Off the Rails

by Jill Sorenson

  Ian didn’t, but he was blocking the bandit’s only escape route. They were going to fight no matter what. He was confident in his close-combat skills, so he wagged his fingers in a come-at-me gesture.

  The man advanced, slashing the air near Ian’s midsection. Ian evaded the swipe and grabbed his wrist, shoving his arm up over his head. His opponent stumbled backward and went down, but he took Ian with him. They rolled across the grate, locked in a deadly embrace.

  Ian landed on his back, which wasn’t where he wanted to be. His right hand was busy, so he struck with his left, landing several hard blows to the bandit’s temple and ear. Blood trickled down the man’s tattooed cheek. He growled and returned the favor, punching Ian in the throat. Ian coughed at the searing pain, unable to draw breath. His grip loosened. Lights flashed before his eyes.

  Huh. Guess he should’ve used his gun.

  Someone, maybe Maria, kicked the bandit in the ribs. It was just enough to break them apart. Ian scrambled to his feet, staying low. The bandit squared up across from him, still in possession of the knife. His face was bloody, gaze unfocused.

  “Ian!” Maria screamed.

  He felt a looming presence behind his head. He got down on instinct, ducking a split second before they entered the tunnel. The clearance was about five feet. It struck the bandit with full force and flung him far into the night.

  Then everything went dark and still, and the only sound was the train rushing over the tracks.

  Chapter 12

  For several minutes, Maria was too afraid to move.

  She was almost too afraid to breathe.

  They went through the pitch-black tunnel and came out on the other side. She curled her knees to her chest and looked up at the starry sky, humbled by the turn of events. It could so easily have been Ian, rather than her attacker, who fell to his death.

  She snuck another glance at him. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark, but she could sense his tension. He wasn’t amazed that they were alive. He was angry that she’d been in danger. When she placed her hand on his arm, he flinched. She squeezed once, comfortingly, and let her fingers drop. She wasn’t going to try to talk him out of his feelings. He had every right to be upset. He could have been killed by that psychopath. She’d told him she was leaving the cargo station, and then she hadn’t. He thought she’d lied to him. Of course he wasn’t happy with the situation.

  She wasn’t happy, either. She was in love with him. Head over heels in love with him.

  Maybe she’d been in love with him this whole time. When they first met, she’d loved his voice. She’d been stuck in a hospital bed for an entire week. He’d visited her every day. She’d had headaches and blurred vision, so she’d kept her eyes closed. She’d just listened to him talk, enjoying his company. He’d always been an intriguing mix of strong and gentle.

  The second time they met, he’d been harder. Darker. Working undercover as a junkie had whittled him down to muscle and bone. He was so dedicated to his job, so lost in the role. He was the type of man who took everything to heart. She knew that he blamed himself for everything that went wrong at the Hotel del Oro, including Sonia Barreras’s death.

  And now Maria had created more trouble for him.

  The other bandit moaned, regaining consciousness. She’d forgotten he was on the train. One of the men emptied his pockets of the money he’d taken and distributed it among the passengers. He gave her portion to Ian, who kept it. A few minutes later, the bandit climbed down the ladder and jumped free of the tracks. No one tried to stop him. Justice had already been served.

  They rode on, deep into the night. She wanted to put her arms around Ian and comfort him, but she didn’t think he’d accept the gesture.

  “I saw the police,” she said finally. “That’s why I got on the train.”

  His brow furrowed. “They weren’t looking for you.”

  “I’m afraid of them.”

  “Why?”

  She was reluctant to speak of the traumatic experience. He knew that she’d been raped and beaten, but she hadn’t told him who the perpetrators were. There was no reason to, because he couldn’t investigate the crime. It had happened on the Mexican side of the border, out of U.S. jurisdiction. “The men in the desert were federal police.”

  He jerked his head toward her. Not stunned; he was too worldly for that. He was concerned. “How did they get you?”

  Tears sprang into her eyes at his reaction. He didn’t express any doubt. He accepted what she said as truth. Perhaps his opinion of her country’s lawmen was low, but he also seemed critical of his own. He hadn’t enjoyed being a border patrol agent. He didn’t follow anyone or anything blindly.

  And yet, he believed her.

  He believed her.

  She took a deep breath, unsure where to begin. “I saved for three years to pay for a trip across the border. The coyote we used was recommended by a family member. They said he could be trusted with women and children. We needed the money, so I went. I took the bus from Taxco to Tijuana.”

  “Did you want to go?”

  “Oh yes. Ever since I was a little girl. In Mezcala I can only make pottery, sell pottery. I wanted to do bigger things.”

  His lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Like what?”

  She smiled back at him. “My father worked for a traveling circus one year. He was good with animals because he grew up on a farm. He showed me pictures of the girls on the trapecio.”

  “Trapeze?”

  “Yes. He brought me a baton to throw in the air. I practiced every day in the backyard, in front of an audience of chickens. I dreamed of coming to America to fly in the circus.” She shook her head at the silly idea. “Qué ridiculo, ¿no?”

  “It’s not ridiculous. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little.”

