The Only Road by Alexandra Diaz

to a complete stop. Only one guard was on duty, but a rifle hung from his shoulder, ready to be snapped into his hands the second he needed it.
    Jaime clenched his pencil tightly.
    The guard leaned into the bus, hands on the opendoorjamb, to peer inside. Jaime jerked away before they could make eye contact and felt his face burn with self-indignation. So obvious. So guilty. The guard was sure to know he didn’t belong in México. But the guard just turned back to the driver. “Anyone new gotten on? Anyone I need to know about?”
    The driver shook his head. “No.”
    It was mostly true. After all, the men they’d picked up in the middle of nowhere weren’t on the bus anymore. They must have known about the stop, and how to avoid it. Clever. And at the same time risky. The bus driver could have easily mentioned where he dropped them off; drivers back home would have if they thought they’d get paid for the information. Instead this driver seemed content in minding his own business and doing only his bus-driver job. The guard returned his gaze outside, taking in the six cars waiting behind the bus, then moved a few cones out of the way and waved them by without asking any further questions.
    No one was on duty at the next checkpoint, a tiny wooden structure on the side of the road, and it was only because Ángela read the sign announcing it that Jaime even realized what it was.
    He let out a deep breath. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe the stories he’d heard—stories of how la migra beat you up, sent you to prison, and then returned you to your country in pieces, if you were lucky—werejust stories, tales told to prevent people from attempting the journey.
    Except he didn’t really believe they were made up. Especially when they arrived at the next checkpoint.
    A large building stood alone in the middle of the jungle. Concrete and steel with spotless white paint, just its presence radiated a sense of foreboding against the lush green.
    Ten cars waited in front of them, and many more beeped their horns behind them. Loads of guards milled around, their rifles ready in their hands.
    On the window seat next to him, Jaime felt more than heard Ángela utter a prayer. He could feel her fear. Jaime sent a prayer of his own, this one to Miguel. Please help keep us safe. As far as they had traveled, they were still only in Chiapas, the most southern state in México. They were going to need a lot of help.
    Sweat dripped down their faces as they waited in the sweltering bus for permission to continue. The driver opened the door, but no breeze entered, and no one dared exit. It felt like hours before a guard stomped on with thundering steps. He didn’t have a rifle, but his hand was wrapped tight around the leash of a dog. Ángela tried to wedge herself between the seat and the window. Jaime seized her hand, both for comfort and to keep her from doing something stupid. With her pathological fear of dogs,he wouldn’t be surprised if she was tempted to jump out the window and risk her chances against the armed guards.
    The dog, though, was small and looked like Snoopy with floppy ears framing its cute face. His black nose twitched as he investigated the front crevices of the bus.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Jaime whispered so low he hoped Ángela heard. “He’s just a sniffer. He won’t hurt us.” Except dogs smelled fear, and Ángela was practically oozing in it. A sudden dread overcame Jaime. Maybe this was a new thing—training dogs to smell fear in people so the guards could weed out the foreigners.
    No , he thought, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. There was nothing to worry about. Unlike Ángela, who still had the teeth marks on her leg from where she’d been bitten as a little girl, he liked dogs and this one wasn’t intimidating. Especially if he imagined the dog sitting on top of his doghouse wearing an