The voices had stopped, and from somewhere outside, a door slammed. Then heavy, rapid footsteps.
The door flew open and Cristobal stepped into the room, shirtless and panting. Sweat slid over the skeletal ink on his torso. His gold tooth glinted in the dancing light, and he stepped toward Marta with a look of violence in his eye, then Alma screeched again, threw the head at him.
“Alma? ¿Qu..qué carajos estás haciendo? ¿Cuál es tu jodido problema?” He dodged the head, then rushed her, grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her against the wall.
“Do you love her?” Alma said. “Your whore? ¿Tú la amas, Cristobal?” She lay on her side, her full belly and one breast exposed and hanging over.
Cristobal slapped her hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Alma’s head jerked toward the floor, and she let it hang there, her hair drooping in a black sheet and concealing her face.
“What did I tell you, Alma? Huh?”
Marta stared at the bedroom door that stood open. She nearly made a run for it, but she didn’t know where she would go once she was out of the room. Just thinking about Gustavo chasing her again, his snarling face behind his blue mask, kept her rooted to the spot.
Cristobal swung his eyes at Marta, his tattooed flesh reddening and the veins standing out. “Come here, Marta.”
She stayed where she stood, and he jumped at her, grabbed her by the back of the neck. The pressure made Marta squint, her mouth open as he squeezed.
“You see that bitch down there? I’ll tell you what, bonita. I want you to stomp on her stomach. Stomp it until the motherfucker inside it slides out.” He shoved Marta toward Alma.
Alma tried to sit up and Cristobal hit her with a closed fist, sent her crashing back to the floor. A small laugh rattled from her throat. “You can’t kill our baby, pendejo. He’s too strong. I can feel how strong he is.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Cristobal gripped Marta by the back of the neck again and threw her forward. “Do it. You kill that fucking baby, and I’ll let you go. How’s that, Marta? Huh?”
Marta didn’t believe him. But she thought about it. She hated herself for it, but she thought about stomping that fucking baby flat.
He said he’d let me go. What if he does? You were going to use her to escape anyway, and here’s your chance.
“Go ahead, bonita.”
Alma pushed herself to her knees, and when Cristobal let go of Marta to hit his sister again, Alma dodged it, reached up and raked her nails across his face.
Cristobal hissed, cupped his cheek, and when he went for her again, Alma had already made it to her feet, grabbed another head from the shelf and cracked him in the cheekbone with it.
Cristobal dropped to a knee and growled.
Alma’s face glistened with tears and snot and she lifted the head up with both hands, spit bubbles forming and popping at the corners of her mouth. “I want you to love me, Cristobal. Me! Why can’t you love me!”
She threw the head at him and ran from the room, sobbing.
“…fucking bitch… Alma! You get back here!”
He ran after her, his face streaked with blood. Marta nearly ran after him, wanting anything but to be locked in this room anymore. A door down the hall slammed, and then Cristobal slammed the bedroom door, locked it.
“No! Let me out of here!” Marta banged her good fist against the door, kicked at it, threw her shoulder into it. She pressed her forehead against the wood, and though she tried not to cry, tried to be strong, the tears won and flowed freely.
***
Felix drove his car up and down the border, looking for anything that would jump out at him as some kind of clue. Anything. But it all looked the same. Just fucking dry desert. He couldn’t remember how to get to the spot she’d taken him to yesterday, the spot where he proposed to her and everything went to shit.
It’s my fault. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Marta, where are you, baby? Oh god, please…” He slammed his palms into the steering wheel as he continued speeding over the dry, cracked earth. Something up ahead…on the ground. It glinted in the sunlight, and Felix smashed down on the brakes, jumped out of the car and sprinted toward it.
Water bottles. Crushed and lying in the dirt. Felix picked one up with a shaking hand, turned it to see the label. Felix had bought them, figured water was water so getting the cheaper store brand wouldn’t matter. The store’s logo stared up at him, and he rose to his feet, squeezing the empty plastic with one hand as he used the other to shade his eyes. His head swiveled in all directions.
