Santiago looked at the lock for a long time. The Army chained up its vehicles as well, but in this context it was unusual and unnerving. It was the most pathetic car in the world. The interior was all torn up, but still, on the end of the chain was one of the largest padlocks I’d ever seen.
Santiago told us to watch the street. To cover him. Then he fired at the lock, giving me a start.
Zeller and I turned to see what he’d done. There was a dent in the lock and a hole on the dash where the bullet had exited after ricocheting off the lock. He fired another shot, blindly. I stepped away from the car, worried about where the bullet would end up. He fired four more.
The city was slowly awakening around us. Finally, Santiago pulled the chain out of the car. The Army had taught us how to hot-wire cars in survival school, so it should have been easy. But when Santiago reached in and pulled out a tangle of wires, I grimaced. It looked almost as if someone had stuffed the car with extra wiring to ward off thieves.
Suddenly a man came running up to the car, yelling as he approached. We had no idea what he was saying, but obviously he was the owner. He pulled at Santiago, trying to drag him from the car. Santiago kicked him in the knee. A woman came running to his aid. Santiago told us to stay where we were. The man struggled to his feet, tugging at Santiago and screaming incomprehensibly. He seemed to be trying to roust his neighbors.
Santiago swung and hit the man in the chest with the butt of his M-16. The woman grabbed Santiago’s arm so he turned and kicked her in the midsection. She fell back onto the man. When the man stood and grabbed at Santiago’s M-16, trying to wrestle it away, the weapon fired.
The man looked at us, wide-eyed and offended. The woman screamed into the silence left by the shot. The man fell into Santiago and Santiago held him up for a moment.
“Just give us the fucking car, you idiot,” shouted Santiago. “You stupid fuck.” Then he let the man fall to the ground. I saw a thick stream of blood seeping steady and strong from the side of his head.
Santiago trained his weapon on the man. The woman leaned over her husband, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. I was supposed to be watching the road behind us, but I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder at the man and the woman and Santiago.
“Please,” she said, and then continued in another language. Then she repeated what appeared to be the only word she knew of English: “Please.” She held the man’s face in her hands. His eyes were emptying quickly.
Out of nowhere Michael appeared. He was breathing hard and his eyes were huge, almost inhuman.
“Tell them to give us the keys,” I told Michael.
“Oh my god,” he said.
“Please,” the woman said again, then went on in her language.
“What the fuck does she want?” screamed Santiago.
Michael ignored the question. He looked from her to us, then grabbed ahold of my shirtfront and leaned into me with all his weight. It felt like he was trying to pull me to the ground.
People were gathering at the end of the alley. I didn’t see any weapons, but their numbers were growing quickly.
Suddenly Santiago and Zeller took off running, but Michael clung to my shirt. His eyes were wide with fright and anger.
“Let go,” I said, but to no avail. Suddenly a fairly large rock hit the side of my helmet. Several more landed around us. “Get off me,” I screamed. Then I hit him in the face with the butt of my M-16. His nose opened and he crumpled to the ground, still trying to hold on to me. I started off after Santiago and Zeller.
I saw them ahead of me, running fast. People were crossing the street between us and I began to think I might lose them. I fired my weapon into the air and people scattered back behind walls and into doorways. Santiago and Zeller turned and slowed for me.
We ran until we couldn’t anymore, then ducked into an empty building. It appeared to be an old hospital. There were bed frames and empty medicine cabinets scattered around.
“I didn’t want to shoot that guy,” said Santiago.
“I think I killed Michael.”
“Why the fuck was Michael there?” I asked.
“I just meant to scare that guy,” Santiago continued, “but he kept trying to take my gun. Goddamn it.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt Michael,” I said.
Santiago took his rucksack off and dropped it to the floor. He turned to me, “Michael should have known better.” He placed his helmet down on top of his bag. “Besides, I don’t think you killed him. You definitely fucked him up though.”
“Neither of you had a choice,” said Zeller. He took his rucksack off and sat on it.
Some people just don’t know when to leave well enough alone, I thought. Some people just can’t avoid tragedy. He was stupid to try and stop us. We were desperate. I tried to convince myself that the man was a fool, an animal even.
My face and head were burning hot. I felt as if I was going to die from the heat. The sickness was on me again. Santiago made me lie on the floor and drink an entire canteen of water, but I couldn’t keep it down.
“You’re dehydrated again,” he said. “If you get heat exhaustion we’re through. We can’t carry you and fight our way out. We all need to stay strong.”
There was a stainless steel bathtub sitting upside down in a corner of the room. Santiago and Zeller flipped it over. Then Santiago took all of my gear and helped me into the tub. He handed me my M-16 to hold. The metal in
