“Yeah, okay. What’s going to happen?”
“Nothing you will want any part of, trust me,” replied Mike.
* * * *
They had to go around most towns and stayed off the freeway entirely, adding a few more hours to their destination. An hour and a half into the trip, Sergio ordered the driver to stop at a state-sponsored picnic area—the kind of rest stop a traveler who had to use the bathroom was tricked into pulling over at, with the blue sign they hoped said “Rest Area.”
Who needs to stop here without a bathroom? Mike thought.
Apparently, now it was a thing, as many tables were filled with trash and the cans overflowed long ago, never to be emptied. A few people wandered about but kept their distance.
“We’ll get breakfast going here. By the time we pull into camp, we’ll miss it, and I’m hungry,” announced Sergio. He wasn’t sure how this would go over with Baker’s guys, but no man wants to miss breakfast. He has used this little trick more than once before, and successfully every time.
“Breakfast sounds good,” said one. Another added, “Plus we have two cooks, and I don’t want to wait until lunch to eat.”
Sergio got the two self-proclaimed chefs of sorts to start a fire and heat the water for three pouches of Mountain House scrambled eggs with bacon. Mike could smell it from the truck and felt like he hadn’t eaten a thing in weeks.
“Everyone gather around the fire,” called out Sergio, when breakfast was done cooking.
“I’ll be right there,” hollered Max at Mike’s instructions. “Just changing his bandage.”
“Put the food up on the picnic table,” ordered Sergio.
“Stay low,” Mike told Max. “It’s about to get loud.”
Mike peeked over the side of the truck bed after hearing the first shot. He watched as Sergio took out Baker’s three men before even one could fire back. And the two cooks? Well, they had cooked their last breakfast.
Max jumped when the truck tailgate was opened two minutes later. “Hold on,” said Sergio, returning promptly with a small package of tortillas and a jar of hot sauce. “These meals make one hell of a burrito, and now there’s plenty for everyone.” He made one for himself before saying, “Dig in, fellas.
“Twenty or more men ambushed us, and the truck took fire,” he said, standing back and unloading nine rounds into the truck’s side, missing Mike and Max as well as the vital parts of the vehicle. “Like I was saying, we took fire and gave it back. The three of us barely made it out alive and couldn’t even save our friends’ weapons. That’s the story, and no more.”
He made a sweeping motion with his hand towards several people looking to pick over the downed men and recover what they could. “Have at it, folks. Today is your lucky day!” Sergio said, with a mouthful of egg.
“Okay, Max. You’re driving. Mike, holler if you need anything,” he added, climbing into the passenger’s seat.”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twenty
Heading to Baker’s Camp, Colorado
“Okay, Max. What’s your story?” asked Sergio.
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“What I mean is, where are you from? How did you end up with those idiots where I found you, and what do you want?”
Max was tongue-tied for more than a few seconds, wanting to ask the only question he had but afraid of the answer. He answered Sergio’s questions as well as could be expected, carefully picking his way around the obvious.
“That’s interesting,” Sergio replied. “If I told you I was from a small tribe in central South America that rarely saw any outsiders, would you believe me?”
“Well, that sounds unlikely is all, sir,” said Max. “So, no disrespect but you don’t look like a South American tribesman, I guess.”
“But I am—adopted by the tribe when my father was killed on an expedition of some kind. It was just him and me far back in the jungle. I was only six years old… I found my father’s killer from another tribe downriver at age 13 and killed him dead in his sleep—with no remorse. I had to leave my tribe, my family, after that for fear of reprisal.”
“That’s amazing!” said Max. “But why are you telling me all this?”
“Because you lost someone close to you, and you seek revenge.”
“How would you know that?” asked Max.
“I have instinct, and I’ve been trained. I see it in your eyes. Who was it—a parent or sibling, maybe?”
Max paused.
“You’re only telling me part of the truth. I can’t have that where we’re going,” continued Sergio. “So, what’s it going to be?”
“My…father… They killed my father!” Max blurted out.
“And?”
“And I want to know if his name is in your notebook.”
Max felt a weight off his chest and was scared to death at the same time.
“Stop the truck!” ordered Sergio.
“Right here?”
“Right here!” he commanded.
“Meet me around back,” Sergio said, with Max wondering if this was the end.
He didn’t see a weapon visible but thought it didn’t make much difference in the long run. Maybe he will beat me to death with his bare hands or choke me out, like those MMA guys do in the ring, he thought, getting more nervous by the second.
Sergio half expected Max to run and was prepared to tie up loose ends right here, but he didn’t.
They met at the back of the truck, with Mike asking what was going on.
“We need to get some things straight, and I wanted to talk to you guys anyway about what happens next,” said Sergio.
“Are you going to kill me?” asked Max.
“I don’t think so, but it’s good you didn’t try to run. You know too much to be running around here by yourself now… Who killed your father?”
“I don’t know, but I saw Baker order it.”
“Was he shooting at us when he died?” asked Sergio.
“No. He was unarmed and pleading with them not to kill our dog.”
“Are you sure he didn’t shoot?”
“Yes—100 percent. He doesn’t…didn’t, I mean, even own a gun.”
“He’s
