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hours.”
    Behind me, Allison nodded. “Rigor mortis would have set in immediately.”
    I pointed at a pool of vomit beside the bed. “And there’s this...”
    Samuel had been sick during his convulsions, rolling into the mess as he’d thrashed about. There were traces on the side of his face—but the vomit on the floor hadn’t completely dried, glinting in the light from the ceiling lamps.
    “But if it isn’t tetanus?” Ed asked.
    Before I could answer, the door was thrown open, Des Moore bursting in without invite.
    “Good God.”
    So much for keeping everyone out.
    The security chief rubbed the back of his thick neck. “I came as soon as I heard. Do we know what happened?”
    “That’s what we’re trying to determine. Shut the door, will you?” If Moore was here, I might as well use him. The man had been originally assigned by the Cabal themselves. Soon after he’d arrived in Bristol, we’d got drunk together, one of the last times I allowed my guard to drop. He told me how he’d been a teenager at the time of the Cull, how he’d moved from city to city as the world fell apart, joined various militia. It had been a hard life.
    There was something in his eyes when he spoke of the past, a loss I recognised... Before I knew what I was doing, I’d leant forward and kissed him. We never told anyone about that night. Over the years, mutual embarrassment had given way to passive-aggressive sniping on both sides, but I knew I could rely on him when push came to shove—like now.
    “Chief, I need you to find out exactly what Samuel was fed over the last week.”
    “I can do that,” Ed offered, but I cut him dead.
    “No, it’s better that Chief Moore handles this. Get to the kitchens, quarantine any ingredients used in Samuel’s meals, and check the trash, too. They may have been thrown away.”
    “What may have been thrown away?” Allison asked, touching my arm. “You’re not suggesting that Samuel was poisoned?”
    I ignored her. “Ed, Allison—check if any of the other subjects are exhibiting symptoms. Tightness of the jaw. Difficulty breathing. I’ll perform the autopsy on Samuel myself.” I looked down at the pool of vomit beside the body. “We’ll need a sample of that too, to see what he ingested.”
    Allison was running her hands through her hair, not wanting to believe what she was hearing.
    “Did you get all that?” I asked, switching off the voice recorder. “Allison?”
    She nodded, not looking sure at all. “Yes, got it. Sorry.” She dithered for a moment, before ushering Ed out of the room. “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”
    Moore also turned to leave, but I stopped him. “Des, we need to check the storerooms too, specifically any poisons we use for pest control.”
    His scowled, the dark skin between his brows forming deep furrows. “You mean like rat poison?”
    “I mean exactly like rat poison.” I looked down at Samuel’s body. “Especially anything containing strychnine.”
     
     
    F IVE HOURS LATER and the prospect of a dreamless night of sleep had never seemed so appealing.
    I sat in my office, staring across the complex. The storm had passed, although the clouds were threatening a repeat performance any minute.
    The base was eerily quiet—not that it was ever what you’d call bustling. A complex built for thousands, now home to about sixty. It must have been impressive when it was first opened, with its winding pathways and immaculate gardens, like a university campus. Most of the green spaces were overgrown now, although some were maintained by staff keen to stave off boredom when they weren’t on duty. There were vegetable plots, of course, and a surprisingly healthy orchard near Neighbourhood Three; but some of the gardens were actually quite stunning. Allison and Bets maintained one of the plots, growing roses of all things. It turned out that Allison had quite the green fingers. She’d even asked me if I wanted to join them.
    I’d killed every plant