The guards walked around the campfire and stood on each side of the wagon. Even in the dim glow of the firelight, Emmet admired her beauty. She offered each guard a sweet roll. If Mariana’s good looks don’t divert your attention, Emmet thought, your empty stomachs might.
The guards each plucked out a roll and munched it as they circled the wagon. They hefted the tarp to make sure it was only food being delivered and half-glanced at the underside of the wagon. If they were on high alert, they didn’t show it.
The guard on the left rapped on the big wooden gate. As it creaked open, the guard on the right waved Mariana through. Emmet let out a sigh of relief when the gate closed behind them, and he knew they were safely inside the compound, and Chiquito was free to go about his silent knife work. Now Emmet waited for sunrise, and the first report from Zack’s rifle.
CHAPTER 30 THE WATER BARREL
Faith dozed in and out most of the night and woke in the predawn hours. She lay on her cot for several minutes, summoning her courage. The room was dark and quiet except for the soft buzz of several girls snoring. Faith sat up and looked out the window. Clouds scudded past the moon, but enough light filtered into the room through the iron bars to allow her to make out the white sheets on the cots. She grabbed the sleeve of her smock and, after several tries, ripped off a piece the size of a face cloth. Next she removed the vial of chloroform from her pocket.
Leaning over the cot next to her, Faith nudged Valencia and whispered, “It’s time.”
Valencia shifted several times, rubbed the drowse from her eyes, and sat up. Faith rose and padded to the door, avoiding bumping into any of the cots. Valencia followed her across the room. Uncorking the bottle, Faith sprinkled a generous amount of the anesthetic on the torn piece of smock, which tinged the air with a sweet, pungent odor. She pointed to the doorknob.
Valencia tapped on the door with two fingers.
“What?” the guard mumbled from the other side, his voice muzzy with sleep.
“Calida is sick again.”
Faith plugged the vial and passed it to Valencia. A minute passed, and then the door opened, and the guard entered. Valencia said nothing but pointed to a cot in the middle of the room. As soon as the guard cleared the door, Faith sprang from behind it and jumped on him, locking her legs around his waist, clamping the cloth across his nose and mouth. The guard spun and tried to throw her off like a wild horse tossing a rider, but Faith clung to him like moss to a river rock.
The guard lunged at his back and made a frantic grab for her hair, but his arms couldn’t reach. Faith felt a brief relaxation in his body, and then a sudden burst of strength as he squirmed and twisted his frame back and forth in a wild attempt to flip her off. He slammed his back against the wall, almost crushing her, but Faith held her grip. Again, she felt his body relaxing, his motions slowing, until he pitched forward and fell across several cots, waking half a dozen girls.
“Help me flip him on his back,” Faith told Valencia.
The girls awakened by the fall said nothing, listening as Faith told Valencia what to do: “If he starts to stir, sprinkle more of this on the cloth and hold it to his nose and mouth for a minute or so. Too much will kill him, so use it lightly.”
Valencia took the cloth and nodded. Faith turned to the girls who were staring at her from their beds, including Fabiana.
“I’m going to get help,” Faith told them.
“No you’re not,” Fabiana said. “You’re running away.”
“I intend to save us all,” Faith said. “I’ll send people to rescue you.”
“Please don’t be long,” Valencia pleaded.
Faith opened the door, scanned left and right to see if anybody was there, then stepped into the hall. Soon Mrs. Medina would be starting her day and preparing coffee for the early-rising Salazar. As Faith inched towards the kitchen, she heard the raspy growl of another guard snoring in the dining room. With her back pressed against the wall, she felt her way along the hall, past the sleeping man, and into the kitchen, where she accidentally kicked one of Viper’s large water bowls. Ducking under the kitchen table, she waited to see if she had stirred the guard and listened for footsteps—or the scratch of paws. Nothing . . . only the slosh of water back and forth inside the bowl.
