The needle snapped to 400 psi. Then 500. The machine leaned forward, its intake chute yawning open like a steel yawn.
The Woodchuck HyRoller 1200 wasn't a woodchipper. It was her grandfather’s obsession. A three-ton, steam-and-hydraulic hybrid from the early 70s, it looked like a praying mantis designed by a mad plumber. It had no wheels—only six articulated, knobby "feet" that allowed it to hyroll (a portmanteau of "hydraulic" and "troll," her grandfather used to say) over boulders, stumps, and the occasional pickup truck.
She fed it to the HyRoller.
The pressure gauge hit zero.