TUESDAY JONES
Tuesday turned, realizing he'd been staring at the living room like a zombie, and saw Amie standing the doorway of the bedroom. He didn't like the piteous expression stealing the loveliness from her face or the tears pooling in her dark eyes.
"No. No!" He sprinted to the door. Amie moved aside so he could enter the room. The heavy metallic smell gagged him, but he stumbled toward the bed, holding his mouth to keep from vomiting.
His sister lay on the plush four-poster bed curled in a fetal position. Blood soiled the white coverlet, the beige floor, the muted blue walls, and the body of his little sister.
Samantha was naked excerpt for the pair of green cotton underwear tattered on her hips.
He nearly choked on the bile rising in his throat. His guts roiled in disgust; hatred turned the churning nausea into hard knots. "Sammie? Oh God. Little sis..."
