Samantha looked down on her and her lower lip began to quiver slightly. Lines formed on her forehead, a tear formed in the corner of her right eye and rolled to the bridge of her nose. "We can't. It's better if we stay with them."
"I don't get you, Samantha. After what that skinny pendejo Marcos did to you, you still say that? You're not one of them. Leave. Now," Lozen said.
"Maybe I am one of them. Maybe I don't want to leave. I'll be big time. Big time."
Lozen whispered her answer. "You're brainwashed, you know it? They won't be able to do anything to us. We'll be gone."
Chase groaned again, louder than before, and his eyelids fluttered open. "Where..." he said. "What the...help me out, Lozen."
Samantha, from above Chase, whispered, "Lozen. Help him. He's not your enemy. He's just doing his job, you know. Like you. Like me. He don't want to hurt nobody."
Lozen whispered in reply, "Don't want to hurt me? That's all they've done for two years. I've got to go, Samantha. I can't let these people own me like this. I'd rather die." She turned and scrambled over Serio's lifeless body. Chase raised his head off the airbag, which had deflated slightly, and said, "Help me get out of here."
"Come on, Samantha. You've got to get away from them."
"I won't, Lozen. I can't."
Lozen ducked her head back through the passenger door and reached inside, extending her arm into the van. Samantha reached between the seats and held Lozen's hand in hers.
"Come on," Lozen said.
"We can't. I can't."
"I can't stay, Samantha. I've got to go."
From behind her, Napolita said, "Hurry. Chase is waking up. Let's get out of here."
Lozen pulled her hand from Samantha's, turned around and exited the van. Napolita grabbed her upper arm and pulled her uphill, toward the road. The two girls crawled up the sandy, gravelly bank until they reached the top.
The driver's door flopped open and bounced once until it rested. Chase spilled out and looked up.
"Where you going?" he said. He swung his feet around until they hit dirt, then stood up.
Lozen and Napolita ran back toward The Chuckwagon, about 200 yards away to the west while Lozen held Napolita's shirt sleeve. The sun was aligned with the right side of the little building, just above the horizon, and the two girls ran toward it. As they approached it, Chase emerged from the ditch and swiveled his head left and right until he saw their outlines in the sun. He shielded his eyes with his right hand and followed them, first at a walk but after a few steps he broke into a trot.
In the bottom of the ditch, Samantha emerged from the passenger side door and stood up on the bottom of the ditch.
As the seconds passed and Chase quickly recovered from the shock of the accident, his speed increased. Lozen stopped and looked backwards. Napolita's shirt sleeve pulled out of Lozen's grip and she stopped about ten feet away.
"What are you doing? Run!" Napolita said to her. She looked back at Chase, who was lit orange by the setting sun and trotting toward them.
"No," Lozen said. "I can do this." She turned west, toward the sun, and bowed her head.
"Come on," Napolita said and pulled on her shirt. Lozen did not reply. Instead, a hum rose from her throat, her feet began tapping the ground rhythmically and she spun in a slow circle. In reply, the sunrays throbbed in rhythm with her feet and swirled in unison with her dance. Her humming merged into words, sung softly at first but gradually growing louder. She continued to tap the ground with her feet and spin, and then her hands raised up and floated through the air. They spun around her in the opposite direction and a glow outlined her skin.
When Chase had closed to within 50 yards, the glow around Lozen grew in intensity, then blinked out as the sun dropped below the horizon and darkness dropped onto them. Suddenly the two girls, Chase, Samantha, The Chuckwagon, the broken van, the road, the land were enveloped in a moonless, silent dark.
Lozen opened her eyes and looked at Napolita, who was staring at her, mouth open.
"Don't be afraid, Napolita. Let's go." Lozen moved toward the restaurant, holding Napolita by the hand.
Chapter 11
Chase lost the girls in the sudden darkness. He walked back to the van where he found Samantha.
"That was weird. It got dark really fast," she said as he scrambled down the embankment.
