By the time we reached the local Walmart of Durango my face was swollen and blood had stained my pancho. I dismounted and pulled two blue spheres the size of walnuts out of my saddlebags. I shook them in both hands, making sure the chemicals inside were well mixed and then pressed them on my face.
The chemical reaction inside of the objects caused them to get cold which would help the swelling on my nose and around my eyes go down. I sat on the ground, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Beanstalk, cricket and slug stood nearby awkwardly. I trusted them to keep watch while I was off guard, gritting my teeth through the steady throbbing in my head.
After a minute or two I stood and placed the spheres back in my bags. I approached Beanstalk who flinched at my arrival. I punched him in the shoulder. Don't worry, it was in his good arm. "What were you doing?" I demanded. "You would've gotten killed! All three of you!" I yelled, whirling around to face the twins.
"Ya, about that. Uh . . . thanks mate," Beanstalk muttered. I took a shaky breath to compose myself. "I suppose I have to thank you boys a bit as well. They would have shot me dead if you didn't distract them during the fight."
My voice was tinted with a hint of approval, but rage was still woven through it. "So, uh, why are we here?" Beanstalk asked while gesturing at the Walmart, obviously anxious to change the subject. "I had to stop here anyways," I growled. "Watch and learn," I said, limping toward the glass doors.
I pushed them open easily, entering a dark and completely trashed store. The boys followed me timidly. I immediately drew my pistol and pointed it in the direction of every aisle I walked into. The shelves of course were empty and had been probably for years. The ground was littered with shredded paper, random pieces of metal, bullets, clothing scraps and rodent skeletons. After clearing the first half of the store I began to relax and headed towards the back.
I glanced back and saw that Beanstalk and slug had pulled out the guns that they'd stolen from the men and were defensively pointing them around themselves with the safety off. I stifled a yelp and rushed towards them. "What are you fools doing?" I demanded. They looked startled. "Put those away! You don't know how to use them. Just keep watch."
They obeyed. Once I reached the back of the store, where the milk was previously stored, I spotted the yellow 'Employees Only' door and went inside. It was dark and extremely hot. There were scraps of wood and cardboard made into a makeshift shelter. "Axel?" I whispered. "Axel, soy yo Mocosa. Está en tu casa?"
There was a sudden shift in the rubble and out from under a dirty tarp a face appeared. I was expecting the trader Axel, an old and very strong man that had been living in the Walmart since before I was born. Or so he said. I had stumbled into the store when I was eight and begged him for water. He yelled at me to get out, threw things and threatened to hurt me. But at the time I was angry, thirsty and exhausted. My stubbornness outweighed my fear and I refused to leave. That earned me my nickname 'Mocosa', which means 'Brat' in Spanish.
Looking back on it made me respect him a lot more. He could have done anything he wanted with me seeing as I was a helpless child, but instead he didn't lay a finger on me and grudgingly gave me some of his left overs and little water.
I had revisited him twice since then. This time however I was greeted by someone new. The face I looked down at was pale and dirty with a scruffy brown beard and sharp gray eyes. The man scowled at me, looking repulsed.
"Get out of here!" he snarled. "I don't deal with filth like you!" He spat on the ground at my feet. I raised my gun a little higher as the boys backed up a bit. "Where's Axel?" I asked.
"You mean the man that lived here before?" barked the man curiously. He threw his head back and laughed hysterically which turned into a hacking cough. The man slid out a little further from the tarp revealing a starved frame. Food was scarce everywhere of course but this man was simply skin and bones. He was laying on his side and his arms trembled under his weight, which couldn't have been more than ninety pounds.
"He's dead!" the man exclaimed gleefully. "He's finally kicked the bucket! I've been waiting until this place was up for grabs and now I have his things and people come to me to trade!" the breathing was ragged and strained and he had an insane look in his eyes. My heart twinged at the news of Axel's death.
He was a good man with a good heart and made fair trades. But he was old and tired, it didn't surprise me that he was gone. I swallowed my sadness and stared the man directly in the eye.
"Fine then, what's your name? I'd like to see what you have to trade." I took a step forward. "No!" the man screeched. "Stay away you filthy creature! I said I don't deal with people like you!" He scuttled back under the tarp. I didn't know what he meant by people like me but I decided that there was no reasoning with him so I lowered my pistol.
