Page 145 of The Darkest Hour

I swallowed hard. “The decomposition. The way the skin is bloated and starting to break down. The smell—it’s strong, but not overpowering. If it had been longer, we wouldn’t be able to stand being this close.”

Havoc bobbed his head. “And the animals. . .the bugs. They’re just starting to get at it. Scavengers are bold, but they’re cautious too. If it had been more recent, we wouldn’t see as many of them—they wouldn’t risk getting caught. But after a few days, they start moving in.”

I forced myself to take a step closer, and to really look at the scene despite every instinct screaming at me to turn away. “The ladder. . .he was alone when he did this. No one to stop him.”

“Perhaps, because everyone was dead.” Havoc’s gaze followed mine to the ladder, lying on its side beneath the hanging body. “He climbed up, put the rope around his neck, and. . .then kicked it over.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined those final moments—the despair, the hopelessness that must have driven him to this.

I couldn’t help but wonder who this person had been, what had led them to take their own life in such a desperate, lonely way.

Hopefully, he was the person that put the children in the graves outside.

Havoc pointed to his shoes. “Not boot prints, but definitely the same size of foot.”

I couldn’t disagree because when I’d saw those prints that night, I’d been too busy running from Havoc. “So. . .this is our mystery man?”

“I’m sure of it. The smell of the print. . .although very faint. . .it matches.”

“Damn it.”

Sadness hit me.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The reality was right in front of us, and we had to figure out what this meant for us, for our survival on this island.

My hands tightened around the gun at my side, as if the cold metal could somehow ward off the horror that threatened to overwhelm me.

Havoc moved his view from the dead body. “We should check this place, but I doubt anyone is in here.”

I nodded. “No sane person is leaving this dead body up for 4-5 days and just living in the house.”

“And. . .more death is outside and in the back of the house.”

I let out a long breath. “There’s that too.”

Typically, I worked on my own, but I had to admire his ability to remain level-headed amidst the chaos, even as my own mind ran wild with fear and a multitude of unanswered questions.

This island was supposed to be desolate, abandoned.

Now it was a tomb for dead people.

I just hoped we wouldn’t wind up dead next.

Havoc made the first move, heading towards one of the doors on our left. He paused momentarily, his hand hovering above the doorknob, seeming to steel himself before pushing it open and disappearing inside.

I followed, finding myself in what appeared to be some sort of study. It was just as grand as the foyer, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls and a mahogany desk sitting proudly in its center.

It was all strangely untouched, as if it had been sealed off from time itself.

No signs of struggle or disarray.

But the stillness felt eerie, wrong in contrast with the frenzied horror we'd just left behind.

I had an uncontrollable urge to upset this serenity—to knock over a chair or throw a book to bring some semblance of reality back.

Havoc went over to the desk and picked up a sheet of expensive paper. “Well. . .this is a big clue.”

“Yeah?”

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