The Survival Code, page 33
He straightens himself up but continues in a low voice. “I should have killed him myself. Back there. That would have been the more prudent move.”
My mouth runs dry. “I thought you said those guys were mercenaries. But if they’re working with Tork, it means...” I’m barely keeping myself together. I don’t know what it means.
Dad shrugs. “They’re working for the highest bidder, and all it means is that The Opposition is using all the methods at their disposal to find us.” He doesn’t seem frightened by this new information, nor does he acknowledge that Bruce was willing to kill us. I remember what Terminus said. They want Marshall. For The Opposition, the rest of us were expendable.
Dad glances at the slot machines in front of the door and says in a more normal voice, “If you guys have this under control, I’ll try to find Louis.”
“What makes you think he’s even here?” I ask, jerking my head at the completely destroyed casino interior.
“He’s here. That was his car on fire in the parking lot,” Dad answers.
“Well, then,” Toby says, fumbling with the tail of his shirt.
MacKenna yells another, “What?” as Dad walks off.
Toby pulls a warm pack of beef jerky from his pocket and the three of us each take a small piece. I sit on one of the slot machines and MacKenna flops down on the floor. She kicks at the broken glass of one of the broken screens, trying to see inside.
Dad returns a few minutes later with a larger, brown-skinned man in a rumpled black suit.
The man scans the casino floor. “Well, well, Max. Five years gone and you show up just in time to trash my place.”
“You know, I did just stop a Jeep from ramming its way into your damn office,” Dad answers gruffly.
“From what I could tell on the CCTV, your kid did most of the heavy lifting on that one. You’re a real chip off the old block, huh, girl?” The man’s bolo tie swings as he talks. I can tell he’s not paying me a compliment.
“I guess you’re Louis?” Toby asks. His face is still a mask of shock.
“Louis Antone.”
We go outside to the truck, where Mom greets Antone and Dad introduces the rest of us. Louis shakes hands with Jay, but the only one of us he has much affinity for is my brother, who puts his hands on his hips and says, “I think it was a mistake to plant tamarisk so close to your building. It’s invasive and attracts insects.”
Antone says, “We didn’t plant it there, boy. It’s spreading across the desert on its own. Your people brought it here,” he finishes pointedly. But he smiles at Charles.
MacKenna says, “What happened?” But I’m not sure if enough of her hearing has returned. Her mouth falls into a confused O as Antone answers.
“We get a lot of old, retired white guys in here,” Antone answers with a scowl. “So they keep the news going 24-7 in the bar. When that report came on about the banks, people went nuts. Started swiping anything light enough to cart off. Whatever money there was in the slot machines, of course, but also the food in the kitchen. The toilet paper. Anything not nailed down. We were fixing to close. I got all the money loaded in the vault, but a few of us got stuck back there in the cage.”
His eyes wander over the chaotic scene in the parking lot and his face sinks into a sad frown. “Non-res law enforcement will show up at some point.” He nods at Dad and Jay. “As the two of you are the most wanted men in the country, we should get a move on.”
“We’re leaving the truck here,” Dad says.
MacKenna shows us how to lead the horses out of the trailer.
Antone nods approvingly. “Beautiful animals,” he says.
“They belong to Ramona Healy,” Dad tells him.
Antone leans on the hood of the truck. “Ah. Ramona. She called last night to say you might be comin’ by.” He pauses. “She said you’d have the girl with you.”
If Ramona called Antone, she probably didn’t give our location to Bruce.
But then...who did?
I try to get MacKenna’s attention to get her help in making some sense of what’s going on. But she’s watching a flaming station wagon with her mouth open.
Dad answers Antone. “Miss Carver decided she wasn’t cut out for this life.”
Toby’s face falls.
Antone’s lips pucker. “And Ramona?”
“She surrendered to The Opposition,” I say.
Antone draws in a deep breath. “She had a good run of it. Most people don’t last nearly so long with Ammon Carver out to get ’em.”
