by Mark Wandrey
To the east a pair of helicopters passed going south. They were too far for her to figure out what they were or even whose. There’d been helicopters in the sky more or less constantly all morning.
She eventually decided nothing was going to happen below, and she also abandoned her interview idea. The mystery of the US soldiers south of the border would have to wait. She didn’t want to have to explain her own presence. She put the recorder away, and went back to the ATV. Mounted to the handlebar was a GoPro hero camera that would record anything she came across on the bike. A 256 gigabyte SD card would give her almost 5 hours of constant recording. She’d set an alarm on her watch when the card would be getting low. In a pocket was a metal case that held ten cards just like it. Firing up the bike, she headed south, but skirted the valley to stay out of sight of the picnickers below.
Kathy’s arms were killing her. Riding the ATV turned out to be a lot more work than she’d originally thought it would be. She worked out a couple times a week and now she wished she spent more time on her upper body. She silently cursed the free chest and arm muscles men got that she was forced to work for. She cleared the opposite ridge and found seemingly endless scrub desert spread out before her and reached for a water bottle. Thunder rolled across the landscape.
A jet passed overhead going from west to east. She slowed and looked up at its fast moving delta wing shape. “That’s a fighter,” she realized as she watched it angle downward as it approached the horizon. More thunder rolled from that direction. She stopped, leaving the bike to idle, and checked her GPS. McAllen was many miles in that direction, as well as a few small towns. Was there a Mexican military base out there somewhere as well? She tried accessing the web on her smartphone without thinking, then cursed at the ‘No Signal’ message. “Well, no shit, Kathy,” she admonished herself. She briefly considered the Iridium satphone in her bag. There was a few megabytes of data on it left, but as soon as it was gone it was gone. There would be no automatic recharging by GNN this time.
With nothing to the south but more desert, she made a decision and turned east. An hour later she emptied her next to last gas can and began to hope she’d come across some civilization. The desert stretched on and on.
She stopped for some lunch, Mountain House Beef Ravioli in tomato sauce. She let it sit on the ATV muffler for a few minutes, buffered by a metal sheet from a camera case. In five minutes it was almost too hot to eat. Congratulating herself on her inventiveness, she ate the tasty food and drank warm water as the sun peaked in the sky.
Her meal completed she drove until the tank was empty. Stopping to refill, she also swapped SD cards in the GoPro at the same time and looked for any signs of life. Half a can of gas was in reserve. There, on the horizon, was a line in the heat shimmers. Kathy headed towards it. She spent a lot of time weaving around cactus and rocks, taking almost an hour to come to the two lane concrete road.
“Thank God,” she sighed as the wheels came onto the roadway. Her triceps and shoulders felt like she’d rowed across the Atlantic Ocean. She turned eastward on the road and in a minute found out the bike had a fifth gear! She’d never gone fast enough to find out before that.
The road turned out to be just as endless as the desert. Though she got much farther than in the rough land, she still had to stop in another hour and carefully poured the last drops of gas into her tank. She also finished another water bottle, leaving only two more in the now hot cooler that had once held a dozen frozen bottles. For the first time, Kathy started to get scared.
She drove onward to the east hoping for some signs of life as afternoon began to stretch towards evening. Another pair of jets passed over. Then, a half hour later, a group of helicopters surprised her. They’d come in low from behind her, no more than 100 feet over the road. When they shot over her with a roar of turbine engines and deafening thrum of blades she almost crashed into the ditch.
“Shit!” she cried as she jerked the ATV off the road, first almost sliding into the ditch then nearly flipping as she over-corrected and fishtailed in the gravel. The helicopters were US Army gunships, bristling with machine guns and rockets. They were two-seated, front and back, and looked vaguely insectoid to her. As the last pair flew by, Kathy had a perfect view of the helmeted man in the back seat of the final chopper, his head turned and regarding her as it flew past.
