Chapter 17
“Get away from me, you sick fuck!”
Maria jolted awake, startled by the outburst. In the next second, Ian flung his arm out and almost struck her in the face. She blocked the blow and shrunk back. He felt like a furnace beside her, unnaturally hot. She waited for him to explain his crazy behavior, but he was silent. He’d turned off the lamp at some point, so it was dark inside the barn. A soft and steady rain pelted the tin roof overhead, making a pleasant sound that was incongruent with the tense situation.
He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over. His breathing was steady and even. She realized that he was dreaming. He hadn’t attacked her on purpose. He’d been having a nightmare, and talking in his sleep.
She shivered in the cool night air, disturbed on his behalf. Who was he fighting in his dreams? A phantom menace or a real person? The man who’d shot him? Or someone from his troubled childhood?
She lay there for a few minutes, naked and uncomfortable. He’d pulled the blanket off her. The tarp beneath her body was covered in fine grit, the straw-covered ground uneven. She was cold. In contrast, heat seemed to rise from his skin. With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch his forehead. He was burning up with fever.
“Oh no,” she cried, sitting forward. She fumbled for the lamp and turned it on. He didn’t rouse when she took off the blanket to inspect him. His face was flushed. She couldn’t tell if his wound was infected without removing his pants.
He started trembling, teeth chattering, so she replaced the blanket. Maybe he had the flu. Foreigners were more susceptible to viruses. They’d been traveling nonstop, and they’d walked for hours in the rain. She rose and put on her clothes, which were somewhat dry. His dirty shirt from the tote bag added another layer of warmth. She donned her boots and started pacing the barn.
She had no way of taking care of him. No medicine, no food. She didn’t even know what was wrong with him. And they were out in the middle of nowhere, literally. They’d come from El Limbo, but it was several miles away. That didn’t bode well.
She fisted her hands in her tangled hair and tried to think.
After a few moments of panicking, she calmed down. They were on a ranch of some kind. She could find help there. This was Mexico, not the United States. If she knocked on a door and said she needed assistance, she would get it.
On the downside, the lack of animals in the barn suggested that it was a resting place between two faraway points. She might have to walk all day before she found another human being, and the journey could be dangerous. Her home country had its disadvantages. There were disputes over territory, and the drug trade was ever expanding.
She also couldn’t forget that they’d been shot at yesterday.
Instead of setting off on her own, she sat down and took stock of their supplies. She had bandages, antiseptic wipes, and antibiotic ointment. Some dirty clothes and a damp towel. One full bottle of water, one empty. Ian had a gun, holstered. About two thousand pesos in cash. A fake ID and a real badge.
There was also a pocketknife among his belongings, which was lucky. She cut away the top of the empty water bottle and placed it outside the barn door to catch rain. Then she waited for the sun to rise, watching him carefully.
He didn’t wake at dawn. In fact, his condition seemed to get worse every hour. His skin was flushed and baking hot, his eyelids swollen. He ground his teeth and shouted random things. He thrashed around in his sleep. There was no sweat to cool him, which concerned her. She moistened one of the towels with rainwater and placed it on his forehead, but he kept dislodging it. When she tried to help him drink, he knocked the bottle aside.
By midmorning, the rain had abated, and she’d reached her breaking point. She was already hungry, her stomach churning with emptiness. If she didn’t go now, she might be walking alone in the dark. She collected the bottle of rainwater and placed it where he could find it. Then she left the barn with the other bottle in her tote bag and his knife tucked in her back pocket.
She followed the fence line away from the barn. It didn’t take long to find a dirt road. She followed it for several hours. The sun was hot and high overhead, the wet earth steamy and fragrant from the rain. Her bottle of water ran out quickly. She couldn’t turn back, so she pushed forward, putting one foot in front of the other. Her tongue felt like wool in her mouth. She was lightheaded and lethargic. But she’d been in worse spots than this before. She’d been thirstier in the desert. She hadn’t quit then and she wouldn’t quit now.
Ian was counting on her. Heneededher, even if he couldn’t admit it.
She didn’t think about the pleasure he’d given her last night. Those memories were too special to drag out at any old time. She’d save them for daydreams in her bedroom, or when she was floating in the Balsas looking up at the brilliant blue sky.
She didn’t think about anything. She just kept walking toward a glimmer on the horizon.
The glimmer turned out to be the front window on a dusty green pickup truck. She almost fainted with relief when she saw it. There was a man working on a rusted piece of machinery in a nearby field. She jogged the last quarter mile, and was out of breath when she reached him.
“¿Qué pasa, muchacha?”he asked with a friendly smile.
“I need help,” she said in the same language. “My husband is sick.”
“Where?”
“In an old barn.” She pointed the opposite direction.
“Ándale, pues,”he said, wiping his hands on a rag.
They walked to his truck and she climbed in the passenger side. He had a gallon of water, which he shared. She drank inelegantly, rivulets running down her neck. On the way to the barn, she made up a story about getting lost on a hike and caught in the rain.
He arched a brow at this explanation. “There aren’t any trails around here.”
“No wonder we couldn’t find it.”
