The Long Run, page 17
“It started a few minutes ago,” Dominica said with a nod towards the storm.
High winds whistled through the barred window, bathing everyone in an inescapable mist of ocean spray. Life on the Texas gulf coast had well acquainted Sofia with hurricanes. They sparked in the Atlantic Ocean and carried into the Caribbean Sea, ripping through its cluster of islands. From there, they veered either into the Gulf of Mexico or the Yucatan peninsula. This was one of the latter. She felt the telltale knot of fear welling in her stomach. All hurricanes seemed huge from ground level. But she suspected this one was a monster. Some fears were bigger even than Chucho.
Hugo sat behind her, watching the storm dumbstruck. While she slept, two more guards had entered and sat beside him on unfolded metal chairs. The rainwater bled further into the cell, touching Sofia’s extended feet. A puddle formed in the corner closest to the window. She wondered what the drainage was like in this compound. Were they elevated? Or at the bottom of a hill? How high could the water get in this locked jail? Not knowing the answer, she assumed the worst. In a few hours, they could be fighting for breath inside a human aquarium.
“Let us out!” she said, turning to Hugo. His dull face rotated to face her. His eyes were wide with awe. “Please!”
“I… I can’t,” he stammered. “We have—”
“Quiet!” one guard yelled. He picked up his rifle and smashed the butt into the cell bar closest to Sofia’s face. The clang rang in her ear as she recoiled. “Quit your bitching! It’s just rain!” The guard’s upper lip curled in a sneer as he glared at her. Sofia swallowed her retort. He watched her for a moment before returning his attention to the bellowing storm. Hugo pursed his lips and looked away, unwilling or unable to say more.
“What are we going to do?” Dominica said, her voice a worried tremble.
“Let’s move over there.” Sofia nodded to the other women huddled against the far wall, safe from the growing puddle. As they stood to move, the overhead lights flickered and died. An unseen woman screamed in fright. Dominica’s hand found Sofia’s wrist and clamped down hard. “I’m here,” Sofia said to reassure her.
“Son of a bitch!” one guard swore.
The pitch-black cell flashed a pale blue as lightning crashed outside. The winds howled through the window parallel to the floor and pelted everyone with fat rain drops. Sofia’s clothes and hair were sopping wet. She swiped water running down her face.
“Luis! Mundo!” Another blue flash revealed Chucho standing in the open doorway. His green poncho flapped against the gusting wind. Thick rubber boots covered his feet. He held a long-barreled rifle in one hand. He motioned towards the two guards beside Hugo. “Put your ponchos on and follow me.”
“What’s happening?” one guard asked.
“The men’s jail is crumbling. We’re moving them to the house.”
The guards fetched their rain gear from a side closet. A minute later, they stood at Chucho’s side, ready to plunge into the swirling cyclone outside the door.
“What about me?” Hugo said. A lightning flash revealed him standing and facing the three men. Chucho eyed him before the room faded to black.
“I need men,” Chucho said. “Stay here with the women, perrito.” The other guards snickered at the insult before following Chucho into the tempest. The door slammed shut behind them.
Sofia knew that comment cut Hugo deep. Cartel gangsters doled out violence as part of their jobs. They paid off cops and sold dope to children. Sicarios killed at their boss’s command, no questions asked. To survive among such people required a level of toxic manliness—machismo—that Hugo did not possess.
“Hugo,” she spoke into the blackness. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” he whispered. The outline of his shoulders and head appeared in front of a window.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I’m sorry about Chucho. I’m sorry he’s your boss. You’re a good person, Hugo. He’s the dog.”
A pregnant pause followed. Whether Hugo cared about or even heard her statement went unanswered. A flash of lightning showed him standing several feet away with his head hung low.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You deserve better.”
“Yeah? You know me so well?”
“No. But I know enough. You’re not one of them. Chucho is a monster. The other men follow him like puppies, doing whatever their master says.”