She peered out the kitchen window and jumped back when she noticed a third guard smoking a cigarette by the well. He tossed the butt on the ground, ladled water from a bucket, and drank. Faith remained hidden, surrounded by hanging pots and pans. When the guard sauntered around the corner towards the small courtyard, she cracked the door open several inches. The chilly air bubbled gooseflesh on her bare arms. To generate some warmth, she chafed her arms with her hands.
When she figured it was safe, she dashed to the east side towards the well and hid behind a water barrel under the ramada. It took several tries to remove the plug from the barrel and get the water flowing. Once the barrel was empty, she planned to roll it across the yard and use it to scale the wall.
The guard returned to make another pass, whistling as he walked. Faith watched him as he stopped to flex his knees and then looked at the water draining from the barrel. He came towards her with his gun drawn, so she slid deeper into the shadows and balled her body up to make it as small as possible.
She watched him peer around several barrels and under a wooden bench. Her hopes sank once he found the plug on the ground, picked it up, and jammed it back inside the barrel to stop the flow. Faith didn’t breathe, didn’t budge. The man dawdled by the barrel for several more minutes before walking back to the well pump. When Faith saw him lean against it and roll another cigarette, she realized she was trapped, and her stomach knotted up in defeat.
The smell of the damp oak wood reminded her of the rain barrel beside her house, the one she would hide behind to fool her parents when playing hide and seek. Her parents? What would they do in this situation? Pray. She rested her head on her arms and lifted a heart-felt plea to heaven to send a deliverer to show her a way out.
CHAPTER 31 MRS. MEDINA
Mariana steered the wagon along the west side of the main house but stopped halfway between the kitchen and front gate when she realized neither of the guards in the yard could see her. She jumped to the ground, reached under the wagon bed, undid the pin, and, with a gentle hand, let down the trap door. Chiquito slipped out, rolled between the wheels, and vanished into the shadowscape, just as the guard in the rear came around the corner.
“You there,” he yelled. “What are you doing?”
Mariana pushed the door back up and repositioned the pin as he closed in. “I thought something was snagged on the wheel,” she said, “but I was wrong. I’m here with the food.” She grabbed the bag of sweet rolls and offered him one. He peered inside the bag and pulled one out.
“Where’s Pedro?” he asked as he bit into the pastry. The tip of his thick moustache turned white with frosting.
“Baking,” Mariana said. “He’s still got a lot to do before your guests arrive on Monday.”
“They’ve been delayed a day,” he said.
“Nobody told us.”
The guard shrugged. “Kitchen’s around the corner.”
Mariana hopped into the seat and guided the wagon outside the kitchen door. Before she could climb down, Mrs. Medina walked out holding a lantern. She was an older, stunted woman, with a round face, pug nose, and short, curly hair that thinned at the sides. A cook for thirty years, she had spent the last five trying to please the palates of Salazar and Garza.
“Where’s Pedro?” she snapped.
“He has a lot more food to prepare but sends his regards,” Mariana said. “I just learned from the man in the yard that your guests have been delayed.”
Mrs. Medina ignored Mariana, yanked the tarp off, and swung the lantern around the inside of the wagon. “Well, I’m not unloading these baskets,” she said. “Armando.”
The teenaged servant popped his head out the doorway.
“Bring the food i
nto the kitchen,” she said, and then she handed the lantern to Mariana. “Make sure he gets everything.”
Armando sprang into action, grabbing a basket and lugging it inside. Mariana remained in the seat, shining the light for each of Armando’s trips. Dawn was just outlining the curves of the mountains. My time is running out, she thought. She jumped from the wagon, set the lantern down, and brought a basket into the kitchen, passing Armando on the way. There was no room left on the table, so she set the basket on the floor.
“Not there, here,” Mrs. Medina said, pointing to a wooden bench next to the fireplace. As Mariana moved the basket, the cook handed her a bucket. “Tell Armando to fetch some water.”
Half a dozen baskets remained in the wagon. “I’ll get the water, Armando,” Mariana said. “You keep unloading.”
