The Border

by Steve Schafer

  I open my eyes a short while later and Neck Tattoo is out.

  Quietly, I reach for my book. I look at Arbo and consider waking someone else. But I don’t. He needs to be rallied, and I need my friend back.

  I tap his arm and hold an open page of the book to his face. I’ve written in the margin.

  That's a La Frontera gang sign on his neck. He knows. We need to do something.

  He grabs the pencil and writes back.

  How do you know?

  He keeps pointing at it and looking at me.

  That’s not really proof.

  It's three bars. The one in the middle separates the other two, like a border.

  Huh?

  Never mind! He knows! They know! We need to do something!

  I don’t remember my dad having a tattoo like that.

  Stop it.

  Stop what?

  This. It ends now. We need you back. Believe me, I get it. I'm the one person who really gets it. But we have to get out of here. If not for your dad, then do it for your mom. Or Carmen. Or anybody else who's not lucky enough to still be around. Okay?

  He holds on to the pencil for a while. I give him time.

  Okay. What do we need to do?

  I don't know. That's why I'm writing.

  I think we wait until we get to Ajo.

  And then what?

  Sneak away. What are our other options? Do you really want to run off into the desert?

  Maybe.

  And then what? Where do we go?

  We can follow the lights to Ajo ourselves.

  Where they’ll be waiting for us. They’ll get there before we do. And if that’s really the only town out here, they’ll know that’s where we’re going.

  Good point.

  If we wait, at least nobody there knows we’re coming. We all get there at the same time.

  It makes sense, but I don’t like it. I wish there were a better option. But I can’t think of one.

  I'm going to tell M & G so they know. Or maybe they'll have another idea.

  Arbo nods.

  I turn and gently nudge both of them awake. I point to where they should start reading.

  Read conversation on the next few pages between Arbo and me. They know. We need a plan. Agree? Thoughts?

  Marcos barely lifts his head up off the ground. He grabs the pencil. Gladys reads over his shoulder as he writes.

  Just one request.

  ??

  I want to shoot him.

  I think we're better off sneaking away.

  You sneak. I’ll shoot. Just the jerk with the tattoo.

  Gladys gives me a concerned look. I turn to see Neck Tattoo shifting in his sleep. This could quickly get dangerous if he wakes and reads what we’re writing. I keep a watchful eye on him.

  That will make it harder to get away without being noticed.

  They’re going to notice anyway.

  But it draws attention to us. We need to get out of Ajo fast and quietly.

  How?

  I don't know. I don't know Ajo.

  Then I say we shoot him. One less narco. One less problem.

  I stare at the page, unsure what I can write to take his mind off this path. I’m not sure I can. Fortunately, I’m not the only person who is reading this.

  Gladys grabs the pencil.

  Making it out alive is more important than getting revenge.

  Marcos glares at the page for a few seconds, then drops his head back onto the sand, closes his eyes, and gives a surrendering thumbs-up.

  Gladys grabs the book.

  I’m worried about him.

  Me too.

  He can’t eat anything. He just throws it back up.

  We'll be in Ajo soon.

  He can’t die. I can’t let that happen.

  Tears drop onto the page.

  He's not going to. We're not that far away.

  Hug me. Please.

  I slide over and wrap my arms around her. She buries her wet face in my chest. Her body shakes. She’s trying to be quiet, but soft sobs escape.

  I hold her until she calms.

  She whispers in my ear, “It’s not pretty anymore. I can’t see it.”

  I don’t understand. I stare at her, confused. She pulls away and reaches for the book again.

  The desert. Around us. It’s dark. It’s death. I want out.

  We'll get out.

  I tried to sand-scape this morning and I couldn’t. I wanted to tear it apart. All of it. I hate it. I can’t stand feeling like this.

  It will end.

  Promise me.

  I did. And you promised me.

  We promised we’ll get out. What about Marcos? Do you think he’ll make it until Ajo?

  He has to. And he knows that, so he will. He's tough. He'll find a way.

  If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do. He has to live, Pato.

  I nod.

  I’d trade places with him. I’d die for him. I would. He has to make it. I can’t stand seeing him like this.

  I know. I felt the same way when I was watching Arbo. But he's better now, so there's hope.

  She leans back in and hugs me again. She whispers softly in my ear, “I’m not paying much attention to you. I’m sorry.”

  I turn my mouth to her ear and say, “Don’t worry about it. We have the rest of our lives.”

  She reaches for the book and writes a final note.

  :)

  • • •

  When I close my eyes to rest, sleep engulfs me. Dusk comes in a flash.

  “Cinco minutos,” the leader announces. Five minutes until we leave.

  Gladys and Arbo both shuffle to the bushes, leaving Marcos and me sitting side by side. He looks at me with an expressionless nod. I hand him the water. He concedes to a few sips.

  Neck Tattoo still hovers, but at a safe enough distance that we could talk. We don’t. We watch silently as our camp begins to stir.

