by Aitana Moore
"I think they'll kill us if they can,” she agreed, but she didn’t sound scared.
He handed his phone to her. "Will you try to get Pete?"
Lee had slumped but sat up again. Her fingers were ice-cold as she took the phone from him. She stared at the screen for a moment, rallied and found the right buttons. There was no ringing noise.
"No coverage.”
"Can you text him?" James asked, looking in the rearview mirror. "Text that we are in danger from the Aguirres and driving north to the Arizona border."
A voice message would be quicker for her, in the state she was, and more complete — but it would also be heavier to send; a text might go through if they passed a faint signal. But Lee seemed alert, and she texted quickly.
"I'll keep trying to call," she said.
James clutched the steering wheel and drove in silence for a quarter of an hour before a light appeared in the mirror. It was followed by two other lights. These must be more thugs from the ranch — or something worse.
As the road rolled down and James lost sight of them, he swerved onto the dirt, rode for a while and cut off his engine. If the dust settled in the minutes that would take their pursuers to catch up, they wouldn't know where the Hummer had turned.
When the lights passed them, James saw they were police vehicles. It was as he had suspected: if the Aguirres were not scared to involve the law, it was because someone quite high up was in their pocket. The police would soon realize they had left the highway and turn back to hunt them like beasts. After the cars disappeared over the next upward curve, James started the engine. He couldn't return to the main road or ride on the path; he would need to continue into the darkness and hope that he didn't hit any bad spots.
It wasn't a giant leap to assume the border patrol would be on the lookout for them as well, to stop them before they crossed to safety. But the Hummer was sturdy, and they would have to keep going north through some other route than the main roads.
New lights blinded James for a second. He must be raising a good deal of dust, and several cars with spotlights were after them. The jeep bumped up and down, its metal scraping against the rocks beneath it as he avoided trees, large cacti and clumps of brambles. Lee clutched the handle on the door and pressed her lips.
A beeping followed by a red light on the dashboard alerted him to a more urgent problem: the Hummer was running out of fuel too quickly. The tank had probably been perforated by a rock, and the police were gaining on them.
There was a group of boulders to the right; James stopped the car and told Lee to run toward them. She did as she was told without protesting. Reaching for his duffel bag in the back seat, he climbed out and hid.
The cars after them stopped a few yards away and several policemen emerged, using the doors as shields and aiming their spotlights and guns at the Hummer. One of them called out, asking them to surrender and promising they'd be safe.
"No se lo cree ni tu madre," James muttered. Not even your mother would believe you.
The spotlight showed him what he needed to see: the wet trail of gasoline meandering toward the policemen which the Hummer had left in its wake. Grabbing a T-shirt from his bag, James twisted it and lit it on fire, softly throwing it in the air. It landed on a patch of gasoline, and for a moment he thought the flame might be snuffed out, or that there wasn't enough gasoline on the ground; but an eager orange tongue took, grew and whooshed forward.
In a second, the fire engulfed some of the policemen standing on the gasoline and they screamed, spinning wildly or throwing themselves on the ground. That would keep everyone busy for a while, James thought without mercy. He ran on light feet around the boulder and found Lee, taking her hand. She gained new energy as she ran with him.
Temperatures were falling. They might freeze at night, but there was no way of turning back toward any town or of getting help. Their only chance was the deep desert. James didn't know the Sonoran landscape, but he had lived in the Kalahari and in arid savannahs for years. At least he was sure they wouldn't get lost; he could guide himself north by the stars. In any case, he would choose the wilderness over people every time. It was Lee, out of breath from running but trying not to show it, who worried him. He might be leading her to her death.
The men after them knew how to kill, and they would probably not hesitate to do so. But what else did they know? They were after a man who was used to hunting for days, whose eyes were keen in the dark and who could use any rock as a weapon. His ears could already make out the faint voices behind them. It was a good thing that the police hadn't brought dogs. They had probably thought this would be a straightforward job: find the gringos on the road, kill them, dump the bodies.
Not so, hijos de puta, he thought. I am going to chingar all of you.
He helped Lee into a crevice under large flat stones and motioned for her to stay there.
Climbing the boulder allowed him to circle back to the policemen. James crouched, watching his enemies from above and deciding that he would first divide them. He took a stone, weighed it in his palm and threw it hard toward the opposite side. The policemen looked that way, half of them running in the direction of the sound.
James took another stone. In Africa he had been taught to stun antelopes before trying to catch them. He aimed carefully and threw the stone with all his might, hitting one of the policemen on the temple. The man fell sideways, and the others cried out, confused. One of the policemen knelt to see what had happened to his colleague as the other flashed his light around, following it with the muzzle of his gun. Taking another stone, James struck the second man on the forehead.
The third man stood up and started running. James missed him with the first stone but hit him on the back of the neck with the second.
Chingados de mierda.
The lights of the other policemen moved farther and farther away. James climbed down to the men on the ground, taking their flashlights, two big knives, guns and ammunition.
