As we snake out of our camp, I’m still hopeful that Flannel Shirt will appear. He never does.
We wait for dark.
It’s almost an hour before I hear her scream.
“My ankle!” Gladys yells. She hits the ground with a thud.
“¿Qué pasó?” Marcos asks.
“I twisted it. I stepped on something,” Gladys says, her voice dripping with pain. She screams again.
The two of them are surprisingly believable.
Neck Tattoo shines a light on her. Gladys is curled on the ground, clutching her ankle.
Quick footsteps approach.
“How bad is it?” the leader asks.
This is my opportunity.
I back into the darkness, taking slow, soft steps around the others in the group. The farther away I get from the lights shined on Gladys, the harder it is to see. The moon, low in the sky, gives me just enough light to avoid plowing into another person, or some other kind of trouble.
I gently tug at Tito’s hand, and he follows me a few steps into the desert.
“How long ago did he leave?” I whisper.
“An hour or two before we started walking,” Tito says.
“They’re going to try to take us before we get to Ajo,” I say.
“I think you’re right.”
“We need your help.”
“Tell me what I can do.”
I see them lifting Gladys to her feet. I don’t have much time. I set down my bag and rush through the plan.
• • •
I’m in the back now with Arbo. Marcos is in front of him and Gladys limps ahead of all of us.
I watch the moon and wait for it to touch the horizon. As it sinks, the faint light around us fades, thickening the shadows, plunging us further into darkness.
My palms sweat, the same as the rest of me. With each step forward, my pulse deepens, like the penetrating thump of a low drum. It throbs against my neck. I can hear the blood course through my ears. My breaths become short and loud. I wonder if I’ll be able to hear the sound from where I am, above all the noise I’m making.
But when it finally comes, it’s clear and unmistakable.
Rattle, rattle.
Rattle, rattle.
The woman with the baby shrieks.
Someone yells, “¡Culebra!” I think it’s her husband.
Other shouts follow. I hear panicky feet stomping at the ground.
Neck Tattoo fires up his flashlight and charges by me, light in one hand and gun in the other. As he passes Marcos, he nosedives into the dirt. His flashlight bounces off the ground and tumbles erratically, finally coming to rest at an angle that points outward into the desert.
Neck Tattoo lies splayed on the ground in front of me.
Marcos leaps on top of him, blasting the wind from his lungs. The dark mass of their two bodies begins to twist violently on the desert floor.
A gut-wrenching thought cycles over and over in my head. All we had to do was run away. We could have simply let Neck Tattoo join the snake hunt. But I gave in…
I look at the group ahead of us.
Rattle, rattle.
The screams and stomps continue. A beam of light whips around at their feet.
And in front of me, the struggle continues. They grumble. They tumble. They bleed precious time from the clock. I’d help, but I wouldn’t know how. It’s impossible to tell who is who in the dark.
Rattle, rattle.
The sound is farther away now. Tito is moving to give us more time, but he can’t do it forever. If it goes on for too long, they’ll figure it out. For now, fresh shrieks emerge.
We need to go. Now.
I grab the flashlight from the ground and shine it on Neck Tattoo and Marcos. It’s a risk, but I’m hoping the group ahead is too distracted to notice.
Marcos is on top with one hand planted in Neck Tattoo’s face. Then I see what really matters. Neck Tattoo’s gun. It’s buried in Marcos’s stomach, with the barrel pointed out to the side. They both have a hand on it. They rock back and forth, in surges, each fighting to take control.
I think back to Arbo’s backyard, when I stood by and watched. I won’t do that again. I have to help.
But I’m too late. When I’m about to lunge, Marcos flops onto his side. As he does, a bright flash of light pulses with a deafening bang.
Gladys screams.
I jump, and the flashlight falls out of my hands.
Again, the blasts continue. This time, they’re muffled, as if pressed against something.
Neck Tattoo gasps.
Marcos jumps off him. “Let’s go,” he says.
“My leg,” Gladys whimpers. She’s sitting, clutching it with both hands. This time, she’s not pretending.
My heart drops.
Arbo grabs the flashlight from the ground and shines it on her leg. Her thigh is bloody.
Another flashlight shines on us as a figure charges toward us from the group ahead.
“¡Paren!” shouts the leader.
Marcos shoots. It stops the leader in his tracks. The group erupts into chaos.
Marcos shoves the gun at me. “Take this,” he says.
He slings Gladys up over his shoulder. Arbo lights a path into the desert and we bolt out into it.
The leader fires two shots. I hear one of the bullets whiz by, which must mean that it almost hit my head.
“Turn off the light!” I yell at Arbo as we all duck.
We’re back in the dark. Gladys cries softly. I wish I could do something, but I can’t. We can’t. Not right now. First, we have to get out of this situation alive.
A beam shines in our direction.
