by Dick Wybrow
She called back, "Maybe you can take over the wheel for a while. My arms are tired!"
"Wait!"
The Actor pulled off the shades he'd found in one of the many compartments around the cabin and stood on the small set of stairs leading to the back deck. Then he stepped out into the sunlight and kneeled on the bench outside to stare out back.
Anza called to him, but he ignored her for the moment. He'd seen something on the water, but then… maybe not.
Are we being followed? "Where… are you?" he muttered. "Just over…"
He scanned the horizon again, and just when he was about to turn away, he saw motion. Not on the water, above it.
Something small and black, but then it grew larger. It was moving fast, and it was heading toward them.
The Actor bolted from the bench and went back into the cabin. He came up beside Anza at the wheel. "Can you make this boat go faster?"
"Yes, but we are dodging and weaving around things out here," she said. "We need to move farther out into the water," she said and turned the wheel. They had to make up time.
She saw the look on the Actor's face. "What is it? What did you see?"
He shook his head, his curly locks banging against his flush cheeks.
She asked again, "What?"
"I don't know!" he growled. "It looks like a large… bat."
"Bat? I don' like bats."
"I don't know it—"
Right then, a high-pitched whine filled the cabin, and they both jumped. Looking out the windows, they searched for its source.
"What is that sound?" Anza whispered.
"I don't know. Bat sounds!"
"That doesn't sound like a bat. I think they go 'squeak-squeak-squeak,' not that sound."
"I said bat, not bird," the Actor whispered back. "Bats don't squeak."
"They do squeaking!"
Then the "bat" drifted into view off the port side of the boat. It was as big as a kitchen table. Black, sleek, with two fins on the back, long wings, and a "head" that looked like a Christmas snow globe. However, the glass on the globe was tinted—within it, an eye turned toward them.
"A robot bat," Anza said, her mouth hanging open. "The machines is finally taking over! Only a matter of time!"
The Actor growled. "It's a fucking drone!"
"That doesn’t look like the one Angel had. That is big!” she said. Then she squinted back out their front windows and turned parallel to the shore again. “Who is drone?"
The dwarf actor took a step toward the fluttering plastic window then crossed to the other side of the cabin, the blood draining from his face. "I don't know 'who is drone,' but they're no friend of ours."
* * *
Angel shouted back, "Are you ready?"
"No, there's a car back here!" I barked over the wind, my eyes battered by the dust.
I could see the rust on the small blue vehicle. One person inside, too dark to see, was hunched over the wheel. The car hit a pothole and shimmied and hopped but didn't lose speed. It looked like the thing might rattle apart before it finally caught up to us.
"I'll speed up, but you'll need to roll off just after the shed!"
"I am not rolling off. You're doing fifty miles an hour!"
The car edged closer then swerved slightly as the driver lost control. For the moment, it had gone sideways, and we sped off.
"Ready?"
"No!" I shouted, eying the car. It then disappeared, swallowed by the dust cloud.
I needed to change the plan. We could hit the gas, rocket down the road, hook back, and maybe we would lose the car. Then I caught sight of the hangar as we passed by.
Its large rollaway door was up, and a small plane was being pulled by a bobcat. A half dozen men wandered around, each with rifles either on their backs or held casually in their arms. The only one without a rifle was a man in tattered blue overalls, his wild gray hair flying in the wind.
"Uncle Jerry," I muttered.
His shoulders were slumped, and his back bent. My heart broke, but I couldn't help my friend if I died. We would have to get down to the end of the road then try again, leaving our pursuer far behind.
I was just about to relay that to my drag queen driver when he shouted, "Go! Go! Go!"
Crazy bastard. We were still going way too fast.
I turned to say, "Not yet," but the words never left my lips. Without spinning around, he'd placed one of his leather-fingerless-gloved hands on my back. Then he pushed.
My world spun, light-dark-light-dark-light-dark, then I felt an explosion of pain in my shoulder as I hit the dirt-and-gravel road. I was getting sick from all the rolling and finally came to a stop, sore all over my body, my legs soaking at the mouth of the creek.
"You crazy fuc—" I started to shout from the ditch but then saw the blue car burst through the dust. I ducked down low, hiding beneath the earthen lip.
Angel had hit the accelerator and was moving fast, but the car was hot on his tail.
Keeping low, I could only watch. As the blue car passed me, I finally got a look at the driver. Sally. Sally was at the wheel.
* * *
"Where did it go?"
"I don't know!"
The Actor pressed his face against the side windows, scanning above. Then he ran to the other side of the cabin and looked there. Nothing.
Anza was about to call to him, but he ran outside onto the back deck, arms out, hands balled into fists, again scanning the skies.
"I don't see it anymore!" he shouted. "It's gone."
"Come here!"
"Wait!" he shouted back. "I'm looking for it. I think it went… toward the shore maybe. It's not—"
"Please, come here!"
Anza's voice was strained, and the panic that had been balled up in the Actor's stomach branched into the rest of his body.
He ran back into the cabin and sidled up next to her. He watched as her eyes darted to the starboard then port, but all he saw were thin strips of beach, the occasional corrugated steel shack, gray puffs of bushes in the sand. None of it looked threatening. Then, he realized something.