Thunder shook the walls and rattled the iron bars. The puddle had expanded, now covering Sofia’s feet half an inch deep. She cringed at the clap of lightning nearby. Its flash illuminated the room, revealing Hugo standing inches from Sofia. Rainwater coated his hair and face. He grasped the bars with both hands and peered into her eyes.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t have to. If you let me leave, you can join us. We can—”
“I have to shoot you.”
The statement stunned Sofia into silence. His curious eyes studied her reactions. Confusion was first. An inability to process what he’d said. Understanding quickly followed. Then the icy grip of fear. She stepped away from the bars, splashing through rising water.
“I don’t want to,” Hugo continued. “Chucho says it’s my job. If the drugs don’t arrive in Dallas. Said it would make me a man.”
That was Chucho’s grim version of fatherly guidance. He was going to force poor, dim Hugo to end her life with a bullet to the brain. Hugo leaned against the bars with his head hung low. Sofia approached, clutching her damp shirt with both hands.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No? What should I do?”
“Let us out. Right now. Come with us. We can run away from the storm in a Jeep. I’ll tell the police that you helped us escape. They’ll let you in the United States if you can prove your life is in danger. I’ll tell them myself.”
Hugo watched her talk with dull brown eyes. “And what about my mother and brother? Would the Americans let them in?”
Sofia blinked. Getting Hugo asylum would be hard enough, despite the obvious threat of credible harm. Immigration authorities had towed a hard-core line since the new president took office. They were ripping children from their mother’s arms to ward off immigrants from crossing the river. The odds they would grant asylum to Hugo’s family were nonexistent. Her silence told Hugo all. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
“Chucho would kill them if I did that. I can’t.”
Sofia nodded. She couldn’t expect him to sacrifice his family for her safety and the remote hope of US citizenship. Nobody would agree to do that. Not even herself. She gripped the iron bars and lowered her head until their foreheads touched. The doomed commiserating with the executioner. Twin lives caught in the immoral web of the cartel.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“For asking. Nobody would do what I asked. I just… I don’t want to die… I—” her voice choked as tears welled inside. They mixed with the spray of rainwater collecting on her face and dripped off her cheeks.
“I’m sorry too,” he said, without explanation. Not that one was needed. “What else can I do?”
Hugo’s question sparked an idea. A last ditch thought of escape. If she had the nerve.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “Not before I die. Can you… can you hold me?” Another clap of lightning brightened the room as she lifted her head and met his gaze. An awkward grin spread across his lips before the room faded to black.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” Instead of opening the cell gate and coming inside, he stretched his arms between the cell bars and wrapped them around her shoulders. He squeezed gently, not pulling her into the bars. Sofia reciprocated, sliding her arms between the bars, and holding him by his waist. He drew a deep breath and sighed. Was this his first time holding a woman beside his mother? The thought shamed her for what she was about to do. But it did not stop her.
Her left hand slid down to the holster on his right hip and lifted its flap. She had one chance at the gun. Hugo would feel her grab it and react to stop her. The pistol grip remained inches too far away. She kneeled and twisted to her left, breaking their embrace. The move gave away her intentions but granted her the reach to seize the pistol.
“What are—” Hugo exclaimed.
He swiped at the holster, but it was too late. Sofia slid the pistol free and staggered away with it clasped in both hands. He stared at her, stunned, with his jaw dropped open. She had never fired a gun before. Never even held one. It shook in her trembling hands. A finger touched the trigger and spasmed away. She didn’t want to fire it. Didn’t know if she could. He had a disabled mother who depended on him. She might as well be shooting her as well if she pulled the trigger. Her head swam in confusion, trapped in a mental place she never imagined possible. Facing the prospect of taking another person’s life.
“Let me out, Hugo. Unlock the cell. Please!”
Hugo stared at her in pained hurt, but made no reply. Behind him, lightning scrawled across the tempestuous horizon. Sheets of rain whipped through the open window, coating Sofia’s already soaking wet hair and clothes. They clung to her face and body like glue. Hugo remained still, calling her bluff. This was her one chance at survival. Maybe if she fired once into the air. A demonstration of her seriousness. She swallowed hard and stepped forward.
