by Lexie Ray
“There isn’t time, hija,” my uncle said. “You must go now. It will all work out. You’ll see.”
We embraced one last time and Antonio led me out the door. Night had already fallen, and I shivered, gripping my love’s hand tighter. We did not, under any circumstances, go out after dark, but this exception showed me the severity of the situation.
“Where are we going?” I whispered, out of breath already at our swift pace.
“To my house, first,” Antonio said. “I’ll pick up whatever money I can. Then we’ll catch a bus.”
“What bus?” I asked. “Where to?”
“As close to the border as we can get,” he said grimly, opening the door to his grandmother’s house and pulling me inside. “Abuela?”
Antonio wasn’t honest with his grandmother about where we were going, but I couldn’t blame him. He just hadn’t wanted to worry her unnecessarily. Sure, fleeing the country in the middle of the night because a gang member had expressed interest in me was something to worry about, but it was our problem to deal with.
My problem, really.
“Antonio, wait,” I said, grabbing his arm as he stuffed some clothing into a backpack, just as I’d done at my own house.
“We can’t waste any time, Sol,” he said, squeezing my hand before extricating himself from my grip. “I don’t think Raul remembers where I live, but it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out.”
“I don’t think you should come with me,” I said quickly. “This isn’t your problem. It’s mine. You have your abuela to take care of, and I don’t want you to ruin everything you’d hoped for, all your plans to fix Honduras, just to protect me. I don’t want to be the person who squashes your dreams.”
Antonio took my face in his hands and kissed me. “Sol, my dreams are worth nothing without you. I never imagined them coming true without you by my side. I have to protect you, keep you safe, or I’d never forgive myself. It’s ridiculous to think that I’d let you go to America without me, you know. I’m not going to let you drive your new Ferrari without me.”
I had to laugh at the childish imaginings of the riches of America that awaited us. “My Ferrari and your dude ranch. I remember. Do you still want to be a cowboy?”
“I will be anything if it means I get to be with you,” he said. “Now, come on. We can’t stay here a second longer.”
We stuck to the shadows as we made our way to the bus station, which wasn’t hard to do. Most of the streetlights were burned out, and no one bothered to replace them. We slid in and out of alleys, stepping over piles of garbage that overflowed from the cans that lined the pavement. This country turned into something different entirely once the sun went down, and I’d always been warned to stay indoors.
There was a sharp, repeated rap of gunfire behind us, in the distance, and for the first time, I wondered if it was coming for me.
“Almost there,” Antonio kept chanting quietly. “Almost there.” I didn’t know who he was trying to comfort — himself or me.
But by the time we got to the station, the last bus had left. We’d hurried, but we hadn’t been quick enough.
“Shit,” Antonio mumbled. “We can’t stay here. It’s not safe. We have to go.”
“But where?” I asked, uncomfortable at the nearly deserted station. “Are we just going to walk all the way out of Honduras?”
“We’ll keep moving until morning,” he said, resolute. “I’d say that we could use our money for a taxi, but it’s a long way to America, Sol. We’re going to need everything we have.”
It was a nightmare to drift through the city, slipping down one long alleyway after another, afraid of what we’d find behind the trash bins. For the most part, we went unmolested. There were droves of homeless people, and they liked to keep to themselves.
“Are you pimping her, boy?” an old man asked, pointing a crooked finger at me. “How much?”
Antonio hurried me away, not bothering to respond. We tried to stay away from anyone. Any person who was out in the streets this late at night had no business doing so. There was nothing good out here at this hour.
By the time the bell tolled five in the morning, I was exhausted, my feet dragging. Antonio had to cajole me from doorway to doorway, prod me to keep going. I wanted to quit, to give up, to just sit down and sleep for a while. I’d run out of adrenaline long ago, and now I was just tired.
“The buses will be running again,” he said. “Let’s go back to the station.”
It wasn’t until we were in our seats, the bus rolling down the street and on its way toward the border with Guatemala that Antonio allowed me to sleep.
“We’re safe now,” I murmured to him, snuggling up against his shoulder. “Rest.”
“I’ll stay awake while you sleep,” he said, his face determined. “That’s the best way.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue with him, and slept nearly to Guatemala. Antonio had stayed doggedly awake, his face pinched with exhaustion.
“You should’ve woken me up,” I said, feeling guilty. “Really. I slept for hours.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll sleep now.”
It was scary to be our eyes and ears, scary to scan the rest of the passengers and wonder if any of them meant us harm. I was the one in charge of our safety as Antonio rested. But at the same time it was exciting to see places I’d never witnessed before. I had never seen the entirety of Tegucigalpa, let alone all of Honduras. I knew I should feel sad for leaving it. It was the only home I’d ever known. But we hadn’t had a choice. We’d had to flee or face the consequences of crossing MS-13. I thought about my uncle and cousin. I hoped they were all right, and that Raul would leave them alone.
“Hey.”
I looked behind me to see another boy and girl sitting behind us. I didn’t remember seeing them board the bus. Perhaps they’d picked different seats to begin with.
“Can I help you?” I asked. They were several years younger than Antonio and me.
