Rose hunched in a campsite bathroom on the cold, concrete floor next to the sinks. There were three stalls in front of her, all in need of a good cleaning. She put a finger delicately to her nose. The bathroom was bad, but with this kind of odor, there had to be a body decaying around here somewhere.
She’d worn out her welcome in town. There were strange folks about, beautiful and hard at the same time. They almost had her once or twice, but their thoughts gave them away.
And it wasn’t as if she could hide in a crowd. The scarf she wore couldn’t cover all of the change on her neck and ear, nor the fact that the skin on her cheek had started to yellow and toughen. That arm hadn’t taken any harm during the messy business up the mountain, but its unusual alteration was now impossible to disguise.
Would Mickey mind? Not if he loved her like he said.
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
Yes, she knew she was supposed to take care of other business. She had tried to get in, but the security was too tight. She could take care of six men with guns, but taking on more might just kill her. It was better to find a more opportune moment.
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
If the gate would just quiet down, maybe she could make a plan. Stealing the truck had been a mistake. Killing the men had been worse. Each time she’d been forced to take a life, her body had changed a little more.
kat-a-kat: Follow your nose.
To find a dead body? How would that possibly help?
Follow your nose.
Fine. At least it would give her something to do. The smell was so strong that she was surprised she couldn’t see an orange trail of awful in the air. It got more pungent during the hour-long trek through the backwoods of Middleton, and grew positively overwhelming near a circle of campers and mobile buildings that surrounded the halted construction of a row of cabins.
Not just one body. Lots of folks had to have died. This was a massacre or a mass suicide. Maybe their food hadn’t spoiled, though.
She was about to open a door to one of the campers when it opened for her. The enlarged teeth she saw first, pointed like a shark’s, but in the gaping mouth of a man. Her bad hand came up in defense, grabbed the ugly man by the skin on his chest, and threw him to the ground.
As she backed away, more fiendish people stepped out of the camper, a few from the buildings, too, all of them slavering like a pack of rabid dogs. And glory! if one of them didn’t seem to float above the earth, in pieces no less. They stank to kingdom come, so she guessed she’d found her corpses.
Living corpses. None of them had a thought in their heads. Nothing. It was like they were hollow between the ears.
Could it be . . . ? Maybe the gate had steered her straight after all. These had to be the “wraiths” that the soldier at the compound had feared. These creatures had to be the reason for the wall and the guns.
“Friends,” she said, “are you what’re called wraiths?”
One answered with a lightning quick dart toward her, mouth preparing to bite her head off. That wasn’t nice, so her bad hand came up and slashed the man’s throat. The rest of his body fell to the ground, a dry husk in the dirt.
The others looked concerned, but more for their own well-being than the pile of skin and bones.
“If we could just talk,” Rose said. It’d be better if she could read their minds.
The wraiths formed a bit of a circle around her, prowling with their big jaws hanging low. The floating one shivered toward her but was stopped by one of the others.
Curious.
Steps sounded as a woman descended from the camper to join the group. Dark haired, young. Almost attractive. Her mouth was normal, and she was clean, composed, with a light of intelligence in her eyes. But no amount of perfume—and the woman must have used a bottle—would cover her stink. This one was a wraith, too. The leader, most likely.
“I’m Rose Anne Petty,” Rose said, holding out her bad hand, which was covered in wraith remains.
The woman regarded the dead body and then Rose’s hand. “What are you?”
This confused Rose, so she dropped her arm. “Why, your friend.”
“Are you some kind of angel? Angels can kill us with their bare hands.”
Rose blushed and put her bad hand to her breast. Finally, someone understood her. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“What do you want here?”
Wraiths. They might just be her answer. “I’m looking for a place to stay and, if you’re willing, for a little help.”
“An angel wants help from us.” The woman looked skeptical.
“It’s an ugly business, really”—but Rose was sure these good people wouldn’t snap to judgment—“I’ve got to murder someone inside that compound up the mountain, but rest assured, it’s for a good cause.”
“You want to kill someone at Segue.”
“Yes.”
“They kill wraiths, and are friends with angels.” The woman wraith relaxed her mouth, and pointy teeth grew in abundant proliferation.