The Savage(59)

Angus eyed the truck, not knowing where he was going, where he was headed; he was in dire need of rest but he’d a crazed female restrained and traveling shotgun. Could use some fuel from the canister in the back. His gas was reading close to E and the harder he crunched the accelerator, the less sense the world around him made.

Another shot rang out from behind, this time shattering the back pane of window.

Squeezing his traps up to his ears, he steered the wheel with frustration, unholstered his .45, came out of the curve, and passed the road to his right for White Cloud; a dirt farm sat dry and without vegetation on his left. The charcoaled structure of a once-squared tan sandstone home lay off to his right, the bones of horses ornamented the pasture as he crossed over the Blue River bridge, and the snaking crooks tested the Tahoe’s suspension and handling and Angus’s navigation skills, rocking the vehicle.

Sharp and winding surface distanced the men, tires squeaked and squealed, their shapes disappeared in the rearview. Angus kept the gas mashed to the floor, knowing there was a straightaway in the distance. He’d one of two choices: keep hauling ass and hope to outrun them or lock up the brakes, pull off the side of the road, exit his Tahoe, and open fire as they approached. As he glanced in the rearview, there was nothing. To the right in the distance sat a once-white cinder structure, now mossed over with green and chipped paint. Braking to slow the vehicle, the tires slowing their rotation, Angus pulled up beside the building, parked so he couldn’t be viewed. Turned and grabbed at the glass-specked Bushmaster rifle in the backseat. Came from his truck. Shouldered the rifle, leaned into the truck, listened for the roar of the Scout and the men within to enter the cross hairs of his scope.

Deep and powerful came the sound of the Scout’s motor with boisterous hoops and hollering of the men within. Through the scope Angus viewed the toothless abstraction of man hanging from the passenger’s side, then the navigator behind the wheel. He tugged the trigger. A webbed hole cloaked crimson, the driver’s face attained to that of a smear and the Scout ran off the other side of the road and flipped.

Angus laid the rifle across the backseat of the Tahoe. Unlatched the rear, removed a can of gas, opened the tank, lifted the jug, and poured the fuel in.

Backing out across the gravel and away from the structure, Angus shifted into drive, hung a right back onto the highway, navigated slowly past the Scout that was turned upside down, the tires still spinning. Men lay half hanging from the interior, crushed and pulpy. He gripped his .45 with his right, his left on the wheel, looking for the movement of human. Saw none and stomped the gas, not knowing where he could hole up, rest, figure out where to find medicine for Fu, ascertain some meaning to all of the menace he’d incurred.





COTTO

One by one, they moved them from the earthen gut beneath the weathered house to the rusted bed of the farm truck. Men, women, and children. Ducked down, crawled in on hands and knees as though they were slaves, sat and took the ragged packs Manny had inventoried, found loaded with dope, handed to the peasants. Dirty faces took them, and waited to be transported to the land of the free.

Before freeing the men and women from the lower area of the home, Manny finished his interrogation of Raúl, patted down the Ox in between boot stomps to the face and ribs of his slain corpse, found the cell phone, his contact for TK, the King. Raúl explained how the Ox took them to Sasabe and crossed the border. Led the walkers out into the night of the desert. Their pickup was a mile marker to the east. Once they found it, the call was made. Then a van was contacted from nearby, waiting for the call. The van pulled up. Doors opened. Wrangled everyone inside, then they were taken to a safe house that was guarded by gangbangers who waited to place the walkers somewhere in the United States.

Raúl explained that the entire smuggling operation was run by the King and his trusted gringos. Where he lived, some said Texas. Others said Arizona. And some even insisted it was right in the area the walkers crossed. Raúl didn’t really care so long as he got paid.

Manny knew what he needed to do to make things work. To create a new future for him and Cotto. Made a call to another like himself, Ernesto. A man who’d fled with him, was part of the unit he commanded, along with two others. Unlike Manny, they’d no wives or siblings. Ernesto kept in contact with the others. When they went their separates, he gave Manny a number, told him if ever he needed anything, or wanted to stir the pot for some action, to give him a ring, these people would get word to him, and they did.

“Manny, my friend, good to hear your voice. I see retirement has made you restless?”

“A man has murdered my wife and now I need bodies, guns, explosives, some form of adhesive, and other supplies to accompany me to America. Make a delivery to a man known as the King. The reward will be big.”

“Sorry to hear about Kabeza. A tragedy. I knew that AWOLing the unit and seeking to go straight wouldn’t work out. But that was something you had to discover on your own. You know whatever you need, I’m there, just say when and where. We’re blood brothers, my friend. Chub and the Minister always ask me, have you heard from that crazy SOB Manny? Now I can tell them I have a big surprise!”

“Yes, you can. But what of the guns and explosives, will it be a problem?”

“You need not worry, Manny, have I ever let you down before?”

“No.”

“Then it will be like old times.”