Off the Rails

by Jill Sorenson

  Shuddering with disgust, she reentered the trash chute. It felt like she was being pushed out of a rotten womb, evacuated from the bowels of La Bestia.

  Nasssty.

  When she dropped down to the tracks, she contemplated rolling around in the dirt to mask the stench of her hair and clothes. It probably wouldn’t help, so she ventured out into the dim morning. She had no idea where they were. Another camp, another cargo station, another city. If she wasn’t mistaken, they were near the coast. She detected a balmy sea breeze and a distinctive fish-salt smell.

  Or it might just be her.

  She hadn’t been to the ocean in years. Not since her mother had died. They’d taken a weekend trip to Acapulco the summer before she died. Sarai still remembered her mother’s vibrant yellow swimsuit, stylish but demure. Her father had smiled a lot on that trip. He wasn’t handsome when he smiled, or any other time, but women had smiled back at him. Sarai had been on the cusp of puberty, just beginning to notice such things. She supposed that these women saw a man with a beautiful wife and imagined he was someone important.

  He wasn’t. He was just another dark-faced indio, like her grandmother had always said. He’d been a common field-worker, unworthy of the girl he’d stolen. Her mother had never regretted her decision to run away with him, as far as Sarai knew. Of course, she hadn’t known that his reckless ambition would be the death of her.

  Sarai walked in the shadows along the train, her footsteps silent. There were some tents and shanties on the other side of the tracks, and men sleeping on the ground at regular intervals. She slipped past the slumbering passengers, drawn by the sound of moving water.

  Less than a hundred yards from the station, at the base of a gentle slope, there was a small river. Trees lined the muddy bank. Several rows of apartment buildings blocked her view to the west, but she imagined the water led straight to the ocean. It was murky blue-green, and probably not too polluted, if they were in an area with tourist beaches. Whatever contaminants the water held were nothing compared to the mess in her hair and clothes.

  She glanced around for onlookers and saw no one. In the grainy predawn light, she was alone. Decision made, she ducked behind a tree to remove her backpack. Her hooded sweatshirt came off next. The thick fabric disguised her figure, but it was stiflingly hot and stinky. She wanted to burn it. Setting the garment aside, she stepped out of her boots and heavy jeans. Then she waded into the river in her tank top and underwear.

  The water was cool and refreshing. After days of grueling travel and filthy conditions, nonstop dust and sweat and heat, it felt like heaven against her skin. She submerged at once, scrubbing her hair and face. The elastic band she’d wrapped around her breasts seemed unbearable now. She peeled it away and almost laughed in relief at the feeling of total freedom.

  Her mother had been a reluctant swimmer. Sarai had forgotten about that. Some of her memories had faded along with the photographs. She was struck by a sudden recollection of her father carrying her mother into the waves, kicking and squealing.

  The crunch of pebbles under feet snapped her out of her reverie. She turned to see a tall figure approaching the trees where her pile of clothes lay.

  Demonios. She hadn’t been paying attention to the shoreline. Entering the river had been careless. Lingering here, even more so. It was too late to jump out of the water and run to her clothes. He would see her in her panties and know she was a girl. She hunkered down as low as possible, her nose barely above the surface.

  The boy at the river’s edge didn’t see her in the gloom. He looked like a teenager, all knees and elbows. He stopped and removed his T-shirt, tossing it aside. Then he kicked off his sneakers, unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants.

  She didn’t want to stare, but she was afraid to move. She was also struck by how confident and careless he seemed. He didn’t appear concerned about standing there in his baggy boxer shorts, skinny legs showing. There was no fear of discovery, no need to hurry. It dawned on her that this was probably a normal way for a boy to behave. She marveled at the difference. Having gone to an all-girls school for five years, she had no experience with the opposite sex.

  Water lapped up her nose, making her sputter.

  “Holy fuck,” he said. “I thought you were a cocodrilo.”

  She looked around in a panic, wondering if there were any crocodiles.

  He laughed at her reaction. Then he crashed into the river with a clumsy half-dive, startling her further. She swam a few feet away to put some distance between them. As he scrubbed his hair and armpits, the sun burst over the horizon, sending light dancing across the surface of the water. It seemed to drip from his head, golden-bright.

  After a quick bath, he emerged from the river. He pulled on his jeans and sat down on the shore. “You going to stay in there all day?”

  Just until you leave, she thought.

  He started eating a banana, unperturbed. Before he’d taken his second bite, two more men came down the slope. Full-grown men, unlike him. Sarai realized that waiting was a poor strategy. This bathing area would probably get busier now that the sun was up.

  Shaking with unease, she rose from the water, aware that her wet garments clung to every curve. It was clear that he noticed, because he stopped chewing and stared. A bit of fruit fell from his open mouth. She hustled toward the tree and grabbed a pair of leggings from her backpack. Tugging them on, she added an army-green T-shirt to the ensemble. She considered fleeing the scene, but the two other men gave her pause. They’d noticed her also. If they thought she was with the boy, they’d probably leave her alone.

  She collected her boots and a pair of fresh socks before joining him.

  “You’re a girl,” he said in a shocked voice.