She turned the corner expecting to encounter the guard with the frosting moustache again. Instead, she saw his body stuffed behind a horse trough and knew Chiquito had made his acquaintance. She lifted the bucket to the pipe and jacked the pump handle. The brisk air had made the metal as cold as marble in her hand. As water purled from the spout, Mariana sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. When the bucket was full, she set it down and moved deeper under the ramada.
“Chiquito?” she whispered. No answer. She peered around the barrel and saw a girl huddled in the shadows. In the darkness, Mariana could just make out the blonde hair on the top of her head.
“Faith?”
The girl’s pupils went wide as buttons at being recognized. “Who . . . who are you?” the girl stammered.
“I’m Mariana—a friend of your uncle’s.”
Faith hopped up and buried her head in Mariana’s bosom. “I knew my uncle would come for me.”
Mariana thumbed the girl’s chin and gasped when she saw the bandages. “Those animals,” she said.
“It’s not their fault,” Faith said, pressing her fingers against the bandages. “Is my uncle okay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the army is coming today?”
“Yes. Listen: We have little time. I’m going to get you out of here. Now.”
Mariana turned and studied the compound. All clear. She grasped Faith’s hand, and they ran across the yard, pulling up next to the house. Mariana’s heart raced at the prospect of whisking Faith away before the shooting started.
“Around the corner there’s a wagon with a hidden compartment underneath,” Mariana said. “If you climb into it, I can sneak you out of here.”
They waited until Armando carried the last basket inside, and then they scurried to the wagon. Mariana set the bucket down, reached under, and released the pin, but, because of her shaking hand, the door slammed down before she could catch it. Armando heard the noise and stuck his head outside. Mariana froze when their eyes met, and her heart dropped like lead. She had been so close to rescuing Faith and had failed. Her sorrow changed to puzzlement when she saw Armando smile at Faith and raise his index fingers to his lips. Faith smiled back before scrambling inside the compartment. Mariana reset the pin and brought Armando the bucket.
“Thank you for your help,” she said, dazed yet relieved.
Armando leaned in and whispered, “Garza took my sister two years ago.”
Mariana gave a sympathetic nod.
Then the boy reached into his pants pocket and removed a roll of gauze, placing it in her hands.
“In case her bandages need freshening.”
“I’ll see to it,” she said. “I’m leaving now.”
“Not so fast,” Mrs. Medina said, pushing Armando aside. “I think we’re missing a few items.”
“Write them down,” Mariana said, “and I’ll get the list tomorrow.”
“No, no, no,” Mrs. Medina clucked. “We’ll go over it together right now, and tomorrow you’ll bring me what’s missing.”
Mariana rolled her eyes and peered up at the eastern hills backlit by the rising sun. She knew Zack was up there preparing to fire the bullet that would start the attack. There was nothing she could do to escape the wave of destruction that was about to roar down. She followed Mrs. Medina into the kitchen.
CHAPTER 32 SUNRISE
Garza rose from his bed in the dark, lit the flat-wick kerosene lamp, and fished a light-green guayabera and brown pants out of the closet. After tugging on his boots, he lifted his holster and gun from the bedpost and buckled them on.
He knew his cousin would already be up, expecting him to search for the missing men and girl. He walked down the hall to the den and could tell Salazar was inside from the lamplight reflecting off the polished wooden floor behind the door. He knuckle-rapped twice before opening it.
“Good morning, Yago,” Salazar said. He held a goose quill pen and was scratching figures in one of his tally books. Viper sat next to him, sphinxlike.
Garza didn’t respond and slid into one of the two chairs in front of the desk.
“Good to see you up early,” Salazar continued. When he looked up, he noticed the gun. “Hardware before breakfast?”
Garza stared at his cousin in steely silence.
“What’s going on?” Salazar asked.
Another knock on the door, and this time Armando entered carrying a metal coffee pot and two clay mugs. The servant splashed coffee into the mugs and handed one to Garza, who took a long sip and swirled the warm liquid around his mouth before swallowing.
“Tell Mrs. Medina to delay breakfast today,” he told the boy.
“Since when do you interfere with meals?” Salazar said. “Armando, tell her we’ll have breakfast as usual.”