“Where are you going?” the girl asked.
“On a trip,” I said, deliberately vague. “It’s my first time out of the city.”
They exchanged a glance. “Ours, too.”
The boy leaned closer. “They told us not to wear our school uniforms near the border. The soldiers are stopping the buses and pulling all the kids off.”
My blood ran cold. “Why would they do that?”
“Lots of kids are leaving,” the boy said. “Parents are sending them away. They say they’ll let you stay in America, if you can just make it there. But the government knows it looks bad that all the kids are leaving, so they’re trying to stop us.”
“Have you done this before?” I asked, wondering just how he got all his information.
“My brother did,” the girl volunteered. “He said it was hard.”
“Thanks for the tip about the uniform,” I said. “We’ll change right now.”
“We were wondering,” the boy spoke up. “Do you want to travel together? We can say that we’re your little brother and sister. Or cousins, or something.”
I smiled. “I think that would be a good idea. Power in numbers, right?”
“We can tell the soldiers when they stop the bus that we’re visiting relatives in Guatemala,” the girl said, her voice small. “Are you going all the way to America?”
“All the way,” I confirmed, nodding. Being strong for these kids gave me strength. I slipped off to the bathroom and changed into a pair of street clothes. When I returned, I made Antonio do the same.
“This is the border,” he said, coming back just as the bus was slowing down. “I can see the soldiers up ahead.”
The bus came to a complete stop and the doors popped open. One man in fatigues toting an enormous rifle stepped aboard, then another joined him. They picked their way down the aisle, peering at all of the passengers. They stopped when they reached our row, and Antonio wove his fingers through my hand. I tried not to tremble, tried to stay
natural.
“Why are you frightened?” the soldier asked, looking at me. “Something to hide?”
“Her father was gunned down in front of her,” Antonio said, putting his arm around me and drawing me away from the soldier. “Rifles frighten her.”
The soldier looked at me until I hid my face against Antonio’s shirt.
“And you?” he asked. “What’s the story with you two? Aren’t you a little too young to be traveling without your parents?”
I realized he was addressing the kids behind us. I made a move to speak up, to tell the soldier the story we’d agreed on, but Antonio grabbed my head, mashing my face into his chest so I couldn’t say a word. What was he doing?
“We’re with our cousins,” the boy said, his voice shaking. “We’re going to visit our family in Guatemala.”
“What city?” the soldier asked.
The boy stuttered a couple of times. “Guatemala City.”
“Not in the middle of the school year, you’re not,” the soldier said briskly. “Up, both of you. Off of the bus.”
“But these are our cousins,” the boy said, just as the girl burst into tears. “Tell him, primos. Tell him.”
“Are these your cousins?” the soldier asked Antonio. He still had my face pressed tightly against his front in the guise of comforting me.
“Never seen them before in my life,” Antonio said casually. “I think they’re runaways.”
“Thought so,” the soldier muttered. “That’s it. Let’s go, you two. Little liars.”
The girl’s crying gradually faded away, but Antonio didn’t let go of the back of my head until the bus was rumbling forward, crossing the precarious border into Guatemala.
“What the hell is your problem?” I demanded, short of breath. “I told those kids we’d help them. Why didn’t you let me try to help them?”
“Right now, all we can do is try to help ourselves,” Antonio said, his face serious, his jaw set. “That’s all we can do, Sol. We have to make it. We can’t give our time or strength or money to others. We can’t put ourselves at risk for anyone except ourselves. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand,” I declared. “Why do we have to turn our backs on people who need help just because we’re leaving Honduras? Why do we have to be bad people?”
“We’re not bad people,” Antonio sighed. “It’s just … those kids were going to give us away. They weren’t prepared.”
“We’re not prepared,” I said.
“No, but we’re going to be smarter than everyone else,” he said. “This bus goes all the way to Mexico, and then we’re going to face the worst of it.”
“You’re talking about La Bestia,” I said, barely suppressing a shudder.
“That’s right,” Antonio said. “The Beast. We get on that, and we have a free ride almost to border with America.”
“And if we fall off, we die,” I said. “Or we lose a leg. Or an arm.”
“We won’t fall off,” he said. “We’re going to take turns sleeping all through Guatemala, and we’re going to be stronger than anyone on that train. We’re going to do this, Sol.”
I wanted to believe him. I still just couldn’t believe that he’d tossed those kids to the wolves so casually. It made me wonder if there was a part of Antonio I didn’t know. I never would’ve thought him capable of doing such a thing.
It was the next morning when we finally reached the border with Mexico, and there was a river to cross.
“Be natural,” Antonio urged as we disembarked, wearing our backpacks. “Try to blend in.”
It wasn’t hard. Nearly everyone on the bus was looking for a way across, a way into Mexico. Once you were in Mexico, you just had to make it to the train. That was what we believed.
“We can swim the river,” Antonio said, gauging its flow.
“What about the guards on the other side?” I asked. “The soldiers?”
“They can’t catch all of us,” he said. “Come on! Run!”
