“You gotta learn kid, it’s always the same with these people. He had problems, but he was getting his act together. Bullshit,” Damico shoved the clipboard at her. “I’ll drive, you write.”
Cruz nodded. The missing guy’s Abuela looked like her own, but tough luck for Abuela, her grandson looked like every creep junkie asshole who’d ever hissed at Cruz in the street-
“In a perfect world, you’d mark that ‘NHI” and move on-”
“No humans involved.”
Cruz laughed, she loved it.
Miguel woke underground, the dream of an old woman he loved fading, replaced by burning hunger-
“Look ma’am, if we got no body, we got no reason to be here.”
The jogger was pale. Cruz believed her; she’d seen something in the river.
“I know what I saw-”
Damico waved over the Schuylkill. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. If you did, it-”
“She. The body was a woman.”
Damico gave Cruz a look. “-she’ll pop up. And ma’am, it’s getting dark. It’s not safe for you out here alone.”
Underwater, she clung to a shopping cart on the bottom, listening to the sounds of prey above. She was ravenous but her time would come.
No Humans Involved…
Damico was bit and bleeding bad.
“We gotta get back to the car.”
Cruz looked out the doorway of the abandoned rowhouse.
“They’re all over it.”
“Fucking set up, Jesus,” Damico whined.
Cruz was plotting her route to the car when the floor gave way, spilling them into the basement and the waiting mouths below.
“Back up, back up,” Miller said, twisting in his seat.
Timmons reversed and hit the spotlight. Skinny bodies faded under the El as he did.
Miller was pale.
“Jesus, it can’t be, but two of them junkie fucks looked just like Cruz and Damico.”