“Marta!”
There!
The abandoned house. It was the same one he had seen yesterday, the one Marta had recorded. She’s in there…she has to be!
He ran back to the car, popped the trunk. The tire iron was hot in his grip, and the man from the taco trailer popped into his head. That gold fucking tooth shining in his mouth.
If you’ve hurt her…I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll kill you and anybody else who gets in my way.
The snarling face in the Lucha Libre mask burned into his mind, and a shudder of fear rode his flesh, but he stomped toward the house anyway. Nothing could stop him now. Nothing could keep him from taking Marta away from this place.
When he reached the house, he stood outside of it for a moment. Listening. Wood creaked and dust slapped against the rotting planks as dry gusts of wind blew. But he heard no voices.
“Marta! I’m coming for you!” He held the tire iron over his head and charged into the broken door. The wood disintegrated as he burst through it. A hoarse battle cry exploded from his throat, and he ran in swinging.
The only thing that greeted him was the sweet, hot scent of rot. It engulfed him like a swimming pool, and he winced, used the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth.
The house was gutted, looked like a barn, and at first glance, he could see that nobody was there. Nobody alive anyway. On the other side of the house, lying in a patch of dry grass was at least three bodies. From the look of it, they’d been there for a while, a few months at the very least.
“Oh jesus christ…” The headache that Felix had been ignoring all day reminded him of its presence, and he fell to his backside while he focused on keeping his gorge down.
Three adults. Two men and one woman. Felix could tell their sex by their clothing. Their flesh was shriveled, dried up. The man closest to Felix was torn open at the stomach, the intestines dragged out sloppily over the floor, dark purple and dehydrated.
Felix rose to his feet, but kept his shirt collar over the bottom half of his face. He took tentative steps toward the bodies, squinting against the sting of the putrescence floating in the hot air. He remembered what Marta had said about people taking shelter in places like this after their journey across the desert, too exhausted to go any further until they rested. These people must have been on the verge of death when they arrived, just laid themselves here and died.
The closer he got, the more potent the atmosphere became. Flies burst into the air as Felix stepped up to the corpses, the raisined flesh thrashing with maggots. Two lines of ants marched along the floor, one into the dead meat, the other out of it. Felix swatted at the flies that landed on him, growing more sick to his stomach imagining the corpse juice coating their spindly legs.
Acid stung the back of his throat as he saw the bite marks in the bodies, big chunks of meat missing along the legs and torsos. Felix was ready to leave, get outside where he could breathe. But something caught his eye. The two men lay on their backs, both of their mouths stretched open, their eyes squeezed shut. The woman lay on her stomach…and something lay beneath her. Felix stretched his neck to get a better look, and saw the small, curled hand sticking out. No bigger than a cat’s paw. A toy car was clutched in the gray, boney fingers.
“Oh god…”
Something moved behind him. He clutched the tire iron and spun on his heels. From this angle, he could see a small niche on the far wall. Shadow cov
ered it, but as Felix stared hard into the space, he saw the two silver eyes emerging from the darkness there.
A low, rattling growl grew in volume as the eyes stared Felix down.
“Fuck me.” The tire iron whistled as Felix slashed at the air with it. “Stay back! Stay the fuck back!”
The dog took slow steps forward, its muzzle bathed in red and black. Its black lips curled back to show its yellow canines, and it snapped at the air, licked its chops as it continued to close the distance between it and Felix.
Felix stomped the floor, swung his weapon again. But it only excited the dog. The dripping jaws snapped and the dog began trotting, craving the fresh meat of Felix’s body.
“Shit…” Felix bolted for the door, lowering his head and pushing himself with everything he had.
The dog snarled, barked. Its nails clicked over the hard earth as it gave chase.
Felix covered his face with his arm as he burst through the jagged opening in the door, and at the very same moment the fresh air hit him, a sharp, brutal pain erupted in his leg.
