not want to know. She squeezed
her eyes shut and prayed the guy in the backseat with her had better more
life-preserving things to do than molest her. Or rape her.
She pivoted in the seat, glimpsing Rex, one foot on the
throat of one of his assailants, while the other guy took out a handgun and
pointed it at Rex.
“ Nooooooo!”
“Shut her up!”
She whirled away, but the guy next to her forced her head
around and pressed her to the foul-smelling seat. He made a fist and in one
blow, hit her in the jaw.
When she came to, the sun was going down in a red-hot blaze.
Fierce mountains, black as midnight and odd rocky formations formed the
horizon. Where the hell am I?
Remembering her predicament, she shut her eyes. And went
lax.
Listening for movement in the car, she heard none. Yet she
felt the warmth of the man in the seat next to her. Smelled him, too. Rancid
little fart, reeking of whiskey and tobacco. His legs were draped over her lap
as insurance, she supposed, that she not move while he slept. Figuring that the
driver would not see her open her eyes from his rearview mirror, she took a
quick peek at the scenery again. No clue where I am.
And where are you, Rex?
What happened back there?
She wanted to scream out her pain that someone of these thugs
had shot the finest man she’d ever known. Because he was protecting me.
No. I will think of that later. The guilt. The anguish.
Christ. Just let me get out of here. I’ll testify, by God. I’ll put them so far
away, they’ll think hell has light.
Noting the horizon once more with her head banging against
the window rim, Skye saw they were headed west. But she closed her eyes again,
not wishing to invite any more attentions from her captors with her moves.
Slowly, she took stock of where she was, what was happening. She swallowed
quietly as could be, her throat as dry as dust. Her jaw hurt like hell where
the asshole had slugged her, and she had to pee something fierce. Her
illustrious companions were quiet, the driver the only one moving. The
air-conditioning was crap and Skye felt herself sweating like a pig. Her hands
were cut, stiff, tender, from scrambling away from them. But she had her shoes
on and her jeans. That was a plus.
They haven’t raped you yet. Or killed you.
Why not?
She thought about that and the answer came to her much too
readily.
They’re taking you to their leader . She forced back a
groan of terror. And that means, they’re headed across the border.
But where was there a crossing they could do that without
attracting law enforcement interest?
They couldn’t drive over one of the International
Checkpoints. Ever since Homeland Security beefed up inspections after 9/11,
those bridges were guarded like the gates to hell. She had no passport—and
since last year, anyone crossing needed that. And these dudes? They were lucky
if they had an idea what their real names were, let alone official documents to
get them across an international border.
So where are we going?
She opened her eyes again to scan the road for mile markers.
The only thing she could see was a speed sign that said
“Speed limit 60.”
That meant they were not on a major interstate where traffic
usually was ten miles more per hour. Plus, the three-lane highway, she could
now see, curved. And it ran up and down abrupt hills. Those black ugly ones she
saw in the distance. We’re headed for them. Okay…
Every few seconds she would open her eyes to see if she
could find a mile marker to the next town, whatever it was. Dusk shaded the
horizon like a gray veil and soon, she wouldn’t see anything from this vantage
point because she was outside the range of the car’s headlights.
But what if you’re not going across a border? What if
they’re taking you to a hideaway here in west Texas? She assumed, from the
timing, they were still in Texas and had not gone north. Not by this landscape,
we haven’t.
The Gonzagas had safe houses in many parts of south
her eyes shut and prayed the guy in the backseat with her had better more
life-preserving things to do than molest her. Or rape her.
She pivoted in the seat, glimpsing Rex, one foot on the
throat of one of his assailants, while the other guy took out a handgun and
pointed it at Rex.
“ Nooooooo!”
“Shut her up!”
She whirled away, but the guy next to her forced her head
around and pressed her to the foul-smelling seat. He made a fist and in one
blow, hit her in the jaw.
When she came to, the sun was going down in a red-hot blaze.
Fierce mountains, black as midnight and odd rocky formations formed the
horizon. Where the hell am I?
Remembering her predicament, she shut her eyes. And went
lax.
Listening for movement in the car, she heard none. Yet she
felt the warmth of the man in the seat next to her. Smelled him, too. Rancid
little fart, reeking of whiskey and tobacco. His legs were draped over her lap
as insurance, she supposed, that she not move while he slept. Figuring that the
driver would not see her open her eyes from his rearview mirror, she took a
quick peek at the scenery again. No clue where I am.
And where are you, Rex?
What happened back there?
She wanted to scream out her pain that someone of these thugs
had shot the finest man she’d ever known. Because he was protecting me.
No. I will think of that later. The guilt. The anguish.
Christ. Just let me get out of here. I’ll testify, by God. I’ll put them so far
away, they’ll think hell has light.
Noting the horizon once more with her head banging against
the window rim, Skye saw they were headed west. But she closed her eyes again,
not wishing to invite any more attentions from her captors with her moves.
Slowly, she took stock of where she was, what was happening. She swallowed
quietly as could be, her throat as dry as dust. Her jaw hurt like hell where
the asshole had slugged her, and she had to pee something fierce. Her
illustrious companions were quiet, the driver the only one moving. The
air-conditioning was crap and Skye felt herself sweating like a pig. Her hands
were cut, stiff, tender, from scrambling away from them. But she had her shoes
on and her jeans. That was a plus.
They haven’t raped you yet. Or killed you.
Why not?
She thought about that and the answer came to her much too
readily.
They’re taking you to their leader . She forced back a
groan of terror. And that means, they’re headed across the border.
But where was there a crossing they could do that without
attracting law enforcement interest?
They couldn’t drive over one of the International
Checkpoints. Ever since Homeland Security beefed up inspections after 9/11,
those bridges were guarded like the gates to hell. She had no passport—and
since last year, anyone crossing needed that. And these dudes? They were lucky
if they had an idea what their real names were, let alone official documents to
get them across an international border.
So where are we going?
She opened her eyes again to scan the road for mile markers.
The only thing she could see was a speed sign that said
“Speed limit 60.”
That meant they were not on a major interstate where traffic
usually was ten miles more per hour. Plus, the three-lane highway, she could
now see, curved. And it ran up and down abrupt hills. Those black ugly ones she
saw in the distance. We’re headed for them. Okay…
Every few seconds she would open her eyes to see if she
could find a mile marker to the next town, whatever it was. Dusk shaded the
horizon like a gray veil and soon, she wouldn’t see anything from this vantage
point because she was outside the range of the car’s headlights.
But what if you’re not going across a border? What if
they’re taking you to a hideaway here in west Texas? She assumed, from the
timing, they were still in Texas and had not gone north. Not by this landscape,
we haven’t.
The Gonzagas had safe houses in many parts of south
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