“She was an interesting lady,” Jay comments diplomatically.
We stand there in silence for a couple of minutes, all of us unsure of what to say.
Dad kicks the gravel a couple of times and says, “I suppose we ought to get on the road.”
“Yep,” Antone agrees.
“Jinx, get the packs,” Dad says.
MacKenna helps me get the packs out of the back of the truck while Toby fills Mom and Jay in on what happened. When he starts whispering, I know what he’s saying.
I am a killer.
And he’s telling them.
There are eight of us but only four horses. Mom and Charles ride together. Dad, Jay and Toby insist on walking.
“It won’t be too bad. I’m only a couple of miles south of here,” Antone says as he gets into the saddle of Jessie’s Girl.
I’m sure the guys think they’re being chivalrous but honestly, the situation sort of sucks. Freckles hates me and I’m pretty sure would like nothing better than to buck me off. The motion of the ride upsets my stomach, which is already in knots from the violence back at the casino. In front of me, Goldilocks keeps kicking up dust that gets stuck in my dry mouth. I’d much rather be walking.
We ride.
After an hour or so, right about 9:00 a.m., we arrive at Antone’s modest redbrick house. He has a small barn, where we find an alpaca and a white goat. We’re able to leave the horses there and to set them up with hay and water.
Antone leads us into his house and tosses his jacket onto an easy chair by the door then heads into his kitchen, pulls a bunch of tamales from his fridge and sets a large pot of water on the stove.
I’m not sure if I should take a seat in the living room, which is cramped with red plaid furniture. The house almost looks like no one has been in it since my dad was a kid. There’s what I think might be an antique computer on a small desk in the corner opposite the front door. I move closer. “Oh my God,” I say. “Is this a Model 5140?” I love these old-timey computers. I run my fingers across the old beige plastic and marvel at the tiny screen. “Does it work?”
“Yes,” Antone says.
“You know my dad has this idea about using three-inch floppy disks to conceal data,” I say, feeling excited. Like normal excited. Not I-might-have-to-murder-someone-soon excited. “He thinks that you can...” I trail off, deterred by the look on his face.
“Your dad left that thing here,” Antone replies.
I’m tempted to power on the old 5140 and see what happens, but Antone tells us that the food is ready. He has set out the tamales and some beans in mismatched dishes. We all go into the kitchen and crowd around the small table.
“This is delicious,” I say, taking a bite of a green chili tamale. It’s a huge improvement over the minimart snacks we had earlier.
My brother must agree because he’s stuffed half of his in his mouth and is having trouble chewing and swallowing.
“So here we are,” Dad says.
Antone nods. “You were about to ask for my help in getting across the border.”
“Your people still have transports going back and forth, I assume,” Dad says.
“For now,” Antone replies in a glum tone. “But, as you know, militarization on the res is a growing problem.”
“You’re just going to let that happen?” I ask.
MacKenna glares at me and Dad gives me a tiny shake of his head. I’ve obviously said something really stupid.
“Well,” Antone says, scooping up another bite of his own tamale, “native people have tried negotiations, demonstrations and war without much luck. How do you suggest that my tribe of around twenty thousand deal with the world’s most dominant superpower?”
My face heats and I sink back in my chair.
Dad’s conversation with Antone continues.
Toby leans over. “We studied this in my national history class. The Tohono O’odham Nation has land on both the American and Mexican sides of the border,” he whispers, “and it causes problems because—”
“Because,” Antone cuts in, “my people need to move hay and feed and livestock and equipment around our farms on both sides of the border. But we’ve got the Federales watching us on one side and the National Police on the other. It’s a matter of time before they want to start inspecting everything. Telling us what we can and cannot move across lands we have inhabited for centuries. They have no respect for indigenous people.” He glances at me. “Hell, you white people can’t even get along with each other.”
“All we need is passage in one of the transports, Louis. A ride. That’s it,” Dad says.