"Then who do you trade with?" I asked, tapping my foot. He peeked out at us again. "There!" he said pointing at Beanstalk. "You're white aren't you?" He asked suspiciously. Beanstalk's face flushed red. "Um, yes, I'm white."
"Come here boy! I'll trade with you." Fury built up inside of me. Of course a dirty little rat like this would be racist. The thought that he was disadvantaged by this considering white people were scarce around here comforted me. Cricket and Slug looked disgusted by the man's words. "I . . . er . . . I don't have any goods to trade with," Beanstalk said.
"But he'll go get them," I said quickly and ushered the boys back through the doors. We left the store and I dug through the saddle bags. "Have the saddle bags ever fallen off because there's no saddle to keep them there?" asked Cricket. I sighed. "No, I make sure to balance them evenly."
I took out the baby blue cowboy hat and some extra food. "Here," I said, shoving them into beanstalk's arms. He fumbled with them because of his cast. "Remember to ask if he has any brushes, combs, or some weapons. I doubt he has any spare food."
Beanstalk nodded and entered the store once more with trembling legs, obviously frightened to face the man on his own. "He's a nervous little thing isn't he," I commented as I distributed the weight of the saddle bags. "He's always been like that," said slug.
"How long have you guys known each other?" I asked, now combing through Benito's mane with my fingers. "We met Jeremy a few months ago in Piedras Negras," cricket said.
I paused and turned around to face them. They were sitting on the curb, drawing pictures in the sand with some sticks they found. "What were you all doing so close to the border? Anyone with sense steers clear of America."
"We were living there with our Abuela," Slug explained. "Jeremy showed up in December with some others. They'd traveled to the border all the way from the coast of Nueva York. We gave them food and water and a place to stay, but two of them passed away overnight."
I stopped. "Wait, hold on a second," I said, holding up my hands. "What do you mean he came from the coast of Nueva York. The rest of the world is unlivable, especially America. How could he have come from there?" Cricket and Slug glanced at each other uneasily. "Well he didn't come from Nueva York. That's just where they landed. He was born and raised in England."
"England?"
Cricket raised an eyebrow. "Yeah England. You know, that country in Europe across the Atlantic. It's like, North East from here . . ."
"I know where England is, I just don't understand how that's possible. The remainder of the human race is here in Mexico, you can't live anywhere else," I insisted. The boys almost laughed. "Where'd you hear something like that?" Slug asked. "At . . . at my school. We had some of the greatest historians as teachers.
They told us about how the world was ruined by climate change and space debris. Mexico was the only place untouched, that's why so many people immigrated here."
Cricket shrugged. "Well yeah, the world's a mess but there are still people on the rest of the continents. Can't you hear Jeremy's British accent?" I scratched my head. "I can, I just . . . didn't know exactly what kind of accent it was, anyway-" I was stopped by a flicker of movement at the edge of vision. I turned around but nothing was there.
"What is it?" Slug asked. "Nothing, I just thought I saw-" I was interrupted by rapid footsteps from behind me. I spun around and pulled my gun but the person slid to stop. It was one of the 'raiders'. The first one I fought, called Miguel. With a wicked smile he held up something small in his hand, pressed down on it with his thumb and pitched it into a broken window of the store. In an instant I understood what he'd done.
"RUN!" I screamed. The boys and I bolted.
Benito, being the fast and intelligent horse he is, followed. After a count of five, my arms pumping and my chest burning, there was a horrible sound of shattering glass, and metal screeching on metal following a loud boom.
A shock wave shot through the air and knocked me to the ground. I sprang to my feet and looked back at the wreck. The building was starting to collapse in on itself while plumes of fire and smoke snaked out of the windows and holes in the walls.
The man, Miguel, wasn't fast enough and lay unconscious on the ground from the blast. "Jeremy!" Cricket shrieked. The boys and I stood there in shock as dust settled and was picked up again by the wind. The fire started spreading, Benito reared and whinnied as I heard the sound of horse hooves approaching.
The other raiders were coming, we had to leave. Cricket tried to run towards the burning building but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back roughly. "Stop!" he yelled. "I have to find Jeremy!"
