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“What now?” she asked. McCallister led her around to the side, to a kitchen door. She tried that one. “It’s locked, too. ”
He stepped up and did something with a set of tiny tools—lock picks, she guessed. She expected an alarm, but when the door swung open, she didn’t hear a thing. A house like this, there had to be an alarm….
McCallister stepped inside and checked a keypad next to the door. “It’s off,” he said. “Come in. ” He closed and locked it behind her.
She immediately caught the unmistakable smell of decomposition—ripe, sickly sweet, and dense. She wavered, and exchanged a wordless look with him.
“Bryn,” he said. “Let me do this. You don’t need to—”
She shook her head, waited to let her senses adjust, then went forward through a spotlessly kept white tile kitchen, down a hallway. The stench got more intense. She was achingly aware of McCallister sticking close beside her, silent now.
No turning back.
She expected a horror show, but there was nothing in the large, gracious living room, although a big-screen TV was still playing with the sound turned down. There was a glass of what looked like Scotch sitting on a coaster on the coffee table, and a book spread open, facedown, as if someone had put it away for just a moment.
McCallister touched her shoulder and pointed. She followed him out into the marble-tiled foyer. A curving staircase led upstairs.
The smell was worse here, and increased as they ascended. Halfway up, Bryn heard the first hum of insect activity. She hesitated just for a breath on the last step, gathered herself, and stepped over a busy line of ants that marked a trail right to where she had to go.
McCallister was right behind her, silent and solid. He was the only thing that gave her the necessary strength to keep going.
The bedroom door was shut, and Bryn touched the knob gingerly first, as if it might be hot. Instinct, trying to stop her from doing this. Seeing this.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
The noise exploded in an angry buzz, and flies whizzed past her, heading out into the open air. She ducked. So did McCallister. He coughed and put his hand over his mouth; it was the first sign of weakness she’d seen from him.
Bryn stepped into hell.
The first thing she saw was the dead man, sitting in a deep armchair at the end of the bed. There was a bullet hole in one temple, and a giant exit wound on the opposite side. The gun still lay on the carpet next to his feet.
He’d been gone for days.
The woman lying on the bed wasn’t much of a human being anymore. She was covered in a moving blanket of flies, wriggling pale maggots popping through the slipping, discolored stretch of skin, and ants busily carrying away pieces for the good of the colony.
Her eyes were open. Clouded, discolored, decomposed, but alive.
Oh, God, still alive. They moved, very slightly, toward Bryn. The lipless mouth moved, but there was no sound, could be none. The phone receiver lay on the pillow next to her, and one desiccated finger was still resting on the redial button.
“Mother of God,” McCallister whispered behind her. He sounded shaken, stunned, more human than he’d ever seemed. Bryn, on the other hand, felt … remote. Unte-thered. That was shock, she guessed. Useful thing, shock, at moments like these.
“Give her the shot,” she said.
“Bryn—it won’t work. ”
“Give her the shot. ”
He shook his head, but he opened his bag and took out the syringe. She saw him hesitate, trying to find enough muscle to inject, and watched as he did his best.
The liquid oozed back out through her skin and soaked into the bedding.
They waited for long moments, and Bryn finally turned to McCallister.
“She’s too far gone,” he whispered. “End stages. The drug won’t help. ”
Then there was only one thing to do.
Bryn dropped her canvas bag, opened it, and took out a gown, a mask, surgical gloves. She handed those to McCallister, then took a second set for herself. They dressed in silence. The mask didn’t block the eye-watering stench. There were ants crawling on her feet, over her legs, but Bryn didn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about that.