He returns his attention to Dad. “This is risky for the tribe, Max. I can’t decide this on my own. I’d have to go to the Chairwoman. I don’t know how much pull I’ve got with her these days. Do you want me to do that? Do you want me to go to the Chairwoman?” Antone’s face flushes and his shoulders slump forward. It’s clear he’d much rather not have to go to the Chairwoman.
“Well,” Dad says, “how bad could it be? She is your mother.”
DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:
MAINTAINING A CONSTANT STATE OF AWARENESS IS DRAINING. YET, THE TIME YOU THINK YOU CAN RELAX IS THE EXACT MOMENT DISASTER WILL TYPICALLY STRIKE.
Even though the tribe has its own police force and should be running an autonomous government, Antone tells us we need to stay inside. He says the Border Patrol can and does come by—if and when they want to.
Mom insists that we all take a nap.
When I wake up, I find Charles watering Antone’s plants. I do the dishes. Jay and Mom play cards. MacKenna and Toby get in another fight about Annika but Dad shuts it down because God forbid anyone might express themselves or that any issue might be resolved.
Dad makes use of his time by taking apart the Glock I used to kill Bruce. He dumps the pieces in a plastic bucket filled with some kind of an acid solution.
He’s concealing evidence of the fact that I killed someone.
Like we’ll just destroy the gun and then I won’t be a killer anymore.
I sit alone on the sofa in the living room for a while until Mom comes and takes the seat next to me. She hands me a mug of cocoa. It’s warm underneath my fingertips.
“I heard what happened. You okay?” she asks.
I am not okay.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
She gives my shoulder a reassuring pat. “You’ve really been through something.”
I take a sip of the cocoa. We all have. But like Dad always says:
If you’re going through hell, keep going.
“I’m here if you want to talk,” Mom says.
After about an hour, Antone returns, his face expressionless. He sinks into his red plaid recliner chair. Dad strokes his scruffy beard and takes a seat in a rickety wooden chair across from his old friend.
They say nothing for a minute.
“And?” Dad finally breaks the silence.
“The Chairwoman believes that it’s not to the tribe’s benefit to get involved. She said this fight is not our fight.”
Dad scratches the top of his head and chews his cheek.
I don’t know how he’s staying so calm. Toby stands in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen and he puts his arm around Charles and MacKenna. A nervous, sick feeling settles in my stomach. If there’s no way out through the reservation, there’s no way out at all.
“I’m supposed to escort you off the reservation,” Antone finishes.
Dad breaks out into a smile. “Sometimes you really are a shit, you know.”
Antone laughs.
Toby, MacKenna and I exchange a look. What is going on?
“We’ll go through the gate at San Miguel?” Dad asks.
“No,” Antone says, shaking his head. “Through Papago Farms. The National Police have a checkpoint set up at San Miguel. And Nogales. I’m taking some animal feed, a few horses and a few people through the Papago gate. It shouldn’t attract too much attention.”
“Good,” Dad says.
When I realize Antone is helping us get one step closer to safety, my lungs inflate a little more. A bit of weight falls off my shoulders.
Antone gets up, stretches and yawns. He freezes with his hands in the air. “One thing though, Max. No guns. You’ve got to ditch them here. On this point, the Chairwoman left no doubt. She won’t have any more bloodshed on our land.”
Dad stands up as well and reaches out to shake Antone’s hand. “I understand. And thank you, Louis. Thank you.” He surrenders the duffel bag of guns to Antone. I have no idea what Antone plans to do with them.
Dad gives us thirty minutes.
Antone gives us everything he has to spare. He helps us reload our packs with food and water. We even get a couple of rolls of toilet paper.
Mom makes Charles take a shower while the rest of us get the truck ready.
MacKenna spends her last minutes in the barn saying goodbye to Ramona’s horses.
We’ll never see them again.
We’ll probably never see the old woman either.
Ramona Healy sacrificed herself for us. I misjudged her. And Terminus.
