Devils and Dust

by J. D. Rhoades

  “Senora Sanchez,” the man said. “You will come with me. You won’t be harmed.”

  Not yet. She got out of the car. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe. Come.”

  She went. There was nothing else she could do.

  THEY SAT by the broken road at the edge of the vast scrubland, a few miles from the border. It wasn’t a desert exactly, but it was so dry and arid that nothing grew taller than thick, gnarled bushes no higher than a man’s knees. The sky seemed endless, only a few high wispy clouds making light brushstrokes in the darkening blue as the sun sank in the west behind a distant line of low hills.

  They’d decided to wait for the cover of darkness, keeping to the pattern of the other smugglers who’d disappeared before them. Keller glanced over at Oscar. The older man had gone silent as they’d approached the border. Both of them were apprehensive, but Keller sensed that there was something else bothering his friend. “You okay?”

  Oscar nodded, and then took another drink from the plastic water bottle he held in his hand. The other held the shotgun upright, the butt resting on the floor of the truck cab. He turned the bottle up, swigging the last few drops out, then dropped it to the floor. “Jack,” he said, not looking at Keller. “I need to ask you a question.”

  “Sure, buddy,” Keller said.

  Oscar turned to look at him. “Did you sleep with my wife?”

  Keller felt a tightening in his gut, but he looked back at Oscar steadily. “No,” was all he said.

  Oscar looked back, gazing out at the scrubland through the windshield. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It was a foolish question.”

  “Oscar—,” Keller began, but Oscar silenced him with a raised hand.

  “No, I believe you.” Oscar sighed. “But she still cares for you. And you for her.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Keller said. “And, as you remember, it didn’t work out.” Oscar didn’t answer. “You think if she still had a thing for me,” Keller said, “she’d have come looking for you?”

  Oscar looked at him, his brown eyes solemn. “She came looking for you first.”

  “Because she knew I’d help find you.”

  Oscar nodded and looked away. “I am lucky to have a friend like you. Thank you.”

  “Hey,” Keller said, “you put your ass on the line for me when you barely knew me. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be rotting in a cell right now.”

  Oscar chuckled. “I felt bad for pulling a gun on you then.” The chuckle died. “It was the first time I ever held a gun on anyone.”

  “Not the last,” Keller said.

  Oscar nodded. “This will be the last time for me. I am not meant for this. I know that. Not like you.” He stopped. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “I know,” Keller said. “But you’re right. And you can still go back.”

  Oscar shook his head. “No. These are my sons. I will find out what happened. If they’re alive, I’ll get them back. If not…” He rubbed his hand over his face. “They will have justice. One way or another.” He turned to Keller. “You can go back, too. This isn’t your fight.”

  “Maybe,” Keller said, “but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

  Oscar laughed out at that. “You know that’s crazy, right, Jack?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Keller looked out the window. “It’s almost dark.”

  “Yes,” Oscar said. “Let’s go.”

  Keller started the truck and they headed into the gathering darkness.

  THE GENERAL always said they were doing God’s work, keeping America pure. He could go on for hours about the subject, telling his little army about how God had appointed the white man to rule the earth and America to be His instrument for the purpose. Rance Colton didn’t know about God. He only knew this job gave him a chance to fuck with Mexicans, and that beat the hell out of stocking merchandise in some Walmart in his hometown of Huntsville, Alabama. All the factory jobs had gone south, down the very road he and his little fire team were watching, and that made messing with the little brown monkeys that had taken those jobs that much sweeter when they dared to try and come north to take what little was left. He was a little disappointed that there wouldn’t be a truckload of them this time. One of the men that was supposed to be coming, though, was some sort of Colombian tough guy, maybe some cartel goon. Well, that would have to do. Colton pulled the night vision goggles that had been perched high on his head down over his eyes and adjusted the straps. He looked down the hill where he and the other two men were lying prone. They already had their NVGs pulled down. The road they were overlooking went from a vague line in the darkness to a thoroughfare that appeared bathed in a bright green light. A brief cloud of dust blew across his vision. The wind was picking up.

  Colton was just sorry he wouldn’t get to see the looks on the faces of the monkey and his race-traitor partner when they sprung the surprise he’d brought. He looked over at the new guy, Fincher, who was holding a short metal tube with a pistol grip. The rocket protruded from the business end of the tube, its fat warhead looking like two large metal cones soldered together at their bases. Colton had seen the Soviet made RPG-7 demonstrated during his brief stint in the Army, but he’d never fired one. The explosive in the warhead would turn the truck to a heap of burning and twisted metal and anyone inside into charred meat. The bastards would never know what hit them.

  Colton looked down the road, towards the south, the direction from which the trucks always came. In the distance, he saw a flicker of headlights. He smiled and got to one knee. The wind ruffled his hair. He looked up at the sky. The clouds were getting thicker overhead. He saw a flash of lightning branch out like a great electric tree across the expanse of sky. A storm was moving in, and the wind was picking up. They were going to have to be quick.

  “Fincher,” he said. “Gimme the RPG.”

  “ARE WE getting closer?” Keller asked. “Check the GPS.”

