Enrique Martinez pulled his little sister close, wrapping the only blanket he owned around them both, trying to keep warm. The blanket, a well-worn cotton fabric that his grandmother gave to Enrique when he was only six years old, was the only possession he had kept for this journey. His sister Maria kept one possession from home as well; a small stuffed tiger she called “Nala,” which she cradled in her arms.
As the swirl of the cold desert wind whipped his long hair in every direction, Enrique used his body to shield his sister from the brunt of its force as they huddled together on top of the fast moving train car.
Maria, only ten years old, peacefully slept in her big brother’s arms as the rattle of “La Bestia” or “The Beast”—as the train was known in English—continued its journey in the black of night from the city of Lechera in Southern Mexico all the way to Nogales, close to the California border.
The nighttime sky provided just enough illumination for Enrique to see the outline of hundreds of other migrants packed on the back of the Beast, sitting or asleep on top of the long line of cars that made up the infamous cargo train.
The moonlight also allowed Enrique to see his sister’s face and the calm and undisturbed look on her dozing visage, along with the sight of her tightly grasping Nala. It made him smile. That peaceful visage also gave the exhausted Enrique strength, strength he knew he would need, because although the sixteen year old was beyond tired, he was keenly aware that there could be no sleep for him tonight. Not with the potential threats ahead.
As he fought the sleep-inducing rhythm that the motion of the train provided, he kept his eyes alert for signs of danger in the form of bandits from drug cartels and human traffickers that could jump the train at any moment to rob, kidnap, rape, or kill any or all who rode north in search of a better life.
For Enrique, born and raised in San Salvador, El Salvador, gang violence had been a part of everyday life for as long as he remembered. But in recent years, life in the city had gotten particularly grave, as Mexican drug cartels, the Calderon Cartel in particular, had aligned with local El Salvadorian gangs to more efficiently move both drugs and people throughout the Americas, and eventually throughout the world.
The cartel enforcers, foot soldiers arrested in America and trained in U.S. prisons before being deported back to their homelands, had gotten more aggressive in their recruitment efforts of local boys Enrique’s age and some much younger, to join their cause. More often than not, the recruitment efforts were done at gunpoint.
Enrique had been remarkably lucky so far, having managed to evade the gang’s recruitment efforts. He was careful to mind his own business, choosing to stay close to his family, with a keen interest in protecting his little sister Maria. It was because of this that Enrique believed he never found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time in regards to the cartel. His mother thought of Enrique’s luck in avoiding gang recruitment as a direct blessing from God.
Two of Enrique’s closest friends had not been so lucky. They had refused to join and had been killed for their responses, and the young El Salvadorian knew that despite his luck and best efforts to avoid the cartel-controlled gangs, it was only a matter of time before he would be approached with the same offer and suffer the same result if he refused to join.
Yet to Enrique, San Salvador was his home, the only one he’d ever known, and at first he had chosen to stay in order to protect his family. But when his father was gunned down in the streets of San Salvador in broad daylight, for no discernible reason and with no arrests made, Enrique changed his mind and decided he had no choice but to leave his homeland for good.
Enrique knew that the journey north through Guatemala, Chiapas, and Mexico, leading to America, the land of opportunity, would be weeks long and dangerous. But to stay in El Salvador and face the Calderon Cartel would be far worse.
When Enrique told his mother of his plans to move the family, she refused to go, believing that she was too old, but she insisted that he leave to start a new life. She did insist on one more thing—that Enrique take Maria with him. Enrique assured his mother that there was no way he was leaving his little sister behind to be subject to the abuses of the cartel soldiers.
So Enrique took what little money he had, hired a coyote, what migrant smugglers were known as, to get both he and Maria all the way to Arriaga in Chiapas. It was in Arriaga where he would board the first leg of the Beast, making the final switch of trains in Lechera, the last train that would take them to Nogales, as close to the U.S. border as La Bestia went. From there, he would take his chances to cross into America via the state of California.
But he had to survive and protect his little sister during the three-week journey to the border first. So far, he, Maria, and the other migrants had been lucky. At each transition, where the migrants were most vulnerable to attack, it had been relatively quiet.
Migrants, who were at risk from falling off the top of the train cars and potentially losing limbs or their lives as well, had, thus far, suffered no incidents. But the true test would be when the Beast passed through Veracruz, a stop notorious for migrants disappearing at the hands of traffickers.
