Els patted down her thighs, ran a hand into each of her back pockets, coming away clean each time. Then she saw something that made her pause. Eliana was wearing a green T-shirt, and Els saw a dark stain over the part covering her surgical incision on her side. She lifted the shirt up and gasped.
A number of her stitches had burst open and blood was trickling out over the stiff black knots.
Els looked at her again, she was barely conscious and her eyes rolled back to show only the whites beneath the narrow slit of her eyelids.
“Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.”
Els raised her shirt again to show Spears. “Shit,” he said. “That’s all we fuckin need. She’s blowd a seam.”
Spears opened the glove compartment and took out their passports. He put his in his pocket and handed the other two to Els. Then he took out some fast food napkins and gave those to her as well.
“Try and keep that blood mopped up. Put some pressure on it, maybe it’ll clot. Course if that bag inside of her got knocked open she aint gonna last too long anyhow.”
“We need to get her to a hospital,” said Els.
“She aint goin to no fuckin hospital. We just got to get across and delivered for she soaks up any more of that dope spilling out in her. Hope she aint ruined it.”
“You’re worried about the drugs?” Els asked, incredulously.
“I didn’t say I was worried about anything. But I’m going to have to drop the hammer down unless I want to try and get through customs with a corpse filled with dope. I don’t think my chances of lasting too long in prison are that good. Young pretty boy like me ought to have it rough in there. We’re gonna be flying fast now, so try and keep her awake.”
Spears slammed his foot down on the gas and the tires squealed as the truck sped away from the bridge.
FORTY
Eliana was dying, Els was sure of it. The package sewn inside of her had torn somehow and her body was absorbing pure heroin. She hadn’t realized it, Els thought, because of the pills she was already taking. She probably thought she had taken too many and was getting drowsy. Thats why she didn’t say anything.
Everything after the short stop on the bridge had been a blur. Spears had torn recklessly through the remainder of northern Mexico like a maniac, whipping the car in and out of traffic, overtaking buses and eighteen-wheelers. But through all the full tilt velocity, the haze of speed, Spears was collected, almost serene. It was only now that they were at a dead stop, finally at the border waiting in a long line of cars returning to the US, that he was showing signs of cracking up. He had the radio too loud, as if he could blast away everything in front of them with crashing waves of country music, clearing a path that they could roll through nonchalantly. He would alternately beat a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel and run his hands through his hair, whispering under his breath, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”
Eliana was fading fast. Els held on to her hand. It was ice cold. She talked to her. “Please hang on, we’re almost there. You just have to fight it. Please, you have to fight, to stay awake.” She had no idea if Eliana was hearing her.
Eliana was slumped over, head against the glass. A car-length space opened up in front of them and Spears drove forward. Els took her pulse. The barely-perceptible, shallow beat did not inspire confidence.
“What’s she like over there?” he asked.
“She’s not good. She’s going to die.”
“She ain't.”
“Yes, she is. Look, you can just turn around. We’ll get her to a hospital. Take her to an emergency room. Nobody would know it was us. You can still take me over the border. I’ll still go, but we need to get her some help.”
“That ain’t gonna happen. We can’t just turn around. Not now. We’re too close. See?” He pointed through the windshield. “There’s only a coupla cars ahead of us now. You got to get her to perk up some. Keep her alive for a few more minutes and I’ll do the rest.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about it. Pinch her cheeks or something. She’s got to look alive, dammit.”
Els rubbed her hand over the top of Eliana’s. “We’re almost there. We’re so close, just hang on. We’re about to be in America. We’ll get you to a doctor, you just have to hang on for a little bit longer, please, baby, you have to stay with us.”
She didn’t respond.
There was only one car ahead of them now and a dark panic began to wind its way around Els. She felt like she was being crushed or strangled.
“Alright,” said Spears. “It’s almost show time. You feel that? That cold hollow feeling in the pit of your belly?”
“Yes,” said Els. Oh God, yes, she did.
“Good, you’ll need it. You need to keep it where it is. Fear can be good to motivate people. They can do incredible things with it. But you need to know where it is. You need to keep it in your center. It’ll swell like a balloon if you let it. It’ll take you over, and that aint good. A little can keep you sane. Too much and they’ll smell it on you. If they do, we’re fucked.”
Els didn’t know what he was talking about, but she felt the fear deep within her, it had weight. She stroked Eliana’s hand again.
Something was wrong.
She felt different now. Her hand had been limp before but now it felt like it was missing something.
She put two fingers on the side of Eliana’s wrist beneath her thumb and the swell of her palm to take her pulse.
She felt nothing.
No.
She pressed harder against her wist, moved her fingers around.
Still nothing.
“There’s a problem.”
Just then the car ahead of them pulled away and the officer waved them forward. “Shut up. Not now. We’re going fuckin live.”
He pulled the truck up.
“She’s dead,” said Els.
Spears rolled the window down and it might as well have been the window in a craft floating in deep space. All the air seemed to be sucked out of the cab.
