when the floodwaters receded, the newly settled sand would form itself into a hard, damp surface that made for far easier walking than when it was dry. He marched along inside the wash until he was well beyond the reach of Mrs. Dumas’s prying eyes. Then, using an overhanging branch of mesquite, he clambered up the steep bank and set off across the desert with his eyes scanning back and forth for any sign of something useful or valuable that might have been left behind.
This was something Luis did often, and he was good at it. Through the months, he had made several reasonably valuable finds. One discarded backpack had yielded a zippered case with ten hundred-dollar bills in it. He had given his mother three ofthose. Worried about a possible emergency, he had kept back the remaining seven. They were still hidden away in the bottom of his sock drawer. Since Luis washed his own clothes, there was never any danger that his mother would go looking there.
Once Luis had come across an abandoned backpack stuffed full of marijuana. He could have taken it home. No doubt his mother would have known how to unload it on one of her many unsavory friends, but he hadn’t wanted to run that risk. What his mother did for a living was bad enough. If she got caught dealing drugs, no telling what would happen to her—or what would happen to Luis, either.
He wondered occasionally what he would do if, on one of these expeditions, he came across an even larger cache of cash. Both the drug trade and the transportation of illegals evidently involved impossibly large amounts of money. Luis sometimes fantasized about coming home with a real fortune—enough to buy his mother a decent place to live; enough for her to stop selling her body; enough for Luis to be able to think about going to college.
And that was what he was thinking about when he saw the chunk of something black caught in the branches of a mesquite tree.
At first he was afraid someone was sitting there—that someone had sat down under the tree and had simply fallen asleep. But then, as he came closer, he could see that he was actually looking at a shapeless mass of something made out of black plastic, some of which had torn and was now flapping in the occasional blasts of hot wind that blew across the desert floor. Only when he came much closer could he tell that he was looking at two separate garbage bags that had been welded into one with yards of duct tape.
When Luis saw the duct tape, he actually began to hope. Maybe Border Patrol had stumbled across some smugglers, startling them and forcing them to abandon their payload. Luis worried a little that the bags might turn out to contain a stash of drugs. If that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do next. But if the contents of the bag turned out to be just plain money…? No problem.
As Luis approached the bag he picked up a stick. When he prodded the plastic, a once small tear suddenly gave way and expanded. What rolled out onto the ground wasn’t at all what Luis had hoped or expected. It wasn’t a sheaf of cash or a plastic-wrapped packet of drugs. It was, instead, an empty-eyed human skull, its tooth-filled mouth gaping open.
Too shocked to breathe, Luis shrank away from the bone, stained red and still plastered with mud. For a moment, all he could do was stand there, staring and trembling. His legs seemed to have forgotten how to obey his mind. He willed them to move, but they didn’t. Couldn’t. Finally, one halting step after another, Luis managed to back away until he blundered, unseeing, into a mesquite. The shock of the branches unexpectedly brushing up against him filled him with such terror that it knocked him out of his stupor. He turned and ran then, racing back across the desert the way he had come, tearing toward home without caring if Mrs. Dumas saw him; not caring if he awakened his mother.
As he ran for the house, Luis knew there was no way he could keep this awful discovery a secret. He had to
This was something Luis did often, and he was good at it. Through the months, he had made several reasonably valuable finds. One discarded backpack had yielded a zippered case with ten hundred-dollar bills in it. He had given his mother three ofthose. Worried about a possible emergency, he had kept back the remaining seven. They were still hidden away in the bottom of his sock drawer. Since Luis washed his own clothes, there was never any danger that his mother would go looking there.
Once Luis had come across an abandoned backpack stuffed full of marijuana. He could have taken it home. No doubt his mother would have known how to unload it on one of her many unsavory friends, but he hadn’t wanted to run that risk. What his mother did for a living was bad enough. If she got caught dealing drugs, no telling what would happen to her—or what would happen to Luis, either.
He wondered occasionally what he would do if, on one of these expeditions, he came across an even larger cache of cash. Both the drug trade and the transportation of illegals evidently involved impossibly large amounts of money. Luis sometimes fantasized about coming home with a real fortune—enough to buy his mother a decent place to live; enough for her to stop selling her body; enough for Luis to be able to think about going to college.
And that was what he was thinking about when he saw the chunk of something black caught in the branches of a mesquite tree.
At first he was afraid someone was sitting there—that someone had sat down under the tree and had simply fallen asleep. But then, as he came closer, he could see that he was actually looking at a shapeless mass of something made out of black plastic, some of which had torn and was now flapping in the occasional blasts of hot wind that blew across the desert floor. Only when he came much closer could he tell that he was looking at two separate garbage bags that had been welded into one with yards of duct tape.
When Luis saw the duct tape, he actually began to hope. Maybe Border Patrol had stumbled across some smugglers, startling them and forcing them to abandon their payload. Luis worried a little that the bags might turn out to contain a stash of drugs. If that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do next. But if the contents of the bag turned out to be just plain money…? No problem.
As Luis approached the bag he picked up a stick. When he prodded the plastic, a once small tear suddenly gave way and expanded. What rolled out onto the ground wasn’t at all what Luis had hoped or expected. It wasn’t a sheaf of cash or a plastic-wrapped packet of drugs. It was, instead, an empty-eyed human skull, its tooth-filled mouth gaping open.
Too shocked to breathe, Luis shrank away from the bone, stained red and still plastered with mud. For a moment, all he could do was stand there, staring and trembling. His legs seemed to have forgotten how to obey his mind. He willed them to move, but they didn’t. Couldn’t. Finally, one halting step after another, Luis managed to back away until he blundered, unseeing, into a mesquite. The shock of the branches unexpectedly brushing up against him filled him with such terror that it knocked him out of his stupor. He turned and ran then, racing back across the desert the way he had come, tearing toward home without caring if Mrs. Dumas saw him; not caring if he awakened his mother.
As he ran for the house, Luis knew there was no way he could keep this awful discovery a secret. He had to
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