  Oscar leaned forward and peered at the screen of the GPS device stuck to the dashboard. The arrow representing their truck moved slowly down the narrow ribbon representing the road they were on.

  “Five and a half miles north of the border,” Oscar said. He looked out the passenger window. “An empty place,” he quoted.

  Keller squinted out the front window. The wind was kicking up dust devils that swirled in the headlights. “I can’t see a damn thing.” He applied the brakes, which groaned as the truck began to slow.

  FINCHER LOOKED up. “You ever fire one of these?”

  “You point it, you pull the trigger,” Colton said irritably. “At this range, you can’t miss.”

  “Okay,” Fincher said, “but there’s something you should know.”

  The truck was almost abreast of them now. It seemed to be slowing.

  “Just give me the damn thing,” Colton snapped. “And shut the fuck up.”

  “Suit yourself,” Fincher said. He handed over the RPG, looked at the other member of the fire team, and shrugged. The third man, a new guy who Colton only knew as Shippen, shrugged back and went prone, aiming his rifle at the road beneath.

  Colton flipped up the sight and positioned the weapon on his shoulder. That wind is really getting stronger. Coming from my left, so I adjust left to compensate… Colton moved the warhead to the side.

  “Wait,” Fincher said. “You don’t…”

  Colton ignored him. The rocket ignited, leaving the shoulder-mounted launcher with a loud hiss. Colton’s goggles were filled with a brilliant green-white light as the RPG streaked off into the darkness.

  THE SOVIET RPG-7 has a quirk that is counterintuitive to the inexperienced user. When the rocket-propelled grenade leaves the barrel, a set of large stabilizing fins deploys in a split second. In a crosswind, the broad fins catch the wind like sails, pushing the back of the rocket around. This causes the rocket to actually turn into the wind.

  Jack Keller saw the rocket streak past, a few feet in front of the truck, trailing a tail of wh
ite fire. In an instant, he was transported back to another desert, thousands of miles and twenty-two years away.

  Missile, he thought. MISSILE. He heard the crump of the warhead detonating, saw the Bradley fighting vehicle he’d been riding in moments before going up in a ball of flame, heard his men screaming in pain and terror as the Hellfire missile fired out of the darkness took their lives.

  Burning, they’re burning oh my god it’s happening again…

  “Jack!” Oscar was screaming. The voice brought him back to the present. He saw Oscar’s terrified face through a red haze. Got to get him out, he’ll burn, they’ll all burn… He dimly heard the metallic thumps as small-arms rounds smacked into the left side of the truck. Ambush.

  He turned to Oscar. “OUT!” he bellowed. “Get out and get to the ground.”

  Oscar scrabbled at the door handle in a panic. He found it and slammed the passenger door open. The driver’s side window shattered and another round clanged off something in the interior. Oscar bailed out, carrying his shotgun with him. Keller followed. He reached up to pull the M4 and the bag of ammo from where he’d stashed them behind the passenger seat.

  “What’s happening?” Oscar said.

  “Someone just fired a goddamn missile at us,” Keller said grimly. His heart was still pounding, but he was back in the present. The rage he’d felt for years, however, wasn’t going away. It was building again, taking him to the dark place that felt far too much like home. He heard a round strike the gas tank. The truck wouldn’t be decent cover for much longer. Who the hell are these guys? They’re not pros. Something savage answered him from deep within, an inner voice from the most primitive part of his mind, the lizard brain that lies beneath the layers of thinking and reasoning tissue that evolution and civilization have grafted onto the killer beneath. “Whoever they are, the voice said, they die today.” Keller felt his breathing slow, his heart rate drop.

  The hunter was awake.

  “What are we going to do?” Oscar said. He was breathing hard, but Keller’s outward icy calm seemed to settle him down.

  Keller worked the charging lever of the M4. “I’m going to kill them,” he said.

  “WHAT THE fuck?” Colton said.

  “I tried to tell you,” Fincher said. “In a high wind like this, the round turns upwind.” He squeezed off a short burst from his AK-47 assault rifle toward the truck. A few feet away, Shippen followed suit.

  “Gimme another round,” Colton demanded.

  “Get it yourself,” Shippen answered. He sounded disgusted as he fired another burst. “In the bag.”

  Colton realized how exposed he was and dropped to the ground, taking cover behind the lip of the hill. He trained his own rifle on the truck below and fired. “Okay. We’ve still got them outnumbered. And outgunned.” He fumbled for the green canvas bag that lay on the ground between him and Shippen. After a moment, he found the second rocket. It was the last one they had. He rolled to his back and groped for the launcher. “Keep firing at the gas tanks,” he ordered. When he had the round seated in the launcher, he rolled to his belly again and looked down.

  He saw someone step out from behind the truck and fire, the muzzle flash sparking brightly in his NVGs. “Get that bastard,” he whispered. He heard the sharp reports of his teammates’ weapons and saw dirt and dust kick up at the feet of the person below. That person fired back and ducked away behind the truck. “Okay, you son of a bitch,” Colton said. He raised up to one knee and took aim. He wasn’t going to miss again.

