by M C Rowley
The trek out of Pozos was easy. I had checked the map for the least rocky but unbuilt up area and navigated with ease. The whole time, Jason nor his crew appeared. I heard nothing. And the rain did not come. The sky instead sunk toward the earth, and the pressure grew and grew. The electricity in the air was tangible. It felt like a pile of tinder, ready to explode at the smallest spark. Only the rain would extinguish it, but the jealous heavens held it back.
Los Pozos tumbled down hill beyond hill of uninhabitable land, and after twenty minutes, I found the valley the map had promised, and more pertinent to my plan, the train line running right through its middle point.
The South Kansas Railway runs the entirety of Mexico´s long land, starting way up in the North and right down to the borders of Guatemala at the South.
The cargo transited regular as clockwork and according to my brief google research, a 2 km long train full of cargo passed every hour. So if I arrived as one was taking off, the longest I would have to wait was 60 minutes. 60 minutes in which Jason or his crew could find me. Being in the open was the dangerous part, I was visible from the hills where Pozos lay.
The valley was small, only ten kilometers between each sierra of hills. The ground was flat and although the land was farmland, I didn´t see a single cow or goat.
I made my way down through the fields and the train line became invisible as the horizon flattened out. I walked, one target in mind now and it felt good to be moving. And the weight I had held for the past three days was lifting a little.
After another fifteen minutes, I made it to the tracks. The part I had found had a small concrete bridge running over it allowing the only road to pass by. The surface was well used and covered in cracks and pot holes. I guessed the traffic was zero to nil. I hunkered under and looked back at the sky.
The valley was like a science experiment in a glass jar. Masses of static build up contained in a vacuum. My gaze scanned down until it met the hills of Los Pozos above, 5 kilometers away.
I felt my shoulders release tension into my back muscles and I leaned back against the concrete of the bridge, and my eyes almost closed, until I saw something in the distance.
Two headlights driving down the valley side.
The lights belonged to Jason´s Tundra.
The hills to our left were a good 10 kilometers in the distance. I had walked for an hour, and I walk fast. It was probably 4 kilometers away. If they were able to hit 50 km/h which I garnered would be the maximum on that terrain, I had about 6 minutes.
My chest ballooned with adrenalin, I stepped onto the tracks and looked north. I needed that train to come now. The tracks dissolved into a blur. Nothing. I tried to remember if the tracks had been straight here, but I couldn´t recall. If they were, there was no train less than 5 kilometers away.
I turned back toward the hills, my chest struggling to encase the pressure. The Tundra´s lights were turning and swishing as its driver navigated the rocky fields. But they were getting closer.
I had 5 minutes and no more.
I turned back to the tracks. I scanned and scanned until my eyes hurt. No train.
My heart sunk, I looked the other way. There was nothing for miles. I had nowhere to go. The Tundra might not spot me, but that would only delay them so much. I was a sitting duck in the open.
I scanned the tracks again. It was too late. I span and looked for cover besides the bridge. Nothing.
I looked back at the truck´s lights. They were getting closer. They kept moving. Getting closer and closer, and closer.
And then, a mighty foghorn sounded from the direction of the tracks. I span and looked. There was still nothing.
And then again. A train sounding its foghorn.
But I couldn´t see it.
I turned slightly, and there, not too far away, was the locomotive. I had calculated wrong, the angles had fooled me, the track did have a curve. A long one. I had been scanning the wrong part.
I began running toward the train. I kept side swiping glances to my left and saw the Tundra´s lights leveling out as it reached the valley floor. It would get faster now.
So I ran. I ran as hard as I could toward the oncoming train. Its shape was becoming clearer and clearer as it neared. It was fast too, and getting on was a problem I hadn´t contemplated yet. But I had a chance, and as long as I did, I would go for it.
I ran and ran and my legs burned as lactic acid filled my shin splints and thighs.
To my left the Tundra was more visible now. Probably a kilometer away. The train ahead, about the same.
They were coming to me, train and truck from different angles like a closing V.
I stopped running and put my hands to my knees and tried to recuperate the energy I needed to make the jump.
I breathed out hard and in harder, all the time staring at my savior. A mighty rectangular figure coming at me down the track.
I looked left. The Tundra, with two people standing in the back part, with guns.
I looked back to the train. It sounded its claxon again, and this time, the ground shuddered with it.
I looked left and the Tundra was turning to make a handbrake stop. The two figures in the back were Jason and Aronson. It span and dust plumed up as they jumped down from the back of the truck.
The train, now only 100 meters away, was flashing its powerful lights at us. The driver must have been bamboozled by the scene.
I jogged lightly toward it, and then realized I needed to jog the other way, so that I could match its momentum if I had a chance.
Jason and Aronson were running at me, guns aloft. They were shouting but I couldn´t hear.
30 seconds, 25, 20.
They started sprinting.
10 seconds away. The claxon sounded again. I´d made it.
I just needed to get on to it.
Just as Aronson and Bayer got less than ten meters from me, the train passed. In an instant, a giant wall separated us. I looked back down the track and the train must have been more than a hundred units long.
