The Rules of the Road, page 11
“Babe, please just turn around,” I pleaded.
“Okay, okay. Still no signal, eh?”
I looked down at my phone. Finally, there was one bar of service. “Yes! Hang on.”
“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Gabriel said, his voice growing louder.
What appeared in the rearview mirror was just as scary as any sort of Freddy or Jason or Leatherface from the big screen. My stomach dropped.
It was a police car with its red and blue lights spinning.
Gabriel pulled over and the police car shined a spotlight through our back window, flooding the car with light. Gabriel muttered obscenities and started digging for his wallet and insurance information before the cop could get to the window. His hands were shaking. We both had legal Texas driver’s licenses, but you never knew what kind of trouble you could get into when you got caught being brown.
“Wasn’t even speeding or driving crazy or nothing,” Gabriel said to himself.
His window was rolled down. Crickets and frogs and other nighttime noises filled the air. There was no sound of other vehicles. We were really alone out here. I couldn’t even see any lights in the distance. Footsteps crunched on the gravel road toward us.
“Evening, y'all. Can I see some license and registration, please?” the policeman asked.
I could only see the bottom half of him through Gabriel’s window, and not very well at that. He had his flashlight beaming into the car, blinding us. I thought of the time I went catching bullfrogs with my cousins one summer in East Texas, how the frogs would just stare dumbly into the spotlight they used to catch them, helpless and hypnotized by the great shining light. Waiting to be plucked up and butchered and not a damn thing they could do about it.
“Just a sec. Got it right here,” Gabriel said, handing it over as he squinted into the light.
The officer wore a dark button-up shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. A belt with a holstered black gun wrapped around his waist. Even more strange than his wearing jeans as part of his uniform was the large belt buckle. It was a large skull, that one you see everywhere on trucks and stuff. Punisher, I think it’s called. My anxiety about the situation ramped to about a thousand when I saw that. Why didn’t he have a normal uniform? Was he like a special sheriff’s deputy or something?
“Sir, do you mind telling me what I’m being pulled over for? I don’t think I was speeding.”
This was just how it was. You had to be all polite when dealing with the cops, all “yes sir” and “no ma’am” and “thank you officer,” make sure you dotted all your “i’s” and crossed your “t’s.” I’d heard friends and classmates talk about how they would cop an attitude with the police, talk back and stuff, but I never had it in me to do anything like that.
“I’m getting to that,” the cop said. “Just looking at your stuff here for a second. Gabriel Torres. You two’s are a couple of Tejanos, eh? Texicans? What are y'all doing up here? Looking for jobs?”
“Just a little trip,” Gabriel said.
“A trip, huh?”
“Yeah, we’re going to Turner Falls,” I said from the passenger seat, leaning over. I thought the more we said, the better. No need to hide anything. Didn’t want him to think the worst.
“Well, how we doing over there, señorita?” the cop sneered. He leaned down a little as he said this, looking in at me. I could see his tacky black mustache that went past his mouth and down the sides of his chin like a horseshoe. A tattoo peeked out from the collar on his neck. He turned back to Gabriel. “So, does she love it when you call her señorita? Does she have a nice little taco?”
Gabriel squeezed the steering wheel tighter, saying nothing. Just stared straight ahead.
“I asked you a question, señor,” the cop said and squatted down so he could stare in at us with his beady eyes. “Y'all best comply. I got my partner back at the car if y'all do any funny business. He’s been dying to shoot out some windows with his new Mossberg. Be even more thrilled if it was a coupla Mexicans.”
“Sir. We are just trying to get to our destination. We are complying, and you are being rude and disrespectful to both me and my girlfriend,” Gabriel said.
I noticed something about the officer. He had no badge or name tag. Things weren’t sitting right with me. This wasn’t going to end well. His hand had crept on to the gun in the holster.
“Excuse me,” I said. “What’s your badge number? Don’t we have the right to ask you for that?”
“Badges? I don’t have to show you no stinking badges,” he said in a thick mocking accent and laughed. He turned to Gabriel. “Maybe I might have to give your girlfriend a little strip search. Make sure she isn’t smuggling anything from across the border.”
I looked down at my phone discreetly. I heard you could call 911 in these instances when you had safety concerns while pulled over. They could send another officer or escort you to the station or something. It was supposed to be one of your rights. I slid my phone to the side of my outer thigh and edged out the screen so I could see.
The fucking lock screen!
“So, the reason I pulled you two over on this fine summer night was you looked … suspicious. That’s right, suspicious. What are y'all even doing way out here?”
I entered the code.
“We got lost,” said Gabriel.
The dialer was pulled up. The number entered from before.
BANG!
I jumped and looked up.
“Just what do you think you’re doing over there?” the policeman said. He had smacked his hand on the roof of the car.
“Um, nothing,” I replied
“Hand it over.”
“No,” I said.
My hands were shaking. I couldn’t focus enough to delete the number and enter 911. I hit the green dial button. Maybe they could trace the cell tower to my cell number for whenever we went missing. Maybe the person on the other end of the phone would hear what was going on, testify at this fucker’s trial for whatever sick shit he planned on doing to us.