“Shoot!” Marcos says to me.
I aim at the light and almost pull the trigger. Then I remember the other pollitos—they’re all around him. I tilt the barrel up to the horizon. I’d love to knock him down, but I can’t chance hitting one of them.
I fire.
“We can see you,” Marcos yells. “Try to shoot us, and we’ll shoot you first.”
The flashlight turns off. We’re left blinded, except for the dim shadows of objects immediately in front of us.
A shot blasts into the air. The bullet pings off a nearby rock.
We hit the ground and crawl. Marcos has Gladys flopped on top of him, like she’s riding a horse on her stomach. I’m in the lead, shuffling forward on my knees with my backpack out in front of me, to take the sting out of anything I bump into.
Another shot sounds off from behind us.
“Shoot!” Marcos whispers.
“Then he’ll know where we are,” I say.
Another shot follows.
Then another.
And another.
It’s terrifying. We crawl faster.
“You’ll die out there on your own,” the leader yells. “Then I’ll find your bodies and turn you in just the same!”
I feel the ground sloping slightly downward. It leads into a dry creek bed. It’s narrow, but perfect. It’s the dumb luck we need.
We’re back on our feet—three of us, at least—and the path ahead is clear.
“Gladys!” Marcos whispers.
“I’m still here,” she answers.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I got you shot.”
You should be sorry, you idiot! Run. That was all we needed to do.
I want to kick him—and myself, for letting him have his way. We press forward.
I hear Marcos mumbling to his little sister, as the noises from the group fade into the distance.
A few minutes later, I stop. “We’re far enough away now. We need to look at her leg,” I say.
“Don’t shine the light,” Gladys says.
“We need to see it,” Marcos replies.
“No. They’ll see us. Just stop the bleeding.”
“How bad is it?” Marcos asks. He’s sobbing now.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“Use the watch, and we’ll block the light,” I say.
I take off my shirt and hand it to Arbo. He spreads it out in the direction of the others. Marcos shines the soft light on her leg. It’s a dark, wet mess.
Marcos turns away and vomits.
We’re left back in the dark.
“Where does it hurt?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
I grab the watch from Marcos and shine it again on her leg. I see the hole in the outside of her right thigh. Blood flows out from the wound.
I want to vomit too. I want to scream.
This isn’t real! It can’t be.
I want to close my eyes, wake up back in Mexico, and discover that this whole thing is just a nightmare.
I want to shoot Neck Tattoo myself.
I want to shoot Marcos for messing everything up. I want to scream at him and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Why did he have to be the hero? We were so close. All we had to do was run, but he couldn’t let it go. We didn’t need a hero. We needed to get away. Period.
And I let it happen. I let him talk me into it. I could have stopped this. I had my chance.
And now…
I want to give up. I don’t see a way out.
But I don’t want Gladys to know any of this. I want her to know that everything is going to be fine.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You’re losing a little blood. We need to wrap it, that’s all.”
I turn off the light, and grab my shirt from Arbo.
“This is going to hurt, but you can’t scream. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, as though she’s already feeling what I’m about to do.
I feel for the bullet hole. She squeals under her breath. I want to yell for her. I wrap my shirt around her leg and tie it down as hard as I can.
“That’s not wrapping it, that’s a tourniquet!” Marcos says.
“We have to stop the bleeding,” I say.
“She’s going to lose her leg!”
“She’s going to lose more than that if she doesn’t stop bleeding.” Immediately, I wish I hadn’t said this.
“He’s right, Marcos,” Gladys says. “It’s okay.” There’s strength in her voice, but I can tell that’s not really what she wants to say.
“We need to get farther away without her losing more blood. We can clean it and rewrap it later,” I say.
But it’s a lie. We don’t have any water to wash out her wound. We don’t have anything remotely clean to press against it. And I have no clue what I’m doing. I only know we have to stop the bleeding.
I hoist her onto my back.
“No, I’ll do it,” Marcos says.
“We’ll take turns,” I answer.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and I bend forward. Her tears roll down my neck, and her heavy breaths slap against my ear.
Each step is a small lunge. My legs burn with the fury of the midday sun. When I think it’s too much, I focus on her breathing. I sync mine to hers. I think of what she would do for me.
She whispers this love to me from time to time. “Te quiero, Pato. Te quiero.”
I’ll fall before I stop.
Grunt by grunt, we make our escape, stumbling away from a quick death and out toward a slow one.
• • •
“I think it’s time to stop,” she whispers in my ear. “We’re far enough away.”
We’ve only been walking for fifteen minutes, but they’ve been crippling. My thighs ache like never before. I’ve carried Gladys the whole way. Arbo simply couldn’t do it, and I didn’t want to give Marcos the satisfaction of helping. He created this mess. But it’s not like he could have helped anyway—he’s a sniveling wreck.