"You can't go in there," I told him frantically. "That'll be suicide for someone so inexperienced!" He thrashed as I pulled him towards Benito. "Please!" Slug shouted, also seeming to consider running inside. Cricket planted his feet and looked up at me. In that moment time froze, and it felt as if I were in a memory.
His face reminded me so much of what I thought I must have looked like the day of the Restos disaster. Breathing heavily, shaking from fatigue and fear, pupils dilated in terror, and tears beginning to form. Cricket trembled violently and through his labored breathing managed to choke out "Save him."
It was at this moment that I realized that the kind of brotherly love Cricket felt for Beanstalk was something greater and stronger than I had ever experienced. In the last few years I had gotten used to moving past sorrow and forgetting loss quickly, but I now understood that if these brothers lost their friend it would shatter hearts, something that hadn't happened to me since my father's death.
The grief I had felt for my late father was something that I would never, ever wish on another human being. I hesitated then leaned down so I was at his level. "Go," I whispered gravely. He looked into my eyes and understood my intention. As he and Slug mounted Benito I made a mad dash for the Walmart.
"Go" was the only thing my mama said to me when we stepped outside and saw that what the Astronomers and meteorologists of Restos had predicted was right. There was no time for those last confessions or tearful goodbyes like you see in movies.
She simply turned to me, told me "Go", grabbed my baby brother, Juan, I grabbed my gun and music box, and we rushed out of the house together.
I jumped through the shattered glass doors of the store and immediately slowed down as I almost slipped on debris. I tied my bandana around my nose and mouth as the smoke stung my eyes and throat. I was surrounded by the white noise of the crackling fire and collapsing building. Everything was tinted with black and I couldn't see three feet in front of me.
I stumbled through the store, kicking aside burning material and looking out for any metal that would be red hot by now. "Beanstalk!" I called. There was no answer. I doubted he could even hear me over the roar of the fire. "Beanstalk!" I called again, coughing and gagging at the smell of burning plastic. I felt the heat frying my legs and arms as I turned around, trying to figure out which way I came from and which way the 'employees only' door was.
Suddenly, something caught my foot and I fell forward, catching myself with my hands. My left hand landed on something metal and I felt the agonizing sting of it burning my palm. I screamed and rolled onto my side. I got up slowly, cradling my hand against my chest. Looking down I saw what had tripped me. It was the racist man.
He appeared to be dead. In all honesty I believed that he deserved what he got but I had learned long before to respect the dead, no matter how much you hated them. After all, what right did you have to still feel anger towards them when they were the ones that lost their lives.
I looked around, coughing up dust and ashes. I decided that my chances of finding Beanstalk were slim and that I had to find my way out. I went stumbling back the way I came, clutching my hand as I felt it begin to blister. I thought that I saw natural light from around the other isle and started heading towards it when I heard something.
It was so quiet that for a moment I thought I had imagined it, but I heard it again.
It was a voice calling "Please!" I couldn't tell what direction it was coming from. The ceiling shook and I feared it would give in as burning plaster and wood fell from above. "Beanstalk?" I called. No answer. I grew desperate, thinking about Cricket and how devastated he would be if I came back without his friend. I sucked in a deep breath, which was mostly smoke, and screamed at the top of my lungs, "JEREMY!"
The sound strained my vocal chords, making my throat sore. There was a beat and then I high pitched yell from a few isles over. I spread my hands in front of me and felt my way over there.
I dropped to my knees and felt in front of me. Beanstalk grabbed my hand. As soon as I felt his fingers close around mine I stood and tried to yank him to his feet. He didn't move and instead cried out in pain. I could barely make out his silhouette.
"Stuck," he moaned weakly. I realized that his leg was trapped under a destroyed shelf. I let go of his arms and moved over to the shelf, positioning my hands underneath and leaning back because the top had started to burn and I didn't want to singe my eyebrows off. I was strong from years of having nothing but my strength to rely on but the shelf was heavy.
My adrenaline started pumping and with shaking arms and a grunt of endurance I slowly and carefully lifted the shelf. He wiggled out from under it and started crawling slowly across the floor. I let the shelf drop, grabbed his arm and hauled him up. As soon as we were on our feet he slumped against me, trying to right himself but failing as his legs shook under his weight.