"Wait," he said, taking a step back. "Why is there land on both sides of the boat? That… on that side"—he ran back to the plastic windows—"that is supposed to be water. All of that is supposed to be water to the Texas coast."
Anza remained quiet, looked down at the controls, then out the starboard window again. "We are in some sort of inlet, too close to shoreline," she said.
"Get us out!"
She spun the wheel hard, and the boat banked, flinging the Actor to the far side of the cabin. Anza herself was holding onto the captain's chair she'd yet to sit in.
The boat made a wide arc, a U-turn on the water, and the sun passed from one side of their vision to the other.
"Nice," he growled. Then he stood and saw that she'd nearly finished the turn. "Nice!"
But Anza wasn't as cheerful about their scenario. Something scraped the side of the boat, then it briefly lurched to one side.
The Actor tumbled, end over end, and was back on the other side of the cabin. "You're too close, hitting sand!"
She cranked the wheel a little farther, and they headed straight for the strip of beach on the other side.
The Actor stood and gasped at the sight of land out the front windows. "Hey, that—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Anza once again spun the wheel, banking hard to port, and the boat turned at a near-ninety-degree angle.
Behind her, the Actor tumbled and thudded against the opposite side of the cabin.
She let out a sigh of relief. Staring over the bow of the go-fast boat, she saw blue water once again opening up before them.
The Actor stood, growled once more, then hopped into the captain's chair. "Are you trying to kill me?"
She wiped her mouth with a trembling hand. "I cannot kill you. You know all of this, of course. And even if I could, I would not be trying!"
The Actor strode over to the small fridge,
pulled out a beer, snapped off the cap with the built-in bottle opener, and tipped it back, taking huge gulps.
Anza scanned the horizon in front of them. Is there a small island ahead? She hadn't seen one when they'd passed before.
The Actor let out a long-held breath, looked at his half-finished bottle, and tossed it over the side.
"Don' throw things in the water."
"It's the ocean!" he said, grabbing another bottle. "That's what it's for!" He took another swig, choked for a moment, then got back in the big chair, and strapped in. He looked out the front windows. "What is that?"
Anza didn't reply.
Just as the island began to take form, the Actor squinted and—
Pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft!
"Holy shit," the Actor said, trying to lean down, out of the way, but the belts of the captain's chair held him steady. "Who's shooting at us?"
"That other boat!" Anza said, looking back down at the controls. However, neither steering wheel nor hand throttle seemed to hold an answer for what to do next.
"Turn around!"
"We can't keep turning around! That is only more land. The green scope was showing that it was going into a point, nowhere to go."
"Well—"
Pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft!
"Dammit!" the Actor said and ducked down again. He fiddled with the buckle, his hands shaking, but he couldn't get it unsnapped. "We can't go that way. That boat is firing on us!"
A loud, tinny voice rang out over the whine of the engine. They both listened, but only Anza could understand it. She let out a low, panicked sob.
"I don't speak Mexican!" the Actor said. "What did they say?"
Anza looked to the left and right, then behind. There seemed to be no options. "Is the coast guard," she said. "They know this is a smuggle boat."
"What did they say?"
"We have to shut down the engines," she said and put her face in her hands.
"We can't do that! Can we go around it?"
Pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft!
The Actor's question answered, he said, "Okay, no going around it. What if we, I don't know, ignore them. Pretend like we didn't hear."
Anza stiffened, and wiping away a tear, she said, "They say if we don't make stopping, they will blow us up."
The Actor opened his mouth then closed it again.
He looked at the beer in the cup holder and finished the entire thing in one gulp. He looked at his hands then back up to Anza manipulating the small green screen map just off the steering column.
The Actor unbuckled the seat belt and hopped down off the chair. He stared at the screen. "What—what do we do?"
Anza looked out over the bow, the gleaming white coast guard boat blocking their way. If they were caught, it could mean prison, or at the very least, they would never make the drop-off point. So, she took the only option left. In the tiny inlet, with their exit blocked, Anza threw the throttle wide open, and the Actor flew to the rear of the cabin.
* * *
I watched the dust settle around me, lying in the watery ditch.
The roar of Sally's motorcycle, with Sally following in some piece-of-shit car, grew quieter and quieter as both vehicles skittered down the road and out of sight.
Briefly, I checked my body for broken bones. Not that I was medically trained, but it seemed if I touched a part that might be at an odd angle and it hurt, I could consider it broken.
Nothing.
I was okay. Except for most of my body throbbing dully after being pushed from the bike, I seemed no worse for wear. The small of my back was registering a grievance, stepping to the front of the complaints line, but I'd suffered little more than a bruised tailbone.
Looking at the fence, I could see the barbed wire that ran all across the top. However, it was rusted in most places, and part of it had fallen away after years of neglect.
The water soaking the bottom half of my body was dark and brackish, but just past my feet, I could see where it was coming from. The small creek that bubbled from the compound was emptying into the sea after passing through a fat, large pipe that went under the gravel road. A grate had captured leaves and sticks and wrappers and old cigarette packages, pushing some of the water into the ditch.