Enrique’s immediate goal was to make it to a Catholic mission rumored to be just before Veracruz, where a missionary by the name of Father Alejandro Gracilas was known to take migrants in and feed them, allow them to bathe, and provide them with supplies for the rest of their respective journeys.
Father Gracilas was also rumored to know where the cartel soldiers and traffickers lay in wait to hijack the Beast, and the priest would allegedly do his best to steer the refugees clear from harm. It was at the mission that Enrique hoped that the priest would help him make contact with a trustworthy coyote, one who did not work for the cartels, to provide passage for he and his sister across the U.S. - Mexican border.
Enrique’s stomach growled from hunger as he sat in the darkness. He had not eaten in over a day, giving the last of his rations of simple bread and water to Maria. He tried not to think about his hunger or the great risks he faced on this journey. It was the only way to keep his panic in check. Most of all he tried to forget that beyond today, he had no plan to get himself and Maria across the border, other than faith and hope.
The current leg of the trip on the back of the Beast was fourteen hours, but it already seemed like forever to Enrique, as he had lost all sense of time’s passage long ago. The relentless instability of his situation made every minute feel like an hour; the only benchmark he had was the knowledge that sunrise would indicate they were very close to their destination. And the current nighttime sky was infinite black, save for the array of stars.
Enrique wrapped his arms tightly around his little sister, both for her comfort and his own. He decided he would focus on the stars and say a prayer to St. Jude, the patron saint of the oppressed and hopeless, that he and Maria would make it across the border safely and begin new life.
A sudden turn of the Beast snapped Enrique awake. He instinctively pulled his sister tight as his left arm shot out and braced them both against the top of the train car for balance. Pulled from a dream of better times and completely disoriented, it took the squeaks and moans of the moving train for Enrique to remember where he was.
He was also abruptly reminded of current dangers as he witnessed a migrant roll off the back of the Beast. Enrique and the other migrants watched in sorrow as the man tumbled helplessly onto the dust of the desert floor. Enrique kept watching as the train pulled farther and farther away from the place where the man’s movements came to a stop, from the place where he lay motionless.
Enrique hoped the fallen passenger was okay and breathed a sigh of relief when the man slowly got to his feet and disappeared as the train roared on. It was then that Enrique also realized it was daylight.
“I’m hungry,” Maria murmured as she stirred awake. She instinctively clutched her stuffed tiger close to her chest.
“We will arrive at the mission soon,” Enrique answered as he pulled the blanket away from his little sister.
“Will they have food?”
“Yes,” Enrique assured her, before kissing her on the forehead, hoping that his words would prove to be true.
The loud blast of the Beast’s horn interrupted Enrique and Maria’s thoughts, and as the train slowly moved around the next curve in the tracks, Enrique looked ahead, and his heart started to pound at what he saw. The train station was now in view. He and Maria’s lives literally hinged upon what happened next. He hoped it would be Father Gracilas and not cartel soldiers waiting to greet them.
The migrants moved to a crouching position in anticipation as the brakes of the train began to squeal, the large locomotive slowly grinding to a halt.
“Let’s go. Hurry now,” Enrique said to Maria, before he grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the train car, where a single metal ladder led to the tracks below. There was some pushing and shoving as migrants tried to exit the train as quickly as they could, before the Beast rolled back into motion.
“Go, go,” Enrique said to Maria, when a break in the traffic at the ladder appeared, and she hustled down the metal rungs on cue.
Enrique pushed aside another migrant and quickly followed his sister.
Once on the ground, Enrique quickly grabbed hold of Maria’s hand again and scanned the train station, his heart racing.
He nearly collapsed with a sigh of relief as he saw what he was looking for: A bald headed man, his face lined with age, the color of his skin deep-brown from the sun, wearing a dark-brown robe. Around the man’s neck hung a large wooden cross.
A big smile spread across Enrique’s face as he grabbed his sister’s hand tightly, both sprinting as fast as they could to meet Father Gracilas.
“Was it good?” Enrique asked Maria as she finished the last of her tamale.
The ten year old responded with a smile and a rapid nod of the head. “May I have another?”
“Let me check and see if there’s any left,” Enrique replied, before he got to his feet and walked toward the food table.
Maria Martinez had always looked out for her older brother Enrique, for as long as she could remember. To Maria, her big brother never paid attention to things like she did. How people behaved, for example.