I was becoming light headed and nauseous from the smoke. I slung his left arm across my shoulders and we hobbled to the doors, which looked more like white rectangles through the smoke. We nearly tripped crossing the glass littered pavement as we emerged from the Walmart. It was only then that I realized he was still clutching the baby blue cowboy hat.
I barely had a chance to look at Beanstalk or my hand before I went cross eyed, looking down the barrel of a gun. It was the second raider, the one I had bitten. "Well lookie here," he said, his finger hovering over the trigger. My mind started working furiously, trying to think of a way out of the situation, but it was slow and foggy from the smoke inhalation and fatigue.
"Where's your friend?" I muttered stupidly. "Dead," he spat. I took a step back in shock. What could he have died from? I gave him some cuts and a dislocated shoulder but nothing life threatening.
Someone could've popped his shoulder back in place and some bandages, maybe stitches, could've healed his wounds. Those questions didn't matter at the moment. We stood there for a good minute, the man seemed to still be deciding whether or not to kill me.
"What do you want?" I asked sourly. "Where's your horse?" he asked.
I shifted my weight, still trying to hold up Beanstalk. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "Don't play around now. Where's your horse?" he demanded, tapping the end of the pistol on my forehead. "I don't know!" I insisted.
He continued to shout, jamming the barrel of the gun against my head, making me stumble. A large shape appeared from behind a building and crept silently up behind the raider. I tried not to look at it, not wanting to give it away, and Beanstalk surely wouldn't considering that he was half conscious.
"Enough!" the raider roared after repeating his question several times. He pointed the pistol at Beanstalk. "I'm going to count to ten, and you're going to tell me where your horse got off to, or I'll pull the trigger."
For the slightest of seconds I panicked and stiffened. The raider slowly began counting. "Six . . . seven . . . eight," my heart hammered in my chest.
"NINE!" he yelled. "Oh. There he is," I said nonchalantly gesturing behind him with my chin. He wheeled around only to be charged by a horse. I hurled myself and Beanstalk out of the way at the last second and we went sprawling across the ground. Shards of glass gave us both several small lacerations on our arms and legs. Well, not his legs, because he was an idiot that wore jeans in ninety degree weather.
I slowly got up, swaying as my vision spun. I dragged Beanstalk into a somewhat standing position and almost collapsed as he went limp, making me catch him.
When I looked up I saw the horror before me. Benito had knocked the raider to the ground and was now furiously stomping him into the dirt. The twins were holding onto Benito's mane for dear life as he jumped and reared. "Calmate!" I demanded, which meant "Calm down" in Spanish. Benito continued to pound the man as he attempted to crawl to safety. I was a good fifteen feet away and I could still hear his ribs cracking. He screamed and groaned, fighting until he became still. "CALMATE!" I screamed.
Benito halted and took a step back from the body, snorting and braying. I half carried, half dragged Beanstalk to Benito and mounted him with the help of the boys, who held onto the hat for him.
I couldn't make myself look at the man's carcass. It wasn't because it was gross or sad, it was just the fact that Benito had done it. My Benito, who was never aggressive unless I commanded it. The way he had so brutally taken the man's life in a way that I had never dreamed of him doing disturbed me, but there was no time to think about that. I had to get out and then turn my attention to mine and the other's wounds.
I mounted and spurred Benito. We rode off, back into the desert only on the opposite side of the city that we had entered, heading east.
After two hours of riding and trying to erase what had just happened from my memory, Cricket, who was right behind me, tapped me on the shoulder. He looked at Beanstalk who was laid against Benito's neck, unconscious and had developed a fever in the past hour. I feared that the cut I had bandaged was infected.
"Is he going to be alright?" Cricket asked quietly. He hadn't slept at all like I'd expected him to, and the sun was getting close to the horizon. In reality Beanstalk's condition was worsening, and if I didn't treat his wounds and get him water soon it wasn't likely that he'd live.
I value honesty, no matter how brutal or hard to accept it is, but I couldn't quite bring myself to say it to Cricket, especially since I still wasn't over the painful flash back he'd brought me. "I'll do what I can," was all I said.
If someone had told that to me I would've demanded more details, but something about my words seemed to calm him and he dozed off after wrapping his arm around my waist, which still felt unnatural. It wasn't until sunset that we finally stopped and made camp at an old, dried up well.