  She didn’t tell him that she’d dreamed of joining the circus at eighteen, not eight. “I thought walking through the desert would be easier than riding the train. It was not. We had to walk all night before we reached the border. Then the federales found us.”

  “What were they doing there?”

  “Looking for money. They ask us to pay a crossing fee, like five hundred dollars. Our coyote didn’t have enough.”

  “So they took you.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked away, watching the blur of trees pass in front of a low-hanging moon. “There was another girl in our group. A little girl, ten or eleven. She was with her family. They said one of us had to go with them. Her or me.”

  He swore under his breath.

  The next part was hard to talk about. Hard to think about. “I went, of course. I told myself, It will be over soon. They will rape me and be done, and I can keep walking. I can make it to the U.S. But that wasn’t what happened. The group left me behind.”

  “Cowards.”

  She shivered at the bad memory. That moment stood out in her mind as especially awful. She’d been frozen with terror. “They were ordered to go at gunpoint. I knew then that I wouldn’t catch up to them. It was too dark. I’d never find the path alone.”

  He waited for her to continue, listening intently.

  “I started screaming. I wanted to stay calm and cooperate, but I was too scared. I screamed for help. One of the men hit me and I fell down.” She touched her cheek, frowning. “I kept screaming until someone came back for me.”

  “Who?”

  “The uncle of the little girl. Ricardo was his name. He was young, and he liked me, I think. He rushed in with a tree branch.” She held her hands like a bat, ready to swing. Then she dropped them, grasping the metal grate underneath her. “They shot him.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  She felt sick about that detail. She felt sick about all of it, from start to finish. “They hit me again. After that, I remember very little. It’s like a movie with missing scenes. I see one man above me, then another. Then I passed out completely.”

  “For how long?”

  “
I don’t know. Many hours. I woke up alone, naked, and dirty. Ants all over me. I put on my clothes and started walking. I didn’t know where to go. I was too close to the border to turn back, but very weak and thirsty. I found a trail, so I followed it.”

  “Where did it lead?”

  “To Ricardo. He was dead.” Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them away. “I was sad about this for a long time, but later I realized, it was not a wasted life. He did a brave thing. He tried to help. He also had water in his backpack. So he saved me, after all. I drank it, and then I felt strong enough to go on. I walked until I fainted again.”

  “Do you know why I stopped at those sand dunes?”

  “Because you saw me?”

  “No. You were hard to see, lying down like that. I wouldn’t have spotted you on a routine patrol. I only went that direction because vultures were circling.”

  “Vultures?”

  “Birds,” he said. “Scavengers. They were in the sky about a mile south of where I found you. They must have been above the dead body.”

  She nodded her understanding. “So Ricardo brought you to me, por la gracia de Dios.”

  “I don’t think God had anything to do with it.”

  “I do.”

  “Did God bring that train robber to you too?”

  “The devil brought him.”

  He made a sound of disbelief. “You think God has protected you, but it’s just men. Hot-blooded men with ulterior motives. Someday you’ll realize that we’re all the same.”

  His harsh words stung. She knew there were good people in the world. He was one of them, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “I’ve learned that some men are trustworthy. I’m sad that you learned the opposite. You don’t even trust yourself.”

  He looked away, scowling.

  “Have you never trusted a man?” she asked.

  “If you were smart, you wouldn’t trust them either.”

  “What about your friend, Adam?”

  “He’s no saint, believe me. He’s terrible with women.”

  Maria pondered that claim. Adam was currently dating Kari, the woman who’d brought Maria to the United States. “He’s good to Kari. I think he is in love with her.”

  Ian shrugged. “He’ll probably fuck it up.”

  “I know you believe in love, if nothing else.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I remember what you said about your mother, and Adam’s mother. Maybe the men in your life taught you not to trust, but these women taught you how to love. They loved you, and gave you the ability to love in return.”

  He shook his head in denial. “You know what I learned? That love’s not enough. It doesn’t put food on the table or money in the bank. Love didn’t stop my mother from being a junkie. It didn’t protect me from her abusive boyfriends.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  His eyes hardened at the question. “Whatever you’re imagining between us has to stop. I can’t feel anything for you. I don’t feel anything.”

  She fell silent, hurt by his rejection. He wouldn’t have asked her to marry him if he didn’t care for her, but she couldn’t make him admit his feelings. And maybe he was right. Maybe love wasn’t enough. He had his career to protect. She had her family to take care of. Love didn’t change the fact that they were from two different worlds.

  They’d both been through a lot today. He’d fought a man to the death an hour ago. She’d shared the details of a deeply traumatic experience. Although she felt better for having told him, she knew her story was hard to listen to.

  Men were foolish, vengeful creatures. He was disturbed by her past, rattled by the close call.

  So was she. She couldn’t help loving him, even if he didn’t love her. The feeling bloomed within her, warming her from the inside out. She wanted to hold on to the glow for as long as possible. Once he went away, it would fade.

  The night was long, far longer than the previous one, with danger around every corner. There were dark tunnels and low-lying tree branches at regular intervals. They had to stay alert the entire time. By dawn, she felt like a zombie. Her eyes were grainy and her bottom was numb. Every muscle in her body ached from sitting in the same position.