People’s behavior would always tell Maria what they were about to do. When the gangs came through the neighborhood, it terrified everyone, but for some reason, Maria always knew when the gangs would come looking for Enrique. She could tell by how people in the neighborhood would walk or talk. Sometimes it would be in their mannerisms or how they would move. Sometimes it was what they would wear. Still with others, she could tell right away what they would do by a look in their eye. Sometimes, it was a combination of all these things. And sometimes, if the weather was bad, that would tell her too.
And when all these things combined to tell Maria that they were coming for Enrique, she always convinced him to go into town to buy her candy, or play hide and seek with her in the old schoolyard. There were dozens of places to play hide and seek where Maria lived, and she knew them all.
Maria didn’t understand why she knew what people would do before they did it. What was even harder for her to understand was why Enrique couldn’t see what she could see.
If it weren’t for her, Enrique would run into trouble just like their dog Chewy ran into walls whenever the big dopey mutt was chasing a fly in the house. And it wasn’t just Enrique who acted as silly as Chewy. It seemed like no one could ever see what they were doing or where they were going. It seemed like no one paid attention to what was happening around them, ever. It frustrated Maria. Why did they choose to ignore everything? Why couldn’t they just see?
The other children in the neighborhood picked on Maria. Called her a weirdo. She hated that word. To Maria, they were all stupid and blind. When they called her names, it caused her to lash out at them.
But they left her alone after she told that loud-mouthed boy Jose that a car would hit him and break his leg, and the next day it happened. Jose was always running or talking without looking or thinking. How could he not see it before it happened? How could everyone not see it before it happened?
Maria tried to explain this to the parents when they asked how she knew that the car would hit Jose. But they couldn’t understand. None of them could understand. It was so frustrating. So she stopped talking about what she saw. Eventually she stopped trying to see. And then she stopped playing with her friends. She only played with Nala her stuffed tiger.
Maria saw that her father was going to die. She saw it a week before it happened. She tried not to see it, but she couldn’t help it. Her father had gotten into an argument with their neighbor about making loud noises at night. Maria’s father wanted the noises to stop. The neighbor had said no. The neighbor was a younger man than her father, but taller and skinnier, with tattoos on his arms and neck. And his eyes were always angry.
Maria watched as he and her father yelled at one another three days in a row. She watched as the neighbor flexed his hands in anticipation the final time. To Maria, that meant the neighbor would be back, but not to argue again.
The neighbor had dangerous cartel people over to his house once. Maria saw them there when she peeked out her bedroom window the night before the last argument.
When the neighbor walked away from her father that time, it was an angry walk. When Maria saw the look in the neighbor’s eyes, the way he walked, the way he flexed his hands, and the way he laughed with the cartel people only days earlier, she knew her father would be dead in a week.
Maria tried to warn her father. But he didn’t listen. He only yelled at her for spying on him. Maria ran to her mother. Her mother only prayed to Jesus. Maria knew Jesus wasn’t going to help, and her mother did nothing to stop her father from going into town, like he did every Wednesday, where Maria knew he would die.
Maria had warned Enrique. Enrique was the only one who was kind to her. The only one who didn’t yell at her or call her silly. Or weirdo. Enrique said he believed her, but she could tell he really didn’t. But still, because Maria asked him, Enrique tried to warn their father.
Their father didn’t listen to Enrique either. Their father never listened to anyone. Her father was stubborn, angry, and blind. And then he died.
Maria stopped believing in the things she saw in her mind after that day. She didn’t want to believe them. She didn’t want to see them. She wanted to be blind, just like everyone else. So she just played with Nala and stayed close to Enrique who she knew loved her no matter what she said or did. The only thing she would make sure to see from now on were the things that kept Enrique away from the gangs. Enrique was the only part of home life that Maria wanted to hang on to.
Pretty soon, she stopped paying attention to many things on purpose. Things would happen to people and places, and she would be surprised that they happened, because she wouldn’t see it before it happened, because she chose not to see things before they happened. Things were easier this way, Maria had convinced herself. She understood it now. If you were blind, you didn’t have to worry. You could just let things happen and be surprised. She would be happy if she never had the visions again.
When Enrique said they were leaving San Salvador, she convinced herself that she was surprised. She was happy to leave San Salvador, where people called her weirdo. She was happy because she and Enrique were leaving San Salvador together and happy because it was an adventure into the unknown. And she hoped that the visions would stay behind her for good in San Salvador.
