The Graveyard of the Flying Machines Part VI

Morgan walked forward to the center of the bridge and rested a hand on the pedestal where maps and charts normally sat. He stood and waited for her to show again.

When she did not he said: “Look, kid, please don’t make me come in there looking for you, ok? I really got a lotta stuff to get to, and I ain’t got time for this. If you come out I can help you.”

At those last two words the half hidden face appeared again. Morgan nodded to show he was serious. She slid silent from around the bank and he saw her in full.

She wore only a knee-length silk slip. Both the girl and the slip were thin and dingy. He put her age at about nine. There was something almost soggy looking about her, a contrast to the barren, not-quite-desert wastes around the graveyard.

The girl shuffled forward and Morgan knelt in front of her. Before he could speak, she opened her mouth.

His first thought was that there was something wrong with his ears.

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