Her right foot skidded on the wet floor, costing her precious balance. She hit the cement with a splash and a grunt of pain. The blow jostled the gun loose from her grip. It landed somewhere in the darkened room. She swiped water from her face and searched for the pistol. The room flashed blue and revealed its location several feet away, just beyond the pooling water. It also revealed Hugo opening the jail cell gate and stepping inside. She twisted and scrambled towards the gun. Hugo rushed towards it as well. His heavy boots splashed behind her. Another flash of lightning. She grabbed the gun and rolled to one side as Hugo slid on his knees beside her. The gun barrel hovered inches from Hugo’s face as the room faded to black.
“I’m sorry!” Sofia said, the gun trembling in her hands.
“You’re a liar,” Hugo seethed. “You didn’t mean any of that. You didn’t want me to go with you. It was all a lie!”
“No! I… I…” Sofia tried to counter his argument. Make him understand. But she remembered the helplessness she felt when Chucho pressed his pistol into her forehead. The anger and bubbling desire for revenge. Hugo deserved his anger. She pushed herself up and stood, still pointing the gun at Hugo’s shadowy outline. “Dominica! Are you there?”
“I’m here!” Dominica said, her voice inches behind Sofia. Lightning flashed, displaying Hugo’s pain and anger. He stared up at them with furrowed eyes.
“You should shoot me,” he said. “I’m good as dead now.”
Now it was Sofia’s turn to feel helpless. Her survival likely meant Hugo’s death. If not by her hand, then by Chucho’s. Chucho couldn’t forgive Hugo now. After allowing a woman to best him. She hated putting him in this position. And she hated Henry and Chucho and the pile of drugs sitting in a warehouse in Reynosa. She hated being forced into this situation. Kill or be killed. The primeval law of the wild. Forcing her to threaten a man who could be her friend.
“Dominica, get his rifle. Its laying on his desk.”
Dominica splashed through the water and returned with the AK. Sofia gave Dominica the pistol and took the rifle.
“Point the gun at him,” Sofia told her. Dominica surprised her by taking the gun without hesitation. She clasped it in both hands and slid her index finger through the trigger guard. She squared her shoulders and leveled the pistol at Hugo. Her eyes narrowed on her target. Sofia approached Hugo, staying out of Dominica’s line of sight. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “You’re a good person. And I don’t want you to die.”
She raised the rifle, turning its buttstock towards Hugo’s head. It trembled in her unsteady hands. The most harm she had ever done to someone was a slap across the face. And even that had reduced her to tears. He stared up at her unblinking. This wasn’t harm. This was helping. A way for him to go home to his mom and brother. She shut her eyes and brought the rifle’s wooden stock down on his head. The blow landed with more force than expected, opening a gash over his right eye and knocking him backward. He splashed onto his back and remained still with his eyes half open and staring into nothingness. She kneeled beside him and checked his neck for a pulse. Still beating. She hoped the injury convinced Chucho not to treat Hugo harshly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She stood and faced Dominica. “Come here.”
Dominica joined her and together they dragged Hugo to the corner and propped him up between the wall and cell bars. His head lolled to one side, but his body remained upright. She may have bashed Hugo in the head, but she didn’t want him to drown.
She stood and faced her other cellmates. Seven women huddled in the cell’s corner. Too afraid of her and the storm and Chucho’s wrath to leave. She didn’t have time to convince them otherwise. One or more guards would return soon.
“Your freedom is outside that door,” Sofia told them. “It’s up to you to take it.”
Sofia led Dominica to the closet in the guard station and opened it. She grabbed two sets of ponchos and rubber boots. They slid them on before approaching the door. A peek outside revealed cascading sheets of rain, flying branches, and flashes of lightning. A nightmare landscape. To save her life, she had little choice but to enter it.
