Smell
Gradually, Jim became aware of a smell. Smell was too polite of a word. It was fucking rank.
Shit. He realized, literally shit. The odor came at him from everywhere, attacking his nose.
Looking around for the first time, Jim saw Them.
There were seven bodies, including Private Dinkins, in the cabin. Some were still strapped into their harnesses, others flopped on the floor. Some did both.
Each one had shit themselves before dying.
It was only natural: a loosening of the muscles, a complete and final relaxation of the body. And it smelled to High Heaven.
'Holy shit.'
Jim thought, and laughed and laughed until he threw up and added another putrid smell to the ones already stewing in the cabin.