Salvaged

Rosalyn had endured disappointing birthdays before, but never one in ankle-deep corpse sludge.

She shifted her boots out of the reddish muck, swallowing hard as her feet suctioned to the floor. The job got more familiar but not easier. Never easier. And this was way beyond skin slippage, this was putrefaction on a level she had never seen before in person. Digital images just didn't capture it, really. The microscopic bacteria on the bodies were having a field day, turning once soft but decidedly human humans into a soup as dark and hideous as black gut blood, the kind of blood one never wanted to see squirt out of anything. But now she had to look at it.

Now it was her job.