She dreamt of her sister, and when they were little. Izel was holding her hand and they were running down the stairs to hide from her cousins. Atl must have been four and Izel nine. Giggling, happy girls. Then the dream changed and Izel was a charred corpse, unrecognizable, a dark lump left upon the ground. The corpse writhed, opened its mouth. “Our hearts want nothing but a war death,” it said, the same line Atl had once recited.
When Atl woke up, there was one thought ringing through her head: I should have been with her. She’d been such a petulant child, too busy picking fights with Izel to help the family. She had not wanted to help out with anything because that would spoil her easy life, would burden her with responsibilities.
There’s trouble brewing, her mother had said, but Atl dismissed it. And when trouble came Atl was stupid and afraid.
Her head still foggy with sleep, Atl stumbled into the kitchen, managing to fill herself a glass of water.
“Hey,” Domingo said. “How you doing?”
“Fine,” she muttered.
Cualli walked into the kitchen as well. Domingo patted the dog’s head.
“He must like you,” she said, looking at them and trying to remember if there had been any time when Cualli liked anyone but her.
“He’s awesome. I never had any pets, you know? I would have loved a dog. Cats are just so—”
“Aloof?” Atl ventured.
“I was going to say smelly. Bernardino’s house reeks of cat piss, you wouldn’t believe it. If Dracula’s castle had smelled of cat piss I swear he wouldn’t be in that many films.”
Domingo grinned at her and Atl chuckled. He was too honest, by far, and too silly, and still she enjoyed his company. For a moment things felt okay. Like the unbalanced mess of her life was now tipping in the other direction, balancing itself out. “Let’s go get a bite. For you, I mean,” she said.
“Sure.”
She grabbed her jacket, put the leash on Cualli, and out they went. It was raining, and Atl paused next to the building’s entrance to open her umbrella.
Cualli growled. A few split seconds was all the warning Atl had, but it was enough. She saw them from the corner of her eye. She held her breath, pretended to fiddle with the dog’s leash and the umbrella, as she counted nine of them. They wore no uniforms. Not cops, not sanitation. They were human. Rodrigo and Nick seemed to be nowhere in sight. Were these their goons? Or someone else’s? It didn’t matter. They were waiting for her.
Atl released her grip on the leash, dropped the umbrella, and let her breath out.
She shoved Domingo behind a car and pulled out the gun, shooting two of them dead before they had a chance to blink. The others raised their weapons and shot back at her, but the loud bangs of pistols firing did not thunder along the street. Instead, there was a low, whooshing sound. Something silvery flew past her. Atl jumped behind the car next to Domingo, evading the projectiles.
Silver nitrate darts. Shit. She would have preferred regular bullets. This could get nasty.
“What’s happening?” Domingo babbled.
“Bad guys,” she said. “Sit tight. Cualli!” She saw the dog leap in the direction of one of the men, knocking him down with its weight. There were startled cries and Atl stood again, shooting a couple of them while they were trying to drag the dog off their friend. She missed her third shot, hit a car instead, glass shattering upon the pavement. Darts whooshed by and she sat down again.
“Behind! They’re also behind!” Domingo yelled.
Atl turned and saw three men coming from the other end of the street. They aimed at her. She blew off the head of one of them and ran across the street, ducking and pressing her back against another car. Domingo followed her. He was too slow. The two men who had been aiming at her now ran in his direction, pinning him to the ground and wrapping a plastic tie around his wrists. She heard Domingo scream, but ignored the cry and glanced at the building closest to her. If she was fast enough, she could climb up its side and escape through the roofs.
She looked across the street and noticed two corpses, their necks torn by her dog. That still left six attackers, although two were currently busy with Domingo.
Cualli was barking and Domingo was being dragged away, kicking and screaming. She watched as they tried to place him into the trunk of a black car. Domingo attempted to hold on to something and they punched him, once, twice, thrice, until he fell to his knees.
Damn it.
She stood up, shot one of them, but the other, he was quick. She felt the dart sink into her leg, and it let out a loud hiss. Like an idiot she’d stepped out into the street with a gun and no ammo. Her bullets were now gone and there were still five bastards against her.
Fuck it. She’d do this with her hands.
Atl took a mighty leap, landing on top of the guy who had been punching Domingo and knocked him down, slamming his head against the ground. He cried and flapped his arms, and she broke his neck so he’d stop screaming.
She turned toward Domingo, who lay sprawled on the ground, and pulled him up. “Anything broken?” she asked. “Because we may have to run.”
“No,” he replied.