The Only Road (16 page)

“I said, get out,” he repeated with a wave of his gun.

Backpacks in place and hands clasped, Jaime and Ángela slipped past the officer and out of the train car along with everyone else. The ankle he had banged in the van gave only the slightest complaint. More pressing things were on his mind. Like how badly the officers would beat them up before returning them to Guatemala. Whether he and Ángela would try to make the journey again and how many times they'd have to attempt it before reaching Tomás, or whether they would give up, return to their families, and accept the punishment the Alphas would give them for fleeing the gang.

The officer leaned into the empty train car to poke the fainted man with his gun. “What's with him? Is he dead?”

As if it were planned, all the passengers broke into a mad run and split in every different direction. Ángela and Jaime took off through the train yard, dodging cars and going over the hitches. Shouts and gunshots rang out. Two men unloading cargo stopped to stare at them, but they neither helped nor hindered the escape. A flash of pink caught Jaime's eye. An officer had caught Eva and Ivan's mamá, the scrap that remained of Eva's blankie flapped in the dim light. In the split second it took for Jaime to wonder how he could help them, the officer let them go and jogged with his gun outstretched in a completely different direction. The pink scrap disappeared into the night.

Jaime smiled for a second—
So there were some merciful
migra
officers
. The cousins jumped over tracks laden with trash and junk before running out into the dark streets. After a few turns they looked over their shoulders. No one was following them. Their ribs heaved with exhaustion as they crouched in the shadow of a stoop and caught their breath.

Once calm, they met each other's eyes. All their adrenaline and nerves exploded and they clung to each other, crying and laughing—even though there was nothing funny about what had happened.

Ángela rested her hand against her chest. “It's great feeling my heart pumping.”

“Like being alive,” Jaime agreed. Between the scorching train and the armed officer, it was a miracle they were.

“But let's not do it again anytime soon.”

“If Rafa were here, he'd say that was fun,” Jaime said as he straightened up.

“Crazy,” she said with a shake of her head. “We are in Lechería, not Medias Aguas, right?”

“Lechería,” he confirmed. They were in a bourough of Mexico City, the capital, halfway through México. Halfway. He smiled and pointed in the direction they had come from. “I saw some signs at the rail yard while we were running from the officer.”

“Let's find this safe-house and meet up with the others.”

Thanks to Ángela making them memorize the
safe-houses back at Padre Kevin's, and the maps in Jaime's sketchbook, they found the low-roofed, cinderblock house much easier than they had found Padre Kevin's Iglesia de Santo Domingo. Except this safe-house was closed. Boards covered the windows and garbage wedged between a wrought-iron gate and the locked front door. They tried the gate and the windows: there was no secret entrance. No notice saying where a different safe house could be found. Nothing except a lot of graffiti on the walls, most of it bad words, and all of it directed to
centro americano
scum.

The dryness of Jaime's throat scratched as he swallowed hard. No point in whining about how much he had been counting on some water and food; Ángela must have felt the same. Jaime wondered if now would justify using some of the money in their jeans that Tía had said to keep for absolute emergencies. He supposed not. It didn't matter anyway—no store was open.

They waited a bit in hopes that their friends would appear. This was where, after all their careful do-not-get-caught planning, they had agreed to meet. But they saw no one.

“I don't think they're coming tonight.” Jaime bit his lip, trying to remain optimistic. “Maybe they were left behind in Medias Aguas.”

Ángela's face pinched with worry, but her tone forced optimism. “You're right, and we shouldn't stay here much longer. We're too exposed.”

Jaime agreed with a kick at some garbage on the street. He wanted to wait longer, just in case their friends showed up. But whatever, or whoever, caused the safe house to close could come back. What should they do? Where should they go? The plan B they had arranged was to wait a couple days at the safe house if the others were delayed. They hadn't thought of an alternate plan for a closed safe house.

Where were their friends now? Still in Arriaga, not having been able to get on the train? Waiting for them in Medias Aguas? In a white van driving them back to the Guatemalan border? Images of plastic men toppling off toy trains filled Jaime's head. Except the plastic men had faces of real boys. He'd been stupid to hope he'd ever see them again.

From one street over came the roar of drunken men yelling into the night. The hairs on the back of Jaime's neck rose. He grabbed Ángela's hand. Neither one needed any further encouragement to get out of there, and fast.

“Should we go back to the train yard? Don't we have another train to take us to Ciudad Juárez?” He hated the idea of going back where the armed officers were and hated even more the idea of getting locked in another sweltering train car, but anything was better than standing outside a safe-house that was no longer safe. Right?

“Maybe we should skirt around the station. Ask where
we can find Santos,” Ángela said, and continued hurrying back the way they came, away from the roar of drunken men.

Jaime looked at the sky. Light pollution and cloud cover prevented him from seeing the stars. The sun hadn't even started to come up. “It's probably safer to do that during the day, don't you think? To scope out the area and find the smuggler?”

The shatter of breaking glass and a few seconds later police sirens made them walk faster.

“But where are we going to spend the night?” Ángela asked.

That was the ultimate question. The neighborhood they were in was definitely poor. Tiny houses needed more than paint to make them look nice. The windows that didn't have bars were too small to fit even a small kid. The few cars parked on the side of the streets were old. Jaime doubted anyone would let them stay in their house, or even patio. Especially after being woken up in the middle of the night. There were trees, but none of them were big enough to climb for shelter. Lechería wasn't one of the safest places to be.

Still, there had to be someplace, somewhere, that would be safe for the night. His eyes landed on a small white car with more rust than paint parked along the side of the road. Usually it was Miguel who paid attention to cars,
but this one made Jaime give it a second look. He grabbed Ángela's elbow to stop her. “Do you think you can fit under this car?”

