by D. J. Molles
Joaquin smartly kept separate from them, so they couldn’t be used against him. But Lee had uncovered some whisperings of where they might be—a wife, and two daughters.
Lee had wanted to hunt them down and use them against Joaquin.
Abe had restrained him. His arguments had been in the name of humanity.
Lee had heard his arguments, but not listened to them. He didn’t feel them. He was not convicted. He simply agreed to it, because he knew that if he displayed that level of cruelty, he would push Abe away.
So.
Lee had to do it the old fashioned way.
Which, on someone like Joaquin, took a lot of time, and a lot of effort.
But everyone breaks. Eventually.
The settlement of Triprock had taken back what was rightfully theirs. And they’d given Lee and Abe a small slaughterhouse in the northeastern corner of the complex. It was here, out of the way, amongst rusted hooks and cement floors with drains in them, that Lee discreetly did what he needed to do.
Hopefully out of earshot of the people of Triprock.
Though Lee suspected some of the members of the community who’d had family murdered and raped by the cartel that had taken up residence amongst them, might find comfort in the sounds coming from the slaughterhouse.
After the last glimmer of sunlight died in the west, Lee determined that he was probably wearing Joaquin numb, and that wouldn’t do. So he decided to give the man a respite. They unhooked him from where he hung, battered and bruised, and purple-eyed, and swollen-lipped. They threw him into a corner, and then used a chain to secure him to a support pole. They gave him a cup of water. And then they retreated.
The slaughterhouse was not large. Lee reckoned it had been used more for smaller livestock than cattle, and maybe hadn’t even been used in the last few decades. It might’ve been a holdover from earlier times—everything in it seemed very old.
It was only a single room, so Lee and Abe went to the far side to quietly converse, and they were able to keep an eye on Joaquin while they did it.
“Some people just don’t break,” Abe mumbled, looking over Lee’s shoulder at Joaquin.
“Everyone breaks,” Lee said.
“With time. But do we have that kind of time?”
“We have the time that we have. If he doesn’t break, then oh well. We move on.” Even as Lee said it though, he had an uncomfortable feeling that Abe was right. They just didn’t have the right buttons to push. Yes, they caused Joaquin pain. But that wasn’t enough. Not for this man.
He wasn’t telling Lee what he wanted to know.
He wasn’t telling Lee how to get to Mateo Ibarra.
Lee changed the subject. “What happened during the takedown?”
Abe worked some saliva around in his mouth. Spat it off to the side. “First explosion went off well. Took the guys in the barn, in the machine gun nest. Eric and Catalina and their people were in proper position. Laid some good hate down on the cartel boys. But we didn’t get them all.”
“Shit.” Lee made a face. “How many got away?”
Abe shrugged. “Dunno. They took the Mercedes and one of the Humvees. That’s all I can tell you. I wasn’t witness to it—got told about it later. But some amount of them—a dozen at the most—got out of here.”
Lee started to rub his face, but then thought better of it: Joaquin’s blood was all over his hands. “Which means we really don’t have much time.”
“No.”
“Is Triprock aware?”
“Oh, they’re aware.”
“Are they mounting a defensive?”
Abe looked sad. “Yeah.”
“You don’t think it’ll be enough.”
Abe gave Lee a look that told him it was a stupid question. “Of course it won’t,” he murmured. “NF is going to roll in here and wipe this place off the map.”
Lee turned and looked back at Joaquin, chained to the post. Lee shook his head. “I don’t wanna be around when they get here.”
Abe didn’t respond.
Lee looked at him. “We got bigger fish to fry, my friend.”
“Like what?” Abe said, sounding tired. “Joaquin hasn’t told you how to get Mateo. You have no plan.”
“I do have a plan,” Lee insisted. “I want La Casa.”
“They’ll be on high alert after this,” Abe pointed out. “Might even be some of the boys that escaped from here ran over to there.”