Maria scanned over the room looking for Enrique. There were so many people here, desperate, scared, and hungry. They hid the fear with laughter and with hope for something better.
They were too scared to see what was about to happen, but Maria could see, no matter how hard she tried not to. She kept herself from screaming in terror at what she saw. For the first time in a long time, she saw everything, just like she used to, and she knew what would happen next. She had to get to Enrique. She had to save him again.
Enrique approached the food table to see if he could find another tamale for his sister.
The temporary mess hall of the Christ Savior Missionary was a converted warehouse that had been long abandoned, the furniture consisting of a half dozen folding tables and several dozen chairs. The place was packed with migrants, all hungry, but laughing and smiling now, relieved and grateful for being fed.
Enrique looked over his fellow migrants and wondered how many would make it across the border into America to work in the fields. Enrique also took note of the building’s details and saw that each faded stucco wall had a wooden Crucifix hung next to a picture of Jesus. He wondered if, after the migrants left, Father Gracilas took the religious items down to throw off the cartel.
He looked over to the makeshift kitchen area, which consisted of hotplates with big metal pots of soup on them, along with a handful of tamales put out on paper plates. To the side of the tamales were napkins and bottles of water.
Father Gracilas toiled behind the tables of the makeshift kitchen, handing out the bowls of soup, along with the rest of the food and water, to dozens of hungry migrants. The priest made sure to bless each migrant as they took their food. The migrants were more than happy to accept his blessing.
As Enrique approached the long line of hungry people to fetch his sister another tamale, he hoped he would have a chance to talk to the priest. He hoped that the padre would be able to advise him on how he could get both he and Maria across the border.
But the sudden popcorn-sounding crack of automatic gunfire from just outside the building stopped everything.
Maria knew that everything she saw in her visions was real when she heard the sound of gunfire. The pit of her stomach sank like it did when she knew her father was going to die and no one would do anything to stop it.
Dread of knowing what would happen next made her mind go blank with fear. Maria had never tried to stop the things she saw from happening directly before. The only thing she had ever done was guide Enrique away from the gangs. But this time she would have to do something. The details in her mind were scrambled now, but the results had stayed clear. The only thing she knew now was she had to get to Enrique.
Maria sprang from where she sat and ran toward the food table. She only made it three steps before a large man who had been running toward the exit and didn’t see her, ran into her, and knocked her completely off her feet.
She tried to get up, but a terrified woman knocked her down. She tried again, but another fleeing migrant’s knee hit her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her, sending her to the floor once again.
In their terror, they couldn’t see her. In their terror, they couldn’t see anything. They run because they are blind, Maria thought. And stupid.
Maria tried to get to her feet one more time and was stepped on, twice—once on the hand and again on the stomach. She howled in pain. Then she howled in anger. It was rage Maria had never felt before. Enrique was going to die, and it was because they were all so blind and stupid. Enrique was going to die because of them.
For Enrique, time itself slowed to a stop as his worst fears leaped to the front of his mind—the realization of what was happening had put time on hold, allowing the pressure from unfolding events to build.
And then the pressure abruptly released, and events began to flow again with accelerated chaos.
Tables were overturned as people scrambled for the doors. Screams echoed throughout the hall as men and women pushed and shoved each other aside, trampling one another, as they scrambling for the exits. As people squeezed through the doorways and out of the building, more gunfire erupted outside the hall. This time followed by screams.
Enrique immediately sprinted toward the table where Maria was sitting, the view of his sister strobed by the panicked rush of migrants. His eyes went wide when he reached the table and saw that she was gone.
“Maria!” he called out as he searched frantically for his sister. He pushed fellow migrants aside and sprinted to where she had been seated only moments earlier. When he got to the table, all he found was her overturned chair.
“Maria!” Enrique called out again, his voice cracking. Tears filled his eyes and his heart filled with dread.
And then something completely unexpected happened to Enrique. Without warning, the fear abruptly stopped.
Extreme clarity washed over his mind, replacing the fear. A simple subconscious command that seemed to come from outside of him, one that he realized had always guided him in the past, one that transitioned from a sense of family to an unwavering sense of certainty.
It now manifested itself as a simple mantra: Save Maria.
For Enrique, there was literally nothing else left in the world.
