He stepped forward in order to stand beside Houjin and Zeke and he followed Angeline’s pointing finger. Where the light pooled and puddled, he saw strange forms, or pieces of forms, scattered on the ground. He couldn’t imagine what these crooked shapes and splintered parts had once been part of, or where they’d once belonged.

Rector crouched down and his knees popped. He winced, rubbed at his joints, and asked, “Could you bring the light down, Miss Angeline?”

She obliged, and the unidentifiable lumps came into focus.

There, at Rector’s feet, was a disembodied hand.

He jumped and toppled backwards, but caught himself on one palm.

“I did warn you.”

He leaned forward, and Huey and Zeke came closer, too.

Houjin used the edge of his iron rod to poke at the hand. It didn’t move. It didn’t respond in any fashion, except to shed one finger. The digit flaked away, and the small bones that once held it together drooped pitifully—kept in place by habit and a strand or two of old skin.

Angeline took her lantern, stepped deeper into the alley, and told them, “Lads, that’s just the start of it. Come have a look, won’t you?” And as she went between the houses, the light seemed brighter than before—bouncing off the walls, since it had nowhere to go except back into the fog.

“Miss Angeline,” Huey breathed. He was the only one who could speak.

Zeke and Rector remained silent, transfixed and horrified.

At Angeline’s feet, they saw legs, arms, and half a dozen heads lying motionless and scattered. And behind her, creeping into a gruesome drift as high as her waist, a pile of dismembered undead oozed, dripped, and settled into a heap of viscous mulch.

Zeke gasped, creeping closer, though why he’d want a better look, Rector couldn’t fathom. Rector just wanted away from the damn things—away from the pile, away from the alley and everything in it.

He swung his arm up over his nose, shielding his filters further with his sleeve. It didn’t make a difference. “That’s disgusting! Where’d they all come from?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” the princess shook her head. “I counted about forty before I made myself sick, being so close. Red, don’t worry about covering your nose. I know you think you smell these things, but you don’t.”

But it wasn’t the imagined smell that made him recoil. He withdrew from the details.

One long arm lay mere inches from his toes, and he nudged it with his boot. The curled, dead fingers splayed and collapsed. All their nails were broken. They would’ve been bloody if there’d been blood left; but around the edges, even on the gray, dead skin, Rector could see the crusty tint of yellow. His own nails were starting to turn that color. He’d noticed it months ago.