Page 26

Luke moved past us to the next window, his movements careful. Whatever he saw in there—or didn’t see—had him shaking his head and waving us on.

An opening led through to a backyard filled with knee-high weeds, a wheelbarrow upended against the side wall of an old tin shed.

Terracotta pots were arranged on a stand at the rear of the house, the seedlings dry and dead. The back door was closed, and the screen door hung partially open.

I approached the steps, using my elbow to nudge the screen door aside.

With a slow breath, I gripped the nail gun and turned the doorknob—all the way around. I pushed it open, wincing at the creaking hinges.

Luke’s chest brushed against my back, blocking out the chill in the air.

The overwhelming stench of decay that floated through almost knocked me off my feet. “Why? Why did I have to be right?” I whined, taking a tentative step inside.

“Whoa.” Kirby lifted the neckline of her top to cover her nose, but the material was too thin to be of much use. “There’s no way anything’s still moving in here,” she said, eyes watering. “You guys stay out here and keep watch. We don’t all have to go through this.”

“No.” Luke needed zero time to think it over. “We do it together.”

Resigning myself to smelling like death, I moved through the tiled laundry into the adjoining kitchen and living room.

The owners had knocked a couple of walls down, opening up the space. Paint tins and brushes were stacked on a drop sheet in the corner, and the message Dylan loves Sienna had been scrawled in blue marker on the freshly plastered wall, ready to become their little secret underneath the first coat of paint.

Luke clasped my shoulder as he sidled around me, the imprint of his fingers lingering after he’d moved on. He checked the walls for hooks, keeping the pipe wrench handy as he opened one kitchen drawer after another.

“Empty,” he said. “Every drawer and cupboard. Looks like they were planning on gutting the kitchen next.”

I waited for shuffling footsteps to come, for the scent of death to intensify, but nothing happened. I felt around on top of the fridge. “Maybe there’s a container somewhere with keys and wallets.”

Kirby’s gaze landed on the wall message, then darted away. “I’ll check the front door.”

My fingers curled around the nail gun. “I’ll come with you, just in case.”

An arch on the right led to a dark hallway. Before we stepped through, Kirby flipped the closest light switch. “Either the power’s out everywhere now, or they didn’t pay their bill.”

Luke joined us. “Probably the second option, given the smell.”

I made myself move through the opening, and the darkness eased as my eyes adjusted.

Kirby stayed a step behind me.

Closed doors lined one side of the hall, and the old, patterned carpet absorbed the sound of our footsteps. The closer we got to the opposite end, the stronger the rotting meat smell grew, sitting in the back of my throat.

I braced myself for a door to open, for something to move, but all I heard was my heart beating too hard in my ears.

Kirby’s breaths were shallow at my back.

Luke said softly, “I’m right behind you both.”

We reached the front door, where weak light seeped through the stained glass panels. A hall table sat nearby, a collection of keys scattered across the dust-coated surface. I gasped and swept up the ring with the Toyota fob, dropping it straight into my pocket.

“Got it,” I whispered.

The flicker of relief died as soon as the bedroom door caught my eye—the only one in the hallway that had been left open.

Everything in me screamed to back away. We’d found what we came here for, but the door was ajar, and the curtains were open just enough for the morning light to glow across the end of the bed. The sheets were twisted, and one pillow had fallen on the floor.

A man lay on his back, with a woman beside him in the fetal position, her arm draped over his midsection. Droplets of something dark had splattered the covers.

My throat closed up, and I realised too late that the strange, choking sound had come from me.