In high school, I was in the journalism program, and my advisor and I ended up getting super close. She became like a mother to me.
Anyway, one time I just asked her what her first major assignment as an established reporter was, and she told me her story:
When she was around 18 in Los Angeles in 1986, she went to Cerritos to report on the damages from a mid-air collision that killed all 67 people on the plane, and I think 15 people on the ground.
Well, she went out to the scene, only six minutes after the response people started rushing to cover, not even bag up, the bodies. There were a lot of people screaming and crying, but she said that the eeriest thing was the people who were still in shock just staggering around in a daze. She said they looked like literal zombies, with blood, torn clothes, smoke, everything.
Now for the worst part.
I made a point to mention that she got there just as the clean up people/investigators did, because she said as she was wandering around looking for answers, at 18, she stepped on something "thick and crunchy, like a football full of pebbles." She looked down, and it was a foot.
Just a foot. No body attached. She said, (and at this point, this was my first time in three years seeing her so shaken, talking about this), she threw her head up to scream, and saw what she guessed was the rest of the body, mangled, torn, and pretty much fused to the tree in front of her.