Big Maria

by Johnny Shaw

  Ricky and Harry weren’t restrained. Whether out of compassion or practicality, it wasn’t immediately obvious. Probably the latter. At the roughest points in the trail, the men needed their hands to navigate the craggy rocks. With no reason to assume that Harry and Ricky were armed, the soldiers hadn’t even bothered to frisk either man. Ricky took some pleasure in knowing that he still held one of the bags of gold inside his jacket.

  The thought of running never occurred to either man. Where would they go? Fighting, running, or protesting would be nothing but wasted effort. They were caught, and they accepted it.

  Ricky felt a drop of rain on his cheek and looked up at the darkening clouds. The cool breeze felt good on his sunburned face. The drops were large but sparse. They stopped as quickly as they started. The desert soil drank up the water. Ricky had become so accustomed to the bombing and mortaring that he initially took the thunder and lightning for another barrage. But the beauty of the flashing lightning felt peaceful compared to the unnatural destructiveness of the man-made explosions.

  “Need to double-time it,” one of the soldiers said behind Ricky. “Last thing we need. To get caught in rain. This trail goes muddy, might as well be a Slip ’n Slide.”

  The soldiers in front picked up their step to just shy of a jog. Ricky and Harry tried to keep up, but Harry’s limp slowed them. The shoves at their backs and the occasional shouted expletive did little to quicken their pace and even less for their balance and desire to comply.

  “Move it, shitheads. What you slowing for? Keep moving.”

  Finally, Harry hit his wall. He tripped and fell, and rather than get up, he stayed on his ass and flipped off the soldiers. Not a general sweep of the middle finger, but individual attention to each soldier present. “For all my faults, I try to keep my language clean. Working in a prison, never wanted to sound like those animals. But you’ve brought me to it. Fuck you. And fuck you. And you, you over there, fuck you. I ain’t going another step. I’m sitting here. Come rain, shine, hurricane. If the sky shits scorpions, I don’t give two and a half shits and a pint of piss. I ain’t moving. My ass and this rock, consider them in love, married, and honeymooning. Oh, and you, in the back. Fuck you, too, brotherfucker.”

  Ricky sat next to Harry and crossed his arms defiantly. Ricky vowed to take Harry’s side no matter how stupid, stubborn, or painful. They had nothing left but each other.

  “Harry’s right,” Ricky said. “What can you do? There’s nothing to threaten us with. I’m tired. I’m hurting. And I can’t care.”

  The soldier that appeared to be in charge at the mine—the one who had held the gun on Harry—stood over them. He was a fit Mexican American kid who didn’t look a day over twenty. None of them did. He looked up at the sky and then slowly back to Ricky and Harry. “Sirs, it’s important that you get up. For your own safety.”

  “No,” Harry said.

  The soldier’s jaw muscles contracted. He spoke so slowly, each word felt like the last one until the next one came. “You need to get up. You stay here, you’ll get struck by lightning. And if we’re here, we’re going to get hit, too. Once the lightning finds us, we’re all going to get stung. We were told this thunderstorm was going to land hard.”

  Harry answered. “It look like I give a rat’s about lightning? Or rain? Or you? Why don’t you run along? We’ll meet you down there, you’re so scared.”

  “I read somewhere that when you get struck by lightning, you lose your sense of smell. Is that true?” Ricky asked.

  “That’s funny. I read that, too. Looks like we’re going to find out,” Harry said.

  The soldier’s face made his restraint look painful. He kicked Harry’s boot with his steel toe. “Get up.”

  “No.”

  Kick. “Get.” Kick “The.” Kick. “Fuck.” Kick. “Up.”

  Harry spit on the soldier’s boot. “That’s five times you kicked me. The last one hurt a little. One more and you’re looking at a lawsuit, maybe a court-martial. Army hates bad press. I got witnesses, rights, all that. Back off, Gomer.”

  The soldier laughed. “You are one hard-assed hard-ass. Time it takes arguing, you end up getting your way. You got five minutes. Rest your feet. Catch your breath. How’s that?”

  “That wasn’t so hard.” Harry smiled, and nudged Ricky.