He was yanked backward, hard, pulling him off his feet. His teeth cracked against the ground and dust dried his mouth at once.
The jaws tightened over his leg, just above the ankle. A shriek shotgunned from his mouth. When he tried to turn and sit up, face the wild dog, it only shook its head, tried pulling him back into its lair.
“Ffuuucckk!”
The tire iron lay just beside him, and he reached for it, got another shake of the dog’s head. He clenched his teeth and growled, grabbed the metal rod.
The dog lowered its head and pulled, taking slow steps backward as it dragged its catch.
Felix swung with everything he had, caught the dog on the top of the head. It yelped, but didn’t loosen its grip. Another shake of the head, harder this time, violent thrashes from left to right as a ravenous growl emanated from its throat.
Flesh tore, teeth sunk deeper.
“Ahhhh…jesus…”
Cling!
He hit it again.
Cling cling cling
The dog no longer responded to the metal colliding with its skull, had its mind on meat and meat alone. It tasted fresh blood now, not the rotten corpse juice it had been living on.
A gash had opened on the dog’s face. Blood rushed down and looked purple as it soaked into the black fur.
Felix was dragged another foot or so, his leg now over the threshold, bits of wood jabbing his calf.
“You motherfucker…”
He lifted the tire iron over his head, held it with both hands, flat end down. The metal shoveled into the dog’s open head wound, hit bone, flayed a strip of flesh away.
The dog shrieked, made a noise that sounded eerily human. Its grip loosened slightly, its eyes locked onto Felix’s.
Felix hit it again, stuck the metal into an eye, pushed and twisted. The dog opened its jaws just enough for Felix to pull his leg free.
The dog scraped at its mangled face with the side of its paw, rubbed its head in the dirt.
Felix hopped to his feet, able to stand on both despite the pain radiating up from his leg wound.
The dog growled, leapt at Felix in a final desperate attack.
The tire iron smashed into its head and it hit the dirt, its chest rising and falling as its tongue lolled from its mouth. Blood and saliva turned the dirt to mud around its head.
Felix screamed at the sky, his face pointed at the sun. “Marta!” Her name repeated as it echoed across the vast desert. “I’ll find you!”
He roared as he rained blows down onto the dog’s head, not stopping even when the dog’s skull caved in and the kicking of its legs ceased.
11
Marta woke up on the floor. Disorientation fogged her mind, and she blinked, cringed at the awakening pain sparkling across her body.
Gustavo sat on the bed, excitedly watching his video. Two Lucha Libres grappled with each other on screen, then the smaller one flipped his body around his opponent’s, gripped him by the head with his thighs, and tossed him across the ring. Gustavo chuckled, flailed his limbs like a hyperactive child.
The giant had his blue spandex on, but these looked new, brighter. Blood free. His shiny boots were pulled tight over his calves. He turned toward Marta, stuck his tongue out down to his chin. “Whuaaaa!”
Marta sat up, pressed her body into the corner.
Gustavo laughed, pounded his chest, then flexed his arms at her. His biceps were like melons, the veins criss-crossing and bulging under his skin like vines. The gold belt sat in his lap, and he rubbed a loving hand over its surface between grunts of excitement. “Oro.”
A noise blasted from outside of the bedroom. Downstairs. Sounded like some kind of alarm.
Gustavo started, licked his lips and the fabric surrounding his mouth. “Carne,” he growled. “Cerdos.”
He jumped out of bed, paused his tape, then stomped toward Marta.
“Get your fucking hands…no! No!”
The giant lifted her over his shoulder with ease, tossed the gold belt over his other. His body smelled of aged cheese, and Marta pressed her hands against his back and lifted her head away from his skin as he carried her out of the room and down the stairs.
The alarms continued to wail, and when they reached the first floor, Marta saw Cristobal standing in the corner of the living room area where a series of old-looking computer monitors sat huddled together. Black and white images moved on the bubbled screens…looked like a man beating something with a stick.
