“What’s wrong, boy?” Patrick knocked on Shaun’s door. Hearing nothing from inside, he turned the knob.
The door opened. Odd. Though guys around here often failed to lock up during the day or night, that didn’t include Shaun.
Not with his valuable, government-issue computer equipment.
The sharp, ugly smells assaulted Patrick immediately. “Hey, Shaun,” he called warily into the darkness, even as Duke sped by and started making strange, keening noises.
With an eerie, sick sensation crawling up his back, Patrick turned on the light.
Shaun was at the small table at the side of the compact room that passed as multipurpose kitchenette, office and living room. Slumped over. Head on the table.
Blood pooled around him on the floor. Duke sat, howling softly nearby.
“Hell!” Patrick exclaimed. “Shaun?” He crossed the room, touched the neck of his friend and backup, hunting for a pulse. There was none. Shaun was dead.
And Patrick realized that the laptop computer that Shaun always worked on at that table was missing.
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