They had paved the asphalt with all that deer blood under him. They were just there, seemingly operated by some grand master switchboard, programmed to never stop. They didn’t seem to be driven by people at all. There were a lot of trucks on this highway, all of them faceless. Some of them were consigned to the shoulder, and he wondered if they had been dragged there or if the big, hulking trucks had plowed into them and chewed them up and spat them out in random pieces off to the side. After that, he saw more and more of the deer: some whole, some ripped in half, some just pieces of raw meat. He drove past a street crew in orange vests carrying a dead one off to the side of the highway, gripping the animal by its dainty hooves and moving it like they were carrying a small table upside down. Magary is the author of The Postmortal, a finalist for the Philip K. He has also contributed to Rolling Stone, Comedy Central, New York Magazine, GQ, ESPN, Yahoo!, Playboy, Penthouse, and various other media outlets. Magary writes for Deadspin, NBC, and Maxim. The following is from Drew Magary’s novel, The Hike.
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