  Ian appeared just as uncomfortable as her, if not more so. He shifted his injured leg often, teeth gritted. They went over a bridge with a steep drop to a shallow river below. “This is where everyone goes crazy and jumps off the train.”

  She smiled at his dark humor. Then she remembered swimming with Delfina, and she felt a pang of homesickness. She wanted to stay with Ian, but she also wanted to find her brother and go back to Mezcala. She needed to figure out what she was going to do with her life. Joining the circus wasn’t an option. Selling pottery would be unsatisfying and insufficient. She still had big dreams. She’d like to get married and start her own family someday.

  The train finally rolled to a stop at El Limbo. It was a quaint little town with a church in the center. Small houses dotted the surrounding hillside. Crowds of people were waiting to board the train. As soon as the passengers who were riding got off, they were replaced by fresh bodies. She searched the new faces for her brother, but didn’t see him.

  She climbed down the ladder with Ian. Her legs were wobbly from disuse. It took her a moment to regain her bearings after they reached the ground. Then she accompanied Ian into the woods across the tracks. She was lucky she hadn’t peed her pants last night.

  This was a very difficult journey for women. She wondered how a young girl like Sarai could manage.

  Beyond the cargo station, there was a camp similar to the one in Taxco, with canvas tents and makeshift shelters. Women were heating corn tortillas on a large griddle over hot coals. Maria’s stomach growled at the smell of food. She noticed a different mood in the crowd, with a lot of whispering and curious glances at Ian. Word had spread about his heroic actions.

  These people respected him now. They might talk to him about Sarai.

  On the downside, he wasn’t traveling incognito anymore. Sarai would hear about the tall American and know exactly whom to avoid.

  “So much for anonymity,” he muttered.

  One of the men from their railcar invited them to eat. Ian didn’t have to be asked twice. He devoured a half-dozen spicy chicken tacos without blinking an eye. If there was too much chile in the meat for his taste, he didn’t complain. She tucked into her own plate, smiling at his hearty appetite. They shared a lukewarm soda with the meal.

  “We’re looking for a teenage girl,” he said in Spanish. “Small, with short hair. She might be dressed like a boy. Have you seen her?”

  The men said they hadn’t, but they promised to ask around.

  After breakfast, they walked toward the only building in the area. It appeared to have a telephone and a medical office. There was a large information board out front, with a laminated map of Mexico on one side and dozens of handwritten notes on the other. Maria studied the notes with interest. Many were about missing family members. Thoughts of Hugo crowded her head, making her throat tight. Maybe he’d passed through this place and stood at this very same spot.

  “We can write a note for Sarai,” she said.

  “Saying what? A strange white man wants to talk to you?”

  “It can be from Tía Mariposa.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Me. I used that name at the school.”

  “Why?”

  “Armando called me mariposa sometimes.”

  Ian’s jaw clenched with displeasure. It was a term of endearment, she supposed. Butterflies were delicate and pretty. She didn’t think Armando meant anything by it, and there was no reason for Ian to be jealous. She wasn’t interested in Armando. He was old enough to be her father. But he was a good man, no matter what Ian thought.

  “You’re not sticking around to have a chat with anyone, mariposa. I’m putting you on the next bus out of here.”

  She examined the local bus
schedule, which was pinned next to the map.

  Ian swore when he saw it. “The bus doesn’t come on Sundays.”

  “Is today Sunday?” She made a sign of the cross.

  He squinted at her in annoyance. He looked as exhausted as she felt, with dark smudges under his eyes. There was a fist-shaped bruise at the base of his throat, where he’d been struck last night. He’d been limping since they got off the train. Neither of them had slept in two days.

  “You know what you need?”

  “Yes,” he said flatly, “but I’m not going to get it.”

  She smiled, pointing at a sign on the side of the building. Passengers were lined up there with towels and toiletries in hand. “They have showers.”

  “Showering isn’t my top priority.”

  “What about your wound? It must be kept clean, yes?”

  After a moment’s deliberation, he approached the front door of the building and glanced inside. There were a couple of shelves of convenience-store items. He handed her a wad of cash from his pocket. “Buy some first aid stuff and whatever you need.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “My job,” he said, and walked away.

  She watched him stride toward a group of men in front of the pay phone. His injury didn’t slow him down much. He’d defeated two outlaws without falling off the train. He was as strong as he was stubborn, but she worried about his fierce independence. It was no way to live.

  He needed to learn how to depend on other people.

  She wanted him to let down his guard, and let her in. She wanted to strip down his defenses and kiss away his troubles. They couldn’t have a long-distance relationship.

  That was okay; she’d settle for a short affair.

  The idea startled her. But the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. Even if he broke her heart, sleeping with him would be worth it. She’d shied away from men for years. She’d never had consensual sex. That was a problem, and she knew how to solve it. Ian’s touch made her melt.

  Her body was ready.

  She stretched her arms over her head, excited by the prospect. Then she sniffed her armpit, nose wrinkled. Her body was fuchi. This was no way to seduce a man.