Take

by Pam Godwin

  She kept two-hundred dollars, stuffing the bills into her back pocket, in case she needed it on the drive home.

  Then she left.

  Taking the shortest route to the U.S. border, she itched to hit the gas and speed as fast as the Jeep would go. But she forced herself to drive the speed limit and keep a low profile through the rougher parts of the city.

  Signs of violence and strife haunted every corner. Roadside memorials, flowers, and lit candles marked sites of death. Young men gathered under awnings, buying and selling drugs. Girls, too young to be out after dark, solicited sex on every street.

  These people were survivors. She didn’t judge them, but she also didn’t trust them.

  She didn’t trust the local police, either.

  The Mexican military had been brought in to put a stop to the cartels and the drug war. But they were all part of the corruption.

  Everyone and anyone could’ve been a target. If a police officer decided to pull her over, she would be completely at his mercy.

  As she drove through the heart of the city, she spotted a sedan with tinted windows in the rear view mirror a few cars back.

  Was that the same sedan that was behind her when she left Vera’s house? Her pulse sprinted into a gallop.

  Stop it. You’re just being paranoid.

  Following the GPS on her phone, she veered down a side street.

  The sedan turned with her.

  Her heart thrashed in her ears, and a hot lump formed in her throat.

  Why would anyone trail her? She was a nobody school teacher from Phoenix, driving a worthless hunk of metal.

  She turned down another road to see if it would follow. When it didn’t, she released a heavy breath.

  “Oh, thank fuck.” She wiped a clammy palm on her jeans. “Jesus, Tula. Way to get yourself all worked up over noth—”

  A car flew out of the intersection in front her and slammed on its brakes.

  She skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding a collision with it.

  Blinking rapidly, she pulled herself together and took in the car.

  Another black sedan with tinted windows.

  Dread hardened her stomach, and a chill tingled across her scalp.

  What the hell was going on?

  The sedan blocked her path and didn’t attempt to move. The doors didn’t open, and the window tint concealed the occupants.

  Alarms fired inside her, her instinct screaming to go, go, go.

  She shoved the Jeep into reverse just as a huge military truck appeared over the hill straight ahead.

  Mexican soldiers in helmets, green uniforms, and sunglasses jogged alongside the armored vehicle. They gripped assault rifles and machine guns and headed directly toward her.

  She gulped for air, her fingers frozen on the stick shift.

  Had she driven right into a battle zone? Or was something going down in the one of the buildings behind her?

  With the gear shift in reverse, she glanced at the rear view mirror.

  Another sedan sat behind her, barricading her.

  No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

  She eased out of reverse and dropped her phone into her purse. Hooking the strap over her shoulder, she gripped the pepper spray, prepared to run on foot.

  Until the soldiers swept in around the Jeep and raised their rifles.

  “Get out!” The man beside her door tapped his machine gun against the window. “Now!”

  They were here for her? Why? What did she do wrong?

  She dropped the pepper spray and held up her hands, her entire body trembling as she twisted toward him.

  Apparently, she moved too slow, because he yanked the door open and wrenched her out with his gun in her face.

  In a blur of uniforms, she was pushed against the hood of the Jeep, face down with her feet kicked apart. They pawed through her pockets and dug through her purse while other soldiers held her in place.

  Her palms slicked with sweat, and adrenaline coursed through her system, shutting down her ability to think clearly.

  “What’s going on?” she asked in Spanish, her heart pounding painfully. “What do you want?”

  “Petula Gomez?” A soldier shoved her passport in her face.

  “Only my mother called me Petula.”

  “Gomez?”

  “Yes.” Ice trickled down her spine. “Why are you asking?”

  The man tossed her I.D. into her purse. “Arrest her!”

  It happened so fast. One minute, she was bent over the hood of her Jeep. The next, she lay in the cargo hold of an armored vehicle with her arms handcuffed behind her.

  Soldiers sat around her, guns in hands, faces stern, refusing to answer her questions.

  Terror attacked her in waves, chattering her teeth and locking her joints. She couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t catch her breath. She was afraid for her life.

  The truck rumbled into motion, and her heart wanted to rush out of her chest. She’d been pulled into something really bad, and she had no clue where she was going or what would happen when she arrived.

  She traveled five or ten minutes before the vehicle stopped. Cruel hands yanked her out of the truck. When she stumbled, a fist swung from behind her and punched her across the face.

  Stunned to the pit of her stomach, she gasped through the pain and swallowed down bile.

  Another strike hit her tail bone, and she staggered forward, trying to remain upright with her wrists shackled.

  Rather than letting her walk on her own, two soldiers dragged her by her arms and hair into an unmarked building.

  “Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything!” Her breathing came in frenzied bursts. “Where are you taking me?”

  The butt of a gun rammed into her back, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her to her knees.

  She cried out and bit her tongue in the agony. “Please, just give me a second.”

  She’d been speaking Spanish the whole time and knew they understood her. They just didn’t care.

  Hoisted to her feet before she was ready to stand, she tried to keep her legs beneath her as they ruthlessly hauled her down a dark hallway.