Els’ heart was thudding in her chest. There was no way out. She was trafficking heroin and there was a fresh a corpse beside her. She was going to prison. Neesha would be killed. Tortured. Anything was possible in her mind at that moment. Anything but them safely crossing into America.
She felt the fear expanding inside of her. She was sweating and her mouth was dry as sand, her tongue was like a phantom limb, numb between her teeth. If they asked her to say anything, she thought she would vomit.
The officer stood outside the window, menacing. His black glasses were like two lightless pools swirling on his face. Els was afraid if she looked into them she would be trapped forever.
He knows. He knows. How could he not see that she was dead? One look was all it would take.
There was nothing in her head but dark thoughts and a buzzing like locusts. A hum like electric insects singing. It took her a second to realize that Spears was talking to her.
“Your passports. The man asked to see your passports.”
Els handed them over. Could the man see her hand shake, she wondered. Would he see the moist outline of her thumb imprinted in sweat on the cover?
He took them from her and opened them to be examined by those cruel, lifeless, black eyes.
The officer checked El’s passport, looking up to glance at her. He looked at Eliana’s passport, then at her lifeless body propped up in the seat. He looked back to her passport, closed it and handed it back to Spears.
But then he did a double take and looked more closely into the cab of the truck.
Els’ heart was beating like a twenty pound sledge against concrete.
This is it, she thought. He’s going to tell us to step out of the car. He’s going to pull out a gun. Shouting. The dogs will come. More men. This is the end. I love you, Neesha. I’m so sorry.
And then Spears did something astounding.
He leaned over with his torn, scarred face directly
in the officer’s field of vision, coming in close and obscuring everything else in the truck but his ravaged visage.
He made eye contact, Spears’ cold blue eyes burned past the man’s black frames. And beyond his gaze, beneath it, was that gaping black abscess, triangular like the hollow in the center of a skull. His crooked yellow teeth, set in dark eroded gums, glistened around the skinless hole of shining scar tissue. A thin string of drool hung from his mouth.
The officer shifted his eyes down, hoping they wouldn’t be visible behind his glasses. The man’s face was like staring at the specter of death itself.
“Is there a problem, officer?” Said Spears, suddenly slurring his words and voice to make an ugly sound that more closely resembled his aesthetic.
The officer pulled away, desperately trying to find anything other than the hideous man and the cab of his truck to look at. He wanted them gone, out of his sight, out of his mind. The man with the skeletal face was radiating a ghastliness that was repulsive. It seemed to bore into him and it brought bitter bile up into the back of his mouth.
“Fine. Fine,” he stammered. “Everything’s okay here, move along, sir.” He waved them past without looking at them again.
FORTY ONE
They drove across into Laredo. Given the circumstances, Els found it oddly comforting to be back in the US. The hustle, the anonymity, the endless advertisements and fast food restaurant gave her a familiar calm. They passed a car dealership with an abundance of little American flags fluttering in the breeze. Texas. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it all staying a week in Mexico. She felt that whatever happened now, at least she was home.
George Jones was wailing as they drove northeast on fifty-nine with the windows down, the afternoon sun behind them.
Spears pulled out a cell phone and turned the radio off. He hit one button that dialed a prerecorded number and put the phone to his ear. Els heard someone on the other end answer and Spears spoke two words into the receiver and hung up. “It’s done.”
He then threw the phone out the window and it shattered into bouncing fragments on the interstate as they left it behind.
Spears changed lanes to let a Dodge pickup pass them and Eliana’s body shifted and slumped over onto Els.
Els pushed her body back upright. It no longer felt like a human being. It was like pushing a heavy bag of laundry next to her, uneven and cumbersome.
Although to touch her felt less than human, Els thought she at least looked sort of peaceful leaned against the window and door. At least she wasn’t in pain anymore, sweating and letting her dying groans escape. She was at rest now.
“What are you going to do with her?” Els asked.
“I ain’t doin nothin with her. I like her just like she is. I’d prefer two of her to one of you if I’m honest about things.”
“You’re not worried about driving around with her”
“Not particularly. Not that I have a choice, but I think she’ll be just fine.”
“Will you tell me where we’re going?”
“I guess it don’t matter now. We’re goin to a place called Victoria.”
“In Texas?”
“Yep.”
“Is it far?”
“About another hundred-and-seventy-five mile or so. They got a place set up for you there.”
“So it’s close to Houston?”
“Why do you care if it’s close to Houston or not?”
“I don’t. I was just making conversation.”
“Well, I’d tell you to talk to your buddy over there, but she wouldn’t hear you and I still would, so just don’t say anything else until we’re there.” Spears reached out and turned the stereo back on and they drove away with the endless George Jones cassette playing loud.
FORTY TWO
Neesha was beyond exhausted. She had pushed her body to a point where she felt physically ill. Her back was screaming, and even though she hadn’t eaten in days she felt like she was going to dry heave. She was filthy, covered in sweat and her mouth was teeming with foul bacteria that tasted like unwashed athletic socks.
Before her on the card table was a Chinese checker board. The little colored dots melted into a waving smear that doubled as her vision blurred. She blinked several times, but her eyes refused to focus.
