Inside the shamble of a hotel lobby, the fragrant air produced by a multitude of candles isn’t enough to disguise the rotting-corpse smell. My nose can’t pick up the scent anyway. Hell, my nose is a part of it!
Movement in my periphery. My head turns toward the lecture hall with a snap. “BRAINS!” It is my credo. My mantra. My one stable thought.
I had him! We both knew it. A patch of red turns. Daring, vacant, bloodshot eyes.
NO!
My tongue rolls around, absurdly seeking purchase on rotting flesh. A familiar word escapes. An almost forgotten name: “Santa?”