  The soldiers huddled ten yards from Ricky and Harry. Harry could hear the murmur of their voices but couldn’t make out the words.

  “Last chance to get our story straight,” Harry said. “Honestly, I think the only crime we committed—at least the only provable one—is trespassing. Don’t mention Frank. We stick with we got lost and we’ll walk away with a wrist slap.”

  “What about the gold? We got lost and stumbled on gold? That’s our story?”

  “That’s our story. Don’t got to be true, so long they can’t prove it’s false.”

  Ricky watched the huddled soldiers talk. On two separate occasions, one of the soldiers glanced back at Ricky and Harry. His eyes were vicious, his sneer sinister.

  “We ain’t getting no slap on the wrist,” Ricky said.

  “Trust me. I know the law good. I can talk my way out of this. I got a gift.”

  “You ain’t looking at it. Think about where we are and what’s happening.” Ricky shook his head. “They ain’t arresting us. They got sixty pounds of gold or something like that. What’s that? A million dollars or whatever the math is? They turn us in, they got to turn in the gold. Because we’ll tell whoever, the authorities, we found it.”

  “Closer to two million,” Harry said solemnly, and then jumped back to reality. “If they want the gold, they’ll let us go. Not like we can go to the police on them.”

  “I think that’s what they’re talking on. If they should let us go,” Ricky said. “Or if they should leave us out here. You know, kill us.”

  Harry didn’t say anything for a moment. He calculated the odds. Then softly, as if the sums added up and he didn’t like the answer, “Dang.”

  The rain started again, heavy drops spotting the ground and picking up quickly. Ricky and Harry ignored it. All that heat and sun made the water welcome. Getting wet was the least of their worries.

  “Eight guys killing two is bad business,” Harry said. “That’s a conspiracy. One of them could eventually talk. Haven’t they seen movies? Someone would ask where they got the gold. Or their guilt would get to them.”

  “Might be true, but they’re not that ahead in their thinking. They’re here, that’s then. They got a pile of gold and barely trust each other. Means they’re definitely not trusting us.”

  The soldier in charge adjourned the meeting and approached Ricky and Harry. Water dripped from the brim of his cap as he stood over them. The rain was really starting to come down.

  “It’s time to go. Don’t give me a hard time. I’m telling you, it’s too dangerous. Not just lightning. Rains going to wash out the trail, we’re not careful.”

  “Are you going to kill us?” Harry said.

  The soldier blank-stared him for ten seconds. “The vote was four to three. I’ll tell you how you did when we get to the bottom of the hill. I’d hate to ruin the surprise.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Harry wasn’t going to take no for an answer. On the walk down the hill, he went to work on the leader. With the rain pouring in sheets and the men sliding and sinking in the mud and wet sand, Harry negotiated and bargained and talked as if the sheer quantity of words would be enough to sway the soldier.

  “Keep the gold. That’s a given. Sure, we found it. Worked our asses off. You don’t even know the hell we’ve seen. Unfair, but hey, that’s life. Only children and twats think the world owes them a fair shake. Damn near got killed, but to the victor goes the spoils.”

  The Mexican soldier stopped in his tracks. “How’d you know my name was Victor?”

  “What? I didn’t. No. That’s just a saying.”

  The soldier laughed. “I’m fucking with you. A joke. You thin
k I’m retarded or something?”

  The ground leveled out but remained extremely slippery. Nearing the base of the large bajada, the group of men slid more than walked. Three Humvees were parked in the deep mud of the plain thirty yards in front of them. Harry and Ricky would learn their fate soon enough.

  Harry kept up the word barrage. “I respect that you voted. I got to accept the outcome. That’s democracy. That’s the goddamn American way. How it works. Guy you voted for may not win, but the people have spoken. But not telling us where we stand, that’s just cruel. Making us wait, kind of a dick move.”

  The soldier gave him a glance, blinking the rain out of his eyes. “Don’t you have any hope?”

  “Hope ever do you any good?”

  The soldier leaned in as if telling Harry a secret. “You’re right. You know, I’m sorry. Really. Didn’t think of it as cruel to not tell you. My bad on that one.”