The carriages were moving too quickly. I saw no chance to grab anything, let alone jump on to it. They were flush, sheer cargo container walls.
I ran alongside it, now feeling the panic rise again. The colossus was unforgiving as it charged alongside me at tremendous speed.
I wondered if Aronson and Bayer were trying to do the same. That would be a problem. But the least of my worries now.
I stopped. I had one shot. I needed all the energy I had in reserve. I reckoned the train was moving at about 30 kms an hour. If I managed to get my speed up to half of that I could make a jump. I worked on catching my breath.
The carriages were making a hell of a noise as they passed me, and suddenly it changed. I looked back at the train and the carriages were different now. Each was an empty platform with a ladder connected to each to allow boarding.
I turned toward the train´s direction, and started running. I moved up my own gears and began pounding the dirt below my feet.
I tried to remember all the sports classes I´d taken, and lifted my knees up as high as they would go, trying to elongate my paces. My legs burned white hot. But I ran through the pain, using it like fuel on my fire. I was running faster than I had ever run in my life. Legs high, swallowing deep lungfuls of air, feed your muscles with oxygen. All those pointless PE lessons at secondary school all of a sudden made a lot of sense.
The entry ladders on each of the empty carriages passed me by and I began, in between my breaths, to count them.
1, 2, 3 4 5 Ladder. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ladder. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ladder.
As I picked up pace they got slower, 1, 2, 3, 4 ,5 6, 7 ladder.
1, 2, 3 , 4 ,5, 6, 7, 8 ladder.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ,8, 9 and ladder.
I lunged for the railing and it hit my hand hard. But I felt purchase. My arm ripped against its socket and I swung violently into the side of the moving carriage. I pulled with all my strength and my feet left the ground and flew backward, I tr
ied to pull my left arm around to the railing, and I felt the fingers of that hand grab the metal pole. I pulled my body weight upward and my feet touched floor. I was on.
My body killed with pain but I let out a wild howl. I couldn´t help it. Aronson and Jason would know what I´d done. It didn´t matter.
It was like a Sergio Leone western. And I was the cowboy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I clambered from the hissing wind to the safety of the empty train carriage and lay flat on the lumpy steel floor, spent. I rocked on my shoulder blades with the momentum of the train.
Even if Jason or Aronson had gotten onto the train too, I couldn't have done anything for ten minutes. I just lay there. I was destroyed, and my body was punishing me for the exertion.
My breathing pounded and sweat broke out all over my skin, pushing through cold pores and prickling my nerves. My leg muscles enacted their revenge upon me as they cooled and began swelling, and despite laying flat, I could move them no longer.
But the rock and tilt of the train was mollifying. Being carried made me feel like someone cared for this. Cared for Eleanor, and our son in some way.
I lay there and thought of them both and watched the gray sky drift past.
After ten minutes of rest, I dared to get up. The train rocked side to side and my muscles were doing a poor job of finding equilibrium, but steadying myself with my arms holding the safety railing I got up straight. I looked over the railing down the train.
Each carriage was connected by a meter long mechanism and it was simple enough to jump on to the next carriage. I stooped and listened for anything. Nothing. No shouting, nothing but the hum and chink and the smash of the train wheels on track.
I stayed within the same carriage but edged along the barrier rail toward the front of the train. We had picked up speed since my boarding and the wind behind me bore me flat against the handrail.
I found a small space on one of the carriage connectors that had a reserve with a seat and a little cover. I sat in it and put my head on the side. In front of me the landscape whipped by.
We were flying through the valley toward Lujano City. I thought back to the map I had looked at on Google. I guessed I would arrive in Lujano in less than an hour. There was no time to rest. It was already getting gloomy now, thanks to the heavy clouds above. And as much as they threatened, rain still did not come.
I had made two gambles. And two had come off. Two more to go.
Seeing Jason´s response to my escape helped. I comprehended the situation better now. I was important to their plan too. I wasn´t entirely sure why yet, but that was still a big piece of the puzzle I had failed to see until that morning.
Sleep began to claw away at my mind from the edge of my consciousness and I started to let my eyes close but the cold wind, and my remembering what I was to do woke me up. I was okay. I was better than okay if my hunch was right.
Only time would tell.
I sat still on the train for thirty minutes before Lujano City started sprouting up around the tracks. Small ghetto neighborhoods at first, but then larger, more developed communities.
I hunkered in the small recess I had found and pulled my knees up to my chest and got as comfortable as the setting allowed. The roll and sway of the train began to induce sleep, but I fought it. I could have killed for a cup of hot black coffee, strong and rich. My efforts had also burned up the tinned food Jason had handed out.
I looked up at the sky and the huge rolling bags of black pressure hadn´t split yet. Instead, the thick air underneath them, with us stewing in it, grew and swirled and throbbed. My head hurt and my muscles ached. I needed energy. I had found the nearest point on the map to my apartment but it would still be a trek. I had marked a reference for where I needed to jump off the train, Lujano´s bus station. As soon as I saw a sign of it, it was time to disembark.
