Minutes to Burn Page 48

  In the shed at the top, the desiccated body of the larva lay beneath the dangling hook, protected by the shade of the shed. The abdomen and thorax had long rotted away in the sweltering heat, but the sclerotized head had just begun to crack. Green hemolymph oozed out, working its way slowly down the side rail of the dilapidated ladder, its pungent odor thick in the air. The bitch sat, head cocked, watching the ripe fluid slowly descend.

  In the distance, the dot of a boat appeared on the horizon, Diego on the deck, Ramoncito laughing and swinging from the boom. It was still a good few hours away from shore.

  The hemolymph pooled momentarily above a crooked 2 x 4 that served as one of the ladder's steps before spilling over and snaking the rest of the way down the side rail.

  The dog stepped forward and began lapping.

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