He didn't reply. When he reached the bottom, he grabbed Samantha's wrist and said, "Let's go." She followed him back to the roadway, scraping her knee on the way up.
"Hey, you don't have to drag me. I'm coming," she said. When the reached the top, she asked, "Where we going?"
"Back to that restaurant. I need to make some phone calls."
"Okay but you don't have to drag me. I'm coming."
He kept his hand firmly around her wrist as they walked along the shoulder back to the restaurant. Before they reached it, several minutes later, a single pair of headlights overtook them from behind and continued down the road.
Not until they reached the door did Chase release Samantha's wrist. "Go sit in a booth," he said as he pulled on the screen door. She slipped around his right side, passed through the door, and turned to a booth. Chase joined her in a minute with two plain white plastic cups of soda, sitting in the opposite side. Samantha remained silent but questioned him with her eyes. She picked up one of the cups and took a sip. As she set the cup down, she looked over at the older bearded man. He caught her glancing at her and she produced a tight-lipped smile. At that, the man raised his chin and looked at her openly before returning to his work.
Chase took out his phone and looked up rental car companies. For five minutes he tapped and wiped the screen, occasionally cursing when the signal was dropped. At one point he dialed a number but received no answer, hung up, and tried the number again, then continued his web search for rental cars. "We really picked a bad spot to have a wreck," he finally said.
"What about Serio?"
"I'm taking care of that," he said. "There's no answer at The Taurus. We'll have to try them later."
"You sober up fast, don't you?" Samantha said.
"Always have. Nothing like running in to a ditch to clear your head." He stood and walked to the register. "Is there any way to get a ride to Salt Lake City?" The teenager, Steve, who was taking a stack of cups out of its wrapper, looked at the older man who was at the sink.
"Not really," the older man said. "You might try Wendover. He used to run people to the airport but that was a few years ago."
"Wendover? He live around here?"
"Yeah. Just up that gravel road," the man said, jerking his head to the left toward the back of the building.
Chase raised his phone and started tapping. "Wendover? Do you know his first name?"
"Reg. Reginald."
"Reginald P. Wendover?" Chase asked, looking at the screen.
"That's it."
Chase returned to the booth and sat back down. Samantha was holding her cup with both hands, as if trying to warm her hands. Chase dialed the number still displayed on his phone. Samantha listened to half the conversation.
"Mr. Wendover?"
Chase stared at the back of Samantha's seat while Wendover replied.
"We're at the Chuckwagon. I got your name from the owner. He said you run, ran, a shuttle to the Salt Lake City airport?"
Chase shook his head and continued to stare.
"Any chance you can give us a ride tonight?"
Chase's expression changed to confusion.
"American Idol?"
Chase pulled his phone away from his face, glanced at it, and said, "It's over in fifteen minutes, yeah? What about then?"
Chase nodded while Wendover spoke.
"We'll pay. A lot. $200 enough?"
Chase moved his eyes and stared at Samantha's cup, still sitting on the table.
"Okay, $300. You'll get us at the Chuckwagon? In 15? Okay, 20 t
hen." Chase tapped the screen and looked at Samantha, who returned his gaze but said nothing.
Chase looked back to his phone, tapped the screen a couple times, and spoke.
"Von Broughton?"
Again, Samantha only heard half the conversation. This one was clipped.
"No....Problem on the road....It'll have to be tomorrow closer to noon, maybe later...Yeah, she's with me....no way we get there at 6....So call Nancy then....Alright." Chase tapped the screen once and set the phone on the table.
"What's the big rush?" Samantha asked him.
Chase looked up and stared into her eyes. When his silence became awkward, he said, "No rush."
"Whatever you say," Samantha replied and looked down at her cup, which she still gripped in both hands.
Chase tapped his screen a few more times and raised his cell phone to his ear. "Can we get a car in a couple hours? No. Yes. Full size. A Chrysler 300? That'll work." He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his wallet, pulled a card from it, read off the numbers into his phone, and hung up. "Damn, I wish we hadn't finished that tequila," he said to himself.