It was a clear vision of purpose. Enrique realized, in a flash summary of his entire life, that saving Maria right now had driven his actions from the moment his baby sister was born. It was something that he never understood or paid mind to before but could see with clarity now. And he felt it from blood to bone.
So when two cartel soldiers entered the mission hall carrying automatic rifles, Enrique was calm. The impermanence of all things revealed itself to Enrique, and he did not fear it; he embraced it. He knew Maria was alive; he knew Maria was destined to stay alive, even if he was not.
The feeling was something he could not explain, but it was overwhelming, and he instinctively relaxed into it. It was a form of tunnel vision, a clear and unwavering sense of destiny, of being one part of many, and it made Enrique almost giddy. He knew what must be done.
Save Maria.
Those two words became his mantra, his prayer, and it kept repeating in his mind.
Enrique watched as one of the cartel soldiers lowered his rifle and shot Father Gracilas twice in the chest, sending the priest smashing into the wall before his lifeless body clattered to the floor.
Men and women screamed as they witnessed the cold-blooded murder.
Enrique stayed calm.
“Everyone, face down on the floor, arms and legs out. We do not wish to kill you. But we will if you resist,” the first cartel soldier said.
Enrique took note of every detail of the two soldiers as he lowered to one knee. Sunglasses. Thick black hair. Blue bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces. Calderon Cartel ink. Calloused hands. Dirty fingernails.
The cartel soldier looked at Enrique. And Enrique was amazed at the detail he could see of the M-16 rifle the cartel soldier pointed at him, from the scratch on the barrel to the wear on the stock.
“You. On the floor. Now,” the soldier said to Enrique.
Enrique took one more look around the room as he lowered himself to the stone floor.
Maria was nowhere to be seen.
“Some of you will be held for ransom,” the soldier continued as he walked among the migrants, who were lying on the floor. “Be prepared to ask your families for money. Be prepared to tell them if they do not pay, you will die.”
Enrique watched the soldier’s boots as the cartel gunman walked past his head.
“Others of you will be transported elsewhere,” the gunman continued.
Enrique kept watching the gunman. One stood at the door, his rifle at the ready. The other moved about the room, searching under tables, behind the food boxes, looking for anyone who might be hiding.
Enrique kept his eyes searching. He took note of the priest, who lay less than twenty feet from him, the missionary’s lifeless eyes looking right into his as the pool of blood continued to grow.
Enrique stayed calm as he watched the walking gunman stop at each migrant, forcing them to sit up and empty their pockets. Most had little in the way of money. Some had rings and gold chains around their necks. The cartel soldier took it all.
Enrique turned his head in the other direction, keeping his face on the floor, the stone warm against his cheek. Something caught his eye, and his heart nearly stopped.
Behind a stack of boxes marked “canned goods,” Enrique saw the outer edge of a child’s sneaker. Maria’s sneaker. She was hiding. Enrique had to think quickly on what to do next.
Remaining face down on the floor, he turned his head back in the other direction to see where the cartel soldier was.
The man was robbing an elderly gentleman less than five feet away. Enrique would be next. He looked to the door—the other soldier still held guard.
Enrique made a decision. He closed his eyes and prayed harder than he had ever prayed before for God to protect him from what he was about to do.
Save Maria.
The cartel soldier inched closer. He was less than three feet away when Enrique smelled the mixture of dirt and leather from his boots. He could see the scratches on the barrel of the rifle.
Enrique took a deep breath, and calm washed over him.
“You. Sit up.” The cartel soldier pointed the rifle directly at Enrique’s head.
Enrique slowly pushed himself from the floor and got to one knee.
The cartel soldier abruptly hit Enrique on the side of the head with the butt of his rifle.
The pain was like a flash of lightning, and it nearly knocked Enrique unconscious. But he did not fall.
Save Maria.
What happened next surprised everyone.
Out of the corner of his eye, Enrique saw a woman, Latina and muscular, with long hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail. She carried a two and half-foot long stick in each hand as she entered the room quick and silent.
Before anyone could react, she hit the cartel soldier guarding the door in rapid-fire succession with the sticks, breaking his gun barrel, arm, and jaw before it registered to anyone that she was in the room.
After the soldier slumped to the floor unconscious, the cartel soldier standing above Enrique began to turn toward the sound with his rifle raised.
That’s when Enrique saw a large muscular black man standing in the doorway, spinning a chain with small metal spheres at each end, whipping the orbs in a circular blur.
