A hasty self-examination led her to the conclusion that her upper body remained bare, aside from the bra hugging her rib cage. Someone had thrown a piece of newspaper over her. Memories of Bram and the torture he’d inflicted flooded in, sending ghostlike tingles to her stomach.
Another flashback stabbed at her chest, jarring her into a frenzy as she remembered struggling to lay Santiago in the same bin. Graciela tilted her head to see if he was awake. However, the only thing staring back at her were the remnants of an erupted black bag, a rotting apple core, and a shiny brown and orange cockroach.
Laboriously Graciela swallowed the pain to exert herself upward, a flimsy plastic lid the only thing standing between her and the sun. Daybreak exploded around her. Her eyes burned from the drastic change.
“Ah!” Santiago shrieked, jumping up from a makeshift chair in the alley outside. “Don’t do that. You scared me, storming out of there like some garbage monster.”
“Santi! You’re okay!” She thought to bound out of the container, but remembered her bared torso, and instead sank lower in the garbage.
“Me?” Santiago said incredulously. “I was more worried about you. Last thing I remember is walking up the road. Then I’m waking up in a mountain of trash next to my…topless sister.” The last two words were hardly more than a grumble.
“Right.” Self-consciously, Graciela gripped her newspaper tightly against her body.
Santiago handed her a shirt. She was too eager to question when and where he’d found it. Promptly, Graciela wiggled inside the soft, worn fabric, still warm from lying in the sun.
“So, what did happen?” he asked, offering her a hand out of the bug-infested container.
“I don’t know…it’s hard to explain.” Knowing her brother’s already relentless hatred for the Awakened, the last thing Graciela wanted to do was validate his fear. But she also had a tendency toward the truth. When she was back on solid ground, Graciela patted her hands against her thighs, even though they too were filthy. “Things might be a lot more dangerous than we imagined.”
Arduously, Santiago lowered himself back to sitting atop a busted child’s bicycle. “New kind of Awakened?”
“Maybe. I never know if it’s a new kind, or just something we’ve never seen before.”
Santiago nodded his understanding and started fumbling inside a new backpack. It was safe to assume he’d already been up for a few hours by the time she roused and had apparently found them some supplies. He rummaged through the new backpack haphazardly, finally pulling out a bottle of hair gel to show off his hard-earned score.
Graciela mockingly smiled at him, but truthfully, she felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Santiago hadn’t done any of the scouting in the past month. He’d been too exhausted to do anything in addition to traversing across country, so it was nice to see him with so much energy again.
Chuckling to himself, Santiago grabbed a can of green beans and tossed it to her unexpectedly. The can nearly hit her thigh before crashing to the ground. Luckily, it remained intact, and she wouldn’t be forced to eat canned vegetables off the concrete floor. It made her think of Bram though, when he’d been beamed in the head by Zane.
“A guy helped us hide from some terrifying people,” she said.
Santiago’s eyes grew wide, and Graciela prepared herself for the lecture to come. Santiago and she made a deal: it would be just the two of them until they made it to the sanctuary. No one else could be trusted.
His jawline tightened. “That was nice of him.”
“I think it was. He took all of our stuff afterward though.”
“Most of it,” Santiago reached into the backpack and retrieved her journal.
Graciela became giddy, almost having completely forgotten about the journal. It hadn’t been part of their deal, so she would’ve been surprised when Bram had left it, if she hadn’t been so preoccupied by crippling gut pain at the time.
“Why weren’t you wearing a shirt?”
The question came from a dark, uncertain place—she heard it in the crack of his voice. Santiago wanted to protect her and would continue beating himself up about whatever his imagination concocted. In this light, he reminded her of their father, or at least the father that she chose to remember: protective, strong, willing to do anything it took to defend his family.
“It was nothing like what you’re thinking, but I can’t say it was much better.”
His expression distorted from concern to puzzlement.
“Bram, the one who helped us,” she continued. “He called himself and the others Sanguinatores.”
“What in the world is that?”
“I’m not sure and we didn’t have a lot of time to talk about it. He said if we were found, their leader would kill us both.” She remembered something else then. “It was weird though. Somehow, he knew you were Awakened.”
Santiago flashed red. “You told him?!”
“No! I never would! He just knew. He said your physical condition looked familiar, that he had seen empaths incapacitated before.” Something else nagged at her. “But he seemed to know I was Unawakened. He knew that you were my brother. They kept saying they could smell us. And then—” her hands impulsively clutched her stomach while she stared off into the distance. Words escaped her.
Graciela bit at her lower lip, still aching from the night before. Searching for the right way to tell him what had happened was not easy. Nothing sounded right in her head. How could she explain something that he hadn’t experienced?
Before she could speak, Santiago walked over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, just like she had often done for him when they were kids.
She didn’t look up at him, instead she laid her head on his shoulder and told him everything.
When she’d finished, though still mentally preoccupied, she helped Santiago pack up the few belongings they had. Before they left the city, Graciela found another small backpack to replace one of the ones they’d lost.
