Cloudwalkers by Mark Wayne McGinnis

Author:Mark Wayne McGinnis [McGinnis, Mark Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science-fiction
ISBN: 9781733514309
Publisher: Avenstar Productions
Published: 2018-12-12T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Conn led the way into the basement of the deacon’s compound. The murky dank space smelled of rot and mold, but something else too: the unmistakable stench of decomposing flesh. It’s just a very large dead rat, Conn told himself firmly. He almost believed it.

They moved single file, winding their way through the dim space where barely recognizable shapes could be seen, such as tables, chairs, and couches, along with innumerable high-stacked boxes, precarious towers that could easily be toppled over with the slightest nudge of an arm or a misplaced foot.

Conn’s torch, held out before him, suddenly began to flicker. Its bright flames, now diminished somewhat, were nearly blown sideways. He felt a strong, cool, steady breeze against his left cheek. It was slow going, and the two of them had progressed no further than fifty steps into the cellar. Misty moved within inches of where Conn stood waiting. He heard one of them was breathing hard, more like frightened panting. Between the bad smell and oppressive darkness, he had a bad feeling about this place.

Ancient floor joists, directly overhead, suddenly began to creak under the weight of footsteps. Carefully, Conn turned his body clockwise, attempting to at least partially block the strong air currents from further tampering with the torch’s flame. The torch flickered brightly again, its warm amber glow fanning out around them. Conn glanced back to see Misty, he was surprised to see she looked neither scared nor daunted by their current endeavor.

“What are you waiting for? Maybe you should just give me the torch,” she said impatiently.

Like that’s going to happen, Conn thought. He continued on, now more cognizant of the strange cross-breezes around them. “You haven’t been this far into the compound before?” he asked Brig in a hushed voice over his shoulder.

“Uh-uh.”

“So you don’t ken the layout of the rooms up above?”

“He just said he hasn’t been here before,” Misty said. “You should give me the torch. At this rate we’ll be too old to climb the stairs if we ever find them.”

As if on cue, the still-agitated fluctuating torchlight allowed barely enough illumination to catch the outline of a rickety staircase just ahead.

“That smell . . . it’s getting worse,” Brig said, a little too loudly.

“Shhh, keep your voice down!” Conn scolded.

“What’s that?” Misty asked, pointing a raised finger.

Conn was wondering the same thing. He repositioned the torch to illuminate the odd shape they’d spotted below the staircase. Stepping closer in, he lowered the torch. The supporting vertical studs on the staircase cast dark shadows onto what clearly was a female body. The woman was lying face down, her head turned away from them.

Misty gasped. “Oh no. Oh God.”

Conn handed the torch to Brig, fighting back a reflexive gag. The smell of death was overpowering. Burying his nose and mouth into the crook of his sleeved elbow, he turned again to the human remains on the floor. In a muffled voice he said, “Misty, maybe you should turn away.”

“Turn her over,” said Misty, her voice steady again.

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