As the cartel soldier began to raise his rifle, the black man launched one end of the chain toward the remaining cartel soldier.
The metal ball flew across the room and struck like a cobra, hitting the stock of the rifle with such force that it shattered the weapon, hit the cartel soldier in the chest, and knocked him to the floor.
Maria watched as the strangers with the sticks and toys came into the room and took control. Their arrival here was unexpected, even by her. Maria was so focused on Enrique, so angry with all the blind and stupid people that she had not seen this happen in her visions.
But now that she did see these people, their movements mesmerized her. The precision, the detail, and the power they displayed were things she’d never seen before. All eyes in the room were on the strangers. Maria knew that if she was going to reach Enrique, she had to move now.
Enrique saw Maria bolt from her hiding spot. He leapt to his feet and raced in her direction to intercept.
But the downed cartel soldier rolled to his feet and got to her first.
“Stay back,” the soldier said as he scooped up Maria mid-stride.
The soldier then pulled a 9mm from a holster on his hip and held it to the young girl’s head.
Everyone froze. Maria started to kick and scream with rage.
The soldier squeezed her hard, and her movements slowed.
“Be quiet, Maria,” Enrique said. “It will be okay. I promise.” Enrique turned his attention to the soldier who held his sister. “Let her go. Let me take her place. And I will go peacefully.” He took a step toward the soldier.
“Stay back,” the soldier said as he pointed the gun at Enrique, then at the Latina and the black man, then back to Enrique.
He began backing his way toward the exit, Maria still locked in his arm.
“Please,” Enrique pleaded. The sixteen year old looked over the horrified faces of the other migrants.
Then he looked at the faces of the black man and the Latina. Their eyes were locked on the soldier.
Then another man entered the room and stood between the black man and the Latina. This man was white, with calm soft features offset by piercing eyes. He wore loose fitting jeans and a gray T-shirt,
“Alex…” the Latina said to the latest arrival. Then she pointed to the cartel soldier holding the little girl hostage.
“Stay back!” the cartel soldier screamed, this time pointing the gun at the man with the piercing eyes, who now stood between the black man and the Latina.
Enrique watched as the man named Alex stared at the cartel soldier. But stare wasn’t the right word. His eyes vibrated in a way that Enrique had never seen before, and it spooked him.
Enrique looked at the cartel soldier who held his sister and noticed that the gun shook in his hand.
“You’re not going to hurt her,” the man named Alex said to the cartel soldier.
Enrique saw that Alex’s words and odd moving eyes caused the cartel soldier to hesitate.
Alex then turned to Enrique. “She’ll be okay. We’ll take care of her. I promise,” he said, before he added, “I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve been here sooner. This is the only way things can happen now if you want her to live. There just isn’t enough time.”
Enrique nodded. It was as if the man had read his mind.
And then without thinking, Enrique went for the gun.
He caught the soldier’s arm and pushed the weapon away from Maria as all three tumbled to the floor.
The cartel soldier gripped the girl tightly as he fought for control of the gun.
Enrique held the gun arm with both his hands, head-butted the cartel soldier who let go of Maria, and put both hands on the gun.
Enrique watched his sister run across the room, and he lost sight of the gun. Then he heard a loud explosion next to his ear, and everything went silent.
Enrique‘s skin burned, then his body, as his heartbeat drowned out all other noise. Breathing suddenly became very difficult. He touched his hand to his chest and pulled back bloody fingers.
His eyes darted about, searching frantically for his little sister. He saw the muscular Latina, the one who had taken out the other cartel soldier, scoop up Maria, hold her tight, and sprint out of the room.
Save Maria.
Enrique let out one last breath of relief, before everything went black.
Yaw reached the cartel soldier less than two seconds after the gun went off. But he already knew that the teenager who had freed the young girl was dead.
As the cartel soldier began to raise the 9mm in Yaw’s direction, Yaw struck the man’s wrist with his Kali stick, hard, shattering both the wrist and forearm, then he rebounded the stick off the wrists and whipped it across the man’s jaw, shattering the bone and knocking out several teeth. The cartel soldier was unconscious before his head bounced off the stone floor.
Yaw then looked at the dead boy and turned the body over. Yaw hung his head in sorrow. The kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
Yaw slowly turned toward the unconscious cartel soldier. Yaw’s martial art training was never about the ability to defend himself or hurt someone. His size and strength all but guaranteed that capability against nearly anyone. Yaw’s training was about finding inner peace, finding a reason not to give into anger, and only resorting to violence when circumstances justified aggression. Circumstances like now.