I put my hand on her lower leg. It’s soaked. Fresh blood still drips down.
I want to burst into tears.
“Gladys wants to stop,” I say. “We need to get out of this gully in case they’re following us.”
I don’t wait for a response. I turn to the side and climb up the shallow embankment.
The others follow.
Twenty meters of agonizing shuffles later, I crumble. I’ve hit my wall. Gladys rolls off me toward her good leg, while Marcos and Arbo help guide her down. We elevate her leg on a pack. Marcos cradles her head. It’s a familiar scene, rearranged in all the wrong ways.
“What are we going to do now?” Marcos asks. It’s not directed to anybody. It’s rhetorical, and hopeless.
I don’t have an answer.
I shine the watch light on her leg. The shirt is drenched.
“Should we wash off her leg?” Marcos asks.
“We don’t have any water,” I say.
“You didn’t get the water?”
“No. I got a little distracted, okay?”
This was my role in the plan. In the commotion, I forgot about it. That I could forget about water after all we’ve been through out here is unthinkable, but then, so is this. And I don’t think that water will solve her biggest problem right now.
“Give me your shirt, Marcos,” I say.
“Please don’t touch it again,” Gladys pleads.
“We have to stop the bleeding, or else…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Pato, I don’t think…” she says, unable to finish hers too.
“Don’t let her die, Pato,” Marcos says, handing me his shirt.
“Nobody’s going to die, okay?” I say. “I’m just going to put more pressure on it. Not much.”
I turn off the light, leaving us once again under the faint glow of the stars. I push lightly into her leg and she inhales a painful breath.
Marcos leans over in the darkness and grumbles in my ear. “You have to save her. If we get out, you’ve got my blessing. You got that?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t know why this is on me. I don’t want this responsibility. If anything, it should be on him.
“Look at the stars,” Gladys says. “They’re amazing.”
“You told me not to do it,” Marcos says. “You said revenge wasn’t as important as getting away. You knew. And I did it anyway! What the hell was I thinking? Could I be a bigger pendejo?”
“It’s not your fault,” Gladys says. Her voice strains to get to a whisper.
Of course it is! Now that we’re “safely” away, I want to reach out through the darkness and strangle him. But it’s not worth it. For Gladys. For us. Blame won’t change what happened. It won’t get us out of the desert. It won’t make anything better.
“Of course it is!” Marcos says. “All we had to do was escape. Quietly. That’s it. And I couldn’t do it. I could have let him run by, but I had to show him what I thought of him.” The wet words slobber out of his mouth. “I’m such a pinche pendejo! I’m supposed to look out for you. And now you’re…you’re…”
“It’s going to be okay,” she insists. “I love you. No matter what happens.”
There is peacefulness to her voice. Like she’s happy. This is what she wanted. She’s traded places with Marcos. And I’d trade places with her, if I could.
I’d like to say this revelation makes me feel better. It doesn’t.
“We need to get help,” Marcos says.
Nobody answers. There is no help. We are all we have.
“Did you hear me?” he asks.
Silence.
“Hello?” he says.
I reach for Gladys’s hand. She squeezes it like she never wants to let go. I squeeze back. All I want is a moment alone with her. Leave it to my best friend to understand this.
“Let’s take a look around, Marcos,” Arbo says.
“For what?”
“For anything. We’re looking for a miracle at this point. Maybe we can at least find a rock to climb on to see if there is anything around here.”
There is a pause while Marcos thinks it over.
“Or, we could sit here and do nothing,” Arbo adds.
Marcos kisses Gladys’s forehead.
“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” he says.
The blue light fades out into the night. I ball up my pack and put it under her head.
“P-P-Pato,” Gladys says.
I lay my head on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should have the perfect words, but all I want to do is cry.”
“Don’t. I found it again. Beauty. Art. This place. Look at where we are.”
“I need to put pressure on your leg again.”
“You just did,” she says. “It can wait a few minutes. Let’s look at the stars for a while.”
I feel her arm gesture upward, and I track it with my eyes.
“They’re amazing. I could stare at them forever,” she says.
“I could too.”
“Show me a constellation.”
“I don’t really know the official ones. I only know the ones that we made up.”
“So show me one of those.”
The first one I spot is directly overhead. I smile. I hope she can sense it.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Why?”
“Right above us is the Wrestler.”
She lets out a soft, airy laugh.
“Where? How?”
I press my cheek to hers, raise her arm into the air, and point with her finger.
“You see those four stars that look like a box?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s his head. Then, go down to the left and to the right. You see the brighter stars there?”
“Yeah.”
“You make a triangle from his head to those lines and that’s his cape.”
“Where is his body?”
“He doesn’t have one. He’s a head and a cape. That’s it.”
“What about that star down there? That could be his leg.”
“Then he only has one leg.”
