Flames erupt from several locations, all over her body, at once, seams of 
lava splitting open along her veins and the heart itself erupting from her 
chest like ball lightning. Her body becomes a burning cross spread out on the 
floor, the bright apex of an inverted cone of turbulent steam and smoke. 
Hackworth notices that the drumming and chanting have completely stopped. The 
crowd observes a long moment of silence while the body burns. Then, when the 
last of the flames have died out, an honor guard of sorts descends from the 
crowd: four men in black body paint with white skeletons painted on top of 
that. He notes that the woman was lying on a square sheet of some kind when she 
burned. Each of the guys grabs a corner of the sheet. Her remains tumble into 
the center, powdery ash flies, flecks of red-hot coals spark. The skeleton men 
carry the remains over to a fifty-five-gallon steel drum and dump it in. There 
is a burst of steam and lots of sizzling noises as the hot coals contact some 
kind of
liquid that was in the drum. One of the skeleton men picks up a long spoon and 
gives the mix a stir, then dips a cracked and spalled University of Michigan 
coffee mug into it and takes a long drink.