skull. My knife was wrapped tightly in my other hand, eager to split some ribs and rip through a heart.
A third of the way in, I decided I didn’t want to wait to be surprised. “Hey, dickhead. If you’re in here, come out.”
“Typical Zed shit,” Murphy groused. “Let me know next time before you do that.”
Nothing in the greenhouse moved except for the brown leaves rustling when the breeze moved them. I looked over my shoulder to see Murphy on the walkway behind, hatchet and knife ready. “You’re in a bitchy mood.”
“I should take the lead.”
“If we had guns, I’d agree. But this is my thing now. I’ve had more swinging dick time than anybody.”
“Swinging dick time?” Murphy laughed. “Is that what you call it when you run around naked with the Whites?”
I turned and smiled, glad to see Murphy lighten up a little. “Sure.” I looked over the greenhouse one more time and pointed to the door at the far end of the walkway leading into the building. “Let’s get inside. There’s nobody in here.”
I hurried up the length of the narrow walkway. At the end, at the doorway into the building, the bloody tracks turned into a collage of curdled red. The Whites had gathered around the door, trying to break it in. But the door was open, swung outwards from the building, undamaged.
To the right and left, windows opened through the brick wall into the building. Clearly the greenhouse had been added some time after the small, one-story building had been constructed. Otherwise, the windows wouldn’t have been there. It was a deduction that made sense to Detective Zed.
Most of the small square panes on one of the windows were broken out, and the framework for the panes was bent or ripped away. The bloody footprints and smears on the wall told me that’s the way the Whites had gotten into the building when the door had been closed. The door was only open because when the Whites made their exit with bellies full of warm, fresh meat, they were able to open the locked door from the inside. More deductions.
I stepped through the doorway, careful not to swing it either further open or closed. It was time for sneaking, and a squeaky hinge would not do me any favors. The hall inside was dim and narrow with institutional, shiny floors, streaked with bloody marks and footprints. The walls were smudged by the dirty skin of Whites pushing through the hall to get to their prize.
I sniffed. Fresh shit.
The Whites had gorged themselves and then emptied their bowels on the floor before leaving. Or not leaving. They might still be napping inside, too sated to worry about the sound of a helicopter and machine gun fire somewhere across campus.
I proceeded quietly to an intersection at the end of the short hall and looked around the corner. We were near one end of the building, so the hall leading left was short with only two open doors. To the right, the corridor extended a ways before it cut left at a ninety-degree angle. Most of the footprints led that way. With light glaring through a window to my left, pools of urine glistened.
The infected fucks were here, somewhere.
I nodded left.
Murphy peeked down the short hall, and pointed to himself and then to one of the open doors. He pointed at me and then to the other door. Planning meeting concluded. Proceed to action items.
We moved down the hall, side-by-side, each watching the doorway we’d assigned ourselves. It only took a few tense seconds.
I peeked inside my assigned office to see nothing but two big wooden desks facing one another with chairs knocked over and papers strewn, phones on the floor, some of the drawers open. Somebody had put a half-ass effort into ransacking the room before giving up, but no living thing hid inside. I turned to Murphy. He was already looking at me, shrugging. The office he’d checked was also empty.
Time to follow the footprints down
A third of the way in, I decided I didn’t want to wait to be surprised. “Hey, dickhead. If you’re in here, come out.”
“Typical Zed shit,” Murphy groused. “Let me know next time before you do that.”
Nothing in the greenhouse moved except for the brown leaves rustling when the breeze moved them. I looked over my shoulder to see Murphy on the walkway behind, hatchet and knife ready. “You’re in a bitchy mood.”
“I should take the lead.”
“If we had guns, I’d agree. But this is my thing now. I’ve had more swinging dick time than anybody.”
“Swinging dick time?” Murphy laughed. “Is that what you call it when you run around naked with the Whites?”
I turned and smiled, glad to see Murphy lighten up a little. “Sure.” I looked over the greenhouse one more time and pointed to the door at the far end of the walkway leading into the building. “Let’s get inside. There’s nobody in here.”
I hurried up the length of the narrow walkway. At the end, at the doorway into the building, the bloody tracks turned into a collage of curdled red. The Whites had gathered around the door, trying to break it in. But the door was open, swung outwards from the building, undamaged.
To the right and left, windows opened through the brick wall into the building. Clearly the greenhouse had been added some time after the small, one-story building had been constructed. Otherwise, the windows wouldn’t have been there. It was a deduction that made sense to Detective Zed.
Most of the small square panes on one of the windows were broken out, and the framework for the panes was bent or ripped away. The bloody footprints and smears on the wall told me that’s the way the Whites had gotten into the building when the door had been closed. The door was only open because when the Whites made their exit with bellies full of warm, fresh meat, they were able to open the locked door from the inside. More deductions.
I stepped through the doorway, careful not to swing it either further open or closed. It was time for sneaking, and a squeaky hinge would not do me any favors. The hall inside was dim and narrow with institutional, shiny floors, streaked with bloody marks and footprints. The walls were smudged by the dirty skin of Whites pushing through the hall to get to their prize.
I sniffed. Fresh shit.
The Whites had gorged themselves and then emptied their bowels on the floor before leaving. Or not leaving. They might still be napping inside, too sated to worry about the sound of a helicopter and machine gun fire somewhere across campus.
I proceeded quietly to an intersection at the end of the short hall and looked around the corner. We were near one end of the building, so the hall leading left was short with only two open doors. To the right, the corridor extended a ways before it cut left at a ninety-degree angle. Most of the footprints led that way. With light glaring through a window to my left, pools of urine glistened.
The infected fucks were here, somewhere.
I nodded left.
Murphy peeked down the short hall, and pointed to himself and then to one of the open doors. He pointed at me and then to the other door. Planning meeting concluded. Proceed to action items.
We moved down the hall, side-by-side, each watching the doorway we’d assigned ourselves. It only took a few tense seconds.
I peeked inside my assigned office to see nothing but two big wooden desks facing one another with chairs knocked over and papers strewn, phones on the floor, some of the drawers open. Somebody had put a half-ass effort into ransacking the room before giving up, but no living thing hid inside. I turned to Murphy. He was already looking at me, shrugging. The office he’d checked was also empty.
Time to follow the footprints down
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