They sat in silence, with Chase glancing occassionally at his phone. After about 10 minutes, he tapped the screen, raised it to his ear, and set it back down. "You ever hear of Mr. Billings not answering his phone?"
"What?"
"Nevermind. Don't go anywhere," he said, stood up, and walked to the bathroom.
Ten minutes after he returned, a man in his 70s wearing gray sweatpants, a red checked shirt, and work boots laced halfway up walked through the door. He looked at the bearded owner who said nothing but moved his gaze to Chase and Samantha's booth. Wendover stepped to them and stood over the table.
"Chase?"
"Let's go," Chase replied, slid out of the seat and stood up. He turned his head so Wendover could not see his face. With a demanding expression, he looked at Samantha and said, "Let's go." She picked up her cup and slid out. Wendover turned casually toward the door and Samantha followed. Chase walked behind her. Wendover's Oldsmobile was parked just outside the door, engine running and lights turned on.
"You're taking us in that?" Chase said.
"Sold my van. This'll have to do. Three hundred then?"
Chase pulled his wallet from his shirt pocket, pulled out three $100 bills, and handed them to Wendover.
"Fair enough. Let's go then." He opened the rear door for Samantha, who silently slipped through it and sat on the vinyl bench seat.
"Does this thing have seatbelts?"
"Probably not," Wendover said as he gently pushed the door closed, enclosing Samantha inside.
Chapter 12
Just before Chase and Samantha reentered The Chuckwagon, Lozen and Napolita ran up the gravel road that led behind the restaurant. In front of the second house they encountered, Napolita pulled on Lozen's sleeve and stopped her.
"How did you do that?" Napolita asked.
"Shhhh," Lozen said.
In a hoarse whisper, not much quieter than talking, Napolita said, "What was that? How did you do that?"
"I don't know," Lozen said. "I just did. I don't know how."
"It got dark, just like that," Napolita said.
"I told you my great grandfather had powers. He could make the night last longer. I thought maybe I could make it come sooner."
"How did you know what to do?" Napolita asked.
"I don't know. I just...did what I felt like I should."
"Did you see Serio? I think he was dead," Napolita whispered.
"I think you're right."
"Think we lost Chase?"
"He's inside that restaurant," Lozen said.
"How do you know?"
"I don't know how I know. Look," Lozen said, pointing at the back of the little wooden structure. A screen door at its rear was illuminated from the inside by a ceiling light fixture in the kitchen.
"Look at what? I don't see anything," Napolita said.
"I can. It's Chase and Samantha. He's got her."
"What's up with Samantha? She always owned those guys, like she wasn't afraid of them at all," Napolita said.
"I don't know. But..."
"But what? She should have come with us. It's like she's brainwashed," Napolita said.
Lozen said, "She is brainwashed. She's been worked since she was 12. Now she's one of them. You heard her."
"Sad, sad, sad. But nothing we can do about it now. We need to hide," Napolita said as she scanned the ground. She walked a few feet away from Lozen and picked up one of the rocks that lined the rutted driveway of the little house. A green Datsun B210 was nestled close to the house at the end of the drive, about 30 feet off the road. Napolita walked to it, looked around, raised the rock to shoulder height, and threw it against the car's rear passenger window. The rock bounced off the glass and hit the metal door on its way to the ground.
Lozen's eyes widened and she ran over to Napolita. "What are you doing?"
"We need a place to hide. I don't think anybody's home here."
For the first time since they stopped, Lozen examined the house. It had a single floor, a front door at the top of a square cement landing, and two windows to the door's left.
"You're probably right," Lozen whispered to Napolita, who picked the rock up again. She raised it over her head, to the point where her arms began to buckle, then grunted slightly as she swung it down against the same window. This time the glass caved in, scattering small diamonds on the rear seat. Napolita stuck her head through the opening, then reached through the broken window and opened the door from the inside. Her thin blue cotton shirt caught on the edge as she withdrew her arm but it did not rip. As the door opened, the light centered on the car's ceiling turned on. She opened the door wide, jumped into the back seat and spun around.