Yaw stared at the cartel soldier. Anger he had not felt in a long time arose. As the cartel soldier regained consciousness and started to squirm in pain from his broken bones, Yaw gripped the Kali stick in his right hand, got to his feet, and marched in the direction of the waking man.
He raised the stick over his head, ready to strike down the man who had just shot a teenage boy in cold blood. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Yaw turned to see the hand belonged to Alex.
“Find Camilla,” Alex Luthecker told Yaw. “She has left with the young girl.”
Yaw took a quick glance about the room. It had emptied of migrants. Yaw looked at Alex, who was on the floor, whispering in the ear of the cartel soldier.
Yaw could tell by the look in the cartel soldier’s eyes that what Alex was sharing removed any false pretense, any illusion of what the man saw of himself, leaving only the truth—that he was a murderer of men, women, and children, and there would be no hiding from that fact…ever again.
Yaw knew the impact of Alex’s abilities on those who did evil was like no other. He knew that the weight of this man’s choices would be enough to destroy him. For the cartel soldier, Judgment Day had arrived.
Satisfied, Yaw headed for the exit in search of Camilla.
“I hate them. I want them all to die,” Maria screamed at Camilla as the two of them stood out in the open desert. The venom in Maria’s voice was palpable.
Yaw approached. “What’s your name?” Yaw asked Maria, his voice gentle, trying to both deflect the young girl’s anger and sooth it.
“Her name is Maria,” Camilla answered as she tried to approach the ten year old. Maria stepped back to keep her distance.
Yaw and Camilla looked at one another. They shared a young daughter, Kylie, and the plight of this girl struck close to home for them both.
“Who’s this guy?” Yaw asked Maria about the stuffed tiger she held tightly in her arms.
“Nala,” Maria replied, before squeezing him tighter.
The sound of a train horn signaling the next Beast’s arrival got Yaw’s attention. It was then that he noticed the migrants walking toward the station, a resigned walk; all were preparing to board the back of the next Beast and take their chances again, as if nothing had happened.
Alex approached Yaw and Camilla. He locked eyes with Maria, before he stooped low, so he was face to face with the ten year old. The little girl held his gaze.
“It’s nothing but blackness everywhere, for everyone,” Maria blurted out to Alex. The rage was palpable in her voice, and her choice of words disturbed everyone.
Alex studied Maria for several seconds before speaking. “That is not true. There is always hope. Your brother died saving your life. He did so because he loved you and had hope for you,” Alex explained. His tone was gentle yet direct.
He touched Maria’s cheek and she recoiled.
Alex stood up. “Don’t make his sacrifice be in vain. I know this is hard. But there is no time to mourn now. We must go.”
“I hate them.”
“And that will blind you. Make you just like the people who frustrate you. Is that what you want?”
Maria didn’t answer. She was surprised that this stranger knew about the stupid blind people. With her stuffed tiger still locked in her arms, she turned away.
“Come with us.”
Maria looked back at the strange man with the piercing eyes. She had no visions about him, no matter how hard she tried to see them. This was something she’d never experienced before. The only thing her instincts told her was that he was not one of the blind and stupid people. This was another first for her because up until now, everyone Maria met had been blind and stupid.
She kept her eyes on Alex for several seconds before she slowly held out her hand. She was young, but she could sense that this man was different from the others. She sensed that his words were not hiding other words with different meanings. And Maria also knew that she had nowhere left to go.
Camilla and Yaw looked at one another in reaction to the strange conversation between Alex and this ten-year-old girl.
“She comes with us. We take her to Safe Block,” Alex declared, as if reading their minds.
“I didn’t think we did that,” Yaw cautioned. “I didn’t think we brought anyone across the border.”
“What if she has family?” Camilla added.
“We are her family now,” Alex said with certainty as he and Maria continued to study one another. “Nikki has arranged a computer black out at the border to help us get across. But we have to hurry,” he continued.
“It’s going to be okay,” Alex said to Maria.
“They will be back soon. And then you can kill them all,” Maria replied.
“We will be killing no one,” Alex answered, his eyes still locked on Maria’s and hers on his. Alex held the gaze for several seconds before turning to the others. “We have to go,” Alex said, before taking Maria’s hand and guiding them away.