Page 4 of Overkill

I chuckled. Ian was unremarkable, he came from a rich family. Those advantages came with a golden parachute the rest of us could only dream of having.

Ian stomped his feet—literally stomped like a toddler having a tantrum—down the bank to us. I fished for gloves from one of my cargo pockets and held them out to him. He snatched them from my hand and took his damn sweet time putting them on.

Whitlaw tipped up her hat and gave me a look that said, ‘Is this guy for real?’ I shot one back, responding with, ‘Yup, unfortunately.’

Whitlaw shook her head, looking back down at the colorfully dressed corpse with a jaded stare that was no longer shocked by gruesome things.

“Mourningkill Lake has a pretty rough current. It holds things down at the bottom because of the cold, so everything kinda drifts down there.” Whitlaw answered a question I hadn’t even asked. “It’s a miracle this one floated up, to be honest.”

When Ian was good and ready, he squatted. I held the body’s feet, Whitlaw had the shoulders, and the college kid grabbed his belt. On the count of three, we flipped him out of the shallows; the water squished as he rolled onto his back, flopping like a dead fish and wrinkling onto the blanket as a wormy-something crawled out of a hole in his cheek.

“Jesus!” Ian said, covering his nose. “Oh my god! Oh my GOD!”

I didn’t know if the kid’s reaction was from the smell, or because the man’s entire face had been swept off. An open, triangular hole remained of his nose; the eyes were white with death. His hair might have been brown or blond.

“Hey, Jamie, it’s Whitlaw,” she said into her radio, the rain muffling her voice.

“I’m here, Sheriff.” The voice called back through the static.

“Yeah, I’m going to need someone from the county to come down.” She scratched her chin with the antenna as she looked down at the corpse, whispering, “Poor fucker.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the crackly voice answered. “I’m on it, over.”

“Thanks Jay. Out.”

She cut the communication, hooked the radio onto her belt, and pursed her lips to the side in thought as the autumn breeze pushed the scent of moldy death towards us. I rubbed the end of my nose when the smell of rot threatened to make me sneeze.

Ian dry heaved, bending over at the waist, his tongue sticking out of his mouth.

“Christ,” Whitlaw said through a long, exhausted sigh. “If you’re gonna upchuck, do it away from the body. Head up to the damn trucks.”

The rain came down harder, and puddles turned into streams pushing into the lake.

“Gonna be another flood warning.” Captain Lyons scratched his clean-shaven jaw. “Gotta get some sandbags started before the rivers spill over.”

“Yeah, it’s about that time,” Sheriff Whitlaw agreed. “When was the last time we had a big flood, eh?”

“Aw, man. I think Annie was just a baby, so ten years ago? Damn. Hard to remember I have a ten-year-old.”

“It’s hard to remember because we’re getting old. Seems like yesterday you and Midge were leading the homecoming float.” Whitlaw fondly chuckled at the memory. She bit her lip, her tone distinctly sadder when she whispered, “So much has happened...”

The two looked at Ian, who was right at the homecoming age they’d just talked about. He’d gone from green to a weird purple.

“I mean it, Gray. If you’re gonna puke, do it somewhere that won’t wash into the body.”

Ian did not listen. He turned his back, grabbed his knees, and vomited.

A total marshmallow.

But at least he hadn’t contaminated the body.

“You alright, son?” Captain Lyons asked while sipping his coffee.

“Any idea who this is?” I kicked my boot towards the body without touching it.

“Yuuuuup,” Captain Lyons said. “Damn shame.”

“We’ll need to get confirmation with DNA.” Whitlaw rose to her feet, her square shoulders tense like she anticipated a punch to the face. “But yeah, I have an idea who this is.”