The guardian had not lied to Eduardo. Los pálidos could not survive in the world.
They simply appeared. Two of them in full suits and frightening masks, and they raised blades, curved like those Eduardo had seen on Jorge’s granja, and they cut down mother and son, their bodies crumpling, severed, and neither made any sound. Eduardo heard their life leaking out of them, heard the desert gulping up the blood.
One of them got in his face, their eyes flaring in anger.
“No children,” he said. “Don’t screw this up this time.”
The other handed Eduardo his payment, short the money from the two bodies he did not deliver, and then they grabbed the corpse of the burned one and dragged it across the barrier.
Eduardo had believed this was one of his last trips. But now … he was under his goal. He did the sums in his head: five. Five more bodies … and he would be free.
But now he could not deny what he had been told and what he had seen. What else was true? What if all of it was?
He made his journey home, more confused than ever before.
The guardians then came to him outside of a dream.
He was just north of the gates to Obregán, having spent two days in a fever state of exhaustion and terror, unable to get the images out of his mind. The blistering body. The family, cut down so savagely. The same gato slunk out of the shadows and stood in his path. Eduardo believed he was delirious from the heat, but then he heard the guardian inside his head.
Eduardo, the time has arrived, they said. We can help you if you help us.
“You’re real?” he asked.
The guardian growled, and Eduardo sensed that there were many eyes on him. He looked up and into the faces of countless other guardians, their pupils glowing.
Yes, we are real, they said. Get another group. Take them north to Solado. Send them through. And when you have received your payment, step into the barrier and stay between it.
“Between it?” He swallowed, hard. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
Your body, they said. Use your body for something good, to stop una pesadilla monstruosa. We will begin the cleansing. You know where the barrier begins and ends?
He nodded. He knew the exact spot.
Three days, the guardian said. You will see us again in three days.
They ran off into the desert and into the shadows.
Eduardo had made so many choices up until that point because of his papá. Because of his mamá. Because of circumstances he had never asked to be a part of. Because life seemed to force him into one disaster after another. Who cared what he wanted?
Something was wrong with Solado.
It was rotten.
Maybe he knew the whole time. Maybe that first instance, when he saw how frightened the people were to give up their blood, he had known. The guilt sank in him. He had known this was wrong, hadn’t he?
And he had kept delivering them to their death, to a life of unending servitude.
His resolve was swollen with bitterness. He was tired of doing as the senior coyotes asked of him. He was tired of walking across the desert, of handing most of his earnings to men who believed Eduardo owed them something, of letting his whole life have meaning to other people.
He was going to end this. He had to.
He gathered the five worst people he could find in Obregán that night. He reasoned that if he was going to give them over to Solado willingly, he wanted to do so with the least amount of guilt left in his spirit. And it wasn’t hard to locate them: Un ladrón. A cuentista who sold his power for an absurd rate. Two brothers, both of whom loved to cheat their workers out of money. A woman whose cures and potions were all watered down or fake. All of them refused to pay Eduardo’s full rate, each for various reasons: He was too expensive. They didn’t have enough money. So-and-so’s brother in Solado would pay the other half. That one made Eduardo laugh. No one ever came out of Solado.
And yet, that was all he could think of when he went to sleep that night. Where did all those people go?
He knew now.
They set out the next morning, and Eduardo spoke only when he had to. He gave directions. He warned them when they drifted off course, or when they hadn’t drunk enough water.
He stewed in his building terror, but allowed the reminder to flood his heart:
He was choosing this for himself.
Sure, he might be helping others, but he was tired of being pushed around, of being collateral damage, of existing only to be the forgotten one.
This was it.
This had to be the end.
He delivered them all to the masked men in Solado.
They each paid the price.
They all vanished.
And when the last of the men walked through, when the money was in Eduardo’s hand, he took a deep breath, and he stepped forward.
Once.
Twice.
And then he felt it.
His skin prickled, all over, from head to toe, and then it pressed down on him.
One of the masked men managed to get out only a few words. “What are you do—?”
The roar came from behind Eduardo, and then the body to his right hit the ground.
He watched as a guardian—its coat yellow and brown and black—tore at the masked man’s throat, ripping it out, the blood spraying all over the arid soil, and the voice rang out in his head.
DO NOT MOVE, EDUARDO. HOLD YOUR POSITION.
The pressure on his head was immense, like stones were being balanced on top of him, each one heavier than the last. He nearly shut his eyes, but another body flopped onto the ground in pieces.
The two masked men were dead.
And the guardians streamed by.
He’d lost count of them while trying to focus on staying still. Tears
