: Sure. Like I said, I’d just woken up from the dream when I heard it, just rumbling across the field where they’d been working on the road—
Detective Rowe: The I-890–North Schenectady Corridor.
Westbrook: Sure, I guess. So I went to my window—you know, to see what was going on, and saw it sputtering to a stop near the office trailers and other equipment—which were all covered in snow—just shutting down with a rattle, like it had been running for a long time. That’s when I first noticed it, how clean it was—there was no snow on it at all. Like—
Detective Rowe: But it was there when you went to sleep, isn’t that correct?
Westbrook: Yes, of course. Covered in snow. It hadn’t moved since December, when they had that accident—you know, where the worker was killed.
Detective Rowe: Clarke. The foreman. I seem to recall they had several accidents; including when they rammed into that layer of concrete.
Detective Rowe: What?
Westbrook: The Meyers. James and Mia. That’s where the concrete was at. I used to talk with them sometimes, before the accid—
Detective Rowe: You knew them?
Westbrook: Before the traffic accident. The one with the semi. Last summer.
Detective Rowe: Yes, I seem to recall that too. Something about them accelerating out of control—
Westbrook: I think they did it.
Detective Rowe: I’m sorry?
Westbrook: The bugs.
Detective Rowe: The … bugs.
Westbrook: (inaudible): In the concrete. Where the Meyers buried them. At least, until the road grader came along.
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