Crickets trilled, celebrating the cool night air. Casey moved among the weeds, their dew soaking her pants legs and shoes. Peering out from behind one of the ten-foot rocks, Casey studied a moonscape of broken rock, chasms, and pitted slabs that stretched nearly to the purple furnace of the horizon. Off to one side, a decrepit trailer sagged in its bed of weeds like a wet cigarette. Beyond that a tractor trailer rumbled, puking diesel into the crisp air, its running lights strung up like those of a carnival freak show.
Casey's breath shortened. Her heart galloped and her fingers gripped the rock's cool face. A man in jeans walked the length of the trailer with a machine gun slung over his shoulder. The latch clanged and the tall door screeched as he swung it open and peered inside, shouting something in Spanish and pointing into the container. He shouted again and shook his gun, waving to someone inside, then fired a single shot into the sky. Casey heard the cries of distress and saw the bearded man reach into the trailer and yank a young girl out by the arm. The chilly air carried her gasping sobs across the open space, turning Casey's stomach.
The man slammed shut the door and retreated, dragging the sobbing girl into the weeds, where she grew quiet. Casey swallowed the bile back down her throat and considered a series of wild actions she could take, none of which made a bit of sense. The shadows deepened, however, and she moved forward from her hiding place, determined, if nothing else, to get close enough to see the plate numbers of the eighteen-wheeler. Crouching, she scurried across the rough ground until she could worm her way under the edge of the old construction trailer, crawl through, dampened and dirtied, and part the hem of weeds.
Casey widened her eyes, then narrowed them, trying in vain to discern the license-plate numbers. She studied the rest of the eighteen-wheeler, Tracy mud flaps, a red cab with a black rooster on the door and a circle of words around it Casey couldn't read.
She focused on the spot in the weeds where the man and the girl had disappeared. She thought she saw some movement and heard a low groaning. She plotted a path forward to where she might get a better look at the plate and the logo on the cab. Just as she started out from under her hiding place, she heard, beyond the hammering of her own heart, the crunch of gravel and tires. Headlights glowed beyond the eighteen-wheeler, their beams thick with dust and bugs. The man popped up from his spot in the weeds, slipped the machine gun strap over his neck, and struggled with his belt buckle as he ran for the eighteen-wheeler. He knelt beside the tractor trailer, the gun raised to his shoulder until he recognized the car, a police cruiser, and stood to wave. As the man with the gun strode toward the car, Casey forgot about the license plate and calculated the distance between herself and the girl lying in the weeds. Her heart felt tight and adrenaline surged through her veins.
She crawled on her belly from beneath the trailer, staying low and out of the beam of the headlights, which now outlined the dark shape of the big eighteen-wheeler. Into the weeds she went, frantically parting their brittle stalks, afraid the rasping sound would be heard, but urged by a growing panic. A sniffle broke the silence around her and she realized she'd gone past the girl. She pushed through the growth toward the sound and nearly fell over the young girl who cowered, clutching the torn dress to her naked body.
Casey knelt and helped drape her with the tattered remnants. She froze at the sound of Gage's voice. She peeked over the tops of the scrubby vegetation, and he emerged like a giant from the police car.
The big cop fixed the tall hat on his head and swung open the rear door of his cruiser, snarling and snatching at whoever sat in the back. When Casey saw Isodora, her spine went rigid. With her little girl crying softly at her breast, Isodora tottered alongside Gage with deadened eyes. They lifted her into the back and then turned their attention to the weeds.
"Come on," Casey said, hissing and dragging the young girl by the arm, crawling away from the eighteen-wheeler.
Behind her, she heard the voices of Gage and the man with the machine gun moving closer. Casey and the girl broke free from the brush and crouched on a flat open space of rubble between the weeds and a rising mound of slag that wrapped itself around the work area, broken only by the boulder-lined road. If they scaled the slag they'd be seen, but no other cover existed except for a pile of enormous old tires resting next to a hill of broken rock.
"This is where she was," the man's voice said from deep in the weeds.
"Come out, you little bitch!" Gage said, bellowing in the dark and moving their way.
Casey grabbed the girl's arm, hissed at her to be quiet and stay low, and half dragged her across the naked ground toward the tires. When they reached the pile, Casey poked her head up, then ducked as a beam from Gage's flashlight played over the mound of spent rubber. Motioning for the girl to follow, Casey wormed her way into the pile. The upright tires stood nearly six feet high. When they got close to the center of the pile, Casey shoved the girl into one of the tires that lay flat on the ground, signaling for silence before stuffing herself into the other half. The smell of rubber filled her nose and the dry dusty air nearly set off a sneeze. Casey pinched her nose shut.
The men's voices reached the edge of the weeds, and they, too, saw the tires. Gage redirected his light, and the shadows grew and shrank all around Casey as he drew nearer.
"Where are you?" Gage shouted. "Get out here now or we'll cut you up into little pieces!"
The other man shouted in Spanish and Casey could see the girl's wide-eyed face in the wavering light and she pressed her finger tight to her lips, shaking her head. She found the girl's hand and squeezed. The scuffing sound of boots punctuated the men's heavy breathing.
"You think in there?" the other man said in a low voice.
"Maybe," Gage said, and the pile of tires shifted as he pushed several aside.
The girl's face crumpled and tears began to spill from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head and her breathing grew louder. Casey tightened her grip. The center of the beam exposed the old tires around them, sweeping back and forth, then coming to a dead stop.
Gage filled his lungs like two big tanks. A small whistle sounded in his nose.
He kicked the tire they hid in, but Casey kept herself molded tight to the inner edge.
"Is that something?" the other man asked.
Gage said nothing for several moments before the beam disappeared.
"No," he said. "She's not in here."
The rasping sound of their boots on the stone began to recede. Casey exhaled and patted the young girl's hand in the darkness.
Then Casey's phone rang loudly, reverberating around the tire. Her hand snapped to her hip and silenced it. Her stomach heaved and the sounds around her seemed amplified.
Boots slapped the stone, and Gage tore at the tire pile, roaring as he threw them aside one by one, stirring a storm of dust. When he reached their hiding place, he tried to raise their tire. With a wild cry, he reached inside and tore the young girl from her spot, clubbing her head with the butt of his gun and slamming her to the ground.
Then he came for Casey.
CHAPTER 57
GAGE TWISTED HIS FINGERS UP IN CASEY'S HAIR AND DRAGGED her from inside the tire. Casey shrieked and swung her fists and kicked at Gage's groin, doubling him over in pain, but not enough to loosen his grip.
The other man chortled, and Gage sprang up, backhanding Casey as he did. Stars exploded in front of her eyes. Her ears rang, and she tasted blood. Gage punched her in the stomach so hard she felt her legs go slack, and she crumpled to the ground, gasping. Above her Gage wheezed, and placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His flashlight lay at a crazy angle, lighting up the tire pile and glinting on the blood that flowed down the young girl's face.