The Decision

“We have to find them,” I say, still unable to tear my eyes from the sight of the bodies. I am breathing through my mouth. I have to. This close to the doors I can smell them. It is a coppery sweet smell but over the top is the sharp corrupt smell of death. I once drove past an abattoir when I was visiting a rural village in Wales. The smell had been unlike anything I had experienced before and this reminds me of it. I am going to have to move or throw up. My stomach rolls and I realise that even if I move I might throw up. The guys are already behind me, far enough away to lessen the smell. I just have to make sure though.

I distance myself mentally. I’m not looking for a body, just a pair of shoes smaller than the others. I…