“Do as I say,” Garza barked at the boy. “My cousin and I have important business to resolve.”
Salazar set the pen down and dismissed Armando. The servant nodded and left the room. Salazar flipped his hands up, arched his eyebrows. “So?”
“Tell me it’s not true.”
“What?”
“You’re letting one of the girls go.”
Outside, the darkness continued to dissolve, and gray clouds filtered the emerging light, bathing the hills in a soft, dull glow. Further beyond, black rain clouds massed at the edge of the sky.
“It’s true,” Salazar said. “You must have spoken with Ponce.”
Garza slammed the mug on the desk.
Salazar took a quick sip of coffee. “And now I’m going to tell you something else that will vex you, Yago. I’ve asked Faith to marry me, and, if she consents, I promised her I would set all the girls free.”
Garza exhaled a long, slow breath, drew his Peacemaker, and said, “You’ve finally lost your mind.”
The dog rose from the floor and began to growl.
Salazar let out a short laugh. “What do you intend to do with that?”
“Stop you.”
Garza watched as Salazar’s right hand eased toward the inside pocket of his jacket. “Leave the derringer where it is, Enrique.”
Salazar’s hand froze and dropped into his lap.
Garza stood and said, “You carry such a small gun, a girl’s weapon, really. Real men wear more metal.”
Salazar swallowed and stared at his cousin.
“You never thought I’d agree to free the girls, did you?” Garza asked.
Light continued to seep through the window and bleach out the remaining shadows. Salazar picked up the lantern, blew out the flame, and set it back on the desk. He steepled his fingertips and squinted at Garza through dark berry eyes.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” he said. “Vibora.”
The dog deepened its growl and bared its teeth.
“Oh, but it does matter,” Garza said. He cocked the pistol, pointed it at the dog, and fired into its head, killing it instantly.
Salazar recoiled in the chair and shouted, “What have you done!”
Tito and Ponce burst through the door, looked at the dead animal, and then over at Garza.
“You never did like that dog,” Tito said.
“Seize
him!” Salazar shouted. “He plans to shoot me next.”
The two men turned and smiled at Salazar. Tito sidled over to the desk, drummed his fingers on it, and then pushed the black porcelain stallion off the edge. He was still smiling after the statue hit the floor and shattered into pieces.
Garza’s teeth were clenched, his eyes focused. He cocked the pistol again. “Tito and Ponce are with me on this.”
“Are you really going to kill me?” Salazar asked, a puzzled look creeping across his face.
“You’ve left us no choice.”
Salazar sat still as a gravestone, except for the corner of his upper lip, which was twitching. Garza had seen the tic once before—when a pistolero was holding a knife to his cousin’s throat. Garza knew Salazar was scared.
“Last chance to change your mind,” Garza said. He pointed the Peacemaker at Salazar’s nose. “What’s it going to be?”
With his lip quivering even faster, Salazar placed both hands on the desk and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. Instead Garza watched his cousin’s head explode in a spray of blood and bone. Instinct made Garza, Tito, and Ponce dive on the floor as the last echo of the rifle shot drifted into the hills. Garza skittered away from the window and rammed his back against the wall. Tito and Ponce stared up at Salazar’s body slumped on the desk, his brain exposed, a red stew soaking the papers and journals and dripping onto the dead dog.
“Sniper in the east woods!” Garza screamed. “Find him.”
Tito and Ponce rolled across the floor, stood, and bolted down the stairs. Garza felt something warm and sticky dripping down his cheeks. When he realized it was spatter from his cousin, he wiped his face with an arched hand. Just then a huge explosion jostled the house and rattled the coffee pot and mugs. Above him, between the wooden rafters, dust and adobe flakes drifted down like snow.
Garza crouched in the corner, bewildered. Cannon fire? Is the army here? Are they attacking us? He slithered across the floor and stood when he reached the door. The next sound he heard was the unmistakable thumping of a Gatling gun being added to the mix of war noises punishing the estate. His next impulse was rapid and urgent. Get out of the house. Now.
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