Or was dying.
Santiago turned to María Dolores and Alegría lying next to him. It took a few minutes to reassure himself that both chests were rising and falling. The wall they’d used for shelter early this morning no longer protected them from the sun. Using the backpacks, he tried to build a wall to cast a shadow over the sleeping figures. It barely made a difference, but it was something while he looked for water.
He forced himself to stand, dragging his feet behind him. Keep moving, keep looking. Find something. Except only the walls of a few structures made from thick adobe bricks surrounded the area; most of their wooden roofs had long since rotted away. No trash, no footprints, no sign that anyone had been there for years, maybe decades. This wasn’t Valle Cobre, but some kind of settlement, abandoned and forgotten.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to hear the faintest sound of vehicles or, better yet, a stream. Nothing.
“Santiago, where are you?” María Dolores’s voice crackled like she had a cold.
“Ya vengo.” He shuffled his way back. Both of the girls were awake, and they grabbed him in a hug when he appeared around the wall.
“I thought you’d left us,” María Dolores whispered in his ear. “I thought you’d…” That he’d left her with all the remaining supplies, in hope they’d somehow make it without him. He knew, because he’d thought of doing just that.
Instead he delivered the bad news. Nothing among these abandoned structures would help them survive.
“I don’t know where we are,” he said, kicking up dust on the faint trail that led to these ruins. “Don’t know where the road to Valle Cobre is.”
“I’m thirsty,” Alegría said.
María Dolores reached out for her daughter, looking like she was about to cry for not being able to help her. “Our water is gone, mamita. My phone’s dead. Don’t know if my sister got the text or not.”
The focus in Santiago’s mind sharpened just a bit. He had to take care of them. Had to.
“We can’t do anything now,” Santiago said. Once again the sun blazed hot and bright. A few more hours and they’d be nothing more than human jerky for the vultures. “When it gets dark, we’ll walk down the path we came up yesterday.”
María Dolores swallowed and agreed. “Where do you think the path goes?”
“To a bigger road.” He fought to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. “It’ll lead us to a town. A real town with people and resources.” That made enough sense to be true. “But first, let’s rest in the shade.”
He led them to an abandoned three-sided building that still had a partial metal roof. The dehydrated dung indicated it had once been a stable. Santiago moved a rotted piece of wood out of the way only to drop it again. He yelped as he and María Dolores jumped. Only Alegría crouched over to peer at the scurrying hairy legs of a tarantula the size of her hand.
“¡Qué linda!”
Once Santiago’s heartbeat returned to normal (and Alegría moved the wood again, disappointed not to find any additional arachnid cousins), they opened the small can of sardines to share. They told Alegría to close her eyes and eat two when she refused, and then they shared the oil the fish had been swimming in. The grease soothed their raw throats and gave them the illusion of having drunk something.
At first Alegría didn’t want to rest. She and Santiago colored in her book and told stories about the characters. Santiago could feel his mind begin to drift.
“Have you ever played Quiet Mouse, Still Mouse?” He remembered the game he used with his toddler cousins to help them nap.
Alegría shook her head, widening her eyes.
“So, we both lie down, and we have to be as quiet and still as possible.” He lay on his side, using the crook of his elbow as a pillow. His other arm went around Alegría as she cuddled against his chest. “If one of us wiggles or talks, the other person wins. If we both stay quiet and still, then we both win. But I have to warn you, I’m very good at this game.”
“Princesa and me are both really good too,” Alegría said.
“I’m glad, because I could use a challenge. But you know, if Princesa starts moving and loses, we still have to see who gets second place.”
Alegría nodded. “When are we starting?”
“Right now.”
The little girl shifted to a more comfortable position and then didn’t move again. Within a few minutes she was softly snoring.
* * *
The moon shone bright and almost full by the time they walked down the dirt track that would, they hoped, lead to a main road.