She grabbed the microphone from its clip next to the GoPro. “At least twenty helicopters, US Army. I think they’re… Indian name… Apaches, or something like that. Maybe it’s Chinook. Anyway, they’re heading east, same as I am. There’s little doubt something big is going on that way.” She thought for a minute, then stowed the mic and started up again.
It was almost an hour later as the gas gauge slipped below fifty percent and her next-to-last bottle of water was drunk that she realized there was no traffic on the road. Even in the middle of nowhere, wouldn’t there be a car or two in an hour?
She crested a low hill and found a slight downhill grade that made a twisting turn around a clump of huge boulders. “Maybe there’s a stream down there, or something,” she thought. Part of the way down she put the bike into neutral and coasted to save gas. She put it back in gear as she reached the bottom, gently banking on the turn around the boulders. And there was a gas station.
“Hot damn!” she cheered, and got a mouthful of dust for her effort. She coughed and laughed, grabbing the last bottle of water and rinsing her mouth with a good part of it. Then she downed the rest. Less than a minute later she regretted that waste.
It was obvious something was wrong at the station once she got closer. The doors stood open and no-one was in sight. At least a dozen cars were all around the two pumps and lined up almost to the road. “Petro Grande!” proclaimed the sign, and prices of $25 per liter. Damn! Then she remembered that was pesos and shook her head.
“Anyone here?” she called out as she pulled to a stop in front of the main door. It was propped open with an ancient metal milk can painted to look like a cow. “Hola?” she said, thereby expending her entire list of Spanish words. Slowly walking into the store, she found it part lunch counter, part convenience store. The shelves were partly stripped, the lunch counter had smoke curling from the grill where forgotten food was being burned to a crisp. A radio played an almost cliché mariachi band song of some sort. The station was abandoned, though it hadn’t been for long.
She walked to the cooler. The liquor section was utterly empty, and the sodas were mostly gone. However the water section was at least half full. She went back to her bike, took the keys, and brought back her cooler and backpack. She filled the cooler with half-liter water bottles, the coldest she could find, and the topped the cooler off with ice from a five-pound bag. Popping an ice cube into her mouth she crunched it and let is slowly melt, savoring the cold water dripping down her throat. Dropping the cooler into her trailer she went back in to find what else was of any use.
Her backpack was full of chips, some dip, and a half dozen cans of chili as she walked past the counter. She stopped long enough to fish out a pair of $20 bills and put them on the counter, moving a souvenir ceramic scorpion to hold them down, then headed out the door. Thunder pealed across the landscape from the east. Only, it didn’t sound like thunder now. “Crump, crump, crump,” was the echoing sound.
She moved the bike over to the pumps and tried them. The pumps just buzzed on each selection until she got to super. That gurgled, spat some gas, gurgled and spat again. But it kept doing that, discharging a few ounces each time. Kathy figured it was worth her time and kept at it. In a few minutes the bike’s tank was full. She got one of the empty five-gallon cans and continued.
The minutes ticked by and Kathy finished the first five-gallon can and grabbed another. When that one was half-full the spurts became more intermittent. When it was just a bit short of full, no more gas came out. She carefully turned off the pump and returned the nozzle, noting how much the total sale was and deciding she’d already left enough money
on the counter. She strapped her cooler back in place and stowed the backpack full of snacks she’d gotten and went to climb on the bike. Her head came up as she heard a massive “CRUMP!”
That was an explosion, she realized. All of those had been explosions.
Past the station in the direction she’d been heading the distance reverberated with the deep ‘crump, crump, crump’ of more exploding bombs. She’d been to Fallujah, she knew that sound only too well. “Oh shit,” she cursed herself for not remembering how it sounded. Suddenly the thunder she’d heard earlier became infinitely more ominous in her mind’s eye, as did the choppers and all the planes she’d seen. “Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed as she did a quick check on how the bike’s load was secured. She’d just put her thumb on the starter when the first truck came into view.