“Maybe. But it’s been pretty shabbily protected. It’s worth taking a look at anyway. Because I’d like to pour more salt in Mateo’s wounds. We keep pissing him off, eventually he’ll do something stupid. Eventually he’ll show himself.”
Abe didn’t respond to that. He shifted his gaze out into a neutral area, and Lee knew he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Just not looking at Lee.
“La Casa’s got tankers,” Lee said. “Thought you’d be happy about that.”
Abe didn’t look happy. More like he just wanted to sleep for a couple days. Lee felt the exhaustion coming up on him as well. But they had no time to rest. Not here in Triprock anyways. Not with Nuevas Fronteras pissed off and on the war path.
“When did you stop giving a shit about the UES?” Abe asked, beleaguered.
Lee’s gaze narrowed on his partner. “When did you lose your stomach?”
Abe took in a deep breath through his nose and sighed it out. He nodded towards Joaquin. “What are you gonna do with him?”
“Kill him,” Lee said, not bothering to keep his voice down. And if Joaquin heard, he didn’t show it. He was a cool customer. “Or give him to the people here.”
“They might be able to use him as a hostage,” Abe pointed out.
Lee shrugged. “I highly doubt Mateo will give a shit.”
“Probably not. But it’s the best chance we can give them. We owe them that much.”
Lee nodded. “You’re right.”
He walked back to Joaquin and squatted in front of him.
Joaquin raised his eyes. Or, more appropriately, his eye, as the other one was purple and swollen shut. He still managed to look defiant.
Lee smiled at him. “Salty to the last, my friend. Good for you.” Lee felt the exhaustion that Abe had already hinted at. It came over him in a sudden wave that nearly demanded he lay down, right there in front of Joaquin. “These two questions will not betray Nuevas Fronteras. I simply ask them, fighter to fighter.”
“Fuck you.”
Lee smirked, as though he expected that, but pressed on anyways. “Has Nuevas Fronteras killed Terrance Lehy?”
Joaquin gazed at Lee for a long moment. And Lee wasn’t sure what made him decide to answer the question, or even whether the answer was honest, or designed to poke at Lee somehow. But whatever it was, Joaquin gave the tiniest shake of his head. “No. We haven’t killed him. Yet.”
Lee bobbed his head. “Last question.” He peered at Joaquin. “Have you seen a small, brown and tan dog? It almost looks like a coyote…”
***
Near the entrance to the ranch, the bodies of the dead cartel burned, and the air smelled of charred flesh and scorched hair.
The rest of the populace of Triprock—the people to which this settlement originally belonged—were gathered in front of the ranch house, like it had become a sort of village square. They watched Lee and Abe approach, with the prisoner between them, and in the people’s eyes was a riotous hunger.
Lee stared at the burning bodies as he and Abe escorted Joaquin’s limping form towards the people of Triprock. The tongues of fire danced, all consuming, never satisfied.
They needed to get rid of the bodies somehow, but burning them was probably not the answer.
Those residents of Triprock that had died during the gunfight would be buried, probably. Deep, where the primals couldn’t dig them up again.
As Lee and Abe approached the crowd, there were a few shouts, a few curses. People overcome with emotion and rage. Ready to rip Joaquin limb from limb. But mo
stly it was quiet. Mostly they watched, though in the firelight their faces looked drawn and feral.
People liked to play at being better, but down in their bones, they were all the same.
They were no different than Lee.
They were no different than Joaquin.
They were no different than the primals.
Eric and Catalina were the first to step forward and meet Lee and Abe, before they reached the edges of the crowd. Because when Joaquin reached the crowd, there would be no holding them back. They would go at him like dogs after a piece of meat.
Joaquin only stood there, staring at the people that wanted to kill him, and his face was completely without expression. They might as well have been trees.
“Did you get what you needed out of him?” Eric asked, scowling at Joaquin, though Joaquin didn’t look back.