  After a few dizzying turns, they wrenched her into a concrete room.

  A man stood beside an old metal table with peeling paint. He wore the same green uniform as the soldiers, except his was decorated with colorful ribbons and gold medallions.

  She didn’t need to see the merits to sense his superiority. It wafted from his stiff posture, raised chin, and hard brown eyes. A trim beard outlined his squared jaw and thin lips, accentuating his dominance.

  A tremor skated through her, stealing her voice. This man was evil. Rotten to the core.

  One of the soldiers removed her handcuffs while the other tossed her purse to the officer, along with her passport.

  The officer studied the I.D. and gave her a clinical once-over. “Remove your clothes.”

  “What?” Her stomach collapsed, and she clutched the neckline of her t-shirt, holding it tight. “Why?”

  “Rápido!”

  His roaring outburst stopped her heart. She couldn’t make her hands move. Every part of her froze up in fear.

  Did they intend to strip search her? Where were the female soldiers? She didn’t remember the law well enough to understand her rights.

  A fist slammed into the side of her head, and she collided with the nearby wall. Her skull throbbed. Her eyes burned with tears, and that was when she realized the ugly truth.

  There was no law here. No justice. No defense for the innocent.

  This was military corruption.

  “I’ll give you one chance.” The officer clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s up to you if you want to live or die.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed her modesty. Then she removed her sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt. When she met his cold eyes, she wore only her bra and panties.

  The impulse to wrap her arms around herself made her twitch. But she kept her hands a
t her sides and pushed her shoulders back, despite the ungodly terror twisting up her insides.

  “Where is Hernandez?” He paced a circle around her. “Garcia?”

  “I…I don’t know what you’re—”

  He gripped her jaw and yanked it upward at a painful angle, putting his bearded face in hers. “Where’s Cortez?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about! I live in Arizona. I’m just a school teacher. I don’t know anyone by those names!”

  “Okay.” He released her and stepped back.

  Did he think she was Vera? How deeply had her sister entangled herself with the cartel? Deep enough to fall into the sights of the Mexican military?

  If this was a case of mistaken identity, Tula couldn’t exactly point that out and send them after Vera. She came to Mexico to protect her sister, not get her arrested. There had to be another way.

  “I gave you a chance, and you turned it down.” He nodded at the soldiers behind her.

  “Wait! Let me call someone.”

  Who? Who the hell would she call? Her boss? A fellow teacher at work? She didn’t have friends or family. No one could bail her out of this.

  She was completely on her own.

  The two uniforms grabbed her arms and aggressively wrestled her to the table, bending her over the surface with her chest pressed against the cold metal.

  In the next breath, her panties were ripped away, leaving behind an ice-cold quake of horror.

  This didn’t feel like a strip search. It was sexual assault.

  “Let me call a lawyer!” She bucked against their hold, terrified and exposed with her bare butt in the air. “I have the right to an attorney!”

  Hands slammed her face down as the other man shackled her arms to the table legs.

  Behind her, it sounded like two pieces of metal were being tapped together. Whatever that was shot violent tremors down her legs.

  She craned her neck and glimpsed a metal rod in the officer’s hand. A wire dangled from it, and she followed the end to where it plugged into the wall.

  Fear crashed down upon her, sitting over her mouth and nose and crushing her chest. A trickle of air slipped through, just enough to keep her organs functioning, but it was crippling, suffocating.

  Boots kicked her feet farther apart. Handcuffs tethered her arms to the table. Then she felt fingers. Frigid bony digits, separating her butt cheeks and the tender tissues around her vagina.

  Before she could scream her objections, the metal rod penetrated her rectum in one brutal shove.

  A sharp, ripping burn incinerated her anus. The sound of buzzing electricity rent the air as a jarring, horrendous jolt of electrocution detonated her backside.

  The pain was so excruciating her bladder released, spilling urine down her legs. Vomit burst past her lips, and her eyeballs felt like they were exploding out of their sockets. As if every drop of life was trying to find a way to escape her body.

  She screamed until her vocal chords bled, until she couldn’t draw air into her lungs. Snot bubbled from her nose, and tears soaked her face, sticking her hair to her cheeks and mouth.

  The torture was never-ending, striking flames through her anal cavity, over and over. Fifteen to twenty jolts. Five seconds each. Then he removed the rod, stabbed it into her vagina, and started again.

  Back and forth he went, reaming that metal device in and out, and frying her insides with punishing bolts of lightning.

  Time ceased to exist. Her face stuck to a puddle of vomit, sweat, tears, and snot. Her body lay wasted on the table, electrocuted to the point of death.

  She welcomed the end. Willed it to take her from the torment. Yet her heart kept beating. Her lungs continued to suck air. Her body wouldn’t die.

  Then the buzzing din of static stopped, and the room fell quiet.

  A hand stroked over her head, petting her hair. “Are you ready to talk now?”

  “Stop.” Saliva leaked from her mouth, her voice raw and ruined. “Please.”

  She didn’t have enough energy to lift an arm. Her throat throbbed from screaming and dry heaving. It even hurt to blink.

