Decay (Some Say In Fire Book 1) by Russell C. Connor

Author:Russell C. Connor [Connor, Russell C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Filament Books
Published: 2021-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Three days and two suicides later, I’m on Jason’s couch in a filthy pair of shorts and a t-shirt, reading a book by the wan glow seeping in around the edges of the window, anything to keep the faces of the dead out of my mind. Sweat covers my forehead and runs down my cheeks, but I don’t notice it anymore. The weather still hasn’t changed at all from this dry, unbearable heat, not so much as a cloud in the sky or the slightest flutter of a breeze to stir the haze.

Behind me, Jason sits at the kitchen table, playing cards by candlelight with Keelan, Dante, and a bushy-bearded, body-builder-type that goes by the name ‘Zero.’ He came back with Jason two days ago from a nightly excursion that I wasn’t privy to, and speaks in grunts. I haven’t been able to get Jason alone to ask if this guy lives here now or what, but he’s definitely eating our food and bunking on the floor in a sleeping bag.

Jason is shirtless as he deals cards, a state he’s been in a lot since he got those stupid tattoos. Aside from whatever drunken delusions he commissioned them under, those three red bands mean something to him, a badge of honor from some war in his head. But, what’s even weirder, Dante showed up this morning with a matching set that’s far more homemade than professional, and proceeded to strut around like a peacock with its tail spread, all of which Jason seems to approve of. The apartment has gotten so cramped and the air so thick with the sour funk of testosterone, I’m considering taking Carl and Marie up on their offer to let me stay with them.

Urgent knocking comes at the door. The men at the table leap to their feet, instantly alert. All four of them are on edge, but Jason has been especially jumpy the last few days. He hasn’t vocalized it—not to me, anyway—but I’m sure he’s expecting the rest of the tenants to storm the apartment and take his precious food at any moment.

But, when he opens the door, sweet little Mrs. Alvarez from the second floor is standing in the hall. She’s a tiny, plump woman with a bowl cut of dark hair, wearing a tropical-themed muumuu. She wrings her hands as tears well in her eyes.

“Ah, Señor Hank, please,” she pleads. The request isn’t a surprise. I’ve become very well known around the building. But my bowels clench at the thought of another body for disposal. The street outside has become a charred boneyard.

Jason moves aside and looks at me, rolling his eyes as he says, “It’s for you, Señor Hank.” Laughter rises from the other men at the table.

Mrs. Alvarez sighs with relief when she sees me. “Please to come, mi esposa, hay un problema,” she babbles.

“Slow down,” I urge, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

She catches her breathe and tries to explain in English. “Something wrong with Señor Alvarez.

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