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But he was not strong, not like the carreteros and vaqueros and the Indios who made the broad, arid wilds of the north their home.
She felt as if the darkness were watching them, as if it had a mind and a will, as if it wanted them to draw closer.
His neck went stiff, cocked backward, chin thrust in the air. Then, with a crack of bone that stole a gasp from Nena’s chest, his neck bent further back. His neck split at the throat, sliced open from within by a long, clawed hand. A monster clawed its way forth from within the man’s body, slick with viscera, wet as a birth, its long teeth bared. The crack of bones and snap of sinew echoed against the walls of the jacal as its head and shoulders emerged from the chest.
Santa Madre, help me, she thought. Or whatever saint knows about these. Please.
HAahahahhhahahhahaahahahah
