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If we fail . . . the consequences are too terrible to contemplate." |
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Cyrus rushed back to the pavilion and peeked through the glass in the door. Kyna was sitting at the table closest to the exit with her arms folded protectively over her chest and the tip of the gun barrel sticking out from under her coat. He opened the door and motioned for her to come. |
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"My god!" Her eyes grew round when she stepped outside. "What happened to your clothes?" |
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Cyrus had put everything back on, but his jeans looked like they had been caught in a lawn mower. "A big dog." |
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"Must have been Cujo's cousin." |
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"Did you call the police?" |
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"Uh, no. The phones don't work." |
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"Okay then, let's get out of here." |
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She handed Cyrus the gun and he replaced it in the holster. |
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Taking her arm, he hustled her to the car, making sure to give the rodeo stadium a wide berth. On the drive back to the hotel, the reality of what had happened to him at the stadium came crashing home. Cyrus hardly said a word the rest of the evening and later, as he lay in bed listening to Kyna's soft snoring, his mind tried to sort through the whole improbable nightmare. |
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I fought with a dead man! |
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And at the time it had seemed the most natural thing in the world. |
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"Okay, fine." His whisper was lost in the dark. "I'll pretend I'm Scarlett O'Hara and think about that tomorrow." |
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So what happened to me? People just don't suddenly turn into the Incredible Hulk. |
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"Adrenaline." He nodded. "Pure and simple. I was scared shitless." |
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Right! Six months ago you couldn't last two rounds with Jimmy Quong and all of a sudden you can rip a dead man apart like he's made out of tissue paper? |
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