90 Miles To Freedom

by K. C. Hilton

  From the way Adelio bit his lip, from the way he blinked a little more quickly, Collin could see his friend was seriously considering the offer. He hoped with all his heart that he would accept.

  But Adelio slowly shook his head, and twisted his mouth in an apologetic smile. “What about the other people? Those that still want to go to America? What about them? Who will take them? What I do … What we do … makes a difference to so many people.” Adelio placed a hand on Collin’s shoulder and nodded seriously. “I promise that I will think about it and give you an answer soon.”

  As Adelio’s boat began moving away he yelled back over his shoulder at Collin. “I haven’t had an Italian Beef in a year!”

  “Allow me to do the honors,” Collin called back. “See you in a few days.”

  “I’ll bring the cigars and beer,” Adelio said, waving as he pulled away. “See you then!”

  Collin watched the other boat leave and was filled with hope at the possibility that in just a few short days Adelio might be boarding his boat with his bags packed, ready to move to America. He was looking forward to finally introducing Adelio to Joey and their friends.

  A humming drone from a distance jerked Collin’s thoughts back to reality and he stared out at the sea. From beyond Adelio’s boat he could see lights. It looked like two separate boats. One of them was heading towards Adelio’s boat, and it looked as if it were practically flying across the water. The other boat seemed to get faster by the second, and it was headed directly toward Collin.

  Panicked thoughts raced through Collin’s mind. Who was in the boat? Was it the Coast Guard? Had they been caught? No! The Coast Guard couldn’t be coming for them, because they had done nothing wrong. There were no Cubans on board. They hadn’t even transported anyone for a year. Stay calm, he told himself. Everything will be fine.

  But the approaching boat wasn’t slowing. He could see the profiles of men standing on deck and he squinted hard, searching for uniforms.

  “Just stay calm,” he told himself over and over again.

  It was not the U.S. Coast Guard. The boat had Cuban colors: black, red and white. And the men standing on deck didn’t look like anyone in authority, either. Collin’s stomach lurched. That meant it had to be the traffickers. The worst possibility was about to come true and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  Collin straightened, feeling a brief flash of hope. He was on the American side of the Florida Strait. That must mean he was safe. But no. Whoever was in the rapidly approaching boat either did not know, or did not care. His stomach rolled up his throat and he tasted bile.

  If Collin hadn’t been daydreaming about his day, and if it hadn’t been so dark, he might have had enough time to notice the Cuban boat, start his engine and put some distance between them. Then he could have contacted the U.S. Coast Guard for assistance. But it was too late now. The boat had already come alongside. For the first time since his parents’ death, Collin was scared. He didn’t know what to do.

  The men in the boat glared at Collin, but he didn’t say a word. What could he say? What were they going to do to him? He started to tremble, feeling deep vibrations run up and down his spine like an engine. He didn’t want the men to see he was afraid, so he clenched his fists to his sides until his knuckles turned white.

  It happened so fast. In an instant three Cuban men had leapt into Collin’s boat, and before he could say a word two of the men had grabbed his arms. A third man looked Collin straight in the eyes, drew back his right arm and balled his hand into a fist. Collin suddenly snapped out of his stupor and realized what was going to happen. His eyes widened and he struggled, trying to loosen the other men’s holds on him.

  “Wait!” Collin yelled. But the fist crashed into Collin’s face before he could say another word.

  Confusion … stars … darkness.

  Chapter 24

  Cuban Departure Day 4

  I am alive. My body aches all over as if it is completely broken. I know I must have fallen asleep sometime during the night because my eyes were crusted shut with salt water when I woke.

  The sun is rising. My blistered skin stings with every breath I take. My eyes are swollen and dry and feel as if they have been sprinkled with hot sand. My lips are cracked and bleeding, tasting like metal. I feel the warmth of the sun but my body continues to shake. I am dehydrated and starving. I am in urgent need of medical attention.

  My raft is barely holding together. It feels as if it will fall apart at any moment. Again I will spend my day grasping to the raft, terrified that it will leave me. I must hold it together. I need to stay out of the water and away from the hungry jaws of sharks.

  I lost most of my supplies during the storm. My knife and compass I could have gone without, but my entire food sack and most of my water supply was stolen by the storm, as if it had been a thief in the night.

  I still have a small amount of food left in my pocket, but not enough. And a few ounces of water, maybe enough for a baby to sip on. I would have traded all of my food to keep my water.

  I will be forever grateful that my wife and son did not come with me on this journey. We would not have had enough food or water. The raft is barely keeping me afloat. It would not have been able to hold us all.

  One day I plan to tell my son the story of the raging storm. I will tell him that I was scared, but he won’t believe me. I am his father and I am not supposed to be afraid of anything. He will enjoy such a tale.

  Today should be my last day on this forsaken water. I will find land or I will be found. I have no options. I will either find my freedom or I will die on this water.

  Today is the day. I can do this.

  * * *

  Evening

  I did not find land today. I was not found either. I believe the waves and winds of the storm have blown my raft off course.

  Where am I? Am I closer to America? Or am I somewhere in the middle of nowhere? I am lost.

