18.
Héctor Abrego collected his thoughts as the rest of the travelers did their best to console a hysterical Maria. From what Hector could tell, Dejah had lost her footing and was swept downstream by the swift current. Through convulsions of pain and sorrow, Maria explained that Dejah was a good swimmer and was absolutely, without a doubt, alive. Not only that, but Dejah was probably waiting for the group just a little bit downstream.
Héctor listened to the mother’s pleas then laid out the realities of the situation.
“If we don’t make the truck at the scheduled time, they’ll leave,” Hector assured the group. “And the nearest place to hitch your ride is another 15 miles in.”
“I’m not going back,” one traveler blurted out.
“Neither am I,” another added.
“We have to find her,” Maria wept. “We have to.”
The group talked to among themselves and agreed to spend a half hour looking for the child before returning to the trail and ultimately making their way to the truck.
“After a half hour, I’m taking everybody to the truck,” Héctor decreed before looking to Maria and adding, “Everybody that’s wanting to go.”
Maria was hysterical at the decision of the group and began to argue and make threats. She was consoled by her brother Carlos who said that a half hour was all the time they needed to find Dejah.
Héctor led the caravan down the muddy banks of the river on the American side. He kept the group close to the treeline and in the shadows. They had traveled only 10 minutes downstream before Héctor spotted a dark figure kneeling at the side of the river some 50 yards away.
“Dejah!” Maria called out into the darkness.
Many in the group responded to Maria’s call with immediate directives to shush and to be quiet.
Maria nodded and with Carlos’s hand in hers, ran toward the still-kneeling figure.
“Dejah, mija. Mija!” Maria called in a loud whisper as she ran forward. “Dejah!”
The figure turned and rose from its crouched position and growled. The night sky reflected a maw of ivory fangs chattering in some primordial cry of excitement. Maria’s brain registered the danger of the situation, and she and her brother both skidded to a halt. The creature’s jaws opened to release a scream of warning and attack. Teeth flashed and vaulted through the air and toward her.
Maria didn’t feel her neck slice open.
Only the flood of warmth that poured from it and the sudden euphoria release it brought about.
19.
Dejah stifled her tears at the sound. It was the faintest of calls, the whisper of her name on the wind. She stood then grimaced at the pain from her ankle and stared up at the moonlit hole high above her in hope. The call came once more, this time louder and more distinct.
“Dejah, mija. Mija!” it called.
Dejah called in return.
She screamed for her mother as loud as she could.
Then stopped.
In between her cries for her mother, she heard something.
She heard the growl of an angry dog.
The screams of men.
The howling of what must have been a pack of wild dogs, their cries angry and feral.
She heard the crying of women.
And the angry yells of men.
The hole above her suddenly eclipsed.
Dejah stared upward and made out the shape of a man’s upper body crawling into the narrow opening.
“Down here! I’m down here!” she cried.
The man above her was jerked backward and out of the opening. He cried and his cries were answered by a guttural roar.
The wet sounds of feeding.
Of bones snapping.
Several objects rained down from the opening.
They hit the cave floor with a series of light thuds.
Dejah bent down to identify the objects.
They were severed fingers.
Severed human fingers.
Dejah collapsed to the ground, weeping in fear, and scooted away from the light and into the darkness.
20.
Taylor’s dreams were fueled by alcohol, nicotine, fatigue, and the anticipation of what was to come. He’s mind took him through vivid memories of death and loss, serving and killing, compassion and regret.
He saw his daughter at her happiest.
Her prettiest.
He watched her celebrate birthdays and Christmases, long summer days at the lake and winter days accompanying her father afield for deer hunts. He watched again the courtship of his wife and their wedding, their making love, and their welcoming their daughter.
The joys of life gave way to the harsh realities of a soldier.
Taylor watched himself cross deserts of burning sand, trudge through tunnels of stone and rock, and walk through villages of the oppressed and the starving. He saw himself fight for his team and for his life. He lay witness to his protecting life and taking life.
These images twisted and warped and transported him to his daughter’s hospital room. He stood over his baby girl, once so innocent and pure, now a lifeless shell connected to machine after machine via tubes and needles. He saw her gravestone. Watched his wife screaming blame after blame and insult after insult at him. He saw the .45 he held under his chin and the tears in his eyes that for some reason kept him from pulling the trigger.
He awoke and scanned the room that was his reality. He let his eyes adjust to the dark then pulled on a pair of pants and unlaced boots. He made his way past others of his team that slept on beds or against the wall and stepped outside.
Hunter stood on the porch, smoking a cigarette. He acknowledged Taylor with a nod and the offer of a cigarette and his lighter. Taylor took them both and gave a nod of thanks. He lit a cigarette and handed the lighter back to Hunter. The two men stood in the dark, smoking in silence, in an understanding that need not be spoken.
21.
Cletus Lee King didn’t hate the border wall.
He loved the idea.
Loved that his country would be illegal free after its completion.
What Cletus Lee didn’t like about the wall was that he had to supervise its construction.
This meant hour after hour of driving down half-assed roads carved from the brush to the middle of absolutely nowhere. The roads were pockmarked and driving over them, even in his Ford Super Duty F-350 at 20 miles per hour, shook his almost 300 pounds of morbidly obese body around like a plate full of Jell-O in the hands of someone in the midst of an epileptic seizure.
The rattling about his truck was so bad that Cletus Lee couldn’t drink coffee or beer—depending on the time of day—as the liquid splashed all about the truck cab and all over his clothing. Not only that, but the crappy roads had caused him to miss his spit cup on numerous occasions, and more than once, he had exited his truck looking like a kid with a leaky diaper had been rolling around on his lap.
The road to Angel’s camp was especially horrible and long. It was almost 20 miles in length, cut through some of the thickest stands of cedar and mesquite Cletus Lee had ever seen, going over and through hills, outcroppings of limestone, and other rock. There was no way to travel the road other than in four-wheel-drive and its proximity to a town of any significance was the reason Angel and his crew were camping on site. They’d apparently done well at their assigned duties as Cletus Lee hadn’t heard nearly a peep from them.