We were in the suburbs of Lujano, so I stayed down. My clothes stank. My expensive shoes were destroyed, and I could feel a layer of muck on my skin. I promised myself a shower if I made it to the apartment. I promised myself food, and then coffee. I started to think it was implausible. Would they have the place guarded?
My third gamble.
If my hunch was right, they wouldn´t.
Empty lots floating past me started to transform into basic housing, one floor places, with concrete lawns and old cars parked in front. Lujano´s budget housing industry. They´d sell these places for less than 5,000 dollars and report them as social housing projects, only for the places to descend into social failure. It was classic Mexico. The rich make their money, reap the benefits and then abandon their own people for the second home in Cancun, or Miami.
After another ten minutes, the houses and neighborhoods became neater, and bigger. The freeways ran alongside us, threading their way through, up and over the city. We were close to my stop.
I decided to crouch, keeping my eye out for signs of the “ El Central de Camiones”. The bus station. I hadn´t been there, so had to rely on road signs I could see, or the actual place.
It wasn´t hard. The train passed around the East and then South of the city, not through it, being cargo-only, and the bus station came into view soon enough. I stood up and stumbled in the wind to the edge of the carriage.
As I looked down, the ground moved too fast to contemplate jumping at first, but I had no choice. It was better to look ahead, it seemed slower.
If I could get on this thing, I could get off.
The train began to curve and we had passed the bus station now and were moving through shrubbery again.
I braced myself and jumped.
I landed on my side and rolled. It hurt. I felt my neck get scratched as it hit dirt. I came to rest face up. I checked my body while laying flat. Grazes, but nothing broken, nothing dislocated. I breathed and watched the train pass. It felt surreal to be out. Out and about as Mexico´s most wanted man.
I lay there. The sky above so close. Rumbling and ominous.
A shadow came across my line of vision, followed by a tall dark figure. I startled and sat up onto my arms, ready for a fight.
I looked up at the man. A dirty face stared back.
And then the smell hit me. The figure stooped, and I sat up and looked at his face. It was framed by matted, short yet dreadlocked hair. His eyes were just black, almost no whites, and his nose was bulbous, like it had been broken many times in a former life, and just settled that way. His lips were blistered and cut. His skin was caked in dirt too. The smell was powerful, which, considering it overwhelmed my own stench, said a lot.
The vagabond had a collection of plastic bags tied together by a thin line of string, which was looped in and out of his arms, like a bag. He had a thick, filthy green jacket on and his trousers looked like they used to be water proof.
I figured I could run for it. He was probably not that fast. But as I began to consider my move, he spoke, in Spanish.
“Mejor que vengas conmigo, cabrón,” he said.
You better come with me
“Te ayudo,” he said.
I´ll help you.
I nodded and got to my feet. The vagabond turned and walked away from me. “Come on,” he shouted in Spanish, a coastal dialect.
I followed him from where I´d rolled off the train in the wasteland. The terrain was prickly pear bushes and lava-like rock hard mud under foot. The ground was brown, and the prickly pear plants bright green, although the dark clouds passed every few minutes and shaded them to a sickly grey. The vagabond walked with a deft touch, and I was getting good at it too.
On the outskirts of the bus station perimeter, we sauntered through the under-bush for ten minutes or so before we arrived to a small shack set up in amongst the shrubs and cactus trees. The vagabond´s hut was constructed from ancient pallets, and tarpaulin. There were three walls and each consisted of two pallets standing on end, and tied together with wraps of thin wire and rope. The vagabond had expanded the tarp over the entire camp to form a c
abin. Inside there was nothing but the dirt floor. Shelter from the storm.
He gestured for me to sit down with him inside it.
“It will rain,” he said.
I nodded.
He took one of the plastic bags from his collection and produced a tin of refried beans. Mexican ones. He took out a knife and jammed it into the side of the tin and worked it around until the lid came clean off. He then plunged the same knife into the mix and put it into his mouth, nodded, then offered the tin, knife sticking out if it, to me.
I took it and ate. It was not too bad. I gave it back and we shared it like that. Like we were brothers.
“You ain´t been on the street long, huh?” he said.
I shook my head.
“Don´t talk much?”
“No.”
He nodded. He didn´t seem bothered. From another bag, he took out a small golden bottle of liquid. It was the cheap tequila you could buy for less than 50 cents. It was made from the remnants of the agave plant, after the real tequila had been harvested, or something like that. He took a swig and passed me the bottle. I found myself almost tempted but I needed my head clear. I took the bottle but feigned a swig, keeping my lips closed enough to stop too much passing them.
I handed it back. He drank deeply, soothing his pains. I felt pity. He had helped me. I guessed he hadn´t read the news either, he didn´t seem to recognize me at all.
“Where you headed?”
I looked across the way from our position on the hill, I could see the towers in which the apartment Esteban had placed me was, and pointed.
No questions.
I looked at the apartment building. I mapped the route of getting in. The complex itself was easy, a collection of upmarket coffee shops and estate agents set into slick grey granite paving stones. The elevators to the actual apartments had security but it was lax, under the usual circumstances. If I could pass the security guard, then my fingerprint would provide access to the rest.
I couldn´t risk staying too long. And besides, Esteban´s conference was tomorrow.
