“C.G.D. Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Adriana said, rubbing the back of her neck.
Diego said, “If gene therapy will help, then she must have—”
“—gotten it from one of her parents,” Sissy said quietly. “She got the bad gene from me. I’m a carrier, but I’m not affected.”
Another of life’s clumsy ironies walked up to Diego and kicked him in the gut. Adriana was crossing the 38th latitude to die. Emily was crossing to live.
“Emily has had pneumonia six times in the past two years,” Sissy said, her eyes watering. She turned and looked at Cutbirth. “I’ve got to get her across the border, Mr. Cutbirth. I’ve got to save my daughter’s life.”
“What makes you think things will be different on the other side of the border, Hummingbird?” Cutbirth said.
Sissy wiped her tears and a crafty smile brightened her face. “Did anyone know that the Google filter got zapped last month?” Her eyes traced over each of them.
“I heard that,” Yong said. “I thought it was just wishful thinking.”
“No, the filter somehow got zapped,” Sissy said, nodding. “I know it got zapped because I was at the censored País Nuevo Google site when it happened. My computer screen went black and a different Google logo all of a sudden popped up. The U.S.S. of A. flag was flying in one corner of the logo, so I knew the País Nuevo filter must have gotten zapped or something and I was getting the U.S.S. of A. uncensored version. Anyway, I did a quick search for C.G.D. therapy and found a website for hospitals in the U.S.S. of A. that offered the treatment. It said the treatment was offered as part of the country’s health care system at dozens of hospitals across the country—from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon. I hadn’t read very far when the filter went back up and I lost the site.” Sissy looked at each of them as she spoke. “I knew at that very moment that I had to get Emily across the border.” There was a thoughtful tone in Sissy’s voice, one that Diego had not heard before.
“I’m sorry about your daughter’s illness, Hummingbird, but you’ve put everyone in jeopardy,” Cutbirth said. “We’re less than a hundred miles from the Missouri Port of Entry. By now the word is out. By now the National Police and the Port’s immigration authorities will have heard the report. They’ll nail us as we enter Missouri. Kidnapping is a capital offense, in case you didn’t know.”
“So close,” Yong said, looking at Sam, whose shoulders were slumped.
“I had no part in this!” Henry announced, moving away from the knot of people gathered around the galley television, his orange backpack slung over one shoulder. Fully recovered from his encounter with the wooden baton—the bandage Adriana had made was still wrapped securely around his head—he said, “I’ll tell the authorities I had nothing to do with—”
“Shut up, Henry,” Cutbirth said in a quiet, but firm voice. “You’re not going to tell anyone anything.”
“And I’m not going to allow my daughter to die,” Sissy countered, standing behind Emily, both arms now wrapped protectively around her. “I’m betting Emily’s life that I’ll find help for her north of the 38th latitude. It’s a gamble, I know.”
“I don’t want to go back, Mr. Cutbirth,” Emily pleaded, tears filling her eyes. “I want to live with my mother, not my father. And I really, really don’t want to die.”
Adriana said, “I think Sissy and Emily need our help, Mr. Cutbirth.”
“Look!” Yong cried, pointing through the windshield at the highway ahead.
A large electronic message billboard was flashing an Amber Alert. The government billboard was one of the many such communication broadsides lining Interstate 40. The billboard showed a picture of Emily, the Winnebago’s California license plate number, and a detailed description of the vehicle.
“So close,” Yong repeated.
“Kidnapping is a capital offense,” Sam said quietly. “Death by hanging.”
“Will you help us, Mr. Cutbirth?” Emily asked, big tears rolling down her freckled cheeks.
“I think we should vote on it,” Henry said.
“Vote on what?” Diego said.
“Vote on whether Sissy and Emily stay with us.” Henry made it seem like logic demanded it.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Adriana said.
“You are one cruel son of a bitch,” Diego said, feeling a sudden and clear surge of anger.“A secret ballot,” Henry said. “We’re all adults. We’re all in this together. Each of us should have a say whether to allow Sissy and Emily to stay. It’s obvious that their presencejeopardizes the mission.”
“The mission?” Yong said. “You make it sound like this some sort of covert military operation, Henry. Totally bogus.”
Diego said, “What do you suggest we do, Henry? Drop them at the side of the road?”
“Exactly.”
“You cold motherfu—” Diego couldn’t finish the thought. His fists were doubled so tightly that the fingernails cut into his palms.
“I’ll second that,” Sam said. “You are the devil in disguise, Henry Bilderberg.”