"Hurry up," Napolita said. She reached back out through the door and waved Lozen in.
Lozen jumped over her and onto the driver's side back seat. Napolita then pulled the door shut and the light went out.
"Let's just stay here a bit. Hide. Better than that truck they took us to the border in, isn't it? Remember that thing?” Napolita asked, a hint of a grin appearing on her face.
“Yeah. Cold at night. I remember that,” Lozen said. “Not even one blanket for all of us.”
“You think you can tell when Chase leaves the restaurant?" Napolita asked.
"Maybe," Lozen said. "I know he's still in there. Maybe if I can't tell anymore that means he's gone? I don't know."
"Okay. I'm gonna rest," Napolita said. Her legs were tucked underneath her and she raised herself up by her knees until she could see over the seat back. There was a black plastic garbage bag there and she opened it. "Clothes," she reported to Lozen as she pulled out handfuls of pants and shirts.
Lozen covered herself with them and Napolita continued to throw more on the seat until a small pile had accumulated. Napolita then dropped onto the seat and covered herself.
Neither girl spoke as the quiet of the neighborhood enveloped them.
Chapter 13
Slumped in the back of the Datsun and covered with a stranger's clothes, Lozen dreamed.
Why are you giving those men our money, papi?
"This is all I have here. I'll take you to the bank tomorrow and you can have everything else."
"We are taking more than your money, senor."
I don't understand those men. So mean. And yelling at my father.
Elizabeth! Why are you screaming?
"Get away from my father!"
"This little one is wild!"
Now they're laughing. Why would they laugh? Elizabeth, don't scream! "Don't put that gun against Papi's head!"
Elizabeth, what are they doing to our father?
Chapter 14
James Southerland was immensely proud of his Fleetwood Terra RV and, unbeknownst to his wife in the passenger seat or his daughter and son in the back, he w
ould sometimes recite its features as he drove. Front power dropdown queen bed, 1 1/2 bathrooms, extra large midcoach entertainment lounge with an expandable "L" sofa. Luxuriously appointed inside and out with DuPont two stage full body paint and extra large beautiful hardwood cabinetry. Yes. Expandable sofa and hardwood cabinetry, extra large, rolling down I-80 in James Southerland's rolling recreational vehicle, his extra large rolling home away from home.
These thoughts, though, were somewhat dampened as he stood watching the numbers climb, and climb and climb, on the gas pump of Jake's Gas outside Reno. The pump automatically shut off at $80 so James Southerland reinserted his credit card into the pump and started it again.
“Don't go inside without your mother,” he said to his daughter Julia Southerland, 10, and son Jeremy Southerland, 12, as they jumped out of the RV door 30 feet away and headed for the building.
“Yes, go with me,” said Jennifer Southerland, his wife.
“Mom, we always go by ourselves,” Julia Southerland replied.
“Not this time,” said Jennifer Southerland as she maneuvered her bulk down from the passenger seat and onto the pavement. At 270 pounds, it was not an easy task.
Automatic one touch leveling jacks and extra large power automatic awning. Four 2-way radios with docking port and charging station. Two extra large flat screen TVs. $90. $95. $100. “Damn,” James Southerland said under his breath. He was being extra light on the gas all morning and he still hit $100+ in gas.
As the pump mercifully stopped at $27.39, $107.39 total, a VW Cabriolet pulled up to the pump in front of the RV, blocking it in. Damn again, James Southerland thought, I might have to back this behemoth out. I knew I should have gotten the back up camera with parking assist. Except for this predicament, he paid little attention to the VW until a 300 pound naked man with bleached shoulder length hair and a swollen face emerged.
The naked man walked past the front of the RV, past Jennifer, Julia, and Jeremy Southerland, and stopped at James Southerland.
“Give me your clothes,” Bowery said.
“My clothes?” James Southerland asked. He didn't know whether this was a joke, like maybe he stumbled into a filming of Candid Camera, or whether to be afraid. He decided he better take this startling new situation seriously.
The Power to Live Page 4