I get everything wrong.
I can’t shake this thought as I climb into the bed of Antone’s beat-up white pickup.
I catch Antone’s eyes.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For everything. I’m... I’m sorry about what I said. That was stupid.”
He smiles. Or at least it’s not a frown. “I won’t hold it against you.” Antone slides behind the wheel and starts the truck.
We all ride in the back except Dad, who is in the front seat. I’m getting kind of comfortable with these truck rides. Occasionally, Dad says something or Antone gestures at the scenery. It’s cold outside, and I wish I had something warmer than my jeans and windbreaker. Charles snuggles up against me. The desert with its low brush as far as the eye can see and its far-off mountains is both beautiful as the sunrise and also becoming monotonous.
Mom’s hair, the same reddish-brown shade as my brother’s, is swept to the side by the wind and the motion of the truck. With the bright, midmorning sky behind her, she looks like an ad for an adventure travel company. Jay takes her hand.
I have a random piece of my dull brown hair stuck on my mouth.
After about twenty minutes, we arrive at another cattle ranch and a house very similar to the Healys’. We climb out of the truck and follow Antone around the back to the barn, where a few kids our age are loading bales of hay into a repainted U-Haul truck.
“Grab a couple of bales to sit on,” Antone says. He tells us to go to the very back of the cargo area while they stack hay in front of us. It’s a sort of claustrophobic safe space. With little couches made of hay.
“It’s about thirty minutes to the border,” Dad says quietly. “And another hour or so to Rocky Point. Antone says he keeps an old car in a shed on the other side. It will be a very tight fit with all of us, but we’ll have to make it work.”
We don’t talk much on the drive. All the hay is finally getting to me and I sneeze and cough. “It’s actually alfalfa,” Charles tells me, in between sneezes. “For horses.”
It’s hot and bumpy and sort of miserable in the back, and yet we’re traveling more comfortably than we have in a while. Charles hums a song. We’re in pretty good spirits.
The truck comes to a stop. A door slams and we hear the sound of creaking metal. “They’re opening the gate,” Dad says. We take off again and stop a moment later.
One of the guys from the farm removes enough bales of alfalfa that we can climb through an opening and exit the truck. “Bienvenido a México!” he says.
I exit the truck and I’m surprised at the view. We’re on the opposite side of what I assume is the Papago Farms gate. Pretty much in the middle of nowhere, standing underneath a group of large mesquite trees next to a building that sort of looks like a barn.
The border is totally different than what I pictured. It’s not like the big inspection station in Nogales, which is full of cops and cars and parking lots. This is nothing more than a metal gate secured with a standard padlock. “You know, the O’odham don’t have a word for wall,” the guy says, scowling at the metal bars.
He stares at MacKenna as she leaves the back of the truck. I’m not exactly sure how she manages to look so good in a pair of my old leggings and a beige sweater, but she does.
“Thanks, Fernando,” Dad says. “Give your father my regards.”
Someday I plan to ask Dad how he knows all these people.
Fernando shakes Dad’s hand. “No problem, Dr. M. As I’m not supposed to help you, I definitely won’t mention that Louis keeps his old station wagon covered by a tarp in the shed over there,” he says, pointing behind us. “Or that the spare key is in one of those little magnetic boxes under the driver’s side front wheel well.” His face lights up. “Oh! One more thing.” He trots to the front of the truck and returns with a plastic red fuel container. “I definitely won’t leave this gas can here, in case you need it.”
“Thanks, son,” my dad says.
Fernando casts one more look at MacKenna before getting back in the truck. The alfalfa continues up the dirt road, leaving us alone in Mexico.
We find Louis’s station wagon with little difficulty. Dad fills the gas tank and puts the container in the trunk. Dad wasn’t kidding when he said we’d be smooshed. Dad drives. Jay is in the passenger seat with Mom on his lap. MacKenna, Toby and I take the backseat and Charles squeezes into the cargo area of the wagon.
