Jeanne Stein - 08 Haunted by Jeanne Stein

Author:Jeanne Stein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

I CRANK THE ENGINE OVER AND PULL THE TRUCK BACK onto the road.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” I say. “Are you up to it?”

“Yes.”

“Who were you with in the village?”

“I don’t know for sure. No one ever said his name.

The y called him El Jefe.”

“How did you and the others end up there?”

A catch in her breath. “Some men came to my school.

The y said they had work that would pay well.

The y said we would be gone only a week and would be brought back to our village after.

The y said we would be treated with respect.”

Her voice drops off. When I glance over, she’s pressed the palms of her hands against streaming eyes.

“I’m sorry to have to—”

“No.” She regains herself quickly, wipes away the tears with the back of her hand. “I want to help. What do you need to know?”

“How long have you been gone from your village?”

“Longer than a week. Three weeks, I think. I lost track of time.”

“The men who took you, do you know where they come from?”

“Near San Fernando.

The y spoke of it often during the drive. How they were anxious to return there when they finished delivering us. How they hated these trips because the ‘cargo’ was so much trouble. Running drugs was a lot easier.”

Adelita has been staring straight ahead as she speaks, her voice steady but without nuance. She could be reciting a school lesson or repeating a tedious anecdote told to her by a tiresome old relative.

I look around as we drive.

The re are few places to hide the truck and I begin to worry how long we have before someone comes looking for it.

Time for another plan.

Off to the left about one hundred yards there is an outcropping of rock. I leave the road and head toward it.

Adelita glances over. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t see any way to hide the truck. I don’t know how much time we have before it’s missed. If the driver’s friends come looking, I want them to find an accident that will convince them no one escaped. I may need to siphon gasoline from the truck to start a fire.”

She nods that she understands. “There is gasoline in a plastic jug in back. I don’t know how much is in it.”

“I’ll check.”

The truck bounces and rattles over the desert floor, making conversation impossible. It takes effort just to lock your jaw and grind your teeth together to prevent the jarring from shaking anything loose.

As we approach the rocks, I slow down and stop. “I want you to get out here. I’ll see what’s in the back that we can use.”

“I want to help,” she says.

“I know.

And you will.

But I can take care of this. You should sit here in the shade and rest.”

She draws in a breath as if to argue, but I reach across her and open the passenger door. “Please. Trust me. Do as I ask.”

And after a moment, she does. She climbs slowly out of the cab and finds a shady place under a scrub oak.

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