Only a few peanuts and raisins that had fallen to the bottom of a backpack and the three caramelos Santiago had bought for himself remained of their food supplies.
But no water.
They had packed food for a couple of days and were at their fourth or fifth day? Santiago had lost track. They finished off the last of their supplies—three peanuts and two raisins each. Except Santiago gave his raisins to Alegría. They completed their final meal by each savoring a square caramelo, which only reminded them of their thirst.
In a ditch next to the path something caught the light of the moon. Santiago held on to Alegría as he reached through the debris and pulled up a white plastic water jug.
“Is that water?” María Dolores gasped.
Santiago shook his head, simultaneously shaking the bottle. Two perfectly round holes in the plastic explained the lack of water: Someone had deliberately shot the jug to drain the water it held.
They kept going, their feet on autopilot, despite being tired of walking, tired of feeling their throats dry and sore, tired of traveling with no end in sight.
“You can eat cactus, right?” María Dolores stopped in front of a plant not much smaller than her.
Santiago grabbed her hand as she reached out toward the spiny arms as if hypnotized. “Not these ones. These don’t have flesh or fruit. Just spines and wood-like bones inside. The eating ones are flat.”
“Is it dinner time?” Alegría asked faintly from Santiago’s neck.
The sound of her daughter perked up María Dolores. “Are you sure you can’t eat these?”
Still holding María Dolores’s hand, Santiago continued down the path. “Very sure. When I find a cactus we can eat, I’ll give it to ustedes.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
The more they walked, the more his mind wandered. Where had all the cactus gone? Other people must have eaten them. He hated other people. He needed a stick to harvest the cactus. Or a fork to grab the pad. And a knife. He had a knife. That would help remove the spines. Or was it fire that removed the spines? He could make a fire. Now the moon brought a chill, but the sun had burned like fire. Maybe the sun already burned off the spines. What spines?
After countless hours, the faded path ended at a road that stretched out to the left and right in the moonlight. Still a dirt road, but one wide enough for two cars to pass each other, evident by the tire tracks.
Here at the junction, instinct told Santiago to turn left. Left felt correct, left was farther away from the mountains they had crossed.
Behind him, María Dolores followed more slowly, her eyes on the road. When he remembered, he stopped and waited for her, shifting Alegría higher up on his hip.
So tired, too tired to think straight, and the empty backpack became too heavy to carry. He left that behind. But not Alegría. She stayed, now on his back, arms over his shoulders, legs crossed around his waist.
In the dark they didn’t come across any cars. As the sun came up, vehicles started driving by. They couldn’t risk being seen; la migra would just send them back. Santiago led them off the dirt road to walk in the brush instead, while keeping the road in sight as a guide. When a car came, they flattened themselves against the ground and hoped no one saw them. The third time they did this, Santiago didn’t get up. The weight of Alegría on his back kept him pinned to the ground; he didn’t have the strength to ask her to roll off. He turned his head
. He could just make out María Dolores some distance behind him. She didn’t move either.
A break. They could all use a break. Yes, just a little break.
CHAPTER 17
Lights flashed behind Santiago’s eyelids. Pretty lights. Steady and consistent. Like a beating heart.
Except now his eyes were open. Red lights and blue lights. Warnings. Why would he see lights in the desert? And voices. Male voices. Maybe a female one too. But not María Dolores’s voice. These voices didn’t use words he understood.
“Santi.” Alegría’s voice came out breathless near his ear. Now that she spoke, he could feel her weight, comforting and close, still on his back. “Mami.”
“Shh,” he whispered. He forced his dehydrated mind to focus, comprehend the events in front of him, and stay hidden. Deep breaths: the only brain food available to him.
One set of flashing lights came from a police car. He was pretty sure. The other from a large white van where a flat bed was being pulled out. A stretcher. An ambulance.
Two other cars were parked along the side. Lots of people talked. Still, none of the things they said made any sense. Not that it mattered. Police in any language didn’t sound good.