Kathy looked around in a panic. She could run into the convenience store to hide, but that meant abandoning her bike and trailer. The curve around the boulder was almost a hundred yards away. As she was desperately thinking her options she could see the truck had a machinegun on its roof and the guy behind it was looking right at her. Any thoughts of running died on the spot, just like she feared would be her fate if she made a break for it.
The truck rumbled down the road leaving a trail of angry black diesel smoke. It seemed to be really moving for a big army truck. As it got closer she could make out the US Army markings on the hood and breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe it would just race on by. Instead though, it slowed as it approached and turned onto the isle next to where she was parked. The gunner turned to her, but left his huge weapon pointed forward. “¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?”
Kathy blinked and looked at him. “I’m sorry?” she asked.
“American?” the gunner replied in surprise. “Girl, what in the ever loving fuck are you doing here?!” He had a distinct Texas accent.
“I was on vacation,” she lied quickly. “I’m camped a few miles away.” The passenger door opened and another soldier dropped down. He didn’t give her a second look but headed right to the pump. “The gas is empty,” she said, and hoped they wouldn’t realize that she had two full cans.
“How about the diesel?” the soldier asked, his hand on the pump handle.
“I – I don’t know,” she said and patted the tank on her ATV, “it burns gas.”
He grunted and pulled out the handle, flipped on the pump and aimed the nozzle. It spurted out a noxious stream of amber liquid. “Looks good,” he said and set about pumping into the trucks sizeable tanks.
“Corporal!” the gunner called out, “check inside for civilians and supplies.”
“Yes, sergeant!” a voice called from the back. A door opened and another soldier jumped down. His boots left dark red prints in the dirt and a stream of red liquid began to pour from the back.
“What’s going on?” she asked, unable to take her eyes away from the stream.
“Look, lady,” the gunner said, “there a…disturbance down the road. You need to get back to your camp and evacuate north immediately.”
“What kind of disturbance?” she asked. There were moans from the back of the truck. She found herself moving that way, her feet operating outside of her will. The gunner was watching his man going into the store and not paying any attention to her. Likewise for the other man fueling their truck. She could hear the sound of more trucks coming down the road, and more explosions too. Someone screamed from the back of the truck.
“Corpsman,” the sergeant behind the machine gun barked, “report!”
“The Mexican LT is convulsing,” another man called out.
“I thought you said the bite wasn’t critical.”
“It doesn’t appear to be, sergeant. Just a soft tissue injury to his bicep!” There was another scream, followed by a feral snarl. “Damn it!” the corpsman yelled. “Stop it! Basta, basta!” The truck rocked as someone inside was thrown against a wall. “Sarge, help!”
“God damn it,” the gunner snapped and dropped out of sight. A second later the truck rocked again. “Corporal! Get back in here!”
The soldier that had gone into the convenience mart came running out, his arms laden down with sports drinks, and raced past her. When he got to the back of the truck he took one look, dropped his burden and leaped inside.
Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe that she was a reporter and had to know. Kathy found herself inexplicably moving towards the back of the truck. A moment later she came around the back and beheld a carnal scene out of Dante’s Hell.
The back of the truck was full of shelves that held stretchers. All of them were occupied with wounded. Some had two or three piled in them. All were ashen faced, some unmoving. Others sat and watched the three soldiers locked in a hand to hand struggle with one strong soldier dressed in a different patterned uniform. He was a beefy guy and the expression on his face could only be described as utterly insane. He had a soldier who had to be the corpsman pinned to the ground and was trying desperately to bite him. The gunner and the corporal were trying to pull him off while simultaneously also trying to avoid his snapping jaws. The gunner moved in quickly, slipping an arm around the Mexican officer’s neck and going for a choke hold. The crazed man was faster and all the gunner succeeded in doing was feeding his forearm to him.
“Fuck!” the gunner cried out as the Mexican officer bit down with enough force to tear loose a chunk of flesh. “Damn it, get him off me!”
