Every Last Fear(40)

So he walked. About an hour passed and only two vehicles appeared. The first, a dump truck that barreled by before Matt could even try to wave it down. The second, a motorcycle, its driver fueled by testosterone and Red Bull given the speed of it.

Fatigue was setting in. He was tempted to find some soft ground and cover and get some sleep. But he feared what might lurk in the jungle. Coyotes or dogs or who knew what else. And the bugs. His mind wandered as he kicked along. He actually thought about the movie The Road, inevitable given his predicament. A father and son traveling a postapocalyptic highway, exhausted and in search of shelter and food. Matt didn’t care much for the film, but his dad, in a clumsy effort to bond, had invited him to see it. Evan Pine wasn’t a movie guy, but he was a reader, and the film was based on one of his favorite novels. Matt remembered Dad trying to conceal the tear that rolled down his cheek at the pivotal scene, the dying father’s words to his son. You have my whole heart. You always did. Sitting in that dark theater, Matt knew that his father was thinking of Danny.

Headlights burned behind him. Matt turned, and down the long stretch of road he saw what looked like a pickup truck. He considered hiding in the brush, but he was so damn tired. The truck drew closer, the sound of its rattling muffler filling the air. He fast-walked to the side of the road, stretched out his arm, and stuck out his thumb. Is that how you hitchhiked in Mexico? As the truck puttered by, Matt met eyes with a kid, about ten or so, who watched him out the passenger window. Matt dropped his arm, defeated. But then red taillights lit up the night, and the truck pulled to a stop.

Matt jogged over. He peered inside the cabin. Next to the boy was an old man, the kid’s dad—no, grandfather probably. The gray-haired man looked warily at Matt.

Where should he have them take him? “Ah, hotel,” Matt said, too slowly and too loudly, as if that would break through the language barrier.

The old man looked to the kid, and the boy said something to the man in Spanish. The only words Matt could make out were zona hotelera. The old man replied to the kid in Spanish.

The kid then turned back to Matt, nodded, and gestured for Matt to get in the back.

“Gracias,” Matt said, and climbed into the bed of the pickup. It was empty except for a rucksack and piles of rakes with what looked like seaweed strung through their teeth.

Matt felt the cool metal on his back as he stared up at the sky. The truck accelerated and wind whooshed overhead. The white noise, staring at the incandescent stars and the treetops blurring by, was hypnotic.

Matt decided to close his eyes for just a moment. The next time they opened, the sky was purple, the boy standing at the back of the truck. Matt sat up quickly. They were parked at a beachside lot. The old man and kid removed the rakes and the rucksack.

Matt jumped out of the truck bed. “Thank you,” he said.

The boy examined Matt for a moment, then dug through the rucksack, retrieved a bottle of water, and handed it to Matt.

“Hotel,” the boy said, his arm extended, index finger pointed down the beach. There were torches burning and hut-like structures. The boy and the old man walked in the other direction, headed toward a group of figures forking rakes at small mountains of seaweed.

Matt walked toward the lights, his sneakers sinking and filling with sand. He passed a group of huts and a wooden platform that had a tiki bar on top of it. A sign read MI AMOR. He pushed along, passing fenced-in cottages and villas. He came upon a cluster of beach chairs and tables. A path led to a hotel, which was dark and quiet. No one would be there until sunrise.

He sat on the canvas chair, gazing out at the ocean. He suddenly felt the sting of the scrapes on his arms and face, the grime of his travels. Looking around at the deserted beach, he stood, stretched his back, then stripped down to his boxers. He ran toward the ocean and dove in, surprised that he didn’t feel the usual jolt from the cold. It was like a warm bath. And there he floated, lost in the sound of the waves, numb from the crushing grief, until a thin line of orange appeared at the horizon. Today, he hoped, would be a better day. And really, could it possibly get worse? He’d go to the police station, meet with Se?or Gutierrez, sign the papers, and be on his way. What a shit show. He thought of Hank, the fear in her pretty face. He felt hollowed out, his thoughts fuzzy, like the whole thing was just a bad dream.

A very bad dream.





CHAPTER 26


MAGGIE PINE


BEFORE

Maggie awoke to a feeling of dread and a loud thunk. She swung her legs out of her bed and went to investigate the noise. In the hallway she found two suitcases strewn haphazardly on the floor. Another fell from the hole in the ceiling.

Then her father’s feet appeared on the folding ladder attached to the attic door. Her dad’s eyes flashed when he saw her as he descended.

“Morning, Magpie,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you. I’m just getting the bags for our trip.”

“I can see that,” Maggie said. This was really happening. A good night’s sleep hadn’t made him think more clearly. Cooler heads hadn’t prevailed. Maggie should call her mom. She was the best at talking her father down.

“Dad, you’re not serious about Mexico? I don’t think—”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“It’s just kind of, I don’t know, sudden.”

“It’s your senior year, you’re leaving us soon, and you deserve a trip. Besides, my doctor said a vacation would be good for me. While we’re there, we’ll check things out from the call.”