I head up the coast, using the main road most of the way. The sun is starting to rise, the sky getting even brighter. I keep checking the rearview mirror, but nobody seems to be following me. In fact, the highway is mostly deserted this early in the morning.
When I’m several miles away from my next stop, I dig the transmitter out of my pocket, flick the tiny switch on the side, and put it in my ear.
“Atticus.”
Silence.
I give it a couple seconds before trying again.
“Atticus, are you there?”
More silence. It lasts maybe ten seconds, and then there’s a crackle of static followed by a tired sigh.
“What did you do with them?”
Straight to the point—that seems to be Atticus’s style, at least from what I’ve been able to gather in the limited time I’ve known him.
“Relax. Everything’s okay.”
Another sigh.
“Holly—”
“I left them behind, okay? I took them up the coast and then I left them behind.”
“You’re saying they accompanied you on the CRRC?”
“Yes.”
“That was unwise, Holly.”
“The craft’s been destroyed.”
“And? The idea was you would disappear. Yes, you may have destroyed the CRRC, but that doesn’t matter because now there are witnesses.”
“The woman’s not going to say anything.”
“How do you know?”
“I saved her life.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?”
“What did you want me to do, Atticus? Kill the woman and the children? Just put a bullet between their eyes and move on? Is that what you would have done?”
Atticus is silent for a moment. I can’t tell whether it’s because he’s actually considering the questions or giving me the extra moment to vent.
He says, “You could have left them behind.”
“And then what would have happened to them? More narcos would have shown up, and God only knows what they would have done to them.”
“Where did you leave them?”
Now it’s my turn to be silent.
Atticus says, “Based on where you launched the CRRC, I’m guessing that’s where you left them. And if that’s the case, you essentially left them in the middle of nowhere.”
I smack the steering wheel with my fist.
“Goddamn it, Atticus, what would you have had me do? I couldn’t leave them behind, and I couldn’t bring them with me. So yes, I left them in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Was it the most ideal situation to leave them in? No, but it was my only choice.”
The highway stretches out ahead of me. A town stands off in the distance, several miles away. I check the rearview mirror once again to make sure nobody’s behind me before I turn off into a field.
Atticus says, “Where are you now?”
“I’m about ready to make the switch.”
“Very good. When do you anticipate you’ll cross the border?”
“It’s, what, a twelve-hour drive from Culiacán? I plan to head straight out. I’m going to stop by my room first and take a quick shower. I got some blood in my hair that didn’t come out in the ocean. My luck, the border guards will notice it, so I might as well cross the border looking presentable. As we discussed, I’ll purchase a burner phone and call you and set up a time and place to meet James.”
“James is already on the road. He has everything you’ll need. A new ID, new social security card, new bank card, new credit cards, everything. We’ve liquated all your accounts, paid off all your debts.”
I say, “Goodbye, Holly Lin. What is my new name, anyway?”
There’s a smile in Atticus’s voice when he answers.
“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
“I still think it’s bullshit I’m not able to pick my own name. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve wanted to change my name to Madonna.”
“Good thing the choice isn’t up to you.”
The car bounces up and down over the rugged terrain. I’m moving at a slow enough clip that not too large of a dust cloud spreads.
“Thank you, Atticus.”
“Of course, Holly. Good luck.”
I pluck the transmitter out of my ear, flick the switch to turn it off. I toss it on the seat beside me as I steer the El Camino over a rise and down into a ditch. The dirt bike is still where I left it. I park the car beside it, kill the engine, and step out.
I strip out of my clothes, put on new ones, and throw the dirty clothes into the car.
In the back of the El Camino is another plastic container of gas. I douse the car, including the interior, and light a match and throw the match onto the driver’s seat.
Wearing a new pair of gloves, I climb onto the dirt bike, start the engine, and drive back up the incline out of the ditch.
I pause at the top of the rise to glance back down at the El Camino. The fire is going strong. The car will be found at some point, but by then all trace evidence—including my clothes and the transmitter—will have long been destroyed. Maybe a connection will be made to Ernesto Diaz, but most likely not. The nice thing about committing crime in Mexico is that it happens all the time. It’s almost impossible to connect dots when there are an infinite number of dots.
The plan now is to ride to the next town. I’ll abandon the dirt bike and steal another car and drive that another twenty miles up the highway to the hotel I’d checked into two days ago. It’s not a nice hotel, but it’s not a shitty one either. It’s an anonymous hotel, one of hundreds. Assuming it hasn’t been stolen, my car is parked in the lot. I’ll drive north and cross the border and meet James, who has my new ID and other essentials to start a new life.
Holly Lin will cease to exist.
About time.