Ayala's face suddenly brightened with the challenge. A few minutes of wild jostling, and the Chinese fire drill was complete without either of them leaving the car.
Hatch spun in her new seat, turning to face the rear windshield of the sedan, using the head rest as a supported firing position while she brought the Glock up and took aim at the headlights behind them.
"It may not even be them," Miguel whispered in a worried hiss.
"We'll know the second they start shooting."
Miguel seemed be able to whisper to his Nissan because with him at the helm, it quieted enough that Hatch could hear the murmured whispers repetitively spoken by Angela in her curled position. She understood the two words she was saying repeatedly. Kill me.
Hatch released her grip on the back seat and reached her hand out. The old scars of Hatch's battle torn arm rested atop the girl's trembling arm, being careful to avoid the area of Angela's wrist damaged by her restraints. The physical contact seemed to be working because Angela stopped the rocking, and she grew quiet.
"I know you're scared."
Tears streamed down Angela's face, cleaning paths through the grime still clinging to her skin. "I'll never go back there. Do you understand me? You have to promise, don't let them take me again, even if that means killing me first."
"I'll promise you this, the only way they're ever going to get to you, is if they've gotten to me first. And I don't plan on dying today."
Miguel jerked the wheel hard to the right, taking the poorly constructed road that led down into a shanty town. Hatch was thrown to the right, catching herself by the headrest before falling between the seats.
"Sorry for not giving the warning. I saw it last minute."
"Where are we?" They sped by stacked rows of broken-down homes.
"These are the towns they give the workers who work their fields. They pay them next to nothing if anything at all. Most are working off a debt they'll never pay off. Look at the houses around you. They're built from junkyard scraps."
Few people were out to see the Nissan race down their quiet village streets. He'd taken several rights and lefts, and then slowed at Hatch's request, and cut the lights. The Nissan's motor made a loud clicking sounds as the engine began to cool.
Less than two minutes passed before the darkness was shattered by the reaching glow of the approaching headlights silhouetting the uneven lines of the village. Menacing shadows outran the light, as if to warn of the intentions of the men behind them.
Hatch directed Ayala into a driveway off to the right, leaving their headlights off and only braking hard at the last second before cutting the engine. Once stopped, Hatch jumped from the vehicle and ran through the garbage-littered yard to Ayala's trunk where she'd seen a tattered green sleeping bag when she'd deposited the supplies, including a cache of guns collected from the dirty police lieutenant and his cronies, and a medical kit donated by Ernesto.
She pulled out a five-inch folding knife and cut at the seam of the sleeping bag. Hatch spent several precious seconds tearing at the sleeping bag to widen its reach before throwing it over the back end of the Nissan. The poor condition of the sleeping bag exposed part of the yellow through its thin membrane and worn holes visible from the street. As best she could, Hatch battled to subdue the hideous yellow metal from view, but the Nissan fought back, just as its owner's Hawaiian shirt did, poking its way out from the collar of the blue coveralls he was still wearing.
Hatch looked for something else to cover the back of the car when an old woman appeared out of nowhere. It was a rare occasion when somebody snuck up on Hatch, and the eighty-something year old in slippers and a long pink tank top as a nightgown had somehow managed to make a very short list. The discolored blotches made the tattered clothing look more like a tie dye, rather than the faded and tattered covering that it was.
The old woman's thin arms rested atop a wooden cane, holding up her bony figure on unsteady wobbly legs. Her hair was the color of smoke, blowing in every direction. She winked at Hatch and said something rapidly in Spanish that Hatch could not understand. Watching the exchange between the two, she thought of the story Ayala had told her about the medicine woman that had given the boy the seed.
"She wants to help us. She said to follow her."
The street filled with the light of the approaching vehicles. She followed the smoky haired woman as she disappeared inside the door to a two-story house, hopeful that they had not been seen, and that their vehicle had not been spotted.
As the door closed behind her, Hatch heard the squeal of brakes and knew that that had not been the case.
Thirty-Two
The three of them followed the wispy trail of the woman's hair up to a second flight of stairs, which led to a laddered access way to her tin roof. She never spoke. Not a word. Not to Hatch, not to Angela. The only utterances were in Spanish to Ayala when first offering her assistance outside.
The old woman quickly went about removing the padlock, which had been hanging in an unlocked position prior, and pushed open the door. A jerry-rigged door-catch, consisting of nothing more than a bungie cord and a whole mess of duct tape, kept the outward swinging door from slamming into the tin roof which would have alerted the men hunting them. Hatch was grateful that did not happen, and equally grateful for the woman's assistance.