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Summary
LAKE COMO, ITALY
The first thing Mac realized was that he was being carried, the second thing he realized was that he’d died.
Death left a very specific taste in his mouth, ashy, like he’d taken a big mouthful of a burned out campfire.
In addition to the taste — though that was always the most distinctive sign — was the bitter cold. Even being soaked in freezing water, as he also happened to be, failed to elicit the depths of cold that haunted him after a revival. It felt like his heart was pumping ice-water instead of blood.
Suddenly he was being lowered, a hand cupping the back of his head on the way down to keep it from knocking against the ground. That alone was enough to cue Mac in on who’d been carrying him. In the list of people who cared about him, he didn’t know anyone else who was strong enough and stubborn enough to lug around his frozen corpse.