A massive surge of people were fording the river, swimming in the deep part in the middle and emerging on the other side, dripping but victorious, vanishing into the dense tree line. The Mexican soldiers were picking off who they could, arresting them and putting them in zip ties, but Antonio was right. The immigrants outnumbered the soldiers, and it was just a short swim across.
“Don’t let go of my hand!” he yelled as we splashed into the river. “Whatever you do, don’t let go!”
An old woman fell beside me — why was she making this journey? She cried out in pain and I tried to stoop down, tried to hoist her back to her feet so she wouldn’t get trampled by the sheer number of people pressing across the river.
“Don’t stop for anything!” Antonio roared at me, and I gasped and let myself get yanked along.
“She might drown!” I yelped, my feet searching for purchase. This was the part where you had to swim for it.
“So might you, if you let her drag you down,” Antonio gulped, yanking me along with him as he struggled to stay afloat.
We weren’t prepared for this. There were other ways across, I imagined. But the opportunity was so hopeful that we had to seize it, had to make a try for it.
We made it through the tree line without incident, the soldiers too preoccupied with the people they could catch rather than us.
But where was the train?
What followed could be best described as a nightmare, a march through the jungle, through tall grasslands, along winding roads, diving out of the way the moment we saw a vehicle. There was no one around, no one to so much as consider trusting, and nights tumbled into days.
“Where is the train?” Antonio mumbled. “A town. Anything.”
We were hungry, picking what we could from trees we came across. Each step opened and reopened blisters and sores on my feet, given to me by my wet shoes. They were long dry, but they’d shrunk to my foot. Walking was torture, but it was necessary.
Where was the train?
We felt it before we heard it the first time, the ground rumbling beneath us. We’d been walking north, the only way that made sense to us, and we had to have somehow been parallel to it for some time. The ground shook beneath us, and the whistle split the air.
“Hurry,” Antonio urged me.
We dashed through the trees and bushes until we found it, The Beast itself, lumbering down the tracks. Its slowness was deceptive. We would either have to run and jump on, or follow the tracks to catch up to it for its next stop. I didn’t know if I could do that. I was so tired.
“If we catch it now, we’ll ride it almost all the way to America,” Antonio said, breaking out into a run. “Come on, Sol. We can do this!”
There were so many people atop each car. They had done it. They had climbed upon this ride to life. I could, too, couldn’t I? I was young. I was journeying to a new life. I could do this.
Antonio grabbed a ladder and hoisted himself up. He turned and offered his hand to me, but I couldn’t catch up. I was too weak.
“Get the next car, the next ladder, coming up behind you!” he shouted, pointing. “Look!”
It was going so fast, and I was running as best I could. It slipped from my grasp, and I stumbled. The Beast would get me. It wanted me. It wanted blood. But then a hand locked on my arm, yanking me up the ladder. Other hands seized my backpack, my shoulders, the belt loops of my pants, anything they could get a purchase on. I was too tired to scream, too tired to wonder if I was dying, if I was dead.
“We almost lost you,” a man said, patting my head.
“You saved me,” I said faintly.
“Oh my God.” Antonio had found his way back to where I was. “Oh my God.”
“They saved me,” I repeated as he gathered me into his arms and held me.
“We can’t thank you,” Antonio said. “I don’t know how to. You saved her life.”
“Sometimes, you just help when you can,” the man said, shrugging, and I couldn’t help but think about
the two kids on the bus.
You helped when you could.
We slept in shifts atop that monstrosity, careful when soldiers got near, careful when any of us got too close to the edges. When we did reach the border, we hired a raft to take us across, slipped undetected into the hard brush of America. I thought it would be different. Grander, somehow. People were turning themselves in to the border patrol agents along the border, saying that the simple act was all you had to do to be accepted into America, but we didn’t believe it. We kept to the shadows, picking our way from tree to tree until we found a road, then a city, then a bus station.
Our American dream had started out a nightmare, but when we woke up in Miami, fresh with excitement over the new identities we would don, it felt like something was really going to change. Who could’ve known to tell us that poverty in America was just as real as poverty in Honduras?
Chapter 6
It would’ve been nice to land another escorting gig, to help me on the way to the ransom money, but something about taking on new customers after the evening I’d had with Xander felt wrong. What we’d shared was special, way beyond the kind of pretend intimacy that escorts and their customers sometimes shared.
Instead, I kept returning early to the club and staying late, cleaning and dancing and flirting my way toward the insurmountable sum I’d been given.
It would’ve been nice to hear from Xander, but I didn’t. He knew where I worked, but he hadn’t shown up, not for another date. I understood that perhaps he’d woken up and decided that once had been enough. I’d been expensive for him, and he’d poured his heart out to me. It made sense to me that he probably wanted some distance. A man could be strange after confiding in a woman — particularly if he didn’t know her very well.
I thought about him too much. I realized that. I understood that I had a fascination with him that went beyond the professional, and I figured that it was because I had too much time on my hands. Even with the extra shifts at the club, there wasn’t much more Parker could throw my way, and I found myself unable to sleep much at night. I would be out wandering the city in the long hours before the club opened up for the day.