  Shoes are laced, packs cinched, snacks eaten, as all prepare for the next step of the journey. Watching the others, I think about what Tito said and about how much I’d like to be with them in other circumstances. I wish I could hear their stories. Maybe it would make me feel better about mine.

  After a few minutes, I get an uncomfortable feeling.

  Something is off.

  It’s that gut voice. The same voice that told me about the black car. I can’t place this feeling, but I’m not going to dismiss it this time. I focus. What is it? What’s off?

  That’s when he catches my attention. Tito stares directly at me. We lock eyes and he holds my stare. Tightly. He’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t figure out what it is.

  “What’s his deal?” Marcos asks through an exhausted breath.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But we need to find out.”

  “Same guy who looked at you before. You know him, don’t you?” Marcos asks.

  I don’t answer. I’m focused on Tito.

  “Hello?” Marcos says.

  Tito looks at the leader, then back at me. Then at Neck Tattoo, then back at me. Then he holds his stare.

  I get it.

  Where is Flannel Shirt?

  I scan in all directions. He’s not in sight.

  Maybe he changed clothes?

  I look at everybody in the group, one by one. None are him.

  “The guide in the flannel shirt is gone,” I say. Now I have Marcos’s attention. He lifts his head and scans the crowd.

  “Crap.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We’re in trouble.”

  “We won’t make it to Ajo,” he says. “We won’t even get close.”

  Neck Tattoo turns toward us. We both hang on to our thoughts for a moment. I t
ry as best I can to look exhausted, not distressed.

  He turns away.

  “Thoughts?” Marcos asks.

  “I have an idea…” I say. I walk him through it.

  “I’m with you,” he says. “But we do it my way.”

  I open my mouth to push back, then stop. His jaws pulse the way they do when he’s locked on a decision.

  I let it go.

  Promises

  As we snake out of our camp, I’m still hopeful that Flannel Shirt will appear. He never does.

  We wait for dark.

  It’s almost an hour before I hear her scream.

  “My ankle!” Gladys yells. She hits the ground with a thud.

  “¿Qué pasó?” Marcos asks.

  “I twisted it. I stepped on something,” Gladys says, her voice dripping with pain. She screams again.

  The two of them are surprisingly believable.

  Neck Tattoo shines a light on her. Gladys is curled on the ground, clutching her ankle.

  Quick footsteps approach.

  “How bad is it?” the leader asks.

  This is my opportunity.

  I back into the darkness, taking slow, soft steps around the others in the group. The farther away I get from the lights shined on Gladys, the harder it is to see. The moon, low in the sky, gives me just enough light to avoid plowing into another person, or some other kind of trouble.

  I gently tug at Tito’s hand, and he follows me a few steps into the desert.

  “How long ago did he leave?” I whisper.

  “An hour or two before we started walking,” Tito says.

  “They’re going to try to take us before we get to Ajo,” I say.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “We need your help.”

  “Tell me what I can do.”

  I see them lifting Gladys to her feet. I don’t have much time. I set down my bag and rush through the plan.

  • • •

  I’m in the back now with Arbo. Marcos is in front of him and Gladys limps ahead of all of us.

  I watch the moon and wait for it to touch the horizon. As it sinks, the faint light around us fades, thickening the shadows, plunging us further into darkness.

  My palms sweat, the same as the rest of me. With each step forward, my pulse deepens, like the penetrating thump of a low drum. It throbs against my neck. I can hear the blood course through my ears. My breaths become short and loud. I wonder if I’ll be able to hear the sound from where I am, above all the noise I’m making.

  But when it finally comes, it’s clear and unmistakable.

  Rattle, rattle.

  Rattle, rattle.

  The woman with the baby shrieks.

  Someone yells, “¡Culebra!” I think it’s her husband.

  Other shouts follow. I hear panicky feet stomping at the ground.

  Neck Tattoo fires up his flashlight and charges by me, light in one hand and gun in the other. As he passes Marcos, he nosedives into the dirt. His flashlight bounces off the ground and tumbles erratically, finally coming to rest at an angle that points outward into the desert.

  Neck Tattoo lies splayed on the ground in front of me.

  Marcos leaps on top of him, blasting the wind from his lungs. The dark mass of their two bodies begins to twist violently on the desert floor.

  A gut-wrenching thought cycles over and over in my head. All we had to do was run away. We could have simply let Neck Tattoo join the snake hunt. But I gave in…

  I look at the group ahead of us.

  Rattle, rattle.

  The screams and stomps continue. A beam of light whips around at their feet.

  And in front of me, the struggle continues. They grumble. They tumble. They bleed precious time from the clock. I’d help, but I wouldn’t know how. It’s impossible to tell who is who in the dark.

  Rattle, rattle.

  The sound is farther away now. Tito is moving to give us more time, but he can’t do it forever. If it goes on for too long, they’ll figure it out. For now, fresh shrieks emerge.

  We need to go. Now.