  If I had not left Cuba I would be with my family. I would have at least eaten a small meal this evening and I would be safe. I would not be thirsty. I would not be burned or in pain. Did I make the right decision, leaving them for a dream?

  The water is finally calm. Before the sun went down I saw sharks in the distance, slowly circling my raft. They know I am here. Are they close? I cannot see them for the darkness. I can hear splashes on the silent water where before I heard nothing. The sharks are waiting for me. Watching me. They are always hungry. I must stay quiet. I must stay awake.

  I begin to cry again. I’ve cried more during this journey than I have throughout my entire life. I need comfort but nobody is with me to ease my pain. Can my wife feel my pain? Does she hear my cries?

  I am not certain how many more days I will live without food or water. I don’t believe I can do this any longer.

  Chapter 25

  What’s that damn sound? The noise was something sudden, something fierce. The sound of rain pelting down on metal came to mind.

  Collin struggled through the murk of confusion, reaching towards consciousness. When at last he was lucid, he realized he lay on hard dirt, his back in agony, hands fumbling towards his aching head.

  “He’s finally waking up. Hey, asshole. Are you going to get up today?” The strange voice was deep and heavily accented. He kicked Collin hard in the foot.

  “What day is it?” Collin asked. How long had he been here, wherever that was? He pressed his hands over his eyes and smelled dry dirt.

  “What day is it?” The man repeated, his tone mocking. “Well, today is your lucky day! You know why? Because you’re still alive.” The man hooted with laughter. “Your lucky day. That’s what day it is!” He shuffled away, dragging his feet and stirring up dust. “He’s waking up, Neo! See to it he gets something to eat and drink.”

  A metal door slammed shut and Collin opened his eyes, trying to identify where he was. He stared up at the ceiling of some type of warehouse he’d never seen before, or at least he didn’t th
ink he had. From where he lay he could hear the ocean, the rain, the sound of boats, and people outside. He must be on a dock at a port somewhere. But where? And how did he get here?

  The metal door scraped open and a pair of feet thumped quickly along the dirt floor.

  “You’re awake I see. This is good. Here’s some water and biscuits. My name is Neo. They will be coming for you soon, my friend. So listen carefully. I must go.”

  Neo knelt next to Collin and whispered close to his face. “They brought you in late last evening. I heard them saying that you, a dirty American, had been stealing from them, taking their workers to America, and that they are losing money because of you and your friend.” Neo spoke so fast that Collin could barely keep up.

  “Your friend is there,” Neo said and pointed towards the other end of the warehouse. When Collin squinted he could see the still body of a man, curled on his side. “I must go now, but if you value your life you must listen to me now. Do whatever they say. Find your way back home. I cannot help anymore. God be with you and keep you safe.”

  Neo quickly turned to leave. As he opened the door, Collin could see that he’d been right: he was on a dock, surrounded by boats. Men loitered outside the door, drinking and laughing as if nothing were wrong. The warehouse was small, shabby and poorly built. Any windows had been painted over in order to obscure any proper light from entering the room, as well as to prevent anyone from either looking out or looking in. The tin roof was thin and the sound of every rain drop echoed throughout the building.

  Collin managed to get to his feet, trying not to make a sound. He didn’t want to attract any attention. Moving slowly, he made his way to the other end of the warehouse, heading towards the prone body of the man in the corner.

  With a groan, Collin leaned down and saw that it was indeed Adelio, lying on his side in the dirt. Someone had beaten Adelio badly. His face was bruised and swollen. Open cuts and streaks of dried blood almost completely covered his face and neck. There was blood on his torn shirt as well. His hands were bruised and swollen, as if he had fought back.

  Collin shook Adelio gently. “Adelio! Adelio!” he whispered urgently. “Can you hear me? Come on man, wake up! It’s me, Collin!”

  Adelio groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. “Collin?” he croaked, his voice scratchy. He looked genuinely shocked. “What are you doing here?

  “Adelio! What is going on? Where are we? What happened to you?” Collin heard himself peppering Adelio with questions, just like his brother always did to him. He didn’t pause for answers but demanded them just the same. “Who did this to you?”

  “We are in Cuba in a small fishing village. You must go! You must leave! They will kill us both!” Adelio blurted.

  Collin watched him reach for a small bucket of water by his head and struggle with it, eventually taking a gulp. He choked down the water then quickly took a few more large mouthfuls before he choked and began spewing water with every cough. After a few minutes he settled down, but kept a tight grip on the bucket. His eyes were deep with remorse when he looked up at Collin.

  “Who are they?” Collin demanded. “And don’t tell me to leave. I’m not gonna just leave you here. You know that. What’s going on? Why are we here?”

  “Collin, my friend, they are the traffickers. They are angry with us for transporting Cuban citizens to America. Somehow we were found out. Someone must have betrayed me.” Adelio struggled to sit up and Collin helped him by placing a strong hand under his elbow.

  A look of despair came across Adelio’s face “They’ve known for a very long time. Collin, I have something terrible to tell you, and I know you will hate me for all time when you learn this. I overheard them talking earlier. These men, they are responsible for the deaths of your parents. The explosion was never meant for them. They meant to kill you.”

