“Nancy!” Ziggy cried as he hugged the big iguana. Nancy hissed. While iguanas do enjoy licking things and being reunited with the ones they love, they don’t necessarily enjoy being hugged. In fact, they hate it. It’s just not in their nature, hence, the squirm defense. Nancy’s heavy tail whipped against Ziggy as he clutched her to his breast.
“Baby!” Ziggy cried as he hugged his heavy, squirming lizard. Nancy fought free of his grip and started to wander away. “Like, what, man,” Ziggy said as he fought his way to his feet. Nancy looked back at him with blank eyes, then turned and continued walking slowly away from him. Ziggy followed. After a while, Nancy led Ziggy out of the twisting canyons.
“Like, right on, Nancy,” Ziggy said he looked at the open desert surrounding him. He still didn’t have any idea where he was. Nancy began lumbering down a trail. It was an ancient one that predated the Spanish. Local people had trod down the pathway for centuries, but to Ziggy, for some reason, it seemed to lead in the wrong direction. Then again, what did he know? He was lost. He set out after Nancy. Ziggy was exhausted and parched. His stride began to shorten. Every few minutes, Nancy would stop, turn around, and wait for Ziggy to catch up. It seemed hopeless. Mile after mile of rocks, dirt, and gravel spread out in front of them. Ziggy pushed on, following Nancy’s weaving back-and-forth stride the whole way. Then Nancy stopped again. Ziggy collapsed to the ground next to the big lizard.
“I’m, like, done for.” Nancy bit him. “Ouch, man! Like, easy on the violence, bro.” Nancy began scratching at the dirt, then stopped and looked right at Ziggy. “What?” Nancy scratched again at the ground. “Like, all right, man.” Ziggy reached over, and with his fingernails scratched at the dry dirt. Just underneath the surface of the soil, it was damp. Ziggy looked around him. They were sitting in the middle of a wide, dry riverbed. Ziggy started clawing at the ground with both hands. The soil became wetter and wetter the deeper he dug. Soon, he’d excavated down about a foot. Slowly, water began to seep into the hole. Using his shirt as a sponge, he soaked up the water and squeezed it into his mouth. The water was brown and tasted of mud, but to Ziggy it was the most refreshing thing he’d ever tasted, apart from icy-cold root beer. Again and again, Ziggy soaked the water from the bottom of the hole, while Nancy patiently waited. It took some time, but Ziggy finally had his fill. He was already starting to feel better. Nancy headed off again, away from the riverbed.
“Like, wait up, man,” he said as he scampered after the reptile. After a few hundred yards, Nancy veered off the trail and headed straight into the desert. Ziggy followed close behind.
“You, like, sure about this?” Ziggy asked. “I kind of, like, really dug that trail, dude. Trails, like, lead places and stuff.” Nancy ignored Ziggy and kept going. Ignoring people is one of the things that iguanas are best at. Nancy stopped beside a small cactus. Ziggy looked on as Nancy began to chew on one of the paddles before stopping and staring at Ziggy.
“Like, okay, man,” he said as he carefully removed the spiky thorns from one of the paddles. Using his fingernails, he scraped off as much of the small nodes that covered the outside of the green plant that he could. He looked at Nancy and then at the cactus. He took a bite. It wasn’t bad. A little chewy, but it was moist. Ziggy finished the paddle before having another one. Nancy began walking off again. Ziggy didn’t hesitate to follow this time.
• • •
The army helicopter sped toward Monterrey. Avery, using his old laptop from the bus, connected it to the Padre’s. After several minutes of typing, he looked up.
“Colonel,” Avery said through the intercom.
“Yes,” Cesar replied.
“I can access their communication network. Not much activity right now. Just some chatter. Sounds like people are moving drug shipments across various points along the border.”
“Anything about the Padre?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Keep listening,” Cesar said.
• • •
The Mexican Army unceremoniously dumped General X-Ray and his men at the border crossing. With the help of some Mexican officials, the men were escorted across the bridge. The U.S. authorities on the other side had no idea what to do with them.
“I’m telling you, Tommy Lee,” a Homeland Security employee said to his partner. “There’s not squat in this here manual about what to do with civilian militia being repatriated to the U.S. of A. after being captured in a foreign military conflict.” He poked the heavy book with his finger. “If I go and do something that ain’t in the manual, I’m going to get my butt chewed.” Eventually, the U.S. officials decided that the prudent thing to do was to wash their hands of the issue and spend their energy covering their tracks. Following a thorough body cavity search, which was in the manual, the General and his men were taken to a local bus station and given vouchers for a ride back home. Their bus wasn’t scheduled to leave for another two hours.
“Men, I need to talk to you,” the General said. “I’m sorry I lied to you. That was completely my fault. You deserve better. I’m sorry. I apologize.”
“That’s okay,” said Private Zulu. “I had a whole lot of fun doing militia stuff the last couple of years.”
“We all did, sir,” added Fire Team Leader Bravo.
“You boys forgive me?”
“Ain’t nothing to forgive, General,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “STRAC-BOM, attention! There’s an officer on deck.” The entire militia stood at attention and saluted. Fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes, the General returned the salute.
“You make me proud, boys,” the General said, beaming. “Now, I’ve got to ask you something. There’s no right or wrong answer here. No pressure.”
“What is it, sir?” Private Tango asked.
“Men, we left a civilian behind. He’s out there somewhere, alone, hungry, and tired. I’m never leaving a man behind again. It’s in the Code of Conduct. I’m going after him. I sure could use some help, but I don’t expect any volunteers. I know you all need to get home to your families. I just thought I’d ask.”
“I’m in,” said Private Foxtrot.
“Me, too,” said Fire Team Leader Alpha. Private Zulu looked at Team Leader Charlie and nodded.
“Sir, you can count on Fire Team Charlie,” the Team Leader said.
“Same thing with Fire Team Bravo.”
“Well, that makes it unanimous, General.” Private Tango slapped his hands together. “What are the orders, sir?”
“Hot damn, boys!” the General said. “We’re back in business. Okay, first thing we need is some papers. They don’t always check at the border going in, but they always do coming out.”
“How we going to get them papers?” asked Private Zulu.
“See that over there?” The General pointed at a bus full of tourists waiting at the station before crossing the border. “Leave this to me. If you see anyone approach the bus, give me the signal.”
“What’s the signal?” Private Foxtrot asked. “It didn’t really work that swell last time.”
“Yodel.” The General straightened and dusted off his tanker uniform. He put his mirrored sunglasses on. From his wallet, he removed his library card. “Wait here and be ready to move out fast.” The General approached the bus and peeked inside the open door. The driver wasn’t in the vehicle. The General coolly and confidently swaggered up the steps. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Officer Rizzo. I’m with the U.S. Federal Customs and Border Protection Transportation Security Association of the Tobacco, Firearms, and Alcohol Bureau of Investigation.” He flashed his library card quickly to the bus full of retirees. “May I inquire as to your destination today?”
“We’re heading down to them Mexican pharmacies, sonny boy,” one of the retirees said. “Come all the way from New Braunfels to get some of that cheap Viagra.”