Darknet by John R. Little Page B

hamburger. Blood had pooled around the body and the bugs feasted without any notice made of Avril.
    The corpse smelled even from a few feet away.
    Avril wanted to run. She was scared and heartbroken at the same time. Tears didn’t run down her face, though, and some back part of her mind wondered why not. The front of her mind was more concerned about touching her pet, to see what dead felt like.
    She took another tentative step forward. The bugs crawling over the cat almost made her want to throw up, but she once again managed to avoid it. She wondered if she should somehow sweep away the flies and worms and whatever other things were there, but that seemed too grown-up a thing for her to be able to contemplate.
    The fur on the cat’s back looked the same as it always did, and that’s where Avril reached.
    “Just going to pet my kitty . . .”
    When she did, the fur felt hard and cold, like each strand of hair was a miniature frozen icicle. She patted the cat harder, trying to find the warmth and softness she was used to.
    “Rocky?”
    Avril tried her best not to look at the bugs, but she couldn’t stop the sounds of their buzzing that beat on her mind.
    Finally, the tears started to fall and she blinked her eyes to try to stop them. She remembered hearing that when something was bothering her, she should take a deep breath, so she did that, closed her eyes, and tried to remember Rocky the way he used to be. She pressed down on his fur and thought of his cute purrs and the way he’d walk around her legs and meow at her.
    She tried to remember a time before Rocky was her pet, but she couldn’t.
    “Good-bye, kitty.”
    She opened her eyes to have one last look, and when she did, she saw her hand was covered with tiny black and white bugs. They crawled all over her, probably wanting to feed on her as they had on Rocky.
    Avril screamed and shook her hand. Bugs went flying, some of them landing on her chest and hair. A couple touched her cheek before bouncing off. She screamed again and jumped back, falling down the steps that led to the front sidewalk. The bugs became the least of her problems as she tried to put her hands down to protect herself, but she didn’t have time. One hand was caught partly twisted back, and she heard a snap just before her head cracked on the cement.
    Her cries became louder and louder, and she didn’t know how long she screamed before her mom came running out to get her.
     
    * * *
     
    Cin finished her radio show at the normal time, 7:00 p.m. Somehow she’d managed to keep her composure on the show, laughing much of the time, knowing that laugh kept her listeners tuned to her on their drive home every day.
    Normally the laugh was genuine. She loved doing the show and loved the connection she had with everyone listening. It was a weird kind of relationship because most of the time it was one-way, with her talking and laughing into a silent microphone and hearing no reaction back. It was only during breaks that she’d pick up a phone call or two and chat with listeners. Her feedback came indirectly when the quarterly ratings were released and she saw that she normally shared the afternoon drive with 50,000 of her closest friends.
    Some days were harder than others. When Avril broke her wrist this morning after seeing her cat lying dead on the front porch—well, it doesn’t come much worse than that. But, like every professional, she didn’t let the hospital trip or the cat funeral affect her job. Nobody except producer Ryan knew she was off her game.
    “That’s a wrap,” called Ryan when the last commercial was running. Cin hopped out of her chair in Studio One just as Miles Nothrop was entering Studio Two to start the evening show. Cin rarely spoke to Miles, and today was no exception. She just went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet, letting out a huge sigh while she rubbed her face. She didn’t need to go to the bathroom but needed a minute to get herself together.
    Who