He eased her head under the water and held her there until she stopped struggling.
When he was sure Lourdes was dead, he released her. The water immediately around him did not have any of the green fog, so he washed his face to clear the snot and tears, and scrambled out of the pool as the first full edge of the green cloud poured over the falls, spreading silently in all directions.
Riffey pulled himself across rocks and debris, limping but trying to ignore the pain. He looked back at the pool; the green cloud was spreading across the water and land faster than he could run. Riffey dropped lower to another shelf of rock jutting straight out from the bluff face to form a narrow walkway. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he limped as fast as he could along the narrow path.
The green cloud flowed down to the shelf. Part of it ran over the edge while the other portion, still a dozen feet high, followed him along the narrow ledge as if it was alive and determined to catch him. The cloud at the bottom of the bluff grew so fast it was filling the canyon, the green top of it billowing up toward Riffey.
A small branch on the ledge tripped him and he almost went over the side, but regained his balance and limped forward in an awkward run. With eyes watering and burning so terribly he could barely see, Riffey used his will to keep going. His lungs felt as if someone was pulling a strand of red-hot barbed wire through him with every rasping breath.
The cloud was at his heels when he saw the downed pine log bridging a narrow side canyon to his right. Riffey didn’t hesitate. If it broke, he would be dead, but at least not from this terrible green thing tearing his lungs to pieces.
The log was so springy that it almost bounced him off with the first step, but he used his arms to regain balance and then made four more steps before falling forward hard and hugging the trunk. A short broken branch punctured his cheek, and he tasted blood and pine resin and small bits of wood in his mouth.
Riffey scooted forward another five feet before looking back at the ledge. The silent green fog poured into the canyon, covering the canyon floor, but it did not follow him this time. Not this time. He wiped at his eyes and pulled himself across the canyon to the far side, where he lay on his back and sobbed until he passed out.
***
Riffey awoke late in the afternoon. He was sore everywhere, and there were blisters on his exposed skin and lips. His lungs burned as if he had inhaled kerosene. The hole in his cheek was swollen shut and felt hot to the touch. Stiff clothing reeked of bleach. Riffey grabbed the branches of a small pine to help himself stand on wobbly legs. The log across the narrow canyon was twenty yards from him and his stomach dropped when he thought of the green fog and of crawling across the log to safety. Images of the little village crept into his mind, and he wondered if anyone survived.
“I’ve got to know,” Riffey said to himself. He eased face down onto the log and scooted across the canyon as rough pine bark scraped the old bruises and cuts. Riffey hissed from the pain with each pull and it seemed like an hour before he reached the other side and stood.
Walking fast, he made good time, even with the sore, swollen ankle. As Riffey rounded a bend in the trail leading to the pool below the waterfall, odd sounds reached his ears, like something plopping in the water. The answer was three steps further along the trail.
The waterfall still cascaded to the pool, only it was silver, and falling into a silver pool. Small dead fish by the thousands floated on the water and tumbled over the falls.
Riffey found a place to climb to the valley above, and worked his way up with hands and feet, stopping several times to catch his breath until he reached the crest and stood in the valley. The smell was still so strong it made his eyes water and his nose run.
Silence. No birds, no animals, no people made a sound. Even the ever-droning cicadas were silent. Death ruled this place. Bodies of people lay scattered, as did the animals, including hundreds of wild birds dotting the ground in small dark clumps that reminded Riffey of a teen’s wadded socks tossed on the bedroom floor.
The river shimmered like quicksilver. He couldn’t see any liquid, only dead, shiny fish floating in a mass so thick it could have been a blanket.
The Bronco was gone, as were Holland, Guereca, and Lopez. He was alone. Thoughts of Lourdes caused his eyes to fill, but he shook it off. The rifle and pistol were somewhere below the falls, lost in the mad jump to safety.
Riffey badly needed to find fresh water and a way off these mountains, and to stay hidden while he did it. If anyone saw him, he was a dead man. Especially when the bodies in this valley are discovered, he thought. And they would be, sooner or later. He patted his pockets and felt the torn back pocket. Even the wallet was gone.
He turned to the dead ones and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He looked at the bodies, recognizing many of them, and felt a grief so strong it took his breath. He sat on a boulder, put his head in his hands and wept. Ten minutes later, he located a stick to use as a crude walking cane, then picked his direction and started out of the mountains.
***
Crystal said her morning prayers to Allah and rose from the prayer rug to return to her life as Crystal Adams, real first name, false last name. She went to the kitchen of her rented home in El Paso, Texas where Samir sat at the counter loading the clip of a Glock 17. She said, “Already at it?”
Samir said, “Yes. I’m getting an early start.”
She came up behind him and hugged his neck. I’m so excited, I might wet my pants.”
“That’s why I’m doing final checks today, too much nervous energy.”
Crystal said, “We need to drive the route and make sure things are smooth.”
“My thinking, too, then we can eat at the Cattleman’s on our way back.”
“I don’t want to go through the Border Patrol checkpoint at Sierra Blanca, so we’ll take the pickup and get off road before we reach it. We can check the route at Fort Hancock.”
Samir put the Glock inside his waistband, covering it with the tails of the shirt hanging outside his pants. “I’ve got the keys.”
They drove east out of El Paso and stayed on the access road beside Interstate 10, driving slow and enjoying the day. When they reached Fabens, Samir turned the pickup into the Fast Trak Truck Stop parking area and they entered the store. The couple browsed the shelves for a while before getting coffee and sitting to watch the people.
Samir looked through the window at rows of big trucks and their rigs. The lot was three-quarters full, with men and a few women coming and going from their rigs to the store and back again. Other non-big rig vehicles parked away from the trucks, as if segregated, and these came and went at a faster pace than the truckers.