"Yeah, that is so not a sprain," Atticus says. As R moves closer that smell gets stronger, wafting toward him, and Atticus takes an instinctive step back. "Do you smell...?"

He looks from R's face to his arm and takes another sniff of the air. He's searching for something under the dead smell, something that should belong to R, but he doesn't find it.

"Jesus," he blurts out. "You're dead."