Chapter 14

There was a haze of dust in the air, further dulling the visibility. But the aftermath of the shots was clear, even from their distance in the dark.

Two illegals lay on the ground; a couple of others hunched over them.

The coyotes were loosely strung out and were threatening the group of illegals with their guns. All eight of them. The rest of the illegals were huddled together, cowed.

Roger couldn’t make out the expressions on their faces, the darkness and distance rendering the faces into pale blobs, but none of them were showing any signs of aggression. Roger and Bwana hugged the rocky outcrop, invisible against its dark shadow beyond the dim light of the flashlights.

One of the illegals crouching over the dead, a woman, sprang suddenly at the coyotes, shrieking, her arms outstretched. The heavy closest to her stepped back without a word, upended his AK-47, and with a lazy, casual swing hit the woman across the face. The woman fell back and then collapsed in an untidy heap without a sound, and seconds later the dull watermelon-like thud of the impact reached Roger and Bwana.

The coyotes shouted and prodded the rest of the group who resumed shuffling along the corridor. The coyote who had felled the woman hawked and spat on her body and stepped across her as he followed the group.

The gang started hazing and herding the illegals, urging them to go faster. The last one bent over the fallen woman and felt something on her body. He then rose and fired a short burst into her body. Point blank. He then stepped across the body, went to the wall of the ravine, hitched his shirt up with a loud sigh, and urinated a long stream. Just another day in a coyote’s life.

Roger felt loose and light. He could smell and taste each molecule of air that brushed his face and feel the blood steadily pulse inside him. He looked across at Bwana. He knew Bwana understood. Nothing needed to be said.

They moved like a well-oiled machine, countless missions in hot spots of the world perfecting every step they took. They drifted along, flanking the group from both sides, narrowing the gap.

Bwana was closest to the last gangbanger, the one who had fired into the prone woman.

One moment the coyote was trotting to catch up, his AK-47 held loosely in his left hand, feeling deeply satisfied with the night’s activities. The next moment, a steel band whipped across his throat, and a knife pierced his ribs. Before his neurons could transmit and his brain could decode, Bwana’s rocklike arms snapped his neck.

Bwana dragged the body to the side, lengthened his pace, and drew abreast of Roger.

The coyotes had not yet realized that one of theirs was missing, and were still loosely bunched together behind the illegals. Roger smiled grimly as he counted seven of them. None of them had gone ahead of the group.

The rough track had started widening, and the coyotes started pushing the group faster, shouting and cursing. Roger glanced at Bwana briefly. With the terrain opening, the risk of one or more of the coyotes heading to the front of the group increased.

One of the illegals stumbled and fell, and the coyote closest to her roared and lifted his rifle to strike her.

‘Hola, amigos,’ Roger called out softly and immediately stepped to his right.

The coyote froze, and the others jerked as if burnt and whirled. Flashlights stabbed the night, rifles leveled, and a query of voices rang out. Roger could make out English, Spanish and a few other languages that he didn’t recognize.

The gunmen squinted against the lights, peering in the darkness, trying to see past the shape and shadows of the valley.

One of them let loose a fusillade at where he thought the voice had come from.

Bwana took him out with a head shot and dropped down prone.

Roger stepped sideways again, his Kimber coming up smooth and fast, the lights painting bull’s-eyes on his targets, six shots roaring death in the ravine, double taps that felled three gunmen. He fell prone, rolled a few feet away, his gun tracking the group, and saw the remaining three drop as Bwana got them.

He kept the fallen heavies in his sight as Bwana approached them cautiously, not in a straight line, and confirmed the dead.

He joined his companion, and they walked around the group of illegals, who had come to a stop and were watching them vacantly. Bwana went up close to a few of them; they didn’t step back, just looked at him. He shook his head and approached a few more and got no reaction.

Roger watched for a moment and then looked around for the woman who had attacked the gunman. He found her deep inside the group, shivering violently as she stared at him.

He approached her slowly, his arms spread wide, harmlessly.

‘Hello.’

She didn’t respond to his greeting but stood there motionless, shivering and watching.

‘Hola,’ he tried again and got no response.

‘Ola.’ Nope, just shivering and a blank look back at him.

He scratched his head and tried in French and got nothing in return. He cursed under his breath and shrugged out of the jacket he was wearing and went forward to drape it across her shoulders.

She flinched as he went closer, but did not utter a word when he had wrapped it around her. She pulled the jacket closer and stared back at him.

Roger realized she was young, maybe in her mid-twenties. With sudden shock he looked harder at the rest of the group, pushing his way in deeper – he had given the group only cursory glances till then since he had been focused on the coyotes.

All of the illegals were young white women. All of them maybe in their twenties.

He sought out Bwana, who nodded when he met Roger’s gaze.

‘Yep, I noticed it too.’

‘Are they carrying any drugs?’

‘Nope, but then I didn’t search them,’ replied Bwana. He checked his phone again. No signal still.

‘Yours?’

‘Nope. No idea how big the dead area is,’ Roger said, referring to the lack of mobile coverage. ‘We’ll press on to the nearest town and hand these women to the police. Why don’t you try talking to them and see if you have better luck than me?’

Bwana drifted over to the group as Roger went to the dead bodies and collected all the rifles and smashed their barrels on a large stone. He went to the nearest body and removed the jacket the illegal had been wearing.

You won’t need it. Not where you are now, he thought and, dumping all the magazines in it, fashioned a rough rucksack.

He stood up as Bwana approached him, shaking his head.

‘No luck. All of them are drugged to the gills. Not a single word from them. We need to get them to civilization quickly before the effects of the drugs wear off.’

Roger pulled out his compass from his pocket, and then it came back to him in a flash.

‘These folks were all heading the wrong way.’

‘Wrong way? What do you mean?’ asked Bwana quizzically.

‘They were heading TO Mexico. Not stateside!’