Santiago’s solemn gaze fell onto the new navy-blue bag. “That bag was the only thing of father’s that I took with us.”
Grief shattered her. Then, swiftly after, guilt erupted at the thought that she’d willingly given up the bag. “I’m sorry, Santi. I had no idea. I would’ve—”
“Don’t think for a second that I blame you,” he said, eyes sharpening. “I’m glad we’re both alive, and we have new bags, which is more than we could ask for. I was just feeling a bit…”
When it was obvious he was struggling to spit it out, she finished for him. “You’re grieving.” It was so rare that he ever wanted to talk about what happened with their father. She hoped he would continue.
He exhaled modestly. “When we left, I didn’t think that I needed to bring things that meant something to me. That backpack became more than just a place to put our things. It was like I had father with me still. I guess that was my first mistake,” he said, forcing a smile.
Graciela remembered the day they left, including everything that had led up to that moment. Once their father had finally been able to discern that Santiago was changing, it hadn’t taken long for him to turn on his only son, and therefore on Graciela too. To their father, Santiago had become pure evil, a sacrilegious demon capable of nothing but malevolence and disgrace.
But to Santiago, their father would always be the man he looked up to.
Beside her, one of Santiago’s knees suddenly jerked, almost bringing him to the ground.
“Santi!” Graciela shrieked on impulse, but then realized the implications of such a sudden change in his demeanor. The previous day flashed before her. “Are they back? Do you sense the Sanguinatores?” She searched the road for any signs of incoming people. It was almost involuntary, but her hand floated to her stomach protectively.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just tired.”
Graciela exhaled in relief. Life needed to stop flashing so rapidly before her eyes.
She offered Santiago a hand, which he took begr
udgingly. It had been a while since she’d looked at him, truly taken in his features in detail. The darkness under his eyes pulled her in like a void. If it wasn’t the presence of other people that had caused him to collapse, that meant it was exertion alone. Despite continued progress, California seemed farther every day.
A shrill gasp escaped her lungs. Graciela spun around to face her alarmed brother and managed to choke out the words, “The map!” They felt like dust, like a dream disintegrating into nothing at the tips of her fingers. The map had been the last thing on her mind when she’d made the deal with Bram and without it, they’d have no way of making it anywhere.
Santiago settled, concern diminishing to impish relief. “Yeah, you would think that would’ve been taken too, but,” for what could only be taken for dramatic effect, Santiago paused as he twisted to pluck something out of his back pocket. He flicked it up in front of them and the worn map unfolded.
Graciela twinkled with delight. “Oh! You had it the whole time.”
“It was a good thing I didn’t believe you when you said we’d be in Oaxaca next, otherwise this map might’ve been gone forever.”
Map still outstretched, Graciela couldn’t help but notice the short distance between them and the closer sanctuary in Texas. She looked between Santiago and the map, considering the additional strain such an extended journey might—no, would—have on him. But trying to get Santiago to change his mind about anything was like trying to turn fire to ice.
Graciela did her best to toss the thought of Texas out of her mind and patted her hand on her brother’s back. “Come on, hermanito. We still have a long way to go if we’re going to make it to California.”
He returned her gentle expression and hastened his pace to match hers.
Chapter Eight
Santiago
Neck craned back, Santiago let the weight of his skull rest on his shoulders as he marveled at the height of the chain link fence. A small curve played at his lips. “We made it.”
The days had started to blur together with no possible way to determine how long they’d been traveling. It felt like years, but Graciela kept assuring him it had only been a few months.
“I always knew we would,” his sister said, wetness filling her eyes. She turned to take in the length of the barrier, a solid wall outstretched to the horizon on either side, the only remaining obstacle between them and the American Unions. “Now we need to figure out how to get over.”
Just the thought of more exploration deflated Santiago. As he slouched, he felt the faint pat of his fauxhawk plop to the side of his head and growled.
Graciela rolled her eyes and gently nudged him. “Don’t be a big baby. We aren’t the only ones who have come here. There’s probably an opening somewhere. Now, quit fussing with your hair and help me look for it.”
Santiago glowered, hands hastily untangling from his greasy hair. Before following, he removed his shirt and wrapped it on his head, both to cover the mess he was ashamed of and for protection from the sun.
Rather than splitting up to cover more ground, they walked down the border together, inspecting each divot, shadow, and sheet of wire for the possibility of an entrance.
As they ambled, both too exhausted for anything more than a slow examination of the border, sweat trailed down Santiago’s bared spine. It didn’t feel like being shirtless was keeping him any cooler but when he looked at the strands of hair plastered to Graciela’s nape, despite being tied in a braid down her shoulder, and the layer of beaded-shine over every visible bit of her skin, Santiago was grateful he was a man.
What he wouldn’t do for a cup of water though…
“Ah-ha!” Graciela rasped from a little way ahead of him, also dehydrated. “Look there! It looks like someone drove through the fence.”
