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An officer blocked us from entering.
“Stand back!” the officer said.
“They’re with me,” Rodgers said.
The officer looked at us, puzzled.
“Rodgers, this is against protocol,” he said.
“I know, but they’re the only ones who can help me solve this,” Rodgers said.
Reluctantly, the officer stepped aside, letting us onto the platform.
The first thing I noticed was the blood.
It was everywhere. Across the tracks. On the edge of the platform. On the bottom of the subway car, all over the wheels.
The smell lingering the air made me gag—a mixture of bowels, burning flesh, and gas.
A sheriff stood on the platform talking to a KTA official. He was a middle-aged African-American man with a mustache and a paunch. He waved at Rodgers.
“What are these people doing here?” the sheriff asked.
