breaths as Cayne parked in a pine straw circle about a dozen feet away.
He closed his eyes, and Julia thought she might have a heart attack while she waited for them to open. She blew out a hot breath when they finally did; they were sharp. Wary.
"He already left," Cayne said flatly, not looking at her. "Recently."
Julia was more relieved than disappointed. "So what now?"
"Something happened..."
"What?"
He shook his head as he opened his door. "You stay in the car."
"No way."
"I don't think you want--"
"I'm safer with you than by myself."
"Yeah," he said. "That's true, but I don't think you want to see what's in there."
Julia didn't have to guess at what he meant. And he was probably right. But she didn't care. She felt compelled to follow him.
She let her anger fill her up as she slid out of the car and followed Cayne's rigid form to the door. The wind blew her hair off her neck and sent a chill down her spine. Even with the breeze, there was a stillness in the air--the feeling that they were the only living people left on Earth. Julia wrapped her arms around herself. Cayne sniffed the air, following the doorframe like a cartoon bloodhound. He twisted the knob. It turned. He glanced at her, she nodded, and he swung the door open.
Julia knew when the foul air rushed to meet her that something bad had indeed happened. She could taste it on the roof her mouth. For one long moment, she thought of turning back. Going back to the car, turning on the radio, and pretending she was somewhere else. Then she noticed Cayne's eyes on her. Assessing. Careful. Like it mattered how she felt. Like she mattered.
So she followed him inside.
The entry hall was no larger than a closet. A bare bulb cast dirty light over four drab walls and a simple stone floor.
To Julia's surprise, Cayne's hand closed around hers, and they walked together down a long, narrow hall, her heart pounding in time with their footsteps. When they approached two wide, wood doors, spots of color bloomed behind her eyes. Pain . Lots of it.
Cayne placed a hand and an ear against one of the doors. He looked at her, his eyes offering one last chance. She almost took it.
"I'm staying," she whispered.
Carefully, quietly, and so slowly Julia thought she might faint from the tension, Cayne pushed one of the doors open, revealing a wide common room. And there, past the round ridge of his shoulder, Julia saw death. Everywhere, death. Bodies--naked, stained. A severed head lay beneath a tall-backed chair in one corner, brown hair matted by blood. Julia could see veins and tendons in the middle of a flapping circle of skin, and the neck bone, sticking out into the carpet. The body lay sprawled nearby, a gruesome gash where his kidneys would have been.
So much blood: painting the walls, staining the carpet. Men and women, young and old, missing hearts, limbs, intestines. And the parts, scattered about like so much garbage.
Julia stepped back and a spongy noise drew her eyes to her shoes. Blood pooled around her All-Stars. And next to her foot, a hand.
Her knees gave out, and Cayne's strong arms encircled her. He turned her into his chest. "Don't look."
His long fingers dug into her shoulders; the pain brought her down, so instead of floating, dizzy, Julia focused on the fabric of his shirt. She smelled him, that lovely blend of guy and grass, mixed with the blood and death.
Past his arm she saw what spun her world. The starburst, Julia's starburst, the crimson stain on the back of her neck. The armless woman by the table had an identical mark just under her collarbone.
Julia couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Seconds were hours, minutes days. From some still-functioning place inside her mind, she saw Cayne's brows clench, and she saw him lift his right hand. Then he slapped her, a good, strong hit that echoed through the room. He grabbed her elbows to steady her. He whispered things like look and listen . She struggled to follow.
But she saw the mark on others. On a stomach that was
He closed his eyes, and Julia thought she might have a heart attack while she waited for them to open. She blew out a hot breath when they finally did; they were sharp. Wary.
"He already left," Cayne said flatly, not looking at her. "Recently."
Julia was more relieved than disappointed. "So what now?"
"Something happened..."
"What?"
He shook his head as he opened his door. "You stay in the car."
"No way."
"I don't think you want--"
"I'm safer with you than by myself."
"Yeah," he said. "That's true, but I don't think you want to see what's in there."
Julia didn't have to guess at what he meant. And he was probably right. But she didn't care. She felt compelled to follow him.
She let her anger fill her up as she slid out of the car and followed Cayne's rigid form to the door. The wind blew her hair off her neck and sent a chill down her spine. Even with the breeze, there was a stillness in the air--the feeling that they were the only living people left on Earth. Julia wrapped her arms around herself. Cayne sniffed the air, following the doorframe like a cartoon bloodhound. He twisted the knob. It turned. He glanced at her, she nodded, and he swung the door open.
Julia knew when the foul air rushed to meet her that something bad had indeed happened. She could taste it on the roof her mouth. For one long moment, she thought of turning back. Going back to the car, turning on the radio, and pretending she was somewhere else. Then she noticed Cayne's eyes on her. Assessing. Careful. Like it mattered how she felt. Like she mattered.
So she followed him inside.
The entry hall was no larger than a closet. A bare bulb cast dirty light over four drab walls and a simple stone floor.
To Julia's surprise, Cayne's hand closed around hers, and they walked together down a long, narrow hall, her heart pounding in time with their footsteps. When they approached two wide, wood doors, spots of color bloomed behind her eyes. Pain . Lots of it.
Cayne placed a hand and an ear against one of the doors. He looked at her, his eyes offering one last chance. She almost took it.
"I'm staying," she whispered.
Carefully, quietly, and so slowly Julia thought she might faint from the tension, Cayne pushed one of the doors open, revealing a wide common room. And there, past the round ridge of his shoulder, Julia saw death. Everywhere, death. Bodies--naked, stained. A severed head lay beneath a tall-backed chair in one corner, brown hair matted by blood. Julia could see veins and tendons in the middle of a flapping circle of skin, and the neck bone, sticking out into the carpet. The body lay sprawled nearby, a gruesome gash where his kidneys would have been.
So much blood: painting the walls, staining the carpet. Men and women, young and old, missing hearts, limbs, intestines. And the parts, scattered about like so much garbage.
Julia stepped back and a spongy noise drew her eyes to her shoes. Blood pooled around her All-Stars. And next to her foot, a hand.
Her knees gave out, and Cayne's strong arms encircled her. He turned her into his chest. "Don't look."
His long fingers dug into her shoulders; the pain brought her down, so instead of floating, dizzy, Julia focused on the fabric of his shirt. She smelled him, that lovely blend of guy and grass, mixed with the blood and death.
Past his arm she saw what spun her world. The starburst, Julia's starburst, the crimson stain on the back of her neck. The armless woman by the table had an identical mark just under her collarbone.
Julia couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Seconds were hours, minutes days. From some still-functioning place inside her mind, she saw Cayne's brows clench, and she saw him lift his right hand. Then he slapped her, a good, strong hit that echoed through the room. He grabbed her elbows to steady her. He whispered things like look and listen . She struggled to follow.
But she saw the mark on others. On a stomach that was
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