Page 19
He didn’t say a word. He swept his eyes over every one of us, slowly, until they settled on me. Dark. Colder than any I had ever looked into. A thin pale line crept above the edge of the cloth, along his cheekbone. My heart felt as though it would burst beneath the weight of that stare.
“You all need to get out of here,” he said. “Take the back roads. Stay away from major public transport sites. Contact the FBI. Not the police. Do not go back home. They will be waiting.”
The girls shifted behind us, straining to see.
His hand slid inside his coat.
“You,” he said, stepping forward.
Before any of us could react, he slapped a thick bundle of notes into Leandra’s palm.
“Run as fast as you can.”
The girls began to move and rush behind him toward the door. Leandra bolted for it, dragging me with her. I almost reached the light when his hand circled my wrist.
“Not you.”
“W-what?” I stuttered.
Leandra tugged harder.
“Fuck you, mister. I’m not leaving her.”
He yanked me back and pressed the barrel of the gun between Leandra’s eyes.
“It’s fine,” I squeaked. “Get out.”
She didn’t move. I knew I had to act. There were two containers full of women, and every second we argued was a second someone else could be dragged back.
“Now!” I shouted.
She began muttering foul words beneath her breath.
“No le haré daño,” he said. His voice was so low and deep that I felt it vibrate through the metal.
Her eyes flicked to mine.
“He said he won’t hurt you.”
“Go,” I whispered, before I weakened.
She backed away slowly, and he lowered the gun.
“Keep up with me,” he said, and we stepped out of the container.
The cool air hit first, damp and sharp after the heat of the box. It stung my split lips. Then the light, a sickly yellow-orange that turned everything the colour of rust. Then the bodies.
They lay scattered across the gravel, exactly where they had fallen. The thin man in the suit on his back, papers drifting around him in the mist, one stuck to his open palm. The man who had gripped my arm, in that bright shirt, face down, one tattooed hand still curled around nothing. The old man sprawled a few feet from the container doors, silver hair dark and wet, a small flag pin glinting near his head.
I had never seen a dead body outside a funeral. These did not look asleep. They looked unplugged.
I could hear the girls running away to my left. Ragged breaths. Feet beating against the gravel. Someone sobbing, someone else whispering a prayer in Spanish, the words tumbling over each other. I caught only “Maria”, over and over, as they faded into the dark.
Over my shoulder, Leandra had stopped at the second container. She heaved at the latch with both hands, three girls hauling beside her, and the bars shrieked open on a new chorus of voices.
“Move.”
One word. Flat. It went through me like a current.