Even her thoughts were nebulous, muddy. I’m going to pass out at the table. I’m going to fall right down on it.
Part of her would welcome it. To give up, to sleep. Sleep in any form it took would be mercy. She was like a car without oil, smoking and grinding apart, trying to run with the driver’s foot pushing the gas pedal to the floor.
People could die without sleep. She thought she remembered reading about it in a psychology textbook. She definitely knew that a person could go insane. She was starting to witness it for herself.
There were little things, odd hallucinations. She would look up at Gusano’s face and it would be. . . different. The light behind him would dim and he would be surrounded by a glowing corona, his nose and mouth drifting across his face, spreading out, constantly and slowly crawling but not fully breaking away. The walls pulsed, the kitchen doorway changed size and shape and sometimes it seemed like it was at the end of a very long hallway even though she knew it was only a few feet away from her.
There was a constant high-pitched whine droning inside her head. It made her think of taking hearing tests in elementary school. Those bulky headphones over her ears. Put your hand up when you hear the tone.
Gusano was managing far better. Neesha hadn’t seen him so much as yawn. He sat perched on the edge of his seat analyzing the board with meticulous inspection. He was fully invested, hours, days into the games, searching for his next move as intently as his first.
Neesha once thought he was on drugs. Chrystal meth. Adderall. Some kind of speed. She had abandoned that line of thinking. He didn’t need drugs. The game was exhilarating enough for him. As long as there was a game to play and an opponent, he would not feel fatigue.
He moved, finally, after what seemed like hours of deliberation.
His move barely registered with Neesha, it was all just a slow blur in a world of hazy brush strokes, like something Monet would have painted if he were drunk and having a stroke.
Somewhere in her slowly-shutting-down mind Neesha knew it was her turn. She could barely make out the board, didn’t recognize which pieces were hers. And for a long, heart-stopping instance, she found that she didn’t know how to play anymore. She had no idea what the game was, and she didn’t care. She just wanted it to end.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice was quiet, raspy like she had laryngitis.
“You can’t what?” Gusano asked, annoyed to have his concentration broken.
Tears started to stream down Neesha’s face. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t fucking see shit. My brain hurts. My fucking bones hurt. I can feel my skeleton in my elbows. I just want it to stop!” Neesha folded her arms in front of her on the table and buried her head, sobbing.
Gusano showed no emotion. He looked at the board and back to the crying girl across from him.
“I just fucking can’t anymore. I’m so scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die, but I can’t stand it anymore. If you just let me rest for a little bit. If you just let me sleep for an hour. Twenty minuets. I can play again. My eyes. I can’t.”
Gusano didn’t say anything for a long time. She couldn’t tell if he was furious at her. She couldn’t tell anything. He just sat there like he was contemplating which piece to move next. And then he spoke.
“Sleep is out of the question.” Gusano picked up an empty beer bottle from the table and stared down into the narrow tunnel of brown glass. He slid it across the tabletop toward her. “Go to the sink and fill this with water. Drink it. We’ll rest for a few minutes and then you will continue the game. Go on. Get up.”
Neesha took the empty bottle and pushed herself up to her feet. Her knees popped audibly when she sto
od. She went behind Gusano to the sink and turned the tap on. The pressureless water that trickled out was as hot as the desert and she let some flow into the bottom of the bottle. She pulled it away without filling it an eighth full and left the tap running.
“It’s an endurance contest of course,” Gusano said, without turning to look at her. “The game isn’t only on the table before us. The game is us. It’s played in the very marrow of our bones.” He listened to the tap run. “This isn’t about a tally on a piece of paper, or little plastic figures on a flimsy board. It’s about-”
The bottle did not break when she swung it at the back of his head. It surprised her that it didn’t, but the thick end of glass connected squarely where his spinal cord met his skull. She dropped the bottle and was racing to the door on unsteady legs before it hit the floor. It didn’t knock the thug unconscious like she though it would, but he was stunned, she was sure, and that had to be good enough.
She was outside and running across the hard, sun-baked earth before she knew it. If she had the time and stop and reflect on the last few seconds, she would find she no memory of opening the front door or rushing across the threshold into the overwhelming delirium of her sudden freedom. All around her the land was a panorama of dry, flat nothing, no shelter, nowhere to hide, only the endless track of dull brown and the blue sky above it. So she ran, directionless, never looking behind her, knowing only that death followed at her heels.
There were houses scattered in the distance, small with low, flat roofs, big white tanks for collecting water atop them. She turned toward them, her feet coming down hard on the packed dirt. She reached the nearest one and hammered, double-fisted on the door. She screamed an unintelligible slew of noise.
There was no answer.
She tried the knob, but the door was locked.
Panting from exertion and fear, she chanced a look across the rocky field she had come across. Gusano was nowhere to be seen. This was not comforting to her. If she could see him, she would know where he was, but now he was a phantom. He could be anywhere, a single step behind her whenever she turned, inexplicably, waiting inside one of these homes. Anywhere she could imagine.
Mules:: A Novel Page 21