He couldn’t remember writing about any specific place. He’d told her to stay in school. If she’d listened to him, he wouldn’t be in this godforsaken shithole. Gritting his teeth, he hit the reply button. The call wouldn’t go through. No service.
Armando slumped against the boulder, defeated. He didn’t know where to go. He needed a minute to catch his breath. While he rested there, sweating and bleeding, the train rumbled into town. Although he couldn’t see the faces of the passengers, he assumed Sarai was among them.
He was too late to warn her.
I can meet you at the place you wrote about in your letter.
It dawned on him that he’d mentioned Del Mar Crematorium. Shipping bodies was expensive, and he didn’t need to rest in peace, so he’d opted for cremation. He’d made the arrangements because he hadn’t wanted to dump the responsibility on her.
She’d meet him at the crematorium? Was that her sneaky way of telling him to burn in hell? Or did she mean that she’d meet him in the afterlife?
No. He rejected both possibilities. Vehemently.
He would not meet Sarai at the crematorium. He would not see her in the afterlife. Because she wasn’t going to die, and she wasn’t coming to Tijuana. She was going to a nice place where she would be safe, find happiness, and grow old. That was the reason he’d done all of this. He’d gone on a killing spree so that she could live, goddamn it.
Dragging himself upright, he put away his phone. He looked up and down the tracks. He couldn’t go into town. He couldn’t survive in the desert. He was between a rock and a hard place, literally.
Then a voice came over the radio he’d taken from the officer:
“She’s not on the train, General. We’ve checked every passenger.”
Armando perked up at this news. They were talking about Sarai. They were here to intercept her. He couldn’t believe the sentry hadn’t recognized him. Maybe he’d been keeping an eye out for another threat—some scumbags from Los Rojos, perhaps.
“We think she jumped off, sir.”
There was a flurry of exchanges and theories, interrupted by a notification that an officer had been attacked. The general barked out orders to search the entire area. They would start on the north side of town and comb their way south.
Armando staggered away from the boulder, leaving a bloody handprint on the surface.
This wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 23
Ian watched the train rush by without Hugo or Sarai.
“?Ya saltaron!” one of the passengers shouted.
They’d already jumped.
“When?” Maria asked. “Where?”
The same passenger pointed into the distance, but his response couldn’t be heard over the sound of the wheels clacking. Wind rippled through Ian’s damp undershirt and short hair as the last railcar passed by them. Then the air stilled, and the train was gone. Maria lowered the sign she was holding. Her brow was furrowed in dismay.
Now what?
Ian looked in the opposite direction. There was no convenient road alongside the tracks. They’d have to leave the bike here and search for the missing teens on foot. He didn’t like that option. This was a remote, unfamiliar location. They were completely isolated. Maybe he should have communicated his specific plans to LaGuardia. Maybe he should have bought a cellphone in Hermosillo. Maybe he should have left Maria behind when he’d had the chance.
Too late now.
Maria folded the map and put it in his backpack. They headed south. Every step filled him with foreboding. The rocky outcroppings on the west side of the track concerned him. They graduated into low hills, perfect to hide behind. There could be an army of men in the vicinity and Ian wouldn’t know it. They were too exposed here, too vulnerable to ambush.
He wondered if Sarai and Hugo had gone into the hills, rather than staying near the tracks. Ian kept a careful eye on their surroundings, but he didn’t suggest a detour. He had no idea where Hugo and Sarai had jumped off the train. It was better to follow the tracks and look for clues. After about a mile, he noticed a bright flash of color on the ground.
Maria spotted the same thing. “It’s an orange peel.”
When they got closer, he picked it up. “This is fresh,” he said, touching the pulp. In this harsh environment, nothing stayed moist.
“They were here.”
Before he could glance around for more evidence of their presence, gunshots rang out, spurring him into action. He pulled Maria to the ground and shielded her with his body. It sounded like rifle fire. Not aimed at them, but too close for comfort. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He rolled away from her, his heart pounding. The shots had come from the dusty hills to the west. He’d have to climb up the slope to get a view of the other side. She insisted on following him, and he didn’t argue. He didn’t want her out in the open by herself.
He crept up the hill and glanced over the edge while she stayed behind him, out of sight. There were two vehicles in the canyon below. Ian grabbed the binoculars for a better view.
Sarai and Hugo were down there, surrounded by three men. One had a rifle strap over his shoulder, slung incorrectly. Another was strutting around with a handgun. The lower halves of their faces were covered by black bandannas, like bank robbers. The third man was the cowboy they’d seen on the bridge earlier. He looked older and wiser than his cohorts.
While Ian watched, the young man with the rifle shoved Sarai. Hugo shoved him back and got clocked in the face for his efforts. He went sprawling in the dirt and stayed there. His left arm was hanging at his side, limp and bloody. Sarai knelt beside him protectively.
Ian moved his binoculars from the canyon to the surrounding hilltops and found a fourth man. This was their lookout. His attention was turned north, toward the town. He was older, like the cowboy. He wore a Panama-style hat with a red cloth band.
“What do you see?” Maria asked in a hoarse whisper. When he told her, she made the sign of the cross and started praying in Spanish.
“I’m going to try to disarm the guard. Maybe I can trade him for Sarai and Hugo.”
She turned pale, but didn’t argue.
“Stay here and keep out of sight. Hugo is injured. He’ll need your help.”