  KELLER COULD smell the acrid stench of gasoline as more rounds hit the tank slung beneath the truck. If one of those rounds kicked up a spark, the truck was going to turn from cover into a death trap. He heard someone bark a command from the overlooking hill.

  “Oscar,” he said, “back away from the truck. See if you can keep it between us and them.”

  “I’m not even sure where they are,” Oscar said.

  “Just follow me.” He started backing away. The trick would be to keep from getting so far back that he’d move into the field of view of the men above. He suspected they were using some kind of night vision equipment. “Okay, this way,” Keller said. He started to move in the direction of the back of the truck. As he did, he heard a familiar hiss coming from up the hill.

  “GET DOWN!” he yelled. He went to the ground, grabbing Oscar and pulling him down.

  COLTON WHOOPED as he saw the round hit the truck and explode in a shower of white sparks. The gas tank went up next, a rolling ball of flame that flared in the NVGs, so bright and sharp that Colton pulled them off. He rubbed his eyes and looked down the hill. The flames had turned from white to orange, streaked with thick black smoke. The glow illuminated the valley beneath him, shadows wavering across the ground.

  He put the launcher down and picked up his assault rifle. He couldn’t see what had happened to the men in the truck. From out of the darkness, he heard a soft report, duller than the crack of a rifle. It was a sound he could have sworn he’d heard before. He had only a moment to process it before something landed a few feet away, just in front of Shippen. A split-second later, he recognized what it was.

  “GRENADE!” he shouted.

  “COME ON,” Keller said as he sprang to his feet. The two of them were moving up the hill even as the grenade exploded just below the crest. He heard someone screaming in pain. He stopped, fired off a three-round burst, and ran. The rattle of answering fire came from the top of the hill, but the grenade must have disoriented the shooter, because the rounds whined harmlessly overhead. Keller fired again, then charged the last few feet to the top of the hill. As he came over the crest, he was panting for breath, eyes filled with sweat.

  He saw a man, on his back, rolling on the ground and howling in agony, hands over his face. Another man looked up from where he knelt over the wounded one. All Keller could see was a flash of white face in the darkness. As the man started to rise, Keller fired. In the dimness, he couldn’t see where the round hit, but the figure fell backward, landing bonelessly on his back, without a sound. He didn’t move. The man on the ground kept screaming.

  “Drop the gun!” Oscar shouted, his voice cracking, the blast of the shotgun following almost immediately.

  Keller spun around. A man was falling backward, hitting the ground with a thud, followed by the skittering of rocks and the sound of the body sliding backward down the reverse slope of the hill. Oscar stood panting at the top of the hill, the shotgun in his hands, and fell to his knees.

  “Oscar,” Keller called out as he ran over. He dropped to his knees beside Oscar and put an arm around his shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” Oscar wheezed. “I’m not hurt.” As his breathing steadied, he racked another round into the chamber. He had a stricken look on his face. “I didn’t give him time to drop the gun,” he whispered.

  “He wasn’t going to,” Keller said. “Next time, don’t bother asking.” He gave Oscar a slap on the shoulder, then stood up. “Good job.”

  “Good job,” Oscar whispered. He shook his head and staggered to his feet.

  The one remaining man was still writhing on the ground, but his screams had trailed off to dull moans. Keller walked over and looked down at him. After a moment, he nudged the wounded man with his foot. “Hey,” he said. The man only whimpered. “HEY!” Keller said louder. He kicked the man in the side, not too hard.

  “Jack,” Oscar said.

  Keller looked up. “This cocksucker and his buddies here just tried to kill us, Oscar.” He leaned over and picked up the launcher for the RPG. “With this. If he’d had his way, we’d be,” he tossed the launcher aside and pointed to the flaming wreckage of the truck, “burning to death down there.” He kicked the man in the side, harder. There was no response. “And he may be the key to what happened to your boys. So forgive me if I don’t much care about hurting his feelings.”

  “I think he’s dead,” Oscar said.

  Keller lowered his gaze, then bent down, and felt for a pulse.
“Shit,” he said. He moved the man’s hands away from his face. They fell limply to his sides.

  “Madre de Dios,” Oscar said as he saw the ruin of the man’s face. He crossed himself.

  Keller stood up and looked around. “They had to have come here in something. Maybe that’ll give us some clue. At least we can drive it out.”

  “Jack,” Oscar said. “These men are dead.”

  Keller looked at him steadily. “I know,” he said. “We killed them.”

  “Shouldn’t we bury them?”

  “We don’t have time. They may have friends nearby who’ll come looking if they don’t report in. We need to get whatever information we can and haul ass.” He gestured with the barrel of his rifle to where the man Oscar had shot had fallen. “Go look through that guy’s pockets,” he said. “Look for ID. Anything with an address on it. Restaurant or hotel receipts. Anything.”

  Oscar looked down the hill, into the darkness. He didn’t move.

  “Come on, buddy,” Keller said. “I know this is hard. But these aren’t just random assholes. They didn’t just wake up this morning and say ‘Hey, let’s go blow up some dude’s truck we never heard of.’ They have to be connected with the people who took your boys. And I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but they did just try to kill us. The only reason I’m sorry they’re dead is we can’t get them to talk. Now come on, we need to get moving.”