All the Little Raindrops(32)

Don’t think. Not now.

They weren’t safe, not yet. And so they traveled on.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Evan’s hand throbbed mercilessly. He hurt everywhere, but his hand was where the pain radiated so harshly he felt like he might throw up.

Still they walked, Noelle shuffling over the cracked ground in front of him. He followed because he didn’t feel capable of leading and he didn’t want to let her down. But he wouldn’t leave her, not even to sit for a minute, and so if she kept moving, so did he.

Don’t stop. You’re the only reason I’m upright.

They were in the middle of fucking nowhere. How far had they been transported? And who the fuck took them to be locked in steel cages and forced to make horrendous choices? Rented? And why them?

We leave here whole.

We leave here together.

And they had, they had, against all odds. So far anyway.

A wild roar stirred in his chest, and he wanted to sink to his knees and scream at the sky. He wasn’t even sure what that sound would contain if he allowed it to emerge. Tempered triumph? Rage? Agony?

Yes. Yes to all of that.

And Evan sensed that emotions that enormous and all encompassing would not lie dormant for long.

But for now, the agony of his hand overtook the thrashing emotions inside, and strangely, he was grateful for that.

A slip of pale gray met his eyes, peeking into the dark sky.

Morning had come.

Fear leaped inside. Noelle glanced back at him, and he saw the concern in her face that he felt too. The darkness had seemed like protection, like cover from those who might be hunting for them, though they hadn’t heard any sounds, near or far, that might have suggested that, not even fire trucks to extinguish the inferno they’d left behind.

And so they walked on, the shadows of the desert becoming sage-green and brown plants, shiny, yellow-topped cacti covered in white spines, and red-hued dirt beneath their feet.

The sky moved from pearl to pale pink, and then all at once seemed to explode in streaks of purple and orange.

Noelle stopped in front of him, sucking in a breath as she met his eyes. He stopped, too, realizing that the sound of a vehicle could be heard moving in their direction. He’d zoned out, synchronizing his steps to the pulsating of his hand, and almost missed it. Adrenaline surged, and he pointed to a hedge of dry bushes to their right, and both of them limped as quickly as possible for the cover they provided.

The vehicle was driving slowly, and Evan realized there was a road ahead of them. He heard the tires rolling over the gravelly ground, but also the sounds of . . . laughter and . . . singing?

“It’s Spanish,” Noelle said under her breath, her eyes wide as they met his. Were they in . . . Mexico?

They held themselves still as the vehicle passed slowly by, coming to a squeaky stop a hundred feet from where they hid. More Spanish, an adult saying something and a child responding. Evan moved a piece of brush aside, peering out. It was a truck, and six or seven people sat in the open cab at the back, a few of them children. A little boy about nine or ten jumped down from the flatbed and ran into the desert, stepping behind a cactus and unzipping his pants. Evan heard the sound of him urinating.

He turned his head and met Noelle’s eyes. Did they dare? Did they dare ask for help? There was nothing as far as the eye could see, and he was so parched he felt like passing out. He could see she was at least as bad off as he was. They wouldn’t make it much farther on their feet. And that would mean they escaped hell simply to die in a desert alone. That’d be better, but not by much.

“There are children,” she whispered.

He gave a nod. They looked like farmers or laborers of some type, headed to a day of work along with their sons. If they were there as part of whatever Noelle and Evan had been dragged into, would they have their children with them? And—he looked closer—one old lady, sitting at the back of the flatbed, a scarf tied around her hair?

No, these were locals, whatever local meant. Evan looked at Noelle, giving a tip of his chin. Then he took her hand, and they stood, stepping from the bushes.

The man standing at the back of the truck waiting for the boy startled, letting out what sounded like an epithet in Spanish. The little boy came running from behind the cactus and joined his father. The other people on the truck were staring at them, eyes wide, expressions incredulous.

Noelle and Evan approached slowly. It was all they could manage anyway. “We need help,” Evan said. “Can you help us?”

The man standing at the back of the truck with the boy stared, then said something in Spanish to them. Evan shook his head. “I’m sorry, we only speak English.”

“English,” the man said with a heavy accent. He turned to the rest of the people in the truck, speaking several strings of words.

Next to him, Noelle swayed, and he put his arm around her, holding her up.

The old woman stood and said something, and then one of the men jumped down, and he and the father came toward Evan and Noelle, each taking one of their arms and helping them over to the truck and then up to the open bed, where they sat on built-in wooden seats.

A man leaned through the open back window of the cab and said something to the driver, and the truck began moving slowly again, dust and gravel kicking up in its wake.

A different man offered them a jug of water, and they both drank greedily, thanking him and returning it mostly empty. He handed over something wrapped in a cloth, and Noelle opened it. Food. She broke it in half and gave part to Evan. They both ate it. Evan couldn’t have said what it was or how it tasted. He only knew they were half starved and needed to eat if they were going to make it any further.