“I can tell you how the balloting will go, Henry,” Adriana said. “Eight in favor of them staying and one no—you.”
“Fine, then nobody should be opposed to a vote,” Henry said. “Sissy and Emily shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”
“In that case it would be six yes and one no,” Adriana said.
“I think you might be surprised,” Henry said. A devious smile widened his waxy face.
An awkward silence followed.
I wonder, Diego thought.
“I may have forgotten to mention it, Henry,” Cutbirth said. “This isn’t a democracy. I’m the alpha male and I’m telling you we don’t have time for this kind of nonsense.”
Henry snickered. “You disappoint me, Cutbirth. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Smarter than what?” His caveman face folded into a belligerent frown.
“You have everything to gain and nothing to lose with a vote,” Henry said. “If Sissy and Emily are voted off the coach you won’t have to worry about a frightened ten-year-old queering your plans to get us across the border.” Henry looked at Yong and Sam. “No offense, boys.”
A thoughtful expression slid across Cutbirth’s chiseled face. With a slight nod he said, “I see your point.”
“We should hurry,” Rosie said, peering through the windshield at the Amber Alert.
Henry looked at each of them and said, “It’s a simple question. Should we allow Sissy and Emily to stay? Yes or no?”
“Okay, sure. Let’s take a vote,” Cutbirth said. “Do it quickly.”
“If Emily and I are voted off, will I get my money back?” Sissy asked.
Cutbirth said, “What good will your money be? Can’t spend it in jail.”
“Or on the gallows,” Henry said.
“Shut the fuck up, Henry!” Diego said. He was one baby step from dumping all his pent-up anger on Henry.
“Hey, I don’t make the laws,” Henry retorted.
“If you’re voted off,” Cutbirth told Sissy, “I can’t give you your money back. Remember, I have a ‘no refund’ policy.”
What a surprise, Diego thought.
Cutbirth ripped a sheet of paper from a pad he kept under the dash, and then tore seven small squares from the sheet. He handed everyone a square. “Write yes or no on your ballot. Fold it, and then drop it into my coffee mug.” He walked to the front of the coach and removed an empty coffee mug from a plastic holder that was attached to the dashboard. Everyone found a ballpoint pen or a pencil, and then scribbled on the paper ballots. Cutbirth collected the folded ballots in his coffee mug and walked to the front of the coach.
“It takes four votes for a majority,” Cutbirth said. He set the mug on console, and removed the first ballot. He unfolded it. “Yes.” He removed a second vote. “No.” He read the third. “No.” He looked up. “That’s one yes and two no to keep Sissy and Emily.”
“We can cou
nt,” Diego snapped, wondering who, beside Henry, had voted to dump Sissy and her daughter by the side of the road.
Cutbirth pulled the fourth ballot from the mug and read it. “Yes.”
“Tied,” Sam whispered.
Cutbirth read the fifth ballot. “No.”
“Are you shitting me?” Diego boomed.
“I don’t believe it!” Adriana said.
Cutbirth held up the ballot. “See for yourself. It’s a no.”
Henry looked at Sissy. “One more no and I’m afraid you and Emily will have to say your goodbyes.”
“I can count, too, you worthless little man,” Sissy spat.
Cutbirth read the sixth ballot. “Yes.”
“Tied again,” Sam whispered.
“This final ballot will be the deciding vote,” Cutbirth said. “Yes and Sissy and Emily stay. No and they go.” He removed it from the mug, unfolded it and looked at it for what Diego thought was too long.
“Enough with the dramatics, Cutbirth,” Diego said. “Read the goddamned ballot.”
“It’s a yes,” Cutbirth said.
“Thank God,” Adriana said.
Diego could see the swell of tension leaving Sissy’s face. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such a display of relief in another human being. Sissy placed her hand over her chest as if she was having a hard time drawing a clean breath, then presented a smile that was neither sad nor happy—it was some crazy expression of both.
“We get to stay, right, Mom?” Emily asked, looking up at her mother with wide, anxious eyes.
“Yes, baby, we get to stay.”
Diego tried to imagine who had cast the three no votes. Henry was one, of course, but who were the other two? It wasn’t Adriana or him so it had to be either Cutbirth, Rosie, Yong, or Sam. Diego decided he didn’t want to know.