“Shh,” he reminded Alegría. He couldn’t let the police notice them. Stay hidden; don’t let them see us.
He noticed tangled bleached-blond hair mixed with black hair flutter against the desert ground. María Dolores.
Alegría whimpered in his ear. This time he didn’t remind her to stay quiet.
People in uniforms lifted María Dolores onto the stretcher. The sight stung his eyes, but blinking hurt just as much; his body didn’t have enough water to produce tears.
Her head rolled in their direction. The wind carried words from the scene he finally understood: “Alegr— San—.”
The uniformed people shifted, blocking her from Santiago’s sight. A male voice finally spoke in Spanish. “What are you saying? That you’re alegre? Or are you praying to a saint?”
But no other words came from María Dolores.
Someone else gave an order, and the stretcher continued to the ambulance parked on the road.
The same person who’d spoken Spanish before changed tactics. Instead of questioning, he turned to comforting. “You’re safe. We’re going to get you some water and food, and medical attention. You’re going to be okay.”
“Mami,” Alegría sobbed against Santiago’s shoulder as they loaded her mamá onto the ambulance twenty meters away.
He’d promised María Dolores he’d take care of Alegría. But he’d also promised himself he’d look after both of them. Yet here, now, in the desert, they were taking María Dolores away. Paramedics and police officers. Just like they’d taken his mami away.
He couldn’t let them get caught. He had to save Alegría’s life. Water. Food. He had none of those things. Didn’t know where he could find them. But these people. They had water and food. Alegría needed water and food. Like she needed her mami.
The ambulance door slammed with a bang.
One hand held Alegría’s leg to keep her steady. The other hand pressed against the ground, gathering his knees from under him, pushing and straining until he finally rolled up to standing. He raised the hand not supporting Alegría high into the air. “Pare. ¡Alto!”
CHAPTER 18
Santiago fell back to the ground as soon as the words crackled out of his throat. He heard the ambulance drive away; the people hadn’t seen him. María Dolores. Lights and visions swam in and out of focus. No, he shouldn’t have tried to get their attention. No, he shouldn’t have let them get away.
Feet rushed to his side. Alegría’s weight lifted from his back. No, not her, too. Fear fed anxiety as he struggled to his feet and stumbled forward onto his face.
“No… don’t… her…” He struggled to talk, his throat too dry and his brain too fried. “Come. Favor. Not her.”
The same male voice reassured him in Spanish. “She’s right here. I’m giving her a drink. You drink too.”
Strong hands rolled him over to his back and lifted his head up, holding a drink to his lips. Except he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure Alegría was okay.
“Santi.” The figure who held out her hand looked nothing like Alegría. Most of the hair had come out of her pigtails, and it looked more like light brown instead of black. From mud? No, dust. There’d been no water to make mud. Her normally bright eyes were red and swollen. Her arms, which had been draped over his shoulders while he carried her, were burned past red and covered in blisters. Sunscreen. Hadn’t they used sunscreen? Or had they eaten it? And when had they lost their hats? Days, weeks ago? His brain held no sense of time.
“Santi,” she called out again after another swig from some yellow drink. At least she still sounded like her. “Where’s Mami?”
Santiago took hold of the plastic bottle the man offered and swallowed most of it in one gulp. His stomach, the iron gut that could eat anything, revolted, and the yellow drink came right back up again.
“You have to take it slow. It’ll help you. But slowly. A little at a time.” The man tipped what felt like drops into Santiago’s mouth. The sweetness clashed with the bile on his swollen tongue. His mouth absorbed that small amount without needing to swallow. A few more drops and, finally, one swallow made it down. Two more swallows and he reached his hand out to grab Alegría’s.
“Where’s Mami?” she repeated, her head turning from one side to the other.
Santiago squeezed her hand. Even with the minimal fluids, his brain regained some cognitive functions. And memory. The ambulance. And how once again he’d let paramedics take away his family.
