Neils Sorenson lay spread eagle in the middle of the lab floor, his supine form surrounded by fallen instruments and test tubes. Three rats circled him, but he didn't respond. His eyes were wide open, his mouth slack and blood ran from his mouth, nose, ears and eyes. He hadn't been dead for that long; his body was still warm. That was the assessment of Commander Slattery and Chief Jeter.
"He's just started to stiffen," Slattery observed. "Guess he pissed off one to many people." In spite of the obvious evacuation of his offices, that wasn't what killed him.
"Somebody hit him in the head in the back of the head. Imagine that." Slattery looked around amidst the debris surrounding the doctor. "I don't see the murder weapon."
"What do you think it was?" Jeter asked.
"Not sure, but a wound that small, it could be something like a hammer or a small club."
"Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."
Slattery looked a bit surprised. "Never thought you'd say that, Russ."
"Sorry, sir. I just speak the truth."
"Well, now we've got a murderer onboard. Just what we need in the middle of an apocalypse."
Jeter huffed, "Yeah, really."
Book 2 is coming soon.