“He says his name is Pancho. He is not happy about your bringing the girl. He wants double. I don’t like him,” Escobar added.

“He’s all we have,” Ignacio said.

“Don’t trust him,” Escobar warned. “What will you do about the money?”

“Give me the bracelet,” Ignacio told me, and I undid it and handed it to him. “Let me speak with him.”

He got out of the van, and they went to the car. I could not see the man called Pancho, but Ignacio was talking and showing him Sophia’s bracelet. There was more discussion, and then Escobar returned, opened the door, and told me to come out.

I got out and joined Ignacio.

“Get in,” Pancho told us.

“You can go back with Escobar,” Ignacio said. “This is really your last chance.”

“Let’s get in. We’re wasting time,” I said as an answer.

He nodded, opened the door for me, and got in after me.

Escobar got back into the van, started it up, and drove off.

“This is not a walk in the park,” Pancho said. I had barely seen his face, but he looked thin, with a sharp nose and a mouth that looked like a slice cut in his face. His black hair was straggly, down over his ears and down the back of his neck.

“A walk in a park does not cost as much,” Ignacio replied.

Pancho grunted, started his engine, and drove away. We wound through city streets to a highway with the number 86, and then he sped up. He did not play the radio, nor did he speak until he turned off the highway into what looked like bushes. They parted, and we were on a hard dirt pathway just wide enough for the car. My heart was pounding. How did we know he wasn’t simply going to rob us and leave us out there? I could see the worry in Ignacio’s face as well. After all, despite his bravado, this was his first illegal crossing, too.

Pancho drove as far as he could with his lights off and then bragged about it.

“I have saved you a day’s walking. No other coyote knows the way I know. When you are back in Mexico and others want to come to the United States, you tell them about me,” he said.

“We will,” Ignacio said.

“I will park here,” Pancho said. “We will begin our walk now and we will walk all night until we reach a cave, where we will sleep most of the day before continuing. We must keep up the pace, but when I tell you to stop, you stop, and you must do very little talking. The border patrol will be out there, and there are bandits just waiting for fools. You were told how much water to bring. You have enough for both of you? Because I don’t have any extra.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t gulp it away the first hour. I have turned back fools that quickly,” he said.

“You won’t turn us back,” Ignacio told him.

“We’ll see,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He got out, and we got out. He stood for a moment listening, and then he started to walk straight into the darkness, not looking back to see if we were following. Ignacio took my hand, and we caught up with him. It amazed me that Pancho knew exactly where to put his feet in the darkness, but he did.

We walked for hours without talking. My feet began to ache. I stumbled many times, but I did not complain. I was positive I heard a rattlesnake very close on our right, but either Ignacio and Pancho didn’t hear it, or they didn’t want to admit to hearing it. Nevertheless, Pancho warned us not to wander too far to the right or the left, and I wasn’t about to disagree.

Once he paused and held up his hand, and we waited and listened. I could hear voices off to our left. They were speaking in Spanish. Pancho whispered that this close to the end of the trail, pollos—chickens, as the aliens were called—would be stupid to be talking. He said that meant they were police. We stood absolutely still until the voices drifted off, and then we walked on.

The ache in my feet and my legs grew worse, and even though it was cooler, being night, I was growing very thirsty. I was afraid to ask for a drink. I had no idea how long we had been walking. Except for the occasional sound of an owl or the howl of a coyote off in the distance, it was deathly quiet. Above us, the stars were bright and dazzling, with no artificial light to drown out their wonderful glory and promise. The heavens knew no boundaries. There were no borders to cross. The world should be the same way, I thought.

Pancho paused to look at his watch. I was surprised when he said we had been walking for four and a half hours and, by his estimate, at least twelve miles. Neither Ignacio nor I knew enough about it to agree or disagree.

“There is still a good four to five hours of night,” Pancho said. “If we keep up our pace, we’ll reach my cave before daybreak. Take your first drink of water,” he ordered, and we did. He told us to go to the bathroom now if we had to, because we would stop only to avoid bandits or patrols, although he thought we were far enough from the border of the United States now. I was very frightened about going into the bushes. I could think only about upsetting a sleeping rattlesnake, but there was little choice. I knew if I didn’t go, I’d suffer for hours.

As soon as we were all done, we marched on. Most of the time, I was able to hold on to Ignacio’s hand, but there were narrow passages between rocks and down steep inclines that made it easier and safer for us to go separately, usually with me right behind him, keeping my hand on his waist for balance. Pancho spoke very little and only when it was necessary to give us warnings and directions. I couldn’t help but wonder about such a man who made his living sneaking people through the night. In the van, when I had asked Ignacio about it, he told me smuggling illegal aliens had become a very big business. He said his father told him it was all controlled by syndicates and that the coyotes actually worked for someone bigger and more powerful. That was why he was confident that Pancho would take my bracelet. He wouldn’t have to report it.

It did frighten me to hear about this. I knew something about the people who suffocated in vans and trucks, who died of dehydration trying to cross the desert. There were always stories about this relative or that, but here I was diving into a sea of sharks myself. How angry Abuela Anabela would be, I thought, but the promise of what would come afterward was too strong to let anything dissuade me. I would go on. I would go home.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Delia Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net