Chapter 13
Fire rolled through her veins.
Julia groaned and turned over. Her arm brushed something furry. She smiled, pulling it closer. Her cat, Jameson, often crawled onto the bed with her for an early morning cuddle. Just one problem. Generally cats were soft and warm, not as stiff as a board. And Jameson had been dead years. She’d buried him under the bushes at the bottom of the garden.
Her eyelids snapped open, and she came eye to eye with a dead rat. Its throat had been ripped out. Screaming, she threw it away, scrambling backwards until her back hit the wall. The floor around her was littered with more rat corpses. All were missing most of their throats, the white of bone showing stark in the darkness. Some were missing their heads.
Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in air,