They broke off in a dash for the opening. When they got closer, it was easy to see that Graciela had been right. The car was still on the other side. It either ceased functioning after it’s encounter with the fence or whoever was driving it was immediately apprehended after plowing through. Considering the fence was under no repair, Santiago figured it was the car who’d seen better days.
Without wasting anymore time, Santiago stepped over the toppled mesh and led his sister onto American Union soil.
“Ay!”
Santiago whipped around. “What? What’s wrong?”
A trail of blood dribbled down Graciela’s ankle and she was bent over wiping it away. “I’m okay. The fence just caught my leg.” Once she was on the other side, both feet planted firmly on the ground, Graciela took a deep breath. She looked renewed, accomplished. “Look at us, Santi.”
Santiago felt no different than he had, like the journey had only just begun. California was still weeks away.
“Yeah, who knew,” he said sardonically. “The world has ended, and we still had to hop a fence to enter the American Unions.”
Her jaw popped wide in an attempt to suppress the fighting laughter. “That’s a terrible joke.”
He shrugged and changed the subject. “Now where?”
Graciela was already unfolding the map, and she was hastily re-examining their path. Their original plan involved following the coastal line, but once they’d reached Mazatlán, all the main roads were too devastated or dangerous to travel, so they’d been forced to reroute. Instead, they’d opted to follow roads through the center of northern Mexico, up to the border at El Paso.
“I think we should keep going north, to the next town, Las Cruces,” she said, blindly following Santiago as they walked along the backside of a long, single story, grey-bricked building. “Then we can follow the highway west until San Diego, and from there, we will start walking north.”
He’d learned better than to look at the map for himself, unless he wanted to feel daunted. Even though he remembered the distance in almost vivid detail, looking always made it feel worse.
Finally, they approached the edge of the government building and Santiago rounded it without so much as a second glance. They’d gotten so used to being alone, the last people they’d encountered were all the way back in Oaxaca.
“North it is then. Lead the—” Santiago went rigid.
At the sight of the massive pit overflowing with decomposed bodies, a deadly chill creeped up his spine.
Graciela bumped into him with a crackle, the map sandwiched between them. “What is it?” she asked, leaning over to see past him. She gasped. “Oh no… What happened?”
Where his sister was focused on the fate that had befallen these people, Santiago became preoccupied with their surroundings. It was easy to feel an immediate sense of danger, worried that the same people responsible might still be around. But the more he examined the bodies, the more he realized they’d been there for a while, at least long enough to die, be dragged into a mass grave, and decompose almost completely.
“I don’t know,” he replied, leaning back against the side of the building for shelter from the heat, to avoid looking at the bodies any longer, and for support. His legs felt weak beneath him. “But whoever did this, it happened a long time ago.”
“Maybe they were killed trying to cross the border when the Awakening first began.”
Santiago considered. It wasn’t a completely farfetched notion. At the first signs of the Awakening, mass hysteria had motivated people to flee in all directions for whatever reason: to escape the anarchy and riots that had hit the larger cities, to avoid being murdered because they themselves were Awakened. And then later, to restart, to seek answers.
Like he and Graciela.
“Maybe.”
“The place looks deserted,” Graciela said, stepping around him to inspect a dusty window on the government building. “It wouldn’t hurt to search inside for supplies.”
Aside from the lone window that looked into the entry room, the rest of the building was entirely closed-off. If they went inside, there’d be no way of keeping an eye on the surrounding area. They did, however, need the supplies, des
perately. It didn’t matter what kind. They’d ran out of food a couple days ago, and even before that all they had were small rations, hardly enough to sustain either of them. Water was even more scarce. Although it had only been a day since his last drink—or rather, sip—walking for hours in a desert made it feel more like a week had passed.
“Fine,” Santiago agreed. “I’ll stay out here and keep a look-out.”
“I’ll make it quick,” she said, opening the main entrance.
A cough echoed from somewhere inside before Graciela could enter.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Santiago’s heart dove to his stomach. His ears burned trying to discern whether or not he’d actually heard it or if the heat was playing tricks on his senses. Graciela’s wide eyes confirmed its existence though. Santiago was ready to run, and keep running, until the border was far out of sight.
His sister, however, bolted inside, toward the cough.
Santiago’s desperate bellow burst uninhibited. “Graciela!” With her headed straight into potential danger, he didn’t care who’d heard him. They’d see her soon enough.
The door nearly closed before Santiago caught the edge of it and flung it wide. He caught her silhouette just as it disappeared around the corner of the main room, into the unknown. Without knowing where she was going, Santiago raced after her, their only source of light fading as they became shut inside and left to the spotlight of the only window.
More hacking, this time coming from the obscured confines of an unfamiliar room. “Who’s there?” The voice was feminine and English-speaking.
Graciela was no longer running. She stood, still as a statue in the center of the dim room, staring at the wall where the cough had come from.
Inside and now fully alert, Santiago finally noticed the empathic signals he’d somehow missed earlier, masked either by exhaustion, the walls of the building, or by Graciela’s own channels of emotion. A wave of shame rushed over him at his own carelessness.
Blood Awakens Page 9
