F Paul Wilson - Sims 03 by Meerm (v5.0) Page A

           “No, you don’t, lady. If there’s one
thing I know in this life, lady, it’s you do not want to go down in that
cellar.”
                 She looked around at the hollow-eyed
buildings and the hollow-eyed stragglers with nothing better to do than stand
at the police tape and stare.
                 He’s so right, Romy thought. I don’t.
                 But she had to see this for herself.
Nothing made sense. If these were the sims from the
globulin farm, what were they doing here? Had they been “liberated” just to be
executed and mutilated?
                 Setting her jaw to keep her
composure, Romy pulled a stick of gum—Nuclear Cinnamon—from her purse and began
to chew.
                 The cop nodded knowingly. “I see
you’ve been down this street before.”
                 “What’s going on?” Patrick said.
                 She turned and offered him a stick,
saying, “Because sometimes the smell’s so thick you can taste it.”
                 “You’re going in?” he said. He looked
genuinely concerned. “That’s way above and beyond, Romy. Leave it for the
forensics people. You don’t have to do this.”
                 “Yeah, I do,” she said. “Because
they’re sims the M-E will give them a cursory
once-over, if that. Most likely the remains will be shipped back to SimGen and
we’ll never hear a thing. I don’t expect you to come with me, Patrick. In fact,
I’d prefer you didn’t. But I need to see what’s been done, so I can get a feel
for the kind of monsters we’re dealing with here.”
                 She turned to the patrolman. “Let’s
go.”
                 “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
“Might smell a little better in there now with the doors open, but I’m not
going back in until I have to.” He pointed toward the open front door. “Once
you’re inside, head straight back to the kitchen; hang a U and you’ll be facing
the cellar stairs.” He handed her his flashlight. “There’s no electricity so
you’ll need this. Just don’t drop it. Or blow lunch on it.”
                 “Thanks. I won’t.”
                 Knowing that if she hesitated she
might lose her nerve, Romy immediately put herself in motion. She’d examined
dead sims before, some of them in a ripe state of
decomposition, and had learned some tricks along the way.
                 She’d gained the top of the two
crumbling front steps and was pulling a tissue from her purse when she sensed
someone behind her.
                 Patrick. His face looked pale, and
despite the cold she thought she detected a faint sheen of sweat across his
forehead.
                 “Wait for me out here,” she told him.
                 “Sorry, no. I could have stayed in
the yard if the cop had gone with you, but I can’t let you go down there
alone.”
                 “Patrick—”
                 “Let’s not argue about it, okay. I’m
going in. Give me a stick of that gum and we’ll get this over with.”
                 She stared at him a moment. Patrick
Sullivan was turning out to be a gutsy guy. She handed him a tissue along with
the gum.
                 “When we head down to the cellar,
hold this over your mouth and nose, pinching the nostrils and breathing into
the tissue. That way you’ll rebreathe some of your own air.”
                 He nodded, his expression grim as he unwrapped the gum and stuck it into his mouth. “Let’s
go.”
                 Romy led the way. Despite the open
doors front and rear, the odor was still strong on the main floor; but when she
rounded the turn and stood before the doorless opening leading down from the
kitchen, it all but overpowered her. She heard Patrick groan behind her.
                 “Tissue