Ángela crouched down to peer at it. The distance between the street and the frame wasn't much more than mid-leg. “Barely. But what if the owners start it up?”

Jaime pointed at the dirt and trash wedged between the wheels and the curb. “It hasn't been driven in a while. A few weeks at least, probably more.”

“I guess it'll have to do.” Ángela removed her bag from her back and pushed it under the old car. She got on her stomach and scooted herself under. Jaime did the same behind her. His empty stomach moaned as he lay on top of it. The street underneath the car was covered in dirt and debris with a few wrappers and cigarette butts mixed in. The tangy smell of some kind of engine fluid rose from the spot under the hood. A bang on the backside of his skull reminded him he couldn't raise his head more than a few centimeters.

One hand on his bag, and the other curled around Ángela's, he felt strangely secure and relaxed in this dirty little car cave.

A scuffling whine caused Jaime
to open his eyes. A black nose followed by a white-and-brown, one-eared head poked through the debris to sniff under the car.

“Vida!” Jaime cried as he grabbed his bag and wormed his way out. A bump and a moan came from Ángela as she banged her head, having forgotten the low clearance. The rescued dog wiggled in delight as she gave first Jaime, then Ángela, a thorough facial bath.

There they were, their friends, alive, but looking different from how they had at Padre Kevin's. All three of them were a darker brown than they had been. Scratches, bites, and burns covered their arms, and their clothes were dirty and ripped. But on each of their faces, including the dog's, was a smile wide enough to make it all seem worth it.

“You're
here, you made it! How did you find us?” Ángela threw herself into Xavi's arms and cried into his shoulder. Xavi held out an arm and Jaime joined the group hug. When they let go, some of the dirt from underneath the car stuck to Xavi's no-longer-white uniform shirt.

Not that the dirt stopped Joaquín. The younger boy jumped into Ángela's arms and clung to her like a baby. Rafa patted Jaime on the back and ruffled his hair.

Down by their feet Vida let out a happy yip. Jaime crouched down to her level. He was no veterinarian, but the stitches sewing up her belly seemed to be working. The flesh wasn't as red as it had been, and the skin looked like it was healing.

“Vida was the one that found you,” Xavi said, still grinning.

“
¿Cómo?
” Ángela gently removed Joaquín's arms from around her neck and let him grip her hand instead. She glared at the dog as if she still had mixed feelings about her, especially after the cleaning the mutt had given Ángela's face. Vida ignored the glare and thumped her tail.

“We went to the safe house,” Xavi started, and everyone else continued talking at once too.

“Even though we heard it had been closed,” Rafa butted in.

“We had to meet you,” Joaquín whispered.

“But you weren't there,” Xavi continued.

“We were, for a bit,” Jaime said.

Xavi nodded. “We know, we—”

“We had to get off the train a few kilometers from Lechería. This place is swarming with
migra
officers,” Rafa bragged, as if proud of their clever escape.

“We know.” Ángela smiled.

Joaquín nodded to the dog. “Vida warned us.”

“By the time we got to the safe house, you must have left,” Xavi said. “We climbed onto the roof and slept there just in case you'd come back.”

“We should have thought of that,” Jaime told his cousin.

“I missed you.” Joaquín clung tighter to Ángela.

“This morning Vida started sniffing around the sidewalk,” Xavi went on.

“I thought she had to take a dump,” Rafa joked.

Xavi shook his head. “She must have remembered your scent and followed it. When we got to this street, she dashed to the car. Seconds later you guys crawled out.”

The wide grins returned to all their faces.

Jaime bent down to scratch Vida's one ear. He knew dogs were smart, but she had only known them for a day and still remembered them, her pack, after that long train ride. Her family.

Ángela leaned over to pet her too. “
Gracias, mamita
.”

They started walking through the streets of Lechería, where children in white uniform shirts headed to school
and old women pushed shopping trolleys filled with groceries. The boys had heard from others on the train that there was a bridge where they could get information for the next stretch of their journey. Vida trotted between their legs, eating scraps she found along the street littered with trash and leaves, never straying more than a few meters away even though they didn't have a rope to keep her close. If it weren't for the blue thread peeking out from her coat, no one would guess she had undergone “surgery” just a few days ago.

Joaquín, who had not let go of Ángela since he dived into her arms, swung the hand that held hers. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Ángela smiled down at the young boy. “A bit.”

A bit? They were starving. At least Jaime was, now that Joaquín had reminded him. Yesterday's food on the train hadn't been enough for one meal, let alone the whole day. His throat was parched from the train, not to mention all the dust under the car.

The three boys grinned at one another like they had a secret. That's when Jaime noticed a plastic bag swinging from Rafa's hand.

“Where'd you get that?” Jaime asked.

“You were right, Ángela,” Xavi said with a teasing smile. “It is beautiful in Veracruz.”

“The people that live there are poor but so nice. They
kept throwing us food. Like that cartoon where food comes from the sky,” Rafa said.

Jaime's nose scrunched up as anger built up inside. The boys had ridden on top of the freight train illegally and had gotten free food thrown at them while he and Ángela had paid a lot of money to almost get cooked alive? How could that be?

But his jealousy quickly faded when Rafa placed a fat doughnut filled with sweet potato into his grimy hand. He downed it in two bites before swigging the water Xavi held out. Never had he tasted anything so wonderful in his life. A banana and a small piece of meat later and it was like a black cloud lifted from his body. If only he could wash his face and hands, he'd be back to feeling human again.