In a flash the corporal drew his sidearm and swung it cross-body, connecting with the side of the officer’s head. The man let go of the sergeant and rolled to the rear of the transport, coming up on hands and knees, looking right at Kathy.
“Oh shit,” she said, and backpedaled. Blood and meat dripping from his lips, he screeched an inhuman sound and jumped at her. Kathy just managed to cut sideways so all his outstretched arms got was her shirt sleeve. But he got it in an iron grip. Kathy tried to pull away, almost jerking the insane officer off his feet despite his grip. Her pull turned into a spin as she desperately tried to keep him at arm’s length, the whole thing turning into a macabre ballet of death. The officer pulled at her sleeve, his jaws snapping, his hunger insatiable. Kathy screamed and her shirt tore.
The officer stumbled, looked at the half of her torn shirt in his bloody hand then threw it aside as he regained his balance and relocated her. Released from the centrifugal force of their spin, Kathy fetched up against the side of the truck, hard. The impact knocked the breath out of her and her legs collapsed. The officer came around, spotted her and made a primal snarl and he prepared to leap.
A series of thunderclaps behind her assailed Kathy’s head with enough concussive force to make her scream out and put her hands to her ears. The upper part of the man’s torso exploded with in a shower of blood and gore. What was left hit the gas stations concrete pad with a wet thud.
Several .50 caliber Browning casings clattered off the back of the truck and landed next to Kathy who was standing there, hands still over her ears and shaking almost uncontrollably. One of the rounds had missed the officer and passed through a gas pump, ricocheted off the blacktop, and punched a whole clean through the convenience store. The upper third of the officer’s chest and head lay twitching less than a foot from her feet. She shook once, leaned over, and puked all over the truck tire.
“You okay, ma’am?” asked the corporal when he came around the back of the truck. He took no real notice of the slaughtered officer who’d been trying to kill them only moments before.
“Yeah,” she said, her ears ringing, and wiped her mouth on her arm. She noticed that half her shirt was gone, exposing one breast, flecks of blood covering its curved shape. She didn’t really care.
The soldier eyed her breast for a moment, his expression somewhere between clinical and indifferent. Then he spoke “I think we have some shirts,” he offered.
“I got this,” she said and got unsteadily to her feet. The back of her head hurt too where it had struck the truck. She walked a little
stiffly over to her ATV. Taking off the shredded shirt she stood nearly naked and used it to wipe blood from her breasts and stomach as the corporal watched. He didn’t appear interested in the way a man might have been in watching an attractive half naked woman in any other situation. He only seemed to be observing. With as much of the gore cleaned off as possible, she tossed the shirt into the dirt and fished out a clean one from her pack.
“Maybe you ought to come with us,” the gunner said. He was back in his seat where he’d killed the officer, calmly applying a pressure bandage to his profusely bleeding forearm.
Kathy remembered the scene from Dante that awaited her in the back of the truck. How many other injured were there back there? Where they potentially insane like that officer? In her mind there was no doubt that what she’d just seen was connected with the recordings she’d made in Mexico only days ago. “I don’t think so,” she said. Without thinking about how the soldiers might react she retrieved her .38 Smith & Wesson and stuck it in her waistband within easy reach. “I think I’ll stick it out alone.”
The gunner watched her tuck the gun with a nod. “As you wish. Mount up, Corporal.”
“But sir?”
“You heard the woman,” he said and made a sweeping gesture with one hand. On the road another pair of trucks were pulling up. One had so many wounded some were riding the running boards. She heard screaming from the back of another.
The big truck roared to life and pulled out, the other truck pulling right in behind it. A soldier jumped down and headed towards the store. Kathy noticed that the gas pump that had been hit was smoldering and decided it was time to go.
* * *
“Fucking engineers,” Andrew Tobin growled as he entered another command into the slide-out computer screen. Flying the plane was like trying to hack the Pentagon computer networks. “We’re supposed to be pilots, not computer programmers!”
