Jack
Tessa, Ian and I are deep into the mine now, with no signal to the mapping device and following a blind tunnel. There’s occasional jabber on the pack link as pockets of vampires are located and swiftly killed, but no one’s found any sign of Darby. Or any other non-vampire for that matter.
The whole mine reeks of vamps, like a f*****g cesspool of eviscerated decomposing body and rotten eggs. And I don’t mean eggs a little yucky and past their time. I mean the kind that explode the grey muck of ghastly stench that poisons your olfactory memory for the rest of your days. It’s f*****g revolting.
As Tessa’s agreeing with me, a few steps ahead, Ian stutter-steps, then braces one arm against the wall, his hand over his eyes. In my own head, I’m catching snippets of a conversation—no,