Now he would have time to move with Lee, and he could shoot the remaining men, if they followed. When they found their friends, however, they would probably give up, go back and try to get a helicopter. James didn't plan to follow the paths these men knew; he was going to lead Lee through the rocks, so they could hide as needed.
To reach Arizona, they might have to walk for two days or more. He was thankful that it was winter, since a trek during the hot summer months would have killed Lee.
It was winter, and they had a chance of making it.
TWENTY-FIVE
As soon as they stopped moving, they felt the cold.
James was satisfied they weren't being followed. It would be better to move at night and rest during the day, as he could find his way more easily by reading the stars, but he first had to determine whether Lee could walk at all.
It took a moment for him to gather twigs. The fire he lit needed to stay small and easy to stomp out if the police returned in helicopters.
"Lee, how bad is it?" he asked her.
She was pale even in the dim light, but she was brave. "I can keep going."
"What did they do to you?"
"It was the old man, James. He hit me with his cane — he would have killed me, I think, but Miguel stopped him."
James sat back on his heels. "It was the old man who hurt the girls?"
"Killed them. They're all dead. Even Luz."
Her eyes swam with tears and he put a hand on her cheek.
"I'm sorry, my sweet. You couldn't have saved her, then."
"It was David too. He was in it with his grandfather. I found the girls' jewelry in his safe, at the ranch."
"Christ. They're regular psychos, then?"
She nodded. "Not Diego, though; he didn’t know. And you were right, Miguel might be the worst of them, because he isn't sick, he just has no scruples. His wife is even worse."
James kissed her hand. "We'll make them pay, Lee. But to do that, we'll have to keep on going. If we sit here, we'll freeze, but
I can get us to Arizona. Can you bear to walk?"
"It’s just that I have no shoes."
She stuck out her naked feet, and James rummaged in his bag, finding a pair of his own trekking boots and thick socks. Once he put them on her feet, he helped her up and asked her to walk a bit.
"They'll do," she said eagerly. "We can go."
"If the boots chafe, you have to tell me. Anything that becomes a wound, even a small one, could make it impossible for you to continue.”
Doubt flashed across her face; or perhaps it was just the fire playing on it. She had lost blood, that much was clear, and there was the clotted wound on her head, but she began walking.
"I'll win no fashion competitions in this outfit, that's for sure."
He laughed and took her hand, showing her the ground with the flashlight.
After two hours, he saw that she needed to rest. The effect of the morphine they had given her would last until the next day, but the pain would eventually return, and she was exhausted. It wasn’t wise to light another fire. Only their body heat could fight the cold; he took off his shirt and stripped her to the waist, layering all the clothes from his bag on top of them and holding her close.
"You'll do anything to get me naked," she said.
"True. But I won't take advantage of you here. A scorpion could get up my arse."
"You’re obsessed with your arse."
“So are you.”
Lee giggled against his chest. “Conceited.”
The next morning, he opened his eyes before dawn, when the sky was still gray and pink. Lee slept deeply out in the open, and that was a bad sign. She was frail, and her lips were dry, as were his; they needed water. He dressed and went to look for some, leaving her a note scribbled on the sand: Stay here.
James climbed a rock and looked around at the unforgiving landscape of brambles and rocks. One had to look at any land with love; one had to think that whether it looked lush and green or dry and lifeless, it would give sustenance somehow.
He began by considering the cacti. One of the varieties that grew low on the ground, with stems coming out in a clump, must have water. He peeled the top of one of the stems with the knife he had stolen and put his finger on it to hold it into place while he shaved the sides. When the stem was free of thorns, it looked like a cucumber. The core was stringy, but the sides were watery and fresh.
He peeled several of them and put them inside his shirt, which he wore like a sling around his naked torso.
The candelabra cacti were as tall as a small tree, and there might be interesting things inside them. When he cut into one, birds flew out as squirrels and lizards scuttled. He caught two squirrels and decided to kill and skin them there, away from Lee. Used as he had become to see his food arrive on a plate and not have to kill it, he felt sorry for the animals, but he couldn’t get squeamish.
As he walked back, the sun had climbed higher and the cool temperatures of the night and early morning were changing. It would get hot under that cloudless sky, and they needed to stay hydrated.
Lee was awake. When he showed her what he had brought, she smiled.
"It's like a feast."
He gasped. "You mustn't say that."
"Why not? Will it bring bad luck?"
"No, but it will make me arrogant," he explained, sitting down next to her. "Among the bushmen in the Kalahari, you have to go back to the tribe pretending you didn't find anything, so that they jeer at you ─ and then when you finally reveal that you were successful, you have to attribute it to something else, like the arrow that was made for you, or the path that someone showed you. Though mind you," he looked at her over his brows, “if I went back to them with two tiny squirrels, they would actually be jeering."
As she bit into the cactus stem for water, he made another fire and roasted the squirrels. She grimaced but obediently ate when he fed her small pieces of meat.
He didn't notice that he was humming until she said, "What are you singing?"
