by Stella Green
The groggy traffickers didn’t move, but they did curse at him in Spanish. As Matt pocketed the key for the pickup, one of them asked, “Qué pasa, pendejo?”
So much for being ready and in the jeeps before the smugglers woke up. When had they gotten in the truck? The only time Matt and the Stranger weren’t watching from the hilltop was when they were distracted by that fox. Instead of answering, Matt grunted back at the smugglers.
One of them sat up and peered through the rear window. It was Maggot Whiz. By his yelling, Matt could tell he didn’t like what he saw. Matt jumped out of the cab and rolled under the pickup as the men started shooting, a frenzy of bullets peppering the truck and the ground. Matt could smell gunpowder. Men were streaming out of the ranch house yelling in Spanish. Matt hoped the Stranger was on his way to a jeep, then he heard the Stranger’s voice nearby as he yelled, “La migra!” One of the men who had been in the pickup bed started to answer, but his words were cut short by the loud thunk of the Stranger’s stick hitting his head. Moving fast, Matt managed to catch the second one with the flat end of his ax. The squashy sound at impact told Matt he’d hit the man on rotted flesh. As he ran to a jeep, Matt shook his ax and tried not to picture the reeking gore that clung to it.
Matt and the Stranger tossed the farm tools into their jeeps and tore off, each of them holding an end of the cable. The cable was tricky—if they weren’t careful, they’d rip their own hands off. Their plan was to wind it around the jeeps’ doorframes. Matt managed a couple of twists and hoped the Stranger was able to get his done, too. The Stranger had grabbed an automatic weapon from one of the men in the pickup truck, but he wasn’t using it. Instead he was swinging his walking stick like a polo mallet. After wedging his ax next to the seat, Matt grabbed a shovel and knocked an armed trafficker in the head. Holding a rusty pitchfork like a lance, he ended the career of another coyote. At least eight coyotes were running in the field trying to figure out which direction to fire their guns.
“Cable,” yelled the Stranger.
They drove apart until the steel pulled taut before turning to the group. The jeeps rocked as the cable caught smuggler after smuggler. In the dark no one could see it coming. Most of the field was cleared. Now they turned the jeeps around, heading for a trio of coyotes. They caught the first one with the cable and continued toward the next. Matt was closest to the man, and he caught a glimpse of something that looked like blonde hair. It was Cheryl. The man was holding her in front of him as a human shield. There was no way to let the Stranger know, so Matt swung his ax at the cable with everything he had. The rusted old steel was weak but didn’t break. He had to swing again before the cable snapped, sending both jeeps veering off in opposite directions and nearly rolling them over. Bullets whipped by, and Matt realized the remaining smugglers now knew their attackers were in the jeeps.
As soon as the jeeps were steady, they spun around and headed back. When Matt slowed down to use a rake on a man, a smuggler on the other side of the jeep tried to climb into the passenger seat. Matt picked up his ax and changed the man’s mind. A couple of the men were now pushing and dragging the women out of the house. He could hear hollering and cursing as they searched for the key to the moving truck. Matt braked hard enough to fishtail the jeep before jumping out to deal with the smugglers around the moving truck. In the time it took for them to choose between keeping hold of the women and fighting, Matt knocked one out. The second slipped a padlock on the back of the truck before aiming his gun at Matt, who quickly dropped to the ground and crawled under the truck. The man started to bend down, and in desperation Matt swung the ax at his ankles, severing the man’s foot. Blood spurted everywhere, and while the man howled in pain, Matt scrambled up and knocked the lock off the back of the moving truck.
There weren’t many coyotes left, but they still had their guns. One of them sprayed bullets in Matt’s direction with an automatic rifle. Thinking about the women in the truck, Matt jumped back in the jeep and sped off, nearly hitting Maria, who was running for the rear door of the moving truck. Matt drove away, drawing the man’s fire. Then he hunched down and started toward the other smugglers, letting the rain of bullets take out two of the remaining coyotes. The jeep now reeked of gas and began to sputter. Matt jumped and rolled landing next to a dead trafficker’s body. The Stranger, still driving, charged directly at the man with the automatic gun. He stood and threw the tilling wheels like they were Frisbees. When he plowed into the man, Matt could see the Stranger slumping limply against the driver’s side door.
The remaining two smugglers called out to each other. Matt stayed still and quiet. When the coyotes realized they were the last ones left and that the women were escaping, they began running toward the moving truck. Matt waited until he had a good shot with his ax. He hit the first one in the neck, hoping he wouldn’t call out, but the man was huge and his heavy body slammed into the ground with a thud. The remaining smuggler fired his automatic gun towards the sound. Matt hid under the dead man and waited, hoping that the women were scattered out in the desert. He wondered if Cheryl had made it out with them. The Stranger and Matt might not survive, but at least they could set the women free. It would have to be enough.