  I grab the flashlight from the ground and shine it on Neck Tattoo and Marcos. It’s a risk, but I’m hoping the group ahead is too distracted to notice.

  Marcos is on top with one hand planted in Neck Tattoo’s face. Then I see what really matters. Neck Tattoo’s gun. It’s buried in Marcos’s stomach, with the barrel pointed out to the side. They both have a hand on it. They rock back and forth, in surges, each fighting to take control.

  I think back to Arbo’s backyard, when I stood by and watched. I won’t do that again. I have to help.

  But I’m too late. When I’m about to lunge, Marcos flops onto his side. As he does, a bright flash of light pulses with a deafening bang.

  Gladys screams.

  I jump, and the flashlight falls out of my hands.

  Again, the blasts continue. This time, they’re muffled, as if pressed against something.

  Neck Tattoo gasps.

  Marcos jumps off him. “Let’s go,” he says.

  “My leg,” Gladys whimpers. She’s sitting, clutching it with both hands. This time, she’s not pretending.

  My heart drops.

  Arbo grabs the flashlight from the ground and shines it on her leg. Her thigh is bloody.

  Another flashlight shines on us as a figure charges toward us from the group ahead.

  “¡Paren!” shouts the leader.

  Marcos shoots. It stops the leader in his tracks. The group erupts into chaos.

  Marcos shoves the gun at me. “Take this,” he says.

  He slings Gladys up over his shoulder. Arbo lights a path into the desert and we bolt out into it.

  The leader fires two shots. I hear one of the bullets whiz by, which must mean that it almost hit my head.

  “Turn off the light!” I yell at Arbo as we all duck.

  We’re back in the dark. Gladys cries softly. I wish I could do something, but I can’t. We can’t. Not right now. First, we have to get out of this situation alive.

  A beam shines in our direction.

  “Shoot!” Marcos says to me.

  I aim at the light and almost pull the trigger. Then I remember the other pollitos—they’re all around him. I tilt the barrel up to the horizon. I’d love to knock him down, but I can’t chance hitting one of them.

  I fire.

  “We can see you,” Marcos yells. “Try to shoot us, and we’ll shoot you first.”

  The flashlight turns off. We’re left blinded, except for the dim shadows of objects immediately in front of us.

  A shot blasts into the air. The bullet pings off a nearby rock.

  We hit the ground and crawl. Marcos has Gladys flopped on top of him, like she’s riding a horse on her stomach. I’m in the lead, shuffling forward on my knees with my backpack out in front of me, to take the sting out of anything I bump into.

  Another shot sounds off from behind us.

  “Shoot!” Marcos whispers.

  “Then he’ll know where we are,” I say.

  Another shot follows.

  Then another.

  And another.

  It’s terrifying. We crawl faster.

  “You’ll die out there on your own,” the leader yells. “Then I’ll find your bodies and turn you in just the same!”

  I feel the ground sloping slightly downward. It leads into a dry creek bed. It’s narrow, but perfect. It’s the dumb luck we need.

  We’re back on our feet—three of us, at least—and the path ahead is clear.

  “Gladys!” Marcos whispers.

  “I’m still here,” she answers.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I got you shot.”

  You should be sorry, you idiot! Run. That was all we n
eeded to do.

  I want to kick him—and myself, for letting him have his way. We press forward.

  I hear Marcos mumbling to his little sister, as the noises from the group fade into the distance.

  A few minutes later, I stop. “We’re far enough away now. We need to look at her leg,” I say.

  “Don’t shine the light,” Gladys says.

  “We need to see it,” Marcos replies.

  “No. They’ll see us. Just stop the bleeding.”

  “How bad is it?” Marcos asks. He’s sobbing now.

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “Use the watch, and we’ll block the light,” I say.

  I take off my shirt and hand it to Arbo. He spreads it out in the direction of the others. Marcos shines the soft light on her leg. It’s a dark, wet mess.

  Marcos turns away and vomits.

  We’re left back in the dark.

  “Where does it hurt?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  I grab the watch from Marcos and shine it again on her leg. I see the hole in the outside of her right thigh. Blood flows out from the wound.

  I want to vomit too. I want to scream.

  This isn’t real! It can’t be.

  I want to close my eyes, wake up back in Mexico, and discover that this whole thing is just a nightmare.

  I want to shoot Neck Tattoo myself.

  I want to shoot Marcos for messing everything up. I want to scream at him and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Why did he have to be the hero? We were so close. All we had to do was run, but he couldn’t let it go. We didn’t need a hero. We needed to get away. Period.

  And I let it happen. I let him talk me into it. I could have stopped this. I had my chance.

  And now…

  I want to give up. I don’t see a way out.

  But I don’t want Gladys to know any of this. I want her to know that everything is going to be fine.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “You’re losing a little blood. We need to wrap it, that’s all.”

  I turn off the light, and grab my shirt from Arbo.

  “This is going to hurt, but you can’t scream. Okay?”