  The floor suddenly felt wobbly and Collin slammed his hands flat to hold himself upright. This was all a bad dream. It had to be. But no. This made sense. Betty and George had died when they started his car. It should have been him, not them.

  Collin rested his head in the palms of his hands as tears rushed to his eyes. For the past year he had felt accountable for the deaths of his parents because of the faulty gas line in his car. Now he knew that he was entirely to blame. If he had not been transporting Cubans to America these men would not have killed his parents. There was no faulty fuel line, only faulty thinking on his part. He would always have that burden to bear.

  “There is one more thing, my friend. It’s your brother,” Adelio said.

  Collin dropped his hands and stared straight into Adelio’s eyes.

  “What about my brother?” Collin demanded.

  “Joey. He is here. They have him.”

  “What? Joey?! They have Joey?!” Collin cried, then started sobbing. “Oh my God. What have I done? What have I done?” Collin brought his fisted hands to the sides of his head. His parents were dead because of him, and now they had his brother.

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard them talking. You must find your brother quickly, Collin. You must leave this place and go home. Find a way! Find a new life so they cannot find you again. Our business together is over, you must understand. We must go our separate ways and you must go now. Take your brother and go!” Adelio said firmly.

  Collin’s heart thundered; the dust on his hands had turned to mud with sweat. “Where is Joey? Where exactly are we?”

  “We are in Cuba. You know your way home. Only ninety miles through the Strait. But you must find your brother. Take a boat and just go.” Adelio said, then choked down more water to ease his tortured throat. His eyes darted beyond Collin and reflected sudden panic. “They are coming!”

  Adelio struggled with a necklace he wore, tugging it out from within his shirt. A cross dangled from the old string. Collin helped his friend when he had trouble, then was surprised when Adelio thrust it towards him.

  “I want you to have this,” Adelio whispered. “My father gave it to me before he left on his journey. I want you to take it and keep it safe. Now go, Collin. May God be with you. I am a dead man.”

  Chapter 26

  Without pausing to think, Collin slipped the necklace over his head. He needed his hands free so he could help his friend. “I can’t just leave you here! Come on, Adelio. We can find Joey and leave together. You can finally come to America!”

  But Adelio’s eyes, dark within the mass of cuts and bruises covering his face, suddenly pooled with fear. The hand Collin held between his own started to shake. Collin heard the voices of several men coming closer to the warehouse door. The door slammed open and two men stepped inside, letting it close with a thud behind them. Their stride suggested they owned the place, and Collin wasn’t about to argue. Both men were of average height and were stocky. Neither one of their expressions was forgiving in the least.

  To his surprise, they ignored Adelio and stood by Collin instead. One of the men clucked his tongue with mock sympathy. “Collin, Collin,” he said with a deep sigh. “Oh, how you disappoint us. Did you think we would never find out? Did you think we would never find you? Do you not know who you are dealing with?”

  Collin stared, mute with terror.

  The man chuckled and tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. He leaned against a wooden post and smiled down at Collin. “Please excuse my manners. Let me introduce myself. My name is Pello, and this is my friend, Arlo. Hey, Arlo. Say hello to our new friend.” Arlo nodded towards Collin, not saying a word. He was a big man, with broad, muscular shoulders.

  Pello spoke very good English and his clothes were those of a well-dressed punk. He wore a button-down white silk shirt under a black leather jacket, though the warehouse was warm. His jeans and boots looked expensive. The dim light of the warehouse reflected off a flashy gold watch and a number of rings on his fingers. His hair was slicked back and he wore a thick gold chain. Whether he had money or not, he wanted people to think he di
d. The half-smoked cigar between his fingers needed to be lit.

  “We do not like to be played with, Collin. That is the rule of the game,” Pello said, his cheerful voice turning grievous. “We do not like having things stolen from us. And most of all, we do not like losing money.”

  Pello suddenly grabbed Collin by the hair and yanked his head back, then leaned in close so that he was within inches of Collin’s face. “You owe us!” he screamed, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth. “And you will pay! You will never do this again!” Pello’s fist tightened on Collin’s hair then thrust him to the side with all his strength, smashing Collin’s face into the ground. When Collin tried to lift his head he could taste blood running down his lips.

  Pello stood up straight, keeping his eyes on Collin, then snapped at his partner. “Arlo. Bring him to me!”

  Arlo nodded once then turned and strode to the door. He stepped outside, leaving the door open behind him, and Collin felt a breath of rain-soaked breeze trickle through the warehouse. Arlo’s voice was muffled, but Collin could hear him speaking to a few men who were grunting something back.

  All the time he was gone, Pello stood silently over Collin, his arms folded across his chest.

  Then Arlo appeared in the doorway again. He traipsed slowly but purposefully toward Collin, his large hand locked tightly on the back of Joey’s neck. Joey’s hands were tied in front and he was stumbling, struggling to walk straight. His eyes were wide, and he kept trying to turn his head to talk to Arlo, who ignored him.

  “What’s going on?” Joey cried. Collin’s heart broke, hearing the bewilderment in his little brother’s voice. “Who are you? Where are you taking me? I haven’t done anything wrong. You have the wrong person!”