I crawled toward the gap under the fence. To say it smelled bad was an understatement. I wondered how much of the water might be sewage or drainage from the handful of animals wandering the encampment.
"Screw it," I said and slipped beneath the fence, scraping my back on the toothy wire as I did. I tried to slip out the other side but got caught on the fencing, trapped beneath the water.
Part of me wanted to open my eyes and at least get my bearings, but there was sludge, grass, branches, and what I imagined were massive turds, passing my arms and face.
Panic stole the breath I'd taken, and I struggled against the mild current, trying to break free. Unable to, I was losing air and struggling even harder.
I lifted my head above the water and gulped in air, taking in a half swallow of water. I was right—it tasted like I'd just downed a cup of week-old toilet water, and I fought against an instant need to vomit.
Then I thought what might be in my stomach, and I just did.
Surrounded by grime, floating moss, lumps of goo, and a film of my own puke, I stripped off my shirt, giving the fence teeth its lunch. Finally, I broke free, heaving and drawing in deep breaths, on my hands and knees in the creek, the waterline coming up to my chin.
"Well, this is going well."
I took a few moments to feel sorry for myself then drudged up the creek, banging across rocks and slime. Moving against the current, even at its drizzle-bubble pace, was slow going.
For the next ten minutes, I moved forward, cutting up my knees and hands as I did. At one point, I lifted my body above the surface, my board shorts heavy with water, and crouched as I walked along the creek bed. But then I heard some voices rolling across the hillside toward me. They were angry but laughing at the same time. I slipped below the dark water again.
After another few minutes, I caught sight of the side of a large building with steel-gray walls, pockets of rust across it, its large rollaway door still open. The hangar.
I tried to swim a little. My hands and knees screamed at me, elbowing aside the small of my back in the complaints queue.
Then, I saw a face staring at me, wide, judging, cowlike eyes taking me in, and not cowlike so much as just cow. The skinny creature was chewing on some yellowed grass, watching me since, it would seem, it didn't have much else to do.
"Scoot," I said to it in a low whisper. "Scat. Get outta here."
It regarded me with those big dull eyes and let out a long mooooo, which made everything in my body fry with electricity.
But then, it wasn't a barking dog. I knew there were some dogs on the compound. I'd seen them in the drone footage. Sure, they could have been fat angry tabbies, but I couldn't imagine cats would make for very good guard animals. What? You're here to kill the owner? Screw it, go ahead. They're feeding me the cheap stuff anyhow.
Either way, no one hearing a cow moo in a field would go, "Hey, what do you see, girl?"
I asked it, "You trying to get me busted?"
It didn't answer. That was a good thing, I supposed, because if it had, I really wouldn't have been emotionally prepared.
Pushing forward another fifty to a hundred yards, more scrapes and cuts to my skin, I was finally at the side of the hangar. Slowly, I pulled myself out of the creek, kept low, and headed for a door on the side.
I could hear voices growing louder, rolling across the dirt of the makeshift runway.
"You've got nine hours to get there and back," one of the heavily accented men said, obviously to my pilot friend. "You make it back before then, and you'll have a nice steak waiting for you."
That elicited only a grunt from another man.
"If you are late, we will again see how long it takes you to pass out from one of Hector's cattle pr
ods."
This drew laughter from at least three other men. As they cackled, a dizzying electric rage flushed through me like I'd stepped on a bare wire. I wanted to kill all of them, tear the limbs off whichever was closest, then smash the others to death with his bloodied arms.
Breathing through it, I instead took the opportunity to try the side door. It was unlocked. I cracked it open and could see a sliver of light on the other side of the big hangar door. Most of the lit spot was covered by crates and dingy tarps, littered with oily, empty plastic containers.
I slipped inside and closed the door as quietly as I could.
Recalling the drone footage again, I remembered there’d been two buildings side by side. The one farthest from me was slightly larger, all metal. This one looked to be little more than a converted barn. The plane itself must have barely fit inside.
Against the far wall, two men were sitting and playing cards at a small folding table. Each sat on a wooden crate—both holding cards with one hand. In the other, one held a beer. His friend held a cigarette.
When the plane sputtered and fired up, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest to make a beeline for the door.
Then came the sounds of boxes being tossed into the craft's belly. I heard several bang and bounce as they landed, and peering through the small gaps, I could see them tumbling languidly inside.
They were empty. It made sense, I supposed. Uncle Jerry would head out to a destination where they would be filled for him to bring back. I briefly wondered why he didn't get already filled boxes when he landed, but I was unfamiliar with the world of drug cartels. Maybe they had a "bring your own box" policy. Quite environmentally friendly, if that were the case.
Then I caught sight of my friend. His wrinkled blue jumpsuit was torn in countless places, matted with bits of food and dark stains. The stains were mainly concentrated around a number of cuts in the fabric. It didn't take much for me to realize the dark stains had been his blood.
Once again, anger boiled up in me, and I had to breathe it out. Focus! Going batshit with nothing but a pair of soggy tennis shoes and shorts would only get me killed.
I saw the man from the bar earlier hand him a green box the size of a suitcase. Three large straps held the top closed. Anza had told me the guy's name—Silvio.