“Hand. It. Over,” the cop ordered, slapping his hand on the roof of the car again for emphasis.
“Look, sir. She doesn’t have to. Why don’t you just let us go? Okay?” Gabriel said.
The cop reached for his gun. We both ducked and Gabriel jerked the car into drive. There was the loud noise of the acceleration, the redlining, the tires peeling out in the gravel, the small stones spitting through the air and raining on the car like hail. It was all capped off by a gigantic explosion that filled the car and deafened me, screams coming out of me that I couldn’t stop.
This was how I was going to die. I couldn’t believe it.
And still there were more gunshots and breaking glass, and the grinding noise of the car skidding out of control. The headlights pointed straight for the ditch. The front end of the car dove low, which threw me against the seatbelt and Gabriel against the steering wheel.
I think we were lucky that the airbag didn’t deploy. We ended up really needing those extra seconds.
We shook ourselves off from the collision, got our bearings. Gabriel opened his door and looked back down the road.
“Yuvi. Yuvi. Yuvi! Get out. C’mon, let’s go. Let’s go,” he said, his voice rising to a panicked register I had never heard him use before.
I opened my car door and stepped out into the ditch, leaving the door ajar as the little “door open” alert chimed: ding, ding, ding.
“This way, babe. Over the fence,” Gabriel said, scrambling up the ditch’s incline toward barbed wire, reaching his hand out for me.
I looked back and I could see headlights coming for us, could hear the engine revving and tires peeling out on the gravel road. Fear coursed through me and led the way. Gabriel stomped on a strand of barbed wire and pulled another up with his hands. I ducked under, unable to do so cautiously. A metal barb cut through my back and tore my jeans and leg.
The black car slammed on its brakes and fishtailed toward us. Gabriel hopped the fence and tumbled to the ground. As I helped him up, I heard the policeman open his door and shout at us.
Gunshots echoed around us, and we ran. Oh, how we ran. The grass was tall and there was a half-moon floating in the sky. Off in the distance of the open field, I could see large circular shapes scattered about. Hay bales. We sprinted toward one that sat in the middle of the field, ducked behind it and lay on our stomachs in the grass.
For a moment, everything was quiet. There was only our panting breath and through that I could hear the night sounds once again, the crickets and frogs.
“Do you think he—,” I started in a whisper, before Gabriel shushed me.
“Shh. I can see him. He’s coming this way.”
I hugged the ground and inched my face just past the bale of hay. I could see the figure of the policeman carrying his flashlight, sweeping the beam across the field. I didn’t think he could see me peeking. Our hay bale was in the middle of several others and set back a ways. He was coming, though, and bound to find us.
My heart revved back up again. Somehow this was worse than all the fast-paced terror before, when everything happened so fast that my mind couldn’t process it. I almost pissed myself right there in the grass.
“Yuvi. Duck down low and we can crawl to the next hay bale. Keep going until we hit the trees and can lose him.”
Behind me there was another round bale of hay about 50 yards away. Going from our current safe place to the next would leave us exposed, and as I started crawling, it didn’t seem like such a good idea to move so slowly with my back to the gunman. That flashlight would hit us before we knew it, and we would be stuck with no cover.
“Gabe, I think we should go for it,” I rasped.
“Okay, okay. Go.”
I shot to my feet and ran in a crouched position, going for the next bale and then the next, Gabriel hot on my heels.
I yelped as a beam of light crossed my path. It was too late. Gunfire erupted from behind me, and I could hear actual bullets whizzing past my head.
And in the chaos from there, we ran and ran. We ducked behind bales as we came to them, but only used them for brief cover, running and running, all along Gabriel telling me “go, go, go.”
How many bullets did he have? Would he ever give up?
In a panic, I made a hard left. There were more hay bales stretched in that direction, and I had once heard that running in a straight line from a gunman was never a great idea. It made you too easy to hit.
With heels pounding in a sprint for a good distance, we slid behind yet another bale, putting some space between us and the gunman, his flashlight revealing his position.
He shut it off.
We stayed low.
He clicked it back on, swept the beam around. Closer. We could always consider that he could completely walk by us.
The light went off again, a pale darkness in the field. I thought I could still make him out, standing there. Waiting. Listening.
But there was something else out here. I heard a rustle from somewhere to our left and a tall shape emerged from behind one of the hay bales. Long pale legs shimmered in the moonlight, bending at awkward angles. A thick body that tapered into a long neck and a skeletal head with glinting black eyes.
The thing made its way toward us, heavy footsteps thudding through the pasture. I curled into Gabriel and made myself as small as possible, his breaths heavy and ragged against my back, arms and body slippery with sweat as he clutched me.
The footsteps passed. We poked our heads out to see as the tall thing ran down an aisle of hay bales, its body growing wider with each step.
The flashlight came on again out in the field, but soon its beam went tumbling and it clattered off in the grass. There was a scream and a giant beating sound, and the sounds of a scuffle. The giant thing leaned over the cop and I could barely make out his arms and legs flailing and struggling against the creature as its long legs kicked. The silhouette of the body grew and contracted again and again, the beating of its giant wings.