  “Yes.”

  “A girl alone?”

  “What of it?”

  He took another bite of banana. “You have bigger balls than I do.”

  She put on her socks and gave him a closer study. His left eye was swollen, with a black, crescent-shaped bruise underneath. Despite the evidence of a recent scuffle, he looked harmless. And handsome. He had a crooked smile and a mop of dark hair. His casual attitude appealed to her as much as his face. He seemed…free, and fun.

  She wasn’t used to freedom. Or boys. She was used to strict discipline, rebellious girls, and living like a prisoner-orphan. The past few days had been decidedly un-fun. She watched him eat with envy, a fierce hunger gnawing at her stomach.

  “You want some?”

  She didn’t have the pride to refuse. When he gave her the rest, she thanked him and devoured it like an animal.

  “There’s plenty more at camp.”

  She swallowed the last bite, nodding.

  He stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Hugo.”

  “Sarai,” she said. “I mean, Sayra.”

  “Which is it?”

  “Sayra.”

  “I didn’t see you arrive.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Mazatlán.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Two days. I had to rest because of this.” He pointed to his eye.

  “What happened?”

  “I was traveling with these two kids from Honduras. We were taking turns sleeping. I woke up and caught them stealing my money.”

  “So you fought?”

  “I had to.”

  “Who won?”

  “They did.”

  “Too bad.”

  He shrugged. “Bandits took it anyway. Our train got robbed near Guadalajara.”

  “So did ours.”

  “Yeah? Was it the guy with the star tattoo on his neck?”

  “That’s the one.” She told him about the fight on top of the railcar and its ultimate finish. “He’ll never rob a train again.”

  Hugo frowned at this news.

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  “Glad? No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m not that bloodthi
rsty.”

  It was her turn to frown. “He was attacking a woman.”

  “Oh, well. Fuck him then.”

  She relaxed slightly, relieved with his agreement. Was she bloodthirsty? She didn’t think so. She just preferred to see criminals get what they deserved. Death and dismemberment wasn’t too stiff a punishment in her book. “Is there a place I can get my clothes washed?”

  “Sure.”

  He led her back into camp and introduced her to a woman who did laundry for twenty pesos. Sarai gave her the awful-smelling sweatshirt and jeans, promising to return later. Then they found a street vendor who was selling ham sandwiches and fruit juice. After breakfast, she sat down with Hugo in a shady spot at the edge of the riverbank. She needed to charge her phone, but electricity was scarce, and she was exhausted from three sleepless nights.

  “Why are you going to the U.S.?” she asked him.

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t have a reason?”

  “My sister is there. My father went back and forth many times before he died. I can either go there and make money, or stay here and get desperate, like everyone else.”

  “What do you mean, desperate?”

  “Hungry. That’s why there are bandits robbing trains and drug dealers taking over. People are hungry.”

  “Hunger isn’t an excuse to become a criminal.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “There’s no excuse.”

  “Have you ever been hungry for more than a day or two?”

  “Have you?”

  “No, but I’ve seen it happen to the men in my village. They can’t take care of their families. There aren’t enough opportunities.”

  She thought of what her father had done to support them, and what she’d done last night, in her darkest moment. She’d never forgive him for putting her in that position. She couldn’t explain her past to Hugo, so she fell quiet.

  “Why are you going?” he asked.

  “To find my father. I think he’s dying.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

  She didn’t want to feel anything, but her throat closed up with sorrow. “So am I.”

  He reached out to hold her hand, which was nice. By the way the nuns talked, she’d assumed that all boys were awful. But he wasn’t awful. He was like a big puppy, with hands too large for his body. She stared at the river, smiling.

  “Do you want to make out?”

  She let go of his hand. “What? Why?”

  He moistened his lips, self-conscious. “I’ve never kissed a girl before. I’m worried that something will happen to me and I won’t get the chance.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  She laughed at this answer. “If you keep asking every girl you meet to kiss you, you’ll get the chance.”

  “I don’t ask every girl. You’re the first.”

  She was flattered by his attention, foolish as that sounded. He was teen-dream handsome, even with the blackened eye. She’d never kissed a boy, either. He was the first boy she’d held hands with, or had an adult conversation with. They were alone. What if something happened to her on this journey? What if they both died young?

  “Okay,” she said, on impulse.

  He rubbed his palms on his jeans, as if they were sweaty. Then he leaned toward her. She met him halfway, her heart racing. He touched his lips to hers, tentatively at first. When she didn’t pull back, he cupped her neck gently, urging her closer. She wasn’t sure she wanted his tongue in her mouth, but she liked the feel of his lips against hers. She liked the little huff of breath he made, as if he found her unbearably exciting.

  Oh…why not. She let him kiss her again. He wet her lips with his tongue, tasting her. She opened her mouth, curious.

  He dove right in at this sign of encouragement. His tongue went way too far, but it was more of an adorable blunder than a deal breaker. She braced her hands on his chest and made a noise of protest, which he seemed to understand. He retreated at once. “Sorry.”

