A thin red trail flowed over ivory-colored marble.

It curled left and crossed a second tiny stream before pausing to expand at a seam between tiles. The fluid resumed its course until a new stream snaked to join the current, sprouting from the pool of blood three feet away.

William watched the pattern evolve with morbid fascination.

The house was unusually quiet. He stood still; head cocked, listening, no sounds of servants moving or clatter of pans from the kitchen. He glanced at the pendulum clock in the hall. Ten to six.

He crouched by the body sprawled beneath the upstairs balcony.

The back of John Forthwait's head was an ugly mass of brown twists and maroon paste. His face lay turned toward the half-parted doorway, staring with a lifeless eye and open mouth. A crumpled nightshirt draped onto the stained floor, which transformed the white cloth to a shade of burgundy.

Shuffling sounds filtered in from outside. William straightened, hearing his brother-in-law climb the front steps. The door swung open with a blast of morning light. Charles' quiet conversation with Emily and Elizabeth abruptly ended.

“My God, it’s Forthwait!”

Charles twisted to shield the women's wide-eyed glimpses. He looked back quizzically over his shoulder.

William glanced once more at the corpse, and shook his head with sudden impatience at his timid relation. "Don't bother about that, help me roll his body over."

  "She took a deep, shaky breath and the tears overflowed. Her worst fears had come true. Her entire family was gone, and she had no idea if they were alive or dead. Worst of all she was alone in an alien world, consumed by a vast wilderness which cared not if she lived or died. She shook her head and tried to concentrate on a course of action. Her only hope was to ride on to Newcastle and enlist the help of local law enforcement, then return to the desolate scene the next day. Lightening flashed, thunder roared, and cold raindrops began to pummel the frightened refugee. Still, she rode on."