  “Whatever,” Harry said. “What happens now?”

  “When we get to the Hummers, you’re going to die.”

  Harry gave a small nod, all out of words.

  “Didn’t tell you up on the mountain—didn’t kill you—’cause we didn’t want to carry your asses down. Being practical.”

  “Not that it’s important now, and I sure don’t want to undermine your leadership skills, but it would’ve been just as practical to have left us up there.”

  “Might’ve raised more questions. Drone spotted you. That’s how we found you, you know? Didn’t stumble on your shit. They know you’re out here. Couldn’t pretend you don’t exist. Our orders were to retrieve you. Not our fault if you died in the process of being apprehended.”

  “You believe in hell?” Harry said, mind racing to find the exit. There was always a way out, but sometimes the door wasn’t obvious.

  The soldier shook his head. “Lived in this desert too long to believe there’s anything worse.”

  Harry turned to Ricky, who had been watching and waiting, somber and silent. Harry gave him a slow shake of the head. Ricky nodded and shrugged.

  “Can I take one last look at the gold?” Harry asked.

  “How long did it take you guys to find it?”

  “Our whole lives.”

  When they reached the Humvees, rather than rush into the dry safety of the vehicles, the men stood in a semicircle facing Ricky and Harry. The soldier in charge broke himself off from the group. Apparently he wasn’t the type of military man who left the important work to his inferiors.

  “The both of you,” the soldier barked over the rain and lightning. His tone turned formal, as if a ritual was about to be performed. “Come with me.”

  “Give me a second here.” Harry held up a hand and turned to Ricky.

  “It’s been a pleasure, kid. I don’t got many friends. And never had none like you and the old man. Least we found the mine and the gold. That’s something, yeah? Really all I wanted. Spending it probably would’ve ruined it. Feels like we lost, sure. But it wasn’t a blowout.”

  Ricky shook his head. “God has his plan. Even if we don’t understand, this is where we’re supposed to be. I’m glad we met. I’m glad we’re here. And whatever happens next is whatever is supposed to happen next. I made a friend. That’s not a small thing.”

  They shook hands and stared at each other silently.

  “You guys ready?” the soldier said softly. He actually looked touched by their exchange, as he lifted his sidearm from its holster.

  “The gold?” Harry asked. “One more look?”

  “Yeah. That’s right. I’m not a complete bastard.” The soldier opened the front passenger side of the nearest Humvee, reached inside, and picked up one of the leather bags. He handed it to Harry, who used his body to protect it from the rain as he opened the drawstring. Ricky leaned in with him for another look.

  Harry said, “Wish it smelled like something, you know? Gold should smell like flowers or a vagina, something distinct so you know it’s gold. Looks mostly like dirt, but it’s still the most beautifullest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Harry tied the drawstring of the leather bag tight. When he looked up, the soldier was pointing the pistol two feet from his forehead.

  “Let’s do this,” Harry said, closing his eyes. Ready for the bullet and the end that would follow. He hoped there was more than blackness.

  But instead of a gunshot, a strange voice shouted through the downpour. Scratchy and desperate, like a cat having sex with its tail in a door.

  “Jesus Christ. Thank fucking God. I’m saved. Lord, I am saved.”

  Harry recognized that voice. He turned and saw Cooker in a loincloth made from a bandana and a T-shirt knotted together. His wild, long hair stuck to his tattooed chest and arms from the water and mud that covered him. He stumbled forward, like a movie mummy with one hand in front of him.

  “I’ve been walking and hiking and climbing all over. In a line. In a circle. For a while in a hexagon. A pentagram. Like a rabbit in a maze. Lady in the labyrinth. Ants ate all my food when I slept. I ate meat from a dead lion, but that made me puke. I was so hungry, I almost ate the puke. This rain is the first water I’ve seen in a day. It’s hard to drink the drops, but the puddles taste like shit. Another day and I’d be dead.”

  “Halt. Stop right there,” the soldier commanded, turning his pistol to Cooker. The other soldiers lined up next to him and aimed their rifles and side arms at Cooker as well.

