Tuesday
Inside the tent was a press of police officers in neon safety vests and bright blue gloves taking photos and filling out forms in a very busy manner. One of the officers, a man a couple of years younger than Aislen and the Triquetra, was just holding onto his composure, tears tracking down his face, but his expression set.
There was a row of bodies, covered by cloth, and a smell… Something murky and dark, like wet, rotting soil overturned by a gardening fork, or the roots of a tree immersed for generations in river water, that made Aislen think of caves and graves.
“So many,” Cameron murmured, shocked.
“Over here,” Heath led them through the police and other officials, around the edges of the bodies. Some of them were smaller than others, and Aislen shook her head and aver