Lee didn’t answer the question. Instead he found himself glancing over at the pile of burning bodies. When Eric followed his gaze with a question in his eyes, Lee cleared his throat and spoke. “You shouldn’t burn them.”
Eric looked confused. “But if we don’t get rid of them, they’ll attract teepios.”
He used the local term for the primals. A name Tex and his men had come up with.
Lee nodded. “Yeah. But burning them…all that fat is just gonna render down and get into the soil. You’ll have a big, greasy, smelly patch underneath those ashes. It won’t wash out for a long time. And it’ll draw the teepios in just as much as rotting bodies will. ‘Cept there won’t be anything there for them to eat, so they’ll just come after y’all.”
Lee hesitated in the explanation, and the thought flitted across his mind, Why are you even telling him this? These people are all going to be dead in a few days anyways.
“In the future,” Lee went on, as though these people had a future at all. “Take the bodies out into the wilderness. Let the teepios eat them.”
“We don’t want to feed them,” Catalina put in, looking aghast.
Lee quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, they’re gonna eat whether you want them to or not. The question is, what are they going to eat?”
To Lee’s right, Joaquin whispered the same prayer that he’d prayed when Lee broke his ribs and fingers and toes. Lee glanced in that direction, then back to Eric and Catalina. “You’re aware of the problem, right?”
Eric frowned, not sure which problem Lee referred to.
At his side, Catalina shifted, nodding. “Nuevas Fronteras. They’re going to come back.”
“Yes,” Lee said. “What you do with this man is up to you. But I’d hold onto him. I can’t guarantee that using him as a hostage will be effective. But it’s a chance.”
Eric nodded.
Catalina scowled at Lee. “Where are you two going?”
Lee met her gaze. “Away.”
“That’s it?” Catalina looked incredulous. “You’re not gonna help us fight them?”
“Cat,” Eric warned.
Lee’s expression was blank. He actually…didn’t feel defensive. “We did help you fight them. We gave you the guns and ordnance. Now we need to get out there and figure out how we’re going to replace what we gave to you.”
“But you could really help us!” Catalina persisted.
A laugh bubbled up into Lee’s throat. Tired and unstable. But he caught himself right as his belly started to quake and he stuffed it back down as he stared into Catalina’s earnest face. Earnestly seeking help. Earnestly believing that help would make a difference.
It was all so fucking hysterical.
And he was a terrible person for thinking so.
Anyone with a sliver of a soul left in their chest would feel sorrow, perhaps. Or urgency to try to convince these people. Or maybe even anger that they would even argue the point. Or perhaps they’d feel guilty.
But Lee…
Lee’d been down this road so many times already. He’d tried to save so many people. He’d tried like hell to keep them alive, to keep them breathing, to protect them, to do their fighting for them so that they wouldn’t have to be in danger.
But it never worked.
They all died in the end.
And there was a sort of cosmic hilarity when he saw himself beating his head against the wall. A humor born out of pure frustration, out of being stymied in your efforts so many times that you must truly be an idiot to continue on.
And that was what was hilarious to him.
He guessed that he was hilarious.
Lee cleared his throat, and shoved Joaquin into Eric’s hands. “You want help?” he asked. “Then take my advice. Get lost. All of you. Leave this place. Go somewhere else. Don’t stick together. Scatter. Live in the hills. Stay on the run. Fight back only when you can definitely win. Otherwise, keep your head down and survive.”
“But this is our home,” Catalina said, as though she was shocked at the mention of leaving it behind.
“Yeah?” Lee let out a soft chuff. “Well, that’s the difference between us: We don’t have a home.”
Joaquin spoke, almost dreamily, his one good eye lolling over to Catalina. “You should listen to them. My brothers will come. And you don’t want to be here when they arrive. Especially a pretty lady like you…”
Eric jerked Joaquin hard, but it didn’t have the mean edge to it.
And that’s why you’re going to die, Lee thought, as though he saw the man’s future so clearly from the nature of that one little move. You’re strong enough to stand up for yourself. But you’re just not mean enough to win the fight.
