Part 38 (1/2)

”You son of a b.i.t.c.h!” Alma Hawkins cried, pus.h.i.+ng forward to loose a wad of spittle that did not reach its target. She had one hand on her roundly pregnant belly as if she could protect the baby inside . . . just as Linda Trevino held Ben and Zeke stood in front of Savannah. Behind her, Big Tim Hawkins stood numbly, his gaze following her the way it might a hypnotist's pocket watch.

Aguilar gestured the scarred man away from Aaron, walked over and picked up Aaron's gun from the ground.

”I agree with you, lady,” Aguilar said, nodding again. ”He is indeed a son of a b.i.t.c.h. Running drugs through your town. Selling to kids. Giving up the names of the motherf.u.c.kers on the Texas Border Volunteers, the guys putting my business on video for the border patrol . . . it's just un-American.”

The cartel enforcer tried to keep a straight face but couldn't manage it, and his men all laughed along with him. Looks of hatred and despair appeared on the faces of the herded pipers who were cl.u.s.tered together with the resurrected.

”Look at that, hermanos. It's true.”Aguilar turned to grin at his men. ”I see dead people.”

More laughter raced around the circle of killers.Aguilar's eyes lit up with dark intelligence and unsettling hunger.

”I mean, I've heard of this kind of s.h.i.+t but never thought I'd see it,” he said.

Zeke felt the others closing in around him and Savannah, everyone wanting to move as far away from the guns as they could, and he pushed back, trying to keep her safe. He glanced up and caught Tommy Jessup gazing at him with desperate eyes, silently imploring him to do something. Zeke turned away; there was nothing to be done except ride it out.

”Mr.Vickers, please,” he heard someone say, but when Zeke glanced at Vickers, he saw that the man still hugged Martha close, his eyes as dead as his wife's.

Zeke glanced around and saw redheaded Harry Boyd holding the hand of his grown son, Charlie, the way he must have done when Charlie was a boy. His expression was stern, his eyes steel, just waiting. Zeke pushed past the Jessup kid and guided Savannah toward Boyd.

”Look after her, Harry,” he said, giving her a last shove. Savannah shuffled enough to get to Boyd and Zeke kissed her temple without looking at her face. If he had, he knew he wouldn't have had the courage to turn away.

”We'll make a deal!” Zeke called out, pus.h.i.+ng his way through the herd.

Half a dozen weapons swung toward him, the dark holes of their barrels almost seeming to dare him to take another step.

”What are you doing?” Arturo Sanchez hissed.

But standing out there, outside the circle of his friends and neighbors and the risen dead who comprised all the hope they had ever mustered, he could see the corpse of Lester Keegan lying in the dirt. Lester had been his best friend-he had come out here to save his son and been murdered for his trouble.

But we can bring him back, Zeke thought, feeling the pipe in his pocket digging into his hip. If we're still alive to do it.

Aguilar stroked his narrow beard, smiling beatifically. ”Well, well. Which one are you?”

”Ezekiel Prater.” He kept his chin up and his eyes locked on Aguilar's when he said it.