"We're looking for a possible body," Remo told him.
"We got them all."
A low moan issued from Chiun's wattled throat.
"Find a female body?" Remo asked.
"No. All males."
"Then you missed one," said Remo, striding into the blackened area.
The smell of fire was like charcoal on the tongue. The sweet stink of roasted human flesh added to his discomfiture. Fire-scarred iron bars lay amid the burnt timbers and light gray ashes, like the bones of some metallic dinosaur.
Remo located the exact spot on the pile of ash that had been his cell, then walked five paces west.
"Right here," said Remo, standing on the spot where Cheeta Ching had been imprisoned.
He took up a bar and began to poke the ashes, which lifted into the warm air like snowflakes from some evil dimension.
Firemen gathered around, silent and curious. "If you're looking for a body," one said, "those ashes you're stirring up may be all that's left."
Lifting a kimono sleeve to his pained face, Chiun turned away.
Remo kept poking until his bar struck something solid. Something that was not dirt and not rock. He got down on his knees and began scooping away ash.
A body was quickly excavated. Remo turned it over.
It was barely recognizable as Cheeta Ching's driver. His face was a seared mass of meat, and his right leg, under the split pants, showed raw bone where the meat and muscle had been torn loose, as if by a wild animal.
"Is it her?" Chiun squeaked, refusing to look directly at the corpse.
"No," said Remo. He continued digging.
Under his feet, the ash abruptly stirred. Feeling the ground move, Remo stepped away. Then the ash showered up, and, like a shark coming to the surface, the ferocious face of Cheeta Ching, face blackened, eyes blazing, mouth red with something redder than lipstick, emerged. Cheeta sat up. Her head swiveled this way and that. Her barracuda eyes settled on Remo's astonished face.
"You!" she shrieked. "What took you so damn long to find me?"
"Cheeta?" Remo said in a dumbfounded voice.
"Cheeta!" Chiun said joyously, coming to her side. "My child! How you must have suffered!"
"Damn right I suffered," huffed Cheeta. "If it weren't for that stupid cameraman, I would have starved to death."
That statement sank in. Everyone, including Chiun, whose eyes went wide with horror, shrank away from the ashy apparition.
"You didn't . . . ?" Remo said.
Cheeta, spanking ashes off her arms, struggled to her feet, saying, "Why not? He was already dead. And he'd been roasted. I had to do something until somebody lifted him off me."
The fire marshal looked stunned. "She ate the guy?" Then, when it had sunk in, he threw up.
"Oh, look at him!" Cheeta blazed. "You'd think all he had to eat for two whole days was white meat."
The Master of Sinanju took his wispy hair in both hands and rent it savagely, crying, "My Cheeta! Forced to eat a lowly white to sustain herself!"
"Don't you dare tell anyone!" Cheeta spat.
"Don't worry," Remo said, backing away. "My lips are sealed."
"Good. This is my story," said Cheeta, looking around. "Where are the cameras? Are there any cameras here? I've got to tell my story! Legendary superanchorwoman's tale of courage and survival. Maybe I can interview myself on Eyeball to Eyeball with Cheeta Ching. "
As Cheeta Ching stormed off, in search of a friendly lens and the alluring red light of air time, Remo said, "I'm sorry, Little Father."
Chiun let go of his hair. He watched Cheeta Ching storm down the mountain trail. "The poor child," he squeaked plaintively. "I must comfort her in her hour of travail." Lifting his skirts, he started off.
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Dark Horse td-89 Page 25