Lee and Abe exchanged a glance, and it seemed that Abe had seen the same thing, and in this, they both agreed.
The two of them hoisted their packs onto their shoulders—full and heavy, from the goods they’d taken from Triprock. There would be more in the pickup truck they’d arrived in, along with a gas can, to give them a little more mileage.
“Good luck,” Lee said, and then he nodded to Eric, and then he nodded to Catalina, and then he and Abe walked through the center of Triprock, and the people parted out of their way. They went to the white pickup truck with the bullet hole in it. It was parked right where they’d left it, and the bed had a few satchels of food in it.
Food was good.
But food couldn’t kill Lee’s enemies.
They needed to find more ordnance. But until they figured out how to get access to all the bunkers of supplies that Project Hometown had stashed all around the state of Texas, then their only source of materials to fight Nuevas Fronteras, was Nuevas Fronteras itself.
They could keep themselves going a little longer if they hit another small outpost—like La Casa.
But eventually they were going to need to find Terrance “Tex” Lehy—if he was even alive.
They drove out into the hostile darkness, and the flicker of burning bodies glimmered in their rearview mirror. Ahead of them, the Texas plains were just blackness. At the horizon, the last glimmers of daylight still managed to hang on, turning a tiny portion of the sky sapphire, while the rest of it was midnight blue.
Lee saw none of that.
He sat with his head against the passenger’s side window, in a sort of suspended animation. If an external threat had appeared, he would have reacted to it, like a mental sentry left on autopilot. But everything else had gone down inside of him.
His eyes only saw the past.
His ears only heard his father’s voice.
He used to come to Lee in his dreams, but Lee didn’t have dreams much anymore. He had darkness, and he had insubstantial nightmares. Things he could never recall upon waking, but that left him with his eyes and cheeks wet, and a deep hollow in his gut like a part of him had been stolen while he slept.
No, the only time he saw his father these days was in his memories.
In silent moments like this, when his mind wandered away from him, and whatever subconscious effort kept him bound together and operational, simply let the leash slip through its fingers.
&nb
sp; In this memory, his father’s face was indistinct. The surroundings were blurred. The memory was incomplete, or perhaps his brain chose only to remember the voice, because the voice was all that mattered.
“We’d go to the Outer Banks when you were a kid,” the voice said. It creaked through its own recollections, like an old man on a rocking chair. The sound of it made Lee think that maybe his father was older in this memory. Starting to feel his age. “You were two years old. Maybe three? When we first went. And you loved the ocean, but you didn’t want to go in the water, you just wanted to run. You’d take off running through the sand, like it was your job. Like you had a place to be, and you were gonna get there, and me and your mother be damned if we lagged behind. We’d just walk. You’d be running three steps on your toddler legs for every step of ours. You’d run, and run, and run. You never thought to save some energy for the return trip. You just ran until you could barely even move anymore, and then I’d have to carry you back, crying, because you’d run the skin right off the balls of your feet.” A smile in the voice now. Wistful. “You’d do it every time we went to the beach. You’d run until you couldn’t run anymore. And we never did find out where you were trying to get to. Hell, I don’t think you ever reached it.”
Lee let go of the memory. It felt almost like the theater lights coming up, breaking the spell. The memory started over on its loop, and that was Lee’s cue to get up and leave it be. He’d re-discovered it, like a dusty relic, buried beneath layers of beaten and hardened self.
He put it back where he got it.
He pulled the hardness back over him.
His armor. Best to keep it on at all times. You never knew when you were going to need it. Sometimes you pull it away, just to let your skin breathe for a moment. But you never stop needing your armor. Not when you’re in the middle of a war.
Lee couldn’t afford to take it off.
Not yet.
Lee wasn’t even sure why he’d thought up that memory of a memory.
Perhaps wondering what had put him on the long, and violent road, right to the shadowed, death-filled valley that he now found himself in.
