popular opinion. And so will a whole generation with it. I know what they say about the resiliency of it. Nothing can stop it. Time, temperature, pressure, it’s virtually impervious to everything but the realities of the financial markets. Sure, embalming fluid helps, but only for a while. And that’s only a rumor. I repeat, only a rumor that it contains embalming fluid. However, the filling does contain a certain cellulose gum used in rocket fuel. Can you please help me, for the sake of the nation? Please bail out the Twinkie. Bail it out before the North Koreans buy the brand to enhance their intercontinental ballistic technology. They think they’re still at war with us, and if they take the Twinkie, they might as well have taken South Dakota. To that end, we might not realize its importance until it’s too late.
On the other side of town, the Padre picked up a field radio from the floor beside his dingy mattress and keyed the “talk” button.
“It’s me. Can you hear me? Good. The meeting is still on.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Circles
Ziggy ate the fat grasshopper that Nancy brought to him for breakfast. He kind of liked it. Not what he would normally would have for breakfast, but it worked. Being from Austin, he was very conscious of nose-to-tail sustainable cuisine, and this certainly qualified. It was crunchy on the outside, sort of like hummus on the inside. He asked the big iguana if he could have another. Nancy bit him.
Back in the Padre’s ruined farmhouse, General X-Ray rallied his men at sunup. Pounding on bedroom doors around the farmhouse, he woke his troops from the first decent night’s sleep they’d had in several days.
“Puke and rally!” he commanded as he roused Tango. “That’s an order, Private,” he yelled. “Puke and rally. Operation Skinny is in effect!” The weary and hung-over men climbed out of their soft, warm beds and put on their combat boots. They rallied up in the kitchen, but this time, there weren’t fluffy omelets waiting for them. “We’re moving out and searching for the civilian.”
“How’re we going to find him, sir?” Fire Team Leader Alpha asked. “He could be anywhere.”
“We’re going to track him, Team Leader. Just like the fat civilian taught us to look for his chupa…the coyote things.” The men gathered up whatever water and provisions they could carry and went outside. “Now, check the ground, men. The Mexican Army said he wasn’t found inside, so he must have bugged out. Unless they were lying to us, which they very well could have been. Never trust anyone down here. Nonetheless, I want visuals on tracks. Pronto!” The militia circled the farmhouse, looking for clues.
“What does that look like, Team Leader?” Private Tango asked, pointing at the ground.
“Well,” Fire Team Leader Bravo said, “could be some blood. Could be some tracks. Could be some bloody tracks. Not really sure.”
“Not really sure? That’s some good tracks, Team Leader, and they’re heading straight that way.” Private Tango pointed toward the hills in the distance.
“Better tell the General, I guess.”
Nancy continued leading Ziggy on a zigzag path through the desert. Ziggy, with a sudden appetite for grasshoppers, kept a sharp lookout for crunchy things with wings. Unfortunately for him, not the grasshoppers, Ziggy wasn’t very good at catching them. Nancy looked at him in disgust as he dove into the dust after another one and missed. Nancy hissed and kept on walking. In the distance, Ziggy saw a familiar sight. A long yellow vehicle rested under a shimmering heat mirage.
“Like, groovy, man.” Ziggy and Nancy headed straight for it. When they reached the bus, Ziggy opened the door and climbed inside. Nancy followed hesitantly. Ziggy looked for food and water. For once he wished Avery had been able to find some Mountain Dew. “All right, Nancy. I know, like, where we are. I’m going to, like, lie down for just a minute, dude.” Ziggy curled up in a bus seat and closed his eyes.
The General led his men into the canyons, still following the tracks left in the desert floor. After they wound and wove their way through the confusing maze, the General stopped and allowed his unit to rest.
“Man,” said Private Zulu, “that little feller sure can cover ground. We’ve been on his tail for miles.”
“These canyons are as crooked as a barrel of fishhooks,” said Private Tango as he stuck a finger in his ear, twisted it around, and examined the excavated contents.
“Uh, General,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said.
“What is it?”
“I think we have a major malfunction here.” The Fire Team Leader pointed at the ground. “I think we’ve already been here before.” The rest of the men examined the crisscrossed tracks in the dirt.
“Lard buckets!” the General exclaimed. “The little bastard got himself lost.”
“Does that mean we’re lost, too?” Private Foxtrot asked.
“Of course not,” the General replied. “The way out is right over there. Or was it that way?” He pointed.
“I was kind of thinking maybe down that way,” Fire Team Leader Alpha added.
“Well, somebody pick one,” the General said.
Something bit Ziggy. He looked up to see Nancy standing on his chest. The frilled collar under the iguana’s chin tickled Ziggy’s nose.
“I, like, know, man. But I don’t have the keys.” Nancy stared at Ziggy. “All right, come on then. But if, like, those, evil dudes are still there, I’m splitting, man.” Ziggy and Nancy made their way over the nearby rise and walked to the Padre’s farmhouse. Ziggy hunched down behind the fence surrounding the property and watched.
“I think, like, the coast is clear.” Ziggy searched the compound while Nancy sat on the porch of the farmhouse and watched. All of the dead bodies had been taken away, but the blood, bullet holes, and signs of the furious battle remained. Ziggy walked back over to Nancy.
“Let’s, like, see if he has cable, man.” Ziggy led Nancy inside the farmhouse. Gathering up some chips and salsa from the kitchen, Ziggy settled down with a stack of DVDs into a plush couch full of bullet holes. Miraculously, the enormous flat-screen television that dominated the Padre’s entertainment room still worked, although it did have a long crack in the screen, but Ziggy didn’t mind. He looked for a remote for the stereo. He liked watching television with the sound muted and the stereo on full blast. When he opened a drawer on the end table next to the couch, Ziggy’s eyes lit up. There, inside the drawer, next to the stereo remote, was one perfectly rolled joint and a sterling silver lighter. Ziggy lit up, cranked the volume, and started his movie.
“Want one?” Ziggy offered a chip with some salsa to Nancy. The big lizard just ignored him.
Avery asked a soldier to go and find the Colonel immediately. Avery typed away furiously at his laptop. It whined and hummed, unlike the top-of-the-line model of the Padre’s, which it was connected to. It pissed him off. Cesar arrived a few minutes later.
“What is it?” he asked as he entered the room.
“A transmission on the secure network that was a little out of the ordinary.”
“What was the message?”
“The meeting is still on.”
“Where?”
“It didn’t say, but by triangulating between the network of communication towers in the area, I’d say the message was sent from here in Monterrey.”
“Can you be more precise?
