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As if hearing the words to a magic incantation, the dead Indian's head began to turn. The desiccated muscles in his neck creaked in protest as the man looked up at Cyrus and Kyna through eye sockets that were as dry and empty as a desert well. |
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"Oh shit!" Kyna moaned. "Here we go again." |
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The corpse climbed to its feet in agonizing slow motion, its bones and stringy tendons popping like microwave popcorn. At last it stood upright for the first time in centuries, swaying drunkenly like a candle flame in a strong wind. |
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"I think I saw this in a Ray Harryhausen movie," Cyrus mumbled. |
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A second and then a third body began to stir and then joined the first as behind them more and more of the dead rose like decaying flowers stretching valiantly to reach the sun until they ringed Kyna and Cyrus inside a wall of petrified flesh. A man's voice exploded inside Cyrus's head and reverberated around inside his skull like the tolling of a Chinese temple bell. |
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Kyna was just turning to run when Cyrus grabbed her arm. "Did you hear that?" |
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"Hear what? Let go of me!" |
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None of the corpses tried to approach Kyna or Cyrus; they merely stood with their arms at their sidesthose that had armslike they were waiting for the crosstown bus. |
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"What do you want?" Cyrus asked. |
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The first Indian raised his arm and pointed at Kyna. "We have come to speak to her." |
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"Why is he pointing at me?" she whispered. |
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"I think they want to powwow," Cyrus whispered in reply. "What do you want?" he asked in a normal tone. |
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"In life, my name was Pablo Morales." |
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"Funny name for an Indian." |
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"He says his name was Pablo Morales." |
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