The Rip
It trembled, found the salt taste, turned.
Gabe didn’t think. He yanked the dish rack off the counter and slammed it down upside down over the drain. The spike hit the wire and flattened, spreading like a slug on chicken wire and trying to slip through. The metal began to corrode where it touched—blackening, pitting.
Susan tossed the rest of the pellets onto the wire. They smoked, stinking like wet matches. The spike shrieked—no sound, exactly, but the pipes vibrated with a pitch that made everyone’s molars ache.
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