I could hear his grunting and choking, one last scream that sounded like his mouth was full of
Soon, the cop moved no more.
There was a light in the distance, shining through the trees. A porch light and the frame of a house.
“You’re all sweaty,” I said to Gabriel as I helped him up.
“It’s not all sweat.”
“What?”
“It’s uh … nothing. I just think he . . . ah . . . got me somewhere back there.”
I touched his waist and felt a damp warmth, pulled my hand back. My palm was soaked in blood.
“Oh, Gabriel.”
He was weak in the legs, and I had to help him. His body was all clammy, and he clutched his side. The weight of him was tugging me down, but I stood strong, and we made our way toward the house.
It was across a country road and down a short gravel driveway. No dogs barked as we approached the wooden porch. I didn’t see any cars parked outside, and I hoped they were just out of view. No one answered as I banged on the door and rang the doorbell and yelled for help.
The door was unlocked.
“C’mon, Gabe. Let’s see if they have a phone.”
I found a light switch and saw that we were in the living room and there was a floral print couch and I helped him over to it to lie down. He looked bad, and that was putting it lightly. It was like he was a kid that had just come off the log flume ride at Six Flags, except instead of his clothes being soaked with stagnant water, it was sweat and blood.
I grabbed a dish towel from a kitchen counter that overlooked the living room, pressed it to his wound.
“Hold this,” I said. “I’m gonna find a phone.” Gabriel gave a small groan.
There was a phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen, right next to the fridge. An old-timey one with a cord and everything. There was a dial tone. I dialed 911.
I tried to remain calm as I talked to the dispatcher, but everything came out in a hysterical flood. How my boyfriend had been shot and was bleeding to death, how we had run from a man with a gun, how our car had been wrecked, and I didn’t know where we were exactly and—oh, God . . . oh, God—could they please send someone quick?
“Remain calm, ma’am. We are going to dispatch emergency services to your location,” the dispatcher said flatly. “Can you stay on the line?”
But I had a bad feeling.
“I’ve just gotta check on my boyfriend. Hang on.”
“We’ll be—”
His breath was shallow, and his eyes were closed. I kneeled beside him, crying and whispering to him. He said my name softly, but his eyes stayed shut. I helped put pressure on the blood-soaked dishtowel.
There was a knock at the door, hard and loud and urgent.
Was it the paramedics?
How could they get there so quickly?
What if it was the cop, somehow? He wouldn’t knock though, right?
I went to the door and cracked it open.
“Ms. Yuvisela Moreno? You called?” a deep voice said.
I opened the door further.
It was a man. He didn’t look like any kind of paramedic I’d ever seen. He wore a dark brown trench coat and was wider than he was tall, a fedora hanging over his stubbled face, and I swore for a moment there that his eyes were glowing red.
“Yes, I called 911. Are you the paramedics? Come quick, my boyfriend, he’s back there!” I said frantically, looking behind him for any sort of ambulance. But there was only a big black Lincoln parked in the drive.
He held up a single finger, telling me to wait. “You called for a good time, did you not?”
A crushing feeling in the pit of my stomach, my mind unable to comprehend.
The number. My cell phone, right before we sped away from the cop. I had hit the dial button.
“Wha … What is all this? Who are you?”
“I’m here to give you a good time,” the man said. “Your boyfriend, too. Unless he’s predisposed at the moment.” He looked over my shoulder at Gabriel. “Looks like you two could use a good time.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I need you to get help. I need you to—”
His meaty hand clamped down on my shoulder, held it tight. I felt frozen in place. “You need to hush. Here you go,” he said and shoved a thick manila folder into my chest with so much force that I toppled backwards onto the floor.
Fuck that guy, whoever he is, I thought as he turned his back to me and descended the porch’s front steps.
I scrambled to my feet. I had been away from Gabriel for too long.
Where were those goddamn paramedics?
His hand had fallen from the gunshot and lay relaxed on the ground, his whole body slumping in that direction actually, like he would slide off the couch at any minute. And he didn’t respond as I screamed his name again and again, didn’t respond when I shook him and pounded on his chest and pleaded for him to please wake up.
And God didn’t respond as I begged and sobbed into Gabriel’s still chest for him to take all of this away and to please bring Gabriel back, but I guess something else did.
So, yeah, I’m guessing you’re wondering what was in the manila envelope. This whole “good time” thing the mysterious man had promised us. What could it be, right? Do I got you on the edge of your seat?
Well, it took a while for the chaos to die down and everything. I just carried that folder around with me for a day or two. To be honest, I was afraid of opening it up. The guy who had dropped it off and the circumstances with the broadcast and all we had been through. I just didn’t want to have anything else to do with it, you see?
But when I finally opened it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Inside were stacks of documents and papers, official ones, with both of our names on them. There were certificates of naturalizations, passports, driver’s licenses, letters from the US Citizenship and Immigration Services. The crazy thing about all this was they had our photos on them, our actual photos. They looked real and everything too, and they were real. They ended up actually working.