***
It was nearly ten p.m. when the Winnebago passed the bullet-ridden road sign—WELCOME TO MISSOURI—the Toyota Himalayan dogging its every move. To Diego’s mounting dismay, Cutbirth didn’t seem troubled by the Toyota’s presence. Diego had watched the big pickup truck throughout the day from the master bedroom’s rear window. The tautness in his chest had returned, and it was becoming harder and harder to draw a full breath.
The motor home continued to avoid the main highways, sticking to a time-consuming network of meandering back roads. Cutbirth had avoided another fuel stop by tapping into the Winnebago’s 100-gallon reserve fuel tank outside Vinita, Oklahoma. Many of the seldom-traveled country roads were unpaved and most were unmarked, and Cutbirth was forced to take GPS readings at every far-flung country intersection.
The specter of a kidnapping charge hanging over each of them, Henry persisted with his relentless whining, and Diego fantasized throwing the little weasel to the floor and pummeling him with his fists.
It was a little past two in the morning and the motor home was traveling down County Road HH a few miles east of Ava, Missouri, when, through the trailing curtain of dust, the spinning red and blue beams of light from a National Police car reflected eerily in the rearview monitor. The unnerving sound of a siren followed seconds later.
Diego and Adriana had emerged from their bedroom and stood in the hallway, their eyes fixed on the swirling beacons of light filling the Winnebago’s rear window.
From his cab seat, Cutbirth gazed at the monitor and uttered what sounded like the angry growl of a dog. The patrol car settled in a few yards behind the Winnebago.
Tense and unable to sleep, Yong and Sam were sitting on the sofa, gazing at the dashboard’s rearview monitor.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to be on television,” Sam said in a nervous voice.
“What’s that suppose to mean?” Henry asked, peering at the police car in the monitor. He, too, had been unable to sleep.
“Executions are televised,” Sam said.
“Think you can handle it, Henry?” Yong asked. “Think you can make that final walk up those stairs without shitting your pants?” Yong wrapped both hands around his own throat and made a choking sound. “They say the prisoners that don’t shit their pants before they drop always do when they reach the end of the rope.”
Henry stuttered and stammered and finally said, “Shut up!”
Cutbirth brought the motor home to a gradual stop in the middle of what was little more than a pasture road—there were no shoulders on the ten-foot-wide road, only deep ditches. The police siren continued to wail, and the red and blue lights cast eerie, colorful shapes on an adjacent cornfield. They were miles from the nearest town. The police car parked diagonally across the narrow dirt road, as if to block any retreat.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Cutbirth told the group, opening the door and climbing out of his seat. “This might be nothing more than a routine stop.” Cutbirth grabbed the travel documents from the shelf beneath the dashboard and made his way down the stairs.
Diego didn’t think Cutbirth sounded convincing. A routine stop? Hardly.
Sissy and Rosie stood at one side of the rear window, their faces pressed against the glass. Emily hunkered down beside the bed, her eyes the size of egg yolks.
Diego took Adriana’s hand and they made their way down the narrow hallway to the master bedroom and joined Sissy and Rosie at the window. Diego wanted to hear the details of this “routine stop” and he cracked the window. Cutbirth walked into view below.
The National Police officer, a tall, big shouldered man, turned off his siren, then climbed out of his vehicle, his five-shot .45 Colt revolver drawn. “¡Eso es suficiente cercano!” he warned Cutbirth, who was approaching the patrol car. “That’s close enough!”
Cutbirth stopped 15 feet short of the vehicle, directly below the window.
Standing behind his open car door, the officer made a gesture with his sidearm, which he rested on the top of the door. “¡Obtiene esas manos en el aire! ¡Ahora!” the officer yelled. “Get those hands in the air! Now!”
“What’s this all about, officer?” Cutbirth asked pleasantly, raising his hands, one of which clutched the travel papers.
“I think you know what it’s about!”
“Enlighten me, officer.”
“¡No trata mi paciencia, el hombre!”
“No, officer,” Cutbirth said with a wide, earnest grin, “I have no intention of trying your patience. I will fully cooperate. I have nothing to hide. Nothing to—”
“Shut up! Keep your hands raised and lie flat on the ground!”
“Sweet Jesus,” Diego said softly, heaving an anxious sigh. The tightness in his chest was unbearable and he struggled to fill his lungs with air.
When Cutbirth hesitated, the officer yelled “Down! Now!”
Cutbirth had taken a knee and was about to lie on the ground when a soft thud broke the nighttime stillness. The police officer uttered a sharp groan and lurched forward, and in the next instant the deadly crack of a rifle shot echoed across the Missouri countryside.
Latitude 38 Page 15