SANTA MARIA DE LOS MONTAÑAS
At dawn, the sun shone into the jail through a ventilation shaft, impeded only by the motionless blades of a fan. At some point in the night, Sam and Remi had fallen asleep on the two bunks, which each consisted of a shelf like a door on hinges folded against the wall during the day and lowered at night on a pair of chains that held it horizontal.
Sam woke to find Remi sitting on her bunk and swinging her legs. “Good morning,” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I was thinking how cute you are when you’re lying there in your bunk,” she said. “Too bad I don’t have my phone to take your picture. You could be Cellmate of the Month in women’s prison.”
Sam sat up and pulled on his shirt, then began to button it. “I’m flattered, I think.”
“It’s just an observation, and I don’t have much to look at,” she said. “It doesn’t look as though they use this jail much. No graffiti, not much wear and tear, since the last paint job.”
“Have you seen anybody yet?”
“No, but I’ve heard the front door close a couple of times, so we’re still under guard.”
A moment later, there was a loud knock on the wooden plank door at the end of the cellblock. Remi smiled, and called, “Come in.”
Señora Velasquez opened the door and came in, bearing a tray with two covered plates, some glasses of orange juice, and other good things.
“It was nice of you to knock,” said Remi.
“Nobody said you can’t have any privacy,” said Señora Velasquez. “You just can’t leave yet.”
“Yet?”
“People have been listening to what Father Gomez and Dr. Huerta say about you. I think we’ll all meet in the afternoon, and you can be on your way after that.”
“That’s a relief,” said Sam. “But I’m glad they didn’t let us out before breakfast. That food smells so good.”
“Yes it does,” said Remi. “You’re very kind to us.”
Señora Velasquez slid the tray under the bars, and Sam picked it up and set it on the shelf that served as his bunk. “I wish we had chairs and things,” said Señora Velasquez. “We weren’t expecting anyone like you.”
“Thank you for what you’ve done.”
As Señora Velasquez went out the door, there was no mistaking the sound of a big bolt being slid into place.
Just as they finished their breakfast, they heard the morning silence of the little town broken by the sound of a truck laboring up the long hill to the main street. They could hear the transmission whining, the engine’s revolutions speeding up on the last hundred yards, and then the engine idling in the street in front of the church. After a moment, there was a man shouting, and then other men jumping from the truck to the pavement, and then running footsteps.
Sam and Remi looked at each other. Sam stepped to the space below the tiny, high window in the wall, bent his knees, and knitted together the fingers of both his hands to make a step for Remi. She put her foot in his hands and he lifted her up. She grasped the bars of the little window and looked out.
Men in a mixture of camouflaged fatigues, T-shirts, khakis and blue jeans ran from the truck and entered buildings along the main street. They kicked in doors and shouted at people to come out to the street. “They’re rounding up the townspeople,” she said.
Men, women, and children came outside, looking confused and worried. They joined their friends and neighbors, adding to the growing crowd. Groups of armed men ran up the side streets and brought back more people. “They’re gathering the whole town.”
The cab of the truck opened and two men got out. “It’s the two men!” Remi whispered.
“What two men?”
“The ones who tried to kill us for Sarah Allersby. The ones from Spain. The one you painted blue.”
“How does he look?”
> “He looks sunburned but still has a trace of a blue tinge, like a dead man.”
“I can’t wait to see him.”
Outside, Russell and Ruiz stepped to the bed of the truck, climbed up, and used it for a stage. Russell took out a thick sheaf of legal documents and handed it to Ruiz, picked up a bullhorn, and spoke. “Testing.” The word was loud, echoing from the hills. He held it for Ruiz, who read the Spanish text.