  “We’re going to annihilate La Rocha cartel.” His hot breath brushed her face. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a small-time player. You need to start talking.”

  “I don’t know anyone in any cartel. I’m. Just. A teacher.”

  Why were they doing this? Why did they want to hurt her so badly? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “My name is Petula Gomez from Phoenix, Arizona. Please believe what I’m saying. You have the wrong person.”

  “You want more?” He patted her cheek. “Okay. I’ll give you more.”

  He rammed the rod into her ass and resumed the electrocution.

  Her mind flirted with the edge of unconsciousness, and she reached for it, needing the comfort it would give her. But her awareness hung on, refusing to burn out.

  Hours passed. Maybe days. It felt like several lifetimes came and went before they unlocked the handcuffs and kicked her onto the floor.

  She lay where she landed, crumpled on her side, unable to move. Silent tears escaped her eyes. Drool tickled her lips, and perspiration clung to her naked skin.

  The shaking in her limbs was unbearable, every inch of her drenched in a cold sweat. The pain, the shock, the unholy fear—it gathered in her core and vibrated outward like a jackhammer.

  She couldn’t escape it, couldn’t silence the torment.

  Voices sounded from the hallway, and she cracked open an eye.

  Three men stood just outside the room—the officer and two unfamiliar soldiers—staring at her passport.

  “She doesn’t know anything.” The officer handed off the I.D. “She’s not the woman.”

  She tried to reach out an arm, form a word, or do something to get their attention. She needed to tell them to call an ambulance.

  But they turned and walked away.

  The edges of her periphery closed in, shrinking her vision until nothing existed.

  She blacked out.

  When she woke, the first thing she sensed was the clothing against her raw skin. Someone had redressed her.

  The surrounding space felt bigger, more open.

  She opened her eyes to a new room, this one filled with a dozen or so people. She lay on the cement floor against a wall. Handcuffs shackled her to a bench beside her head.

  They weren’t letting her go?

  Her chest tightened, her panic deep and internal. The agony between her legs would’ve made her sob if she’d had the strength to do so. She didn’t have enough life in her body to move a muscle.

  But she could shift her gaze, and as she looked down, she registered a large amount of drugs in a bag at her feet.

  “We apprehended an American.” Her torturer stood a few feet away, addressing the room with his hands folded behind him. “Petula Gomez attempted to traffic fifty kilograms of marijuana into the United States.”

  Her stomach bottomed out.

  She had never touched an illegal substance. Never been associated with drugs in any way.

  She was being framed.

  Incapacitated beyond exhaustion, her body tried to sink back into oblivion. She fought it, desperate to understand what was happening.

  Questions were tossed out by people in the room, and at the edge of her awareness, she sensed the sounds of a flashing camera. A news reporter?

  She was too scared, too far out of it to comprehend. Everything inside her felt like it was slowly dying.

  Consciousness slipped in and out. When she woke again, two soldiers were loading her in the rear of the armored vehicle, subjecting her achy eyes to the bright sunlight.

  It was morning.

  Her heart lurched. An entire evening had passed.

  They’d confiscated her purse, phone, and identification. All she had was the clothes on her back.

  A twenty minute drive transported her toward a terrifyingly familiar part of Ciudad Hueca. She knew exactly wher
e they were taking her before the barbed wire walls appeared through the truck’s tiny windows.

  Jaulaso.

  The most violent prison in the nation.

  The living conditions in Jaulaso were so dangerous and inhumane, there had been several attempts to shut it down. And like many prisons in Mexico, male and female inmates cohabited within its walls.

  Her chances of surviving in Jaulaso was zero. Especially as an American woman with no connections of any kind. She wouldn’t make it the first night without getting raped.

  Adrenaline returned to her body, energizing sore muscles and injecting life into her blood. Her heart pumped harder, and her hands clenched in the shackles.

  By the time the soldiers dragged her into the crowded halls of the prison, she had enough strength to walk on her own.

  The man who booked her led her into a small room with a table and two chairs. He left her there alone, without an explanation or a fuck you.

  Shivering on the verge of hysteria, she huddled into the metal chair and tried to make sense of what was happening.

  Mistaken identity?

  That must’ve been the reason for her arrest. The military had followed her from Vera’s house. She and Vera were only two years apart in age. They shared the same last name, black hair, brown eyes, slender build, and golden complexion. They looked similar.

  She couldn’t blame her sister. It was the Mexican military that arrested Tula. When they realized she didn’t know anything, they covered up their mistake by framing her.

  She was in Jaulaso because of corruption.

  What happened to her last night was something she couldn’t process right now. She compartmentalized it, shoved it all down and out of reach.

  The coldness inside her, the deadened sensation in her brain, and her inability to react or function normally…. She was in a severe state of shock. Even as she knew this, she struggled to snap out of it.

  Her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall, and she attempted to calculate the time line since she’d crossed the border. How long had she been unconscious?

  The sandpaper feel of her tongue suggested dehydration, but hunger pangs hadn’t set in yet.