The final coyote was very near. It was Ant Man. He fired some more shots into the body above Matt before kicking it with his boot. Matt held his ax tight, knowing that any chance he had to strike would come fast, and when that chance was gone, Matt would be, too. Ant Man wanted to see what was under his comrade’s body, but he couldn’t roll the huge corpse off with his foot. Finally he reached down and pulled with his arms. As soon as Matt’s arm was free, he swung at the man’s leg, managing to cut the artery in the upper thigh. Ant Man dropped the body as Matt grabbed the automatic weapon, but taking the gun put Matt’s arm in an awkward position. The weight of the falling dead man snapped the bones in his forearm. He staggered, arm dangling, to the jeep, where the Stranger was sprawled across the front seat. His breathing was shallow and struggling, but he was alive. Matt knew that as long as the Stranger was still breathing, he could probably heal, just as Matt was sure his broken arm would be healed and stronger than ever in a few days.
After kicking the traffickers’ filthy bedding out of the F-150, Matt pulled the Stranger over and laid him out flat. It was hard work for a one-armed man. The truck bed wasn’t comfortable, but Matt knew he would prefer hard steel to bedding that smelled like a dead carcass. He was pretty sure the Stranger would feel the same. Using his good hand and his teeth, he tied up the Stranger’s wounds before driving the jeep up the hill to Maria. She was there with Cheryl and some of the women. Even in the darkness Matt could see Cheryl’s face was a bruised green and blue mess. The happy dancer had seen her husband murdered, and then she’d been kidnapped and beaten. She was going to need more time to heal than Matt and the Stranger would. Other prisoners were scattering on foot. Matt gave Maria the key to the big truck and told her to let the women have it so they didn’t have to walk. She took charge, calling out into the desert and telling them to wait while she organized their rides.
“The White Jaguar?”
“He’s dying.” Matt hated lying to her, but he knew it had to be done. Her only chance was to go and live her life far away from them.
Maria wanted to stay with the Stranger and try to help him, but Matt insisted that she go. “I’ll stay with him. You have to take care of the others. I need you to get Cheryl someplace safe.”
She nodded. “I’ll take care of your friend. The rest will want to go find their families. Tell the White Jaguar I’m sorry I called him a liar. I should have trusted him.” Maria wrapped her scarf around Matt. “You must be the White Jaguar now.”
Driving down the highway in the old F-150 brought back old memories for Matt. She was ugly, but the engine roared along just like the truck he had owned in high school. He felt guilty enjoying himself with the Stranger lying wounded in the back. Matt wouldn’t be alive without the man’s help. Playing the battle back in his
head, he knew they had overcome huge odds and managed to pull off their crazy plan only because they’d worked together. If it hadn’t been for that fox, the Stranger might not have even been wounded. Ten miles later, the road began to wind into curves. As Matt turned a corner, the headlights caught a snarling fox in the road. It bared its teeth with feral malevolence. Was it the same fox? Matt couldn’t brake in time, so he began to swerve before noticing a huge rut in the dirt road. Swerving wasn’t possible, so he braked hard, hoping the creature would move. It jumped easily out of the way. Was it Mr. Dark playing a game? Maybe. Even if it was, he was too late.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m alive.” The Stranger was sitting up in the clinic’s only bed.
“You are. And the women are safe. It worked.”
The Stranger shook his head and then instantly put his hand on it like he was in pain. “How long was I out?”
“Three days.” Matt held up his ax. “That cable took a bite out of it, but I had time to get a nice hone on it again.”
Matt explained that he wanted to take the fight to Mr. Dark. “With the two of us and some of the others I’ve met, I think we can beat him.”
“You want to chase after him and pick a fight?”
“Do you have anything better to do?”
The Stranger grinned. “I guess not.” He looked thoughtful. “I’ve met others, too. Some good. Don’t know if they’re still alive or still sane, but I’ll find out.”
They decided to spend the next six months finding the others. Then they would meet up in New York, bringing whoever agreed to join up with them.
Matt held up his cast-covered arm. “One more thing. Would you help me get this off? I’d ask the doctor, but I don’t want to explain.”
Before leaving the desert, Matt made one more stop. It had been some time since he’d gotten to chop wood, and there were three evil trees waiting for him. Chopping was one of his favorite things to do. Something about the focus and the simple joy of swinging his ax brought him peace. He planned to turn those trees into matchsticks. A few minutes into bringing down the first one, Matt realized he still didn’t know the Stranger’s name. He was close enough to drive back and ask, but he had his grandfather’s ax, and there was chopping to do.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stella Green is a former entertainment executive and the author of Awakening Snakes. She currently lives in Los Angeles and is working on her next book.