“Tu madre is in need of critical care, suffering from extreme heatstroke,” the man said. “They’ve taken her to the hospital. We didn’t know you two were here until the ambulance left.”
He wore a tan uniform that blended into the brown-and-tan landscape and a broad, flat-brimmed hat. By his dark eyes and wide nose, he could definitely be mexicano. His accent and manner of speaking, while flawless, indicated education, like a newscaster or politician.
“Come, let’s get you out of the sun.” He offered them each a hand, but neither accepted it. Instead, Santiago stood, lifted Alegría up, and then followed the tan-dressed man. His feet ached with every step, and the rest of his body felt stiff and brittle, like he’d snap if he weren’t careful. Slower then, because he wouldn’t let himself break, not while holding Alegría, not when he remained the only person she had left.
The truck had four doors and was the same tan color as the man’s uniform. A design was printed on the back-seat door he opened for them. At least the truck didn’t have flashing lights.
Despite the dark interior, the inside of the vehicle felt refreshingly cool. Santiago sank into the cushions, never wanting to get up, while Alegría remained clenched in a tight ball.
“Who are you?” Santiago asked.
“I’m Jorge, a ranger in these parts.”
“¿La migra?”
“No, just a friend. Be right back. I have to finish talking with the others.” The man left the car doors open and returned to the police officer and a woman standing by their nearby cars.
“I want my mami!” Alegría broke into tears and threw the drink bottle into the desert.
“Mamita,” Santiago said to the girl. He picked up the spilled drink and returned to the cool truck, reassuring himself as much as her. “We’re going to see Mami real soon. Everything is all right. I’m here, and Princesa’s here.”
“Princesa is not real,” Alegría muttered.
“¿Qué?” He leaned back to stare at the girl. The more he looked the more he could see the girl he remembered from before the sun had taken its toll on her face. He didn’t want to think how he looked. “Of course Princesa is real. I see her; she’s right in front of us. I think she’s the one who got us help. I was really thirsty. Weren’t you?”
She buried her face in his neck
, nuzzling against him or maybe nodding yes.
He kissed her head and rubbed her back. “Whatever happens, we’re both always here. Neither of us is going anywhere.”
The policeman Jorge had been talking to barely looked their way as he got back into the squad car and turned off the flashing lights before driving away. Santiago let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. One less thing to worry about.
The woman present wandered back to her car with her hands on her head and a look of disbelief. Once in the car, she didn’t start it. Just rested her head on the steering wheel. She didn’t wear a uniform.
Jorge returned and handed them each a plastic container of baby food and spoons. From the pictures, Santiago guessed it was some kind of meat (chicken?) and carrots.
“You probably won’t be able to swallow anything more substantial for a while,” Jorge explained. He turned the truck on and let the engine run with the air conditioner blasting but with the doors still open to the outside scorching world.
This Jorge didn’t lock them in the truck. That said something. And the fact that he could waste money running the air conditioner with the doors open said something more. Maybe Jorge really was their friend.
“Here, mamita, you need to eat something.” Santiago opened the baby food and offered Alegría a spoonful. She shifted away from his neck and opened her mouth like a baby bird.
He scooped the next spoonful for himself. The baby food tasted bitter, like it’d been in the car for months, getting cooked by the intense heat. Alegría shook her head when he tried to offer her a second bite.
“You have to eat something. Build your strength so we can see Mami. Three more bites, okay?”
She responded by opening her mouth three more times, but no more. His own stomach agreed it’d had enough once they’d finished one container between the two of them.
“How did you find us?” Santiago asked as he drank more of the sweet yellow liquid.
“That woman over there thought she saw something this morning but didn’t stop.” He pointed to the woman in the other car, her head still on the steering wheel. “Later she saw it again and got out of the car. When she realized it was a person, she called for help. I think she’s still in shock. We were just about to search the area for others when you stood up and fainted. Are there any others?”
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