Cristobal nodded slightly, scratching the stubble on his chin, the tip of his tongue prodding his gold tooth. The underside of his nails were caked with black filth. A flesh-colored bandage clung to his cheek where Alma had scratched him. He turned his attention toward Gustavo and Marta, smiled wide.
“Set her down, Gustavo. I wanna show her something.”
Gustavo did, but kept a heavy hand on her shoulder, pressing down on it.
“You see him?” Cristobal pointed to the screen. “That’s your husband, ain’t it, Marta? I almost cut that motherfucker just last night.” He snickered and glared at the screens.
Marta’s flesh went cold and her mouth dried up. She squinted, watched the man pummel what looked like a dead dog. A pool of black blood spread out around the dog’s head as the man beat it into the dirt.
Felix?
The man had his back turned to the camera, and it was a far enough distance away from him that it was hard to tell if it was Felix or not. But she knew it was. She could tell by the way he stood, the way he moved. Then he turned, wiped the spattered blood from his face.
Felix!
“He get off on killin’ animals, bonita?” Cristobal clicked his tongue as he pulled a white t-shirt over his head and pushed his arms through, then plucked a set of keys from the table holding the monitors. “Cuz I do. And I’m gonna make that fucker squeal like the pinche cerdo he is.”
It took a second before Marta understood what was happening. The monitors…these bastards have cameras at the border. That’s how he knew I was there.
She turned toward Cristobal as he swung the front door open. Gustavo’s grip had loosened, his attention on something across the room. The second Marta pulled away from him, the giant growled, whipped his attention back toward her, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet.
Her feet kicked and she thrashed her head and arms. “No! Leave him alone!”
Cristobal winked, then disappeared out of the door. Only a minute later, the pickup roared to life and its tires crunched over rocks and dirt as it drove away.
Gustavo swung back around and glared across the room, his body jiggling as he tittered. Marta was in the view of the monitors again, two of them switching angles to show Felix leaned against his car, his shoulders jerking. Crying. Slapping the roof of his car and sobbing.
Motion sensors. They catch illegals walking across the border…get them when they’re too exhausted to defend themselves.
> Get in the car, Felix. Get the fuck out of there!
He continued to weep, wiping his face with his sleeve. One of the monitors still showed the dead dog, lying outside of the abandoned house. She couldn’t imagine why he had been killing a dog, but she didn’t care. He was out there looking for her. That’s the only thing that mattered. She knew that he loved her too much to just leave without her.
Did he see the video? Oh god, why aren’t the police with him?
“¿D-donde…está… Donde está mi esposa? ¿Mi hijo?” The voice was low, shaky as if every word was squeezed through a tight space.
Gustavo chuckled again, his massive forearms rippling against Marta’s breasts, squashing them hard into her ribcage.
Across the room stood Alejandro. His arms were stretched straight out, chains wrapped around his wrists, pulled tight and locked to wooden pillars on either side of him. His head hung, but it looked like he was trying to hold it up, sweat raining consistently from his face.
Mamá held a tape measure to his chest, then his arms, his legs.
“Por favor…mátame. ¡Mátame y deja ir a mi familia!” His knees wobbled, the tips of his toes white as he struggled to keep himself up. “¡Tienes qué dejar ir a mi familia!”
Marta gasped as Gustavo’s grip tightened again, crushing the metal cross pendant into her sternum. He growled deep, the vibration rattling into Marta’s body. One arm unpeeled from Marta, but the other stayed strong, kept any large gusts of oxygen from entering her lungs. He gripped his belt from his shoulder, held it over his head. “Rraaa!”
The old woman slapped the man gently on the cheek twice, then waddled to the kitchen table where a sewing machine sat, along with flamboyantly colored sheets of spandex fabric. She picked up a pair of scissors and, laying the tape measure to the fabric, began cutting off pieces.
Marta turned her attention back to the monitor and nearly shouted with joy when she saw Felix in the driver’s seat, dust billowing behind the Taurus as he drove away.
Muerte Con Carne Page 13