They stepped out, bracing themselves against the battering winds. A gust broadsided them after exiting the door. It staggered Sofia, but skinny Dominica had little chance. Her knees crumpled as she dropped with a yelp of surprise. Sofia grabbed her hand, yanked her up, and led her to a nearby grove of trees. A shield against the roaring tempest.
She rested against a tree trunk, trying to recall the lay of the compound. Her memories were scant and days old. Coupled with the swirling maelstrom, she couldn’t remember the entry gate’s location. She was no experienced hiker or outdoorsman. She could only trust her instincts. And her instincts said to continue forward. They weaved through the trees, bracing themselves against their thick trunks whenever a gust rushed through.
They emerged from the grove and glimpsed lights and motion. Peering through the chaos, she observed another building. The tin roofed men’s jail house. One roof panel had peeled off like an opened can lid. It twisted and dangled in the buffeting winds, held fast by some remaining fasteners bolted to the top of the wall. Rifle toting guards in ponchos stood outside. One man emerged from the building, leading a group of four. He shouted at two guards as they escorted two prisoners from the jail. Chucho. They were transferring the male prisoners.
Sofia looked at Dominica. The flapping hood of her poncho concealed some of her face. But Sofia made out the frail outline of her slender features. A child missing her father. A father who might still be alive inside that jailhouse.
CHAPTER 26
Israel
The leaks began soon after nightfall. Driven by hammering gusts, water forced itself between mortar cracks in the concrete wall. It started as a trickle—high on one wall—that moistened a corner of the cell. The trickle became a flow that became a hole through which the entire hurricane pushed itself through. A tin panel—new and shiny and installed hours before—wrenched away from the roof with a grating crash as it flipped over and smacked the outside wall. Sheets of rain and the detritus of broken tree limbs filled the cell. The storm made quick work of the concrete bricks at the top of the wall, scouring away freshly laid mortar. Two bricks tilted backward and tumbled into the darkness outside.
Israel and Fermin had fled their prime spot along with their cellmates and huddled against the far wall, underneath the remaining roof panels. Whipping winds found them regardless and soaked their clothes. Spinning branches, some sharp as daggers, whirled and beat at their legs and arms. A man cried from a gash in his arm. If the storm was doing this to the men’s jail house, Israel thought, what was it doing to the women’s?
Chucho appeared soon after with two armed guards. He shouted orders and pointed at the huddled captives. The guards grabbed the nearest two prisoners and pushed them into the maelstrom at gunpoint. Chucho followed behind, leaving one guard behind to watch Israel and the remaining prisoners. They repeated the process until only six remained.
“Be ready!” Fermin yelled into Israel’s ear. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs against the wall.
“For what?” Israel said, eyeing the remaining guard. The man gripped his rifle and pointed it at them.
“I’ll tell you when!”
He meant to escape. The hurricane provided a perfect opportunity. If they survived it. Chucho and the two guards returned for two more prisoners. They marched away as three more bricks tilted and fell. One landed inside the cell. It smashed on the concrete floor, breaking into jagged chunks. Howling wind battered and loosened the remaining roof panels as well. They juddered and whistled over Israel’s head. The cell was disintegrating, brick by brick, as incessant thunder boomed overhead. Their escape needed to happen soon. Though Israel wondered how they would get past the AK-47 toting guard.
“How?” he yelled to Fermin.
“Those!” he said, pointing to the chunks of broken cement. “We use them!”
Israel took his meaning. Use the chunks as projectiles to pelt the guard unconscious, or worse. It was a dangerous proposition, grabbing and throwing the cement pieces while not getting shot. He didn’t like their odds.
Chucho returned and claimed two more men. He studied Israel and Fermin for a moment.
“Watch them! Shoot them if they move!” he yelled to the guard, before leaving with the two other prisoners.
More bricks crashed to the floor. The fallen bricks gathered on the floor, forming a crude staircase that rose midway up the remaining wall. Israel inched towards the pile. The guard pushed open the cell door and stepped inside, keeping the rifle trained on Israel.