“I hope you don’t have a problem with that,” she says, pinching at my neck.
Ugh.
“I’d take you with no legs.”
“Like your wrestler. Are there others?”
“Yeah. They’re mostly Revo stuff though.”
“We should make our own,” she says.
“I’d like that.”
“Let’s do it now.”
“Okay. You’re the artist. What should we make?”
“I don’t make it. It’s already there. I’m just open to seeing it. But I don’t think it should be something random. It should be something meaningful to us.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“We’ll know when we see it.”
“It’s a big sky. Where do you want to look?”
“North.”
I roll fully onto my back and lay my head in the crook between her chest and shoulder. My head rises and falls with each breath she takes. We stare together into the endless possibilities.
“I’ve got it,” she says. “It’s perfect.”
“Where?”
She guides my hand and points. “Do you see it?”
I stare at the jumbled mess above and fail to connect any meaning from the shape.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m trying.”
“Look from the North Star, up and to the right. You see that other bright star?”
“Yeah.”
“Now, use the stars on top of it and the ones below it… You can make an arc.”
“Yeah, I see it. It kind of looks like a C.”
“Except it’s not a C.”
“What is it then?”
She takes my hand back down and places it onto her chest. My palm wraps around her breast.
“Do you need another hint?”
“It’s a boob?”
“Just one.”
“I love it.”
“Thanks. It’s ours now. Forever.”
“I have an idea,” I say.
“Okay…”
“You see that reddish star way below the boob?”
“Yeah.”
“I think that’s her leg.”
“Her one leg?”
“Yeah. Her one leg.”
“I love you, Pato.”
“Me too. Yo te amo también. So much.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For making the worst week of my life one of the best.”
We kiss. Salty tears roll into our mouths and moisten our lips.
“I need you to make it,” she says.
“Don’t say that. You’re going to make it with me.”
“Pato…”
“Stop!” I whisper.
“It’s okay. You’ve made it okay. You’ve made it great.”
“You promised me. Remember?”
“I’m going to be with you. In here.” She touches my chest. “In here.” She touches my head. “And out there.” She points to the stars.
“Don’t do this. Please. I can’t make it without you.”
“You can. And I need you to. You have to help Marcos.”
“This is all his fault,” I say.
“Don’t take this out on him. Please. I need you to help him. We all did our best. It’s not any of our faults. We were just caught in the middle.”
She presses her palm to my cheek. I nod. I’m sobbing over her. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to accept this.
I feel her hand begin to slip. Softly, I press my forehead to hers.
“Thank you too,” I whisper to her.
She tries to whisper back, but the words slur, sliding out in a slow, draining breath. Her last.
Footsteps approach along with the soft, blue glow of the watch.
“How is she?” Marcos asks.
I pull away and stand.
Marcos moves closer to her.
I walk away.
“Gladys?”
I walk.
“Gladys?”
I stop. There’s nowhere else to go. I have to face it.
“Gladys! No! No!” His voice booms. If anyone is nearby, they surely hear it. And I don’t care.
“What did you do to her?” he screams.
“I couldn’t save her. I’m sorry.”
“No! Save her. Now!”
“She’s gone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No! She can’t be!”
“Marcos…”
“Don’t give me that. You were supposed to save her. We were gone for five minutes. What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
He reaches for his shirt on the ground and hurls it at me.
“You didn’t wrap her leg?”
“She was dying, Marcos.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t have if you had done what you were supposed to do. ¡Cabrón!”
“I didn’t want to put her in more pain.”
“Well, congratulations. I’m glad it was easier on you. And now she’s dead because of it!”
“Stop yelling at him!” Arbo says. “He didn’t kill her.”
“Stay out of this,” Marcos says.
Arbo tries to answer, but I cut him off. “You’re blaming me?”
“You were the one who was with her. And what about water? Why didn’t you grab the water?”
“She didn’t die from thirst. You know why she’s dead? Because of you! You got her killed!”
“Don’t say that! He shot her. Not me.”
“No! You said it yourself—all you had to do was walk away. And you couldn’t. And now she’s dead!”
“Stop!”
“No! You need to know it. You need to live with it.” Even as the words come out, I can’t believe I’m saying them. It’s the last thing she’d want—it was even her dying wish that I help him—but I can’t stop myself. The wound is too deep. “I hate you! You’ve been an hijo de puta cabrón this whole trip. And now you’ve killed her. It should be you! I wish it were you!”
He shoves me so hard my feet leave the ground. I land flat on my back, breathless. I pick up my head, unable to charge back but still trying.
Arbo whimpers. He’s on the fringe, in tears.
It’s ripping us all apart.
I stare at the shadowy outline of Marcos with the same fury I bore into Rafa in the backyard. And I’m back to wishing it had all ended there, so I wouldn’t have to be where I am right now.