The woman was running – half naked, one shoe missing, blood slick down her thighs. She was going as fast as she could, wheezing on the cold air, but the baby inside her weighed so much now. The truck was gaining on her, the sound of the engine deafening.
There was meant to be a river, that’s what Adelmo had said. When we cross it, we’ll be safer. She begged the desert for water, for higher ground, for anything that would stop the truck. She saw only emptiness.
The woman couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder. Her foot snagged between two rocks, her ankle twisted, she landed hard on her side. In that moment she knew it was over. All she could do was lie there, trembling.
There was dogbane and Indian paintbrush on the wind, the smells no different than in her own country, less than a mile away. But in her fear it was as if she were smelling them for the first time, a perfume she realized now she had always taken for granted.
The truck was almost on her, dust billowing out behind it like a coming tornado. She knew she had to get up but her body simply wouldn’t respond – there was too much pain, too much cold, too much exhaustion. It was numb except for a torn burning in her vagina and a disturbing pain in her ankle.
Headlights blanched the earth white. The little stones around her looked like eyes unblinking. With a quivering whisper, the woman closed her eyes and began to pray in Spanish. ‘Most sacred heart of Jesus, I accept from your hands whatever death may please you to send me this night –’
The truck stopped at her feet, the engine still snarling. A door opened and footsteps crunched towards her.
‘– with all its pains, penalties and sorrows, in reparation for all my sins, for the souls in Purgatory, for all those who will die today, and your greater glory. Amen.’
‘A–men!’ The man was tall, his voice jolly, an ordinary face beneath his cap. The patch on his shirt read: COUSINS. He smiled. ‘You thought you got away, huh?’
A second man got out of the truck. He was short and, despite the thinning black hair and sparse moustache, he had a baby face. His patch read: ORTEGA. Ignoring the woman, he shone his flashlight into the darkness. ‘Can’t see shit out there.’ He smoothed down his moustache. ‘Ask her.’
Cousins crouched down beside the woman. ‘Okay, honey: husband, boyfriend, Mr Invisible. ¿Dónde está?’
The woman kept her eyes on the dirt with petrified defiance.
‘You know, I don’t believe she likes me,’ said Cousins.
‘Yeah, well.’ Ortega scanned the shadows irately. ‘I wouldn’t like you either.’
Cousins flipped her over and laughed as he batted away the rock she was trying, weakly, to hit him with. ‘Aw, now come on, pumpkin. Y’all ran away before our business was concluded.’ He ripped off her jacket and flung it away.
‘Cousins, we’re going to lose him.’
‘Okay – okay. You’re in some mood tonight, you know that?’ He gave the woman’s breasts a squeeze but stopped when he felt wetness. ‘The fuck is this …?’
Ortega shone his flashlight down at the woman’s massive belly. ‘Pregnant.’
Cousins got up and brushed himself off. ‘Didn’t notice.’
‘Quit fucking around and ask her.’
‘You know what your problem is, Theo? You got no sense of serenity.’ Cousins gently patted the woman’s shoulder, as if it had just been a misunderstanding. ‘Ma’am? I’m sorry about before, all right? I didn’t realize your, ah, condition. Now, my name is Agent Craig Cousins and that feller right over there is Supervisory Agent Ortega. We’re with the United States Border Patrol. You understand that?’
The woman didn’t reply. She was crying.
‘I want you to know that you’re not in any trouble, okay? We just wanna let you go on your way. We have the authority to do that. But listen, we do need to find the man you were with. So come on now, pumpkin. Help us help you. Which way’d he go?’
The woman’s eyes were closed in shivering repugnance, tears slicing through her dust-coated cheeks like oil, her teeth chattering.
Sighing, Ortega picked up her jacket from the sand and took out a Top Cat wallet from the pocket. The ID card told him her name was Evelyn Olivera. She was twenty-three years old. He tossed it over.
‘Evelyn? That’s a pretty name you got there.’ Cousins smiled approvingly. ‘Lemme ask you something, Evelyn. Is this man the daddy of your baby? I’m asking cos it’s colder than shit out here. If you do care about him, you gotta tell us which way he went. Else he’s in big trouble, pumpkin. Look around you.’
Evelyn looked. There were only miles of empty desert, the wind roving through its silent cambers. She wondered if Adelmo Contreras was still out there, if he could see her. She hoped not. She hoped he was miles away.
And then she saw it. In the distance, between her tears, the river. It glittered silver like an arcade coin-pusher. She chose to believe Adelmo had crossed it. He’d made it.
The sky above yawed between black and purple, galaxies long extinguished. Evelyn Olivera knew she was going to die. She wondered if she could adjust to death. Maybe it would be like eyes getting used to the dark. And if God was there, maybe He would be able to forgive her.
‘Last chance, chiquita.’ Cousins patted her on the calf.
She looked both men in the eye, then spat. ‘Fuck you.’
‘Well, that sure is a shame.’ Cousins tutted then turned to his partner. ‘Come on, man. It’s not my turn.’
Ortega shrugged. He took out his gun, pointed it at Evelyn’s face and fired twice.
She made small sounds, like a broken radio trying to find a frequency. When that stopped, her leg twitched several times, then she was still.
A few hundred feet away there was a scream – a figure standing next to a mesquite tree.
‘Ah, there you are.’ Ortega licked his lips, took aim and fired.
The figure broke into a run towards the river.
Another three shots hit nothing. ‘Fuck, I’m out. Cousins, give me yours.’
‘My gun’s still in the truck.’
‘Then go fucking get it!’
‘Theo, he’s running north. He’s finished.’
‘We can’t afford any stragglers.’
‘Partner, he’s gone. He’s got no drinking water. Look at him, he’s running for the river and it’s already freezing. The fucker’s heading straight into a black hole.’
Ortega re-holstered. He squinted into the distance and saw the figure running – almost at the river now – tiny in the darkness.
Supervisory Border Patrol Agent Theodore Ortega spoke in a whisper. ‘Welcome to America.’