  She quieted him with a softer, sweeter kiss. He actually moaned in response. Smothering a giggle, she twined her arms around his neck. He didn’t try the deep tongue thing right away. He sort of sneakily worked up to it; he was a quick study. Before she knew it, she was parting her lips for him, threading her fingers through his hair.

  Then she had to stop him, because she liked what he was doing a bit too much. She was willing to kiss a cute boy she’d just met, for posterity or in case they died or whatever, but she wasn’t giving her virginity to him.

  She broke the kiss, panting. His hand flexed on her ribcage, as if he was itching to move it upward.

  “Can I touch you?” he asked gruffly.

  “No.”

  “Can I just…hold you?”

  She nodded, and he wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head on his chest. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek. After a long time, it slowed. His body calmed but his embrace stayed the same, cradling her as she fell asleep.

  Chapter 17

  “Get away from me, you sick fuck!”

  Maria jolted awake, startled by the outburst. In the next second, Ian flung his arm out and almost struck her in the face. She blocked the blow and shrunk back. He felt like a furnace beside her, unnaturally hot. She waited for him to explain his crazy behavior, but he was silent. He’d turned off the lamp at some point, so it was dark inside the barn. A soft and steady rain pelted the tin roof overhead, making a pleasant sound that was incongruent with the tense situation.

  He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over. His breathing was steady and even. She realized that he was dreaming. He hadn’t attacked her on purpose. He’d been having a nightmare, and talking in his sleep.

  She shivered in the cool night air, disturbed on his behalf. Who was he fighting in his dreams? A phantom menace or a real person? The man who’d shot him? Or someone from his troubled childhood?

  She lay there for a few minutes, naked and uncomfortable. He’d pulled the blanket off her. The tarp beneath her body was covered in fine grit, the straw-covered ground uneven. She was cold. In contrast, heat seemed to rise from his skin. With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch his forehead. He was burning up with fever.

  “Oh no,” she cried, sitting forward. She fumbled for the lamp and turned it on. He didn’t rouse when she took off the blanket to inspect him. His face was flushed. She couldn’t tell if his wound was infected without removing his pants.

  He started trembling, teeth chattering, so she replaced the blanket. Maybe he had the flu. Foreigners were more susceptible to viruses. They’d been traveling nonstop, and they’d walked for hours in the rain. She rose and put on her clothes, which were somewhat dry. His dirty shirt from the tote bag added another layer of warmth. She donned her boots and started pacing the barn.

  She had no way of taking care of him. No medicine, no food. She didn’t even know what was wrong with him. And they were out in the middle of nowhere, literally. They’d come from El Limbo, but it was several miles away. That didn’t bode well.

  She fisted her hands in her tangled hair and tried to think.

  After a few moments of panicking, she calmed down. They were on a ranch of some kind. She could find help there. This was Mexico, not the United States. If she knocked on a door and said she needed assistance, she would get it.

  On the downside, the lack of animals in the barn suggested that it was a resting place between two faraway points. She might have to walk all day before she found another human being, and the journey could be dangerous. Her home country had its disadvantages. There were disputes over territory, and the drug trade was ever expanding.

  She also couldn’t forget that they’d been shot at yesterday.

  Instead of setting off on her own, she sat down and took stock of their supplies. She had bandages, antiseptic wipes, and antibiotic ointment. Some dirty clothes and a damp towel. One full bottle of water, one empty. Ian had a gun, h
olstered. About two thousand pesos in cash. A fake ID and a real badge.

  There was also a pocketknife among his belongings, which was lucky. She cut away the top of the empty water bottle and placed it outside the barn door to catch rain. Then she waited for the sun to rise, watching him carefully.

  He didn’t wake at dawn. In fact, his condition seemed to get worse every hour. His skin was flushed and baking hot, his eyelids swollen. He ground his teeth and shouted random things. He thrashed around in his sleep. There was no sweat to cool him, which concerned her. She moistened one of the towels with rainwater and placed it on his forehead, but he kept dislodging it. When she tried to help him drink, he knocked the bottle aside.

  By midmorning, the rain had abated, and she’d reached her breaking point. She was already hungry, her stomach churning with emptiness. If she didn’t go now, she might be walking alone in the dark. She collected the bottle of rainwater and placed it where he could find it. Then she left the barn with the other bottle in her tote bag and his knife tucked in her back pocket.

  She followed the fence line away from the barn. It didn’t take long to find a dirt road. She followed it for several hours. The sun was hot and high overhead, the wet earth steamy and fragrant from the rain. Her bottle of water ran out quickly. She couldn’t turn back, so she pushed forward, putting one foot in front of the other. Her tongue felt like wool in her mouth. She was lightheaded and lethargic. But she’d been in worse spots than this before. She’d been thirstier in the desert. She hadn’t quit then and she wouldn’t quit now.

  Ian was counting on her. He needed her, even if he couldn’t admit it.

  She didn’t think about the pleasure he’d given her last night. Those memories were too special to drag out at any old time. She’d save them for daydreams in her bedroom, or when she was floating in the Balsas looking up at the brilliant blue sky.

  She didn’t think about anything. She just kept walking toward a glimmer on the horizon.