  Cooker held both hands up. “Whoa there. You can’t shoot me. You’re saving me. You don’t strangle the kitty after you get it out of the tree. I’m the kitty.”

  “They were about to shoot us,” Harry said. “I don’t think they read the rules.”

  Cooker stumbled toward them, his face unable to hide his curiosity and confusion. “You’re soldiers. Sworn to protect the citizens of the United States of motherfucking America. I’m one of them citizens. And I need protecting.”

  “Stop where you are or my men will be forced to open fire. Do not take another step or I will have to take it as a sign of aggression.”

  Cooker stopped, his feet sinking slowly into the mud. He looked tinier than ever. He looked like he was shrinking. He breathed hard, chest rising and falling dramatically.

  “I’m a US Army veteran, motherfuckers. Lower your weapons. You should be saluting me, not pointing rifles at me.”

  “Don’t move, Cooker. They mean it,” Harry shouted.

  Upon hearing his name, Cooker turned to Harry. “Wait a minute. I know you, you son of a bitch.”

  Cooker absentmindedly took a step toward Harry. One step too many.

  The men opened fire.

  Harry couldn’t tell which soldier fired first. But with all the excitement of the moment, it took less than a second for everyone to join in. The light was more blinding than the sound deafening, muffled by the rain.

  As if controlled by a puppet master having a seizure, Cooker’s body jerked and danced unnaturally. Each time it looked like he was going to fall, the force of the bullets lifted him back up. Just long enough to literally tear him in half, center mass disintegrating until he was two, and then a sloppy pile of man on the ground.

  Harry didn’t waste any time. He dove into the open door of the closest Hummer and scrambled over the passenger seat, feeling for the keys in the ignition. No such luck. He looked back, assuming Ricky had followed, but the kid was nowhere to be seen.

  He frantically dug around the car for keys or weapons, but found only a pack of gum and some bottles of water.

  Through the open door and pouring rain, Harry watched the soldiers slowly lower their weapons. He could just make out the looks of amazement on each of their faces. The product of their participation in the absolute destruction of a human being. Military training and television did little to prepare one for an honest-to-God slaughter. Slowly the shock wore off.

  “Just as screwed,” Harry said, watching the men turn toward him. Two of the soldiers pointed, and the others moved toward the Humvee, lifting th
eir weapons to their shoulders.

  That’s when their world went sideways. Harry saw the strange darkness grow behind the soldiers, but he didn’t know what it meant. It was a looming darkness that got darker and bigger and louder as it grew nearer.

  Then it happened.

  A wall of water crashed against the side of the Hummer, slamming the passenger door closed behind Harry with its force and moving the vehicle sideways across the mud. Harry unconsciously put on his seat belt.

  When rain in the desert falls too quickly and the ground has no time to absorb it, a flash flood is created. The position of the Humvees was essentially at the mouth of the temporary river, where all the water from the mountains flowed onto the plain.

  Harry screamed to scream, not caring that no one could hear.

  The soldiers immediately disappeared in the rising force of the flash flood, some sucked under, others swept into the distance along the brown foam. A leg, a hand, a head bobbed briefly, but soon only molten mud and thrashing water remained.

  The Humvee continued to be pushed along at the whim of the rushing water.

  Harry clutched the steering wheel, knowing that all he could do was ride the flood. The Humvee tilted, picking up speed in the accelerating current. The roar of the world was deafening. Like he was inside a washing machine or in the middle of a boiling ocean.

  Harry watched in amazement out the mud-spattered windshield at the two other Humvees on their sides, moving slowly ahead of him. Insanity’s regatta. The soldiers were gone, victims of nature. Finally it occurred to him that Ricky was out there, too. He hadn’t seen the kid since right before Cooker got blasted.

  Poor kid, Harry thought. He just wanted to help his family. He was the best of the three men. But the torrent wasn’t there to punish people, it just was. A raging river was apathetic to the moral fiber of any person in its path.

  Harry let his body relax as much as he could. He remembered reading somewhere that the best thing to do in a car accident was to let your body go slack. Tightening up caused more injuries. Panicking would do him little good. He took huge breaths whenever he took in air, just in case the water got high enough to get inside or the Humvee capsized.