" ‘A good man is hard to find—so if your man is nice, take my advice, hug him in the morning, kiss him every night, give him plenty lovin'—' "
"Propaganda in your favor, even out here?"
"Can't let you forget what a good deal you're getting." He put on an exasperated Southern accent, " 'Why James, you do think you're the cat's pajamas!' "
She laughed again. "You do think that!”
Stretching out next to her, he leaned on one elbow, and gave her a cheeky smile. "I was all ready to be your friend — then I walked around with you for less than two days and you begged me to—"
Lee’s chest moved as she laughed. "You are vile."
"You can’t handle the heat, and you can’t get out of the kitchen." He touched his lips to hers. "And you are as prickly as a cactus."
"Haven’t you got that cream you bought for our down theres in your bag?"
They laughed, lying back on the sand. A woman who could laugh in the face of adversity: what man wouldn't keep her like a jewel?
After a while they set out again, walking slowly. He helped her over patches of sand and rocks. When it became too much of an encumbrance to carry things, James got rid of the bag but fashioned a little shelf with brambles. He placed the coats on it and pulled it behind him.
Lee never complained, although she was limping, and it was obvious that the morphine had begun to wear off. He stopped when he thought she needed rest, brought her more cacti and winked at her. "We'll get there."
The desert didn't scare him, but he feared for Lee — so pale and so determined. They were walking to save each other, and there couldn’t be a stronger feeling between two people. It was the feeling that bound a man to a woman, and that bound them both to life.
We will get there, he thought, because we need to be together. And in this life.
The helicopter eventually came, but they were near rocks and hid under them until it flew past. It wasn't a silent machine; it would make itself known before it spotted them, and James would try to keep to the rocky parts until the police gave up. Or he would shoot at their fuel tanks, he didn't mind which.
They walked, eager to get to Arizona, eager to be safe. When James thought that Lee should rest, they stopped and slept for a few hours in the shade. At night a fox appeared, running ahead of them but slowing down and looking back sometimes, as if it were showing them the way.
At dawn, Lee stopped and said, "James, I can't go on."
He helped her sit down; she looked like a ghost.
"We'll rest here a while," he said.
She shook her head. Don't do that, Lee.
"I'm sorry James. It's my knee ..."
He lifted her nightgown and looked. There was a bandage soaked with blood around her knee. The flesh above and below it had become swollen and purple.
"What's this?" he asked through stiff lips.
"The old man, he stuck a metal corkscrew there."
She must have been under torture the whole time they had been walking.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"We had to keep going," she said. "There was no other way. I'm so sorry, I wanted to make it, but it hurts too much."
"Who says you won't make it?"
She shook her head again. "You can see it isn't possible. My feet are swelling already."
It was true that her feet and ankles had swollen to twice their size. She had such slender ankles ... Lee needed a hospital, or septicemia would set in. He couldn't even remove the bandage from her wound in that place, as he had no means of cleaning it. And no, she couldn't walk anymore.
"Put your hands around my neck," he told her.
She did, not understanding why. He stood with her in his arms and began to walk.
"James—James, this is madness! Put me down, we won't get anywhere this way."
"Yes," he said. "We'll get to Arizona."
"James, it's impossible!"
"How would you know," he asked, "until we’ve tried it?"
TWENTY-SIX
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br /> James didn't know how long he had walked. He had only stopped to rest and eat twice. Lee couldn’t eat anything except a little of the cactus for its water, and some cactus fruit.
Her face was burnt dark red and her lips peeling. There hadn't been any shade for a while, and the helicopters had flown by three times, but they hadn’t returned for hours. The police must have thought they had died or become hopelessly lost.
"James," Lee said feebly, her face against his neck.
"Yes?"
"James, put me down. Put me down for a moment."
He stopped and laid her on the ground, using the makeshift shelf to create a small tent over her head.
"What is it, my sweet?"
She spoke in a low, halting voice: she was at the end of her strength. "You must leave me here."
He shook his head. "That's just not possible, you know."
"It's no good. I won't make it, but you have to." She took his hand. "James, there is something you must do for me. I have a sister."
"Do you, my darling?"
"Darling?” Lee smiled. “I thought you had to mean that to say it."
"I mean it," he said, kissing her dusty wrist. “I mean it like hell.”
She smiled again, but went on, "My sister — her name is Cora. She is in a school called Surval Montreux, in Switzerland. She doesn't have anybody but me — so James, please, you must help her. You know how it is, to love your sister."
"Yes, I know. We'll help her together, when we get home."
Her chest rattled like a snake. "I won't make it, and you have to promise me. There is someone else as well, but Cora knows. She can tell Quinn. He can get my money.”
He scowled. "I don't like this talk of yours, as if you were giving up."
It almost broke his heart to say such a thing to her. She would never have given up, because there was a sister she loved more than herself. Lee would always have fought, but she was choosing to die so that he could live.
His heart would have broken into as many pieces as there were grains of sand in the desert, except that he knew what the mind could do. It was the mind that convinced you that you ought to be dead, all things being equal. He couldn't allow it.