Up until today, Vanessa had never seen a real nonliving, not breathing corpse up close. Her father's funeral had, thankfully, been a closed-casket affair. The two sides of Wendy had been her first real experience with a dead human body, and stomach-churning as that'd been, she'd only seen it from a distance.
Now, as she squatted on top of the wall and looked down at the mangled remains of Cullen Whitmore, she couldn't bring herself to jump down. His shinbones jutted from bloody holes in both legs. His arms lay in cruciform, but the right wrist was twisted a little too far in the wrong direction. His head was turned to the side, the one eye unblinking. It would never blink again.
Plus, all that blood …
"Hey," Kayson asked. "You good?"
"I don't know if I can do this," she said, still staring at the corpse.
"Just want me to go?"
She looked at him and saw both a childish vulnerability and an adult's protective demeanor. He was in that awkward state between boy and man, most evident now in the face of mounting danger. He needed to show strength but had yet to learn how to hide weaknesses, a feat that came with decades of learning no one was coming to help. This ability to lie to oneself was not better; it was just reality. It surprised her that given Kayson's obvious rough edges, he hadn't yet mastered this feat. It endeared him to her and strengthened her own resolve.
"No," she said. "We both can go."
"You sure?" He raised his eyebrows. "I really don't mind."
"No, really. I can do this."
He nodded at her. "On three?"
"Yeah. On three."
"One," he said.
She averted her gaze from the corpse, focusing on a patch of earth where she hoped to land.
"Two."
Vanessa tried to ignore the wafting iron stench of Cullen's blood. The smoky odor of his burned flesh. Something in the force field must have seared him like a thick cut of ahi tuna. God. Her and Kayson would need to be careful not to wander too far from the wall and risk touching the barrier. She met Kayson's gaze and nodded at him. They each looked down.
"Three."
They leapt from the wall in tandem. It was no short fall, and the impact sent painful vibrations up her legs. They hadn't fallen as far as Cullen, who lay at the bottom of an embankment. Past his prime or not, he would've made the jump had the force field not been there. The tree had been mere inches out of reach. She dusted herself off and sighed at the injustice of it all.
As they approached the corpse, the scent of blood and burned skin grew stronger. Something foul joined the noxious mixture. She covered her mouth and nose when she saw the stain on his slacks. He'd shit himself. And they needed to go through his pockets.
"Ah, nasty," Kayson said.
"Yeah. Shit."
"Literally," Kayson said and took two steps back. So much for chivalry.
Vanessa knelt next to Cullen's broken body and tried to breathe through her mouth. Her shoes sank into the blood-soaked dead leaves. The air around him had a bitter taste. The foulness teased her tastebuds and drizzled down the back of her throat. She gagged and put her shirt over her mouth and nose. It did little if anything to stifle the awful stink, the flavor of it. She fished into his left pocket. It was mercifully dry, but sadly empty.
She reached for the right pocket, cringing as her hand slid against the soiled material. The excrement matted down the hair on her wrist and forearm. She held back her gorge until her shirt fell from her face and she got a lungful of shitty air. The vomit burbled up before she even got her hand out of the also empty pocket. Mostly bile and half-digested cheese fries spewed onto Cullen's sportscoat, mixing with his bodily fluids. The voided contents had a bitter tang and a sickly-sweet finish. The aftertaste almost made her yack again.
Behind her, Kayson paced. He still had his mouth and nose covered.
"Want me to check those jacket pockets?" he asked.
Vanessa shook her head, turned her face away, and took a breath of slightly less polluted air. She reached inside one sportscoat pocket and felt something plastic. Something square. It felt like …
"It's a CD," she said, holding it up for Kayson to see.
"Let me see?"
She handed it over and found a spot far away to wipe her hands with some leaves. As she scrubbed the shit away, she choked back a scream that threatened to expel itself. Everything became shadows. Kayson was saying something she couldn't understand. When her hands were much cleaner, she stood again and dug her nails into her palms. It brought her back to reality. Though she still wished to scream, the uncontrollable urge to do so had mostly dissipated. It was more of an inner echo now.
"What'd you say?" she asked.
"I said the artist sounds familiar, but I'm not sure if I've heard his shit before."
Vanessa felt another dry heave coming on. "Please don't say shit," she said.
"What's wrong with …" he looked at Cullen's corpse. "Ohhhh."
"Yeah. So, who's the artist?"
"Says Crusty Cory Jay," Kayson said.
He may as well have kicked her in the gut.