'We should've brought a picnic,' she said, trying to lighten my mood.
I was still looking down at the map when I felt the first bullet ricochet off the back of her car.
Secada said nothing, but slammed the throttle down.
I spun around and saw a new, blue Ford pickup truck, no front plate, behind us. Two black-haired, Hispanic guys were standing behind the cab, harnessed to a roll bar in the back of the truck, both pointing thirty-ought-sixes over the roof of the cab. As I turned, they started firing again and almost immediately, the back window of the SUV exploded inward, raining glass on us.
'Faster!' I yelled as Secada took the narrow, rutted curves at breakneck speed.
Two more rifle shots cracked. I managed to unfasten the seat-belt and started firing back at them through her blown-out rear window. My Airlight Smith and Wesson snubie weighed less than a pound and was a good, easy carry piece, but it was so light it kicked like a mule, and its two-inch barrel had no accuracy at this distance. I wasn't hitting anything.
'What are you packing?' I yelled at Scout.
'Glock Nine. Fifteen in the clip! My purse!' she screamed back.
I grabbed for the bag, pulled out the gun, chambered it, and started unloading 9 mm rounds at the pursuing truck. The Glock had a five-inch barrel and was much more accurate. Immediately, the slugs began to slam into the truck grill. The driver swerved to avoid being hit, then took his foot off the gas and fell back, trailing us now by about a hundred yards, reducing my effectiveness. Every time the road straightened out, there were more shots from their long rifles. Pieces of Secada's car flew off, accompanied by whining ricochets. Then, without warning, a stake-bed farm truck full of produce appeared around a blind turn, coming right at us. Secada swerved to miss it.
Several more shots sounded. Secada yelled out as blood mist flew from her right shoulder and she lost control of the SUV. Suddenly we catapulted off the narrow, winding road into the rutted fields beyond. The left front tire went into a pothole and, in an instant, we flipped over and were rolling.
The next thing I knew I was being thrown around inside the Suburban unable to get my bearings until the SUV finally came to a shuddering, bone-jarring stop, tipped over on the driver's side.
'Gotta get out! We're easy targets in here!' I shouted, struggling to get up.
Secada was pinned underneath me between the steering wheel and the door. Her bloody arm hung uselessly at her side.
'Vengan! Andele!' someone yelled, and I heard both truck doors slam.
I finally pushed myself up by standing on the steering column. When I had enough leverage, I heaved the passenger side door up and open, then peeked up over the running board at the field behind us.
The two rifle men had untied themselves from the roll bar and were scrambling out of the truck. The driver was also out and aiming his gun around the front fender. I'd somehow managed to hold on to Scout's Glock during the crash and started cranking off rounds.
' Chingada!' one of them yelled and then immediately dove back behind the blue Ford pickup.
'Come out! Come out now and you no get hurt!' a man with a thick Mexican accent yelled.
I fired for effect, hitting nothing, until I was dry.
Secada must have been counting shots, because as soon as the slide locked open, she shouted, 'Here!' and handed me up a fresh clip with her good hand. I hit the eject button, dropped the empty, and slammed the new clip home. I tromboned the slide and readied myself to start firing.
'Go out the back window, Scout. Head for the trees. I'll keep them pinned down.'
Holding her bleeding shoulder, Secada struggled painfully over the seats, and finally wiggled through the broken back window. Once she was outside, I laid down a barrage of cover fire as she sprinted across the open field. As my slugs smashed into the truck, the driver jumped into the cab and plowed backwards away from me. My bullets bounced off the hood and grill, shattering the left side of the windshield until the driver careened recklessly to a stop behind a huge oak.
I scrambled out the back of the SUV and followed Scout across the short, open field, and up a low rise, toward a stand of poplar trees. She was noticeably losing speed and coordination, moving slower and slower. As I hurried to catch up to her, I heard the bark of both ought sixes. Then Secada fell.
'No!' I shouted. I finally reached her, scooped her up in my arms, and stumbled on.
The flat crack of more shots sounded and I felt a sharp pain in my back, then another slug tugged at my elbow. I knew I was taking rounds, but a sudden surge of adrenaline numbed the pain. The shots hadn't knocked me down yet, so I kept going, struggling up the slope with Secada cradled in my arms. I crested the hill and started down the other side. Secada's eyes were closed. Blood poured out of two deep wounds in her left side.
Then I felt a wave of numbness so overpowering that I could no longer control my body. Suddenly my legs gave out and Secada slipped from my grasp as the ground rushed up at me. Then I was tumbling downhill. I heard the distant sound of rushing water, which grew louder as I fell, until it became a deafening roar. Ice cold water flooded into my mouth and hammered my eardrums. I had come to rest in a cold mountain stream. I struggled to rise up, to locate Secada, but my arms would no longer lift my weight. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even get my face out of the bubbling tributary. I panicked as I suddenly realized I was about to drown in less than two feet of water.
Chapter 31
Slowly, gray images started coming out of the mist. SILvery silhouettes that shimmered like freshly-minted buffalo head nickels. A white-haired fatherly presence I couldn't quite remember peered down at me, his craggy face etched with curiosity.
Chooch and Alexa floated up like gray-white ghosts. I felt nothing. I was a spectator in a dark theater, watching this parade of colorless tintype people that kept changing into new forms from old memories. I saw the old Huntington House group home where I first knew loneliness and despair. Some of my foster parents came and looked down at me-welfare thieves who took money, then threw me back when I became too much bother. The people in these pictures would appear, sometimes move or even speak, coming to life for a minute, before being pulled back into the mist, getting smaller and weaker until they were gone. Then another image would arrive. Snapshots from my past. I watched, but was strangely detached as if this had all happened to someone else.
Then Secada was holding me, looking down, her dark eyes filled with love. Her lustrous hair hung in sheaves, framing both of us. She reached out and caressed me, pulling me near. Unlike the others, she was rich and colorful, close and warm. Her naked breast and strong arms caressed me. I felt safe. When she leaned down and kissed me, I suddenly began responding.
'Querido, listen to me,' Secada whispered.
'I'm listening.'
'I tried to keep my promise. But this attraction is too strong. I cannot be tu otra-your other woman,' she whispered.
'I know.'
I found her mouth and smothered it with kisses.
First, I felt a warmth, and then, without warning, a sudden searing pain. It started in my heart, then spread quickly across my chest, crippling my entire body. Far away I heard alarms and buzzers.
'Don't hate me, querido,' Secada said.
'We're losing him. Get the crash cart!' a distant voice shouted.
And then the fog was back, swirling around me. This time I could taste it, burning in my throat like acid bile.
'I tried to keep my promise,' Secada said, disappearing behind a new gray mist. As she faded, she whispered softly, 'I tried. I really tried.'
Chapter 32
