towards a black van up ahead, its windows tinted. I look over my shoulder, seeing Daniella in much worse shape than me. She’s barely walking at this point, the man who has his arm around her practically dragging her across the dust.
“Daniella.” I choke out. I want her to get up, to keep fighting. “Daniella.” I say again, my voice a croak against the wind.
She tries to glance up at me, but the sun must be hurting her too because she curls back in on herself, pressing her entire arm over her face.
I notice other men lingering about, with the same kind of attire as our two captors. None of them look friendly. None of them look like they’re here to help me.
The sun is setting, yet it still shines bright as it beats down on us. We’re definitely not in Minnesota. The sun is too hot, the air is too dry. We’re down south. Exactly where, I’m not sure.
Miguel walks up to the back of the van, swinging it open. Before I know it, I’m shoved in head first. I can feel Daniella tumble in right behind me.
The door slams closed, and I scramble up onto my knees, pressing my back against the wall of the van.
“Holy shit.” I say as Daniella falls against me.
Two girls sit in front of me, both look as shocked as I’m sure I look. One looks about my age, or just about. Her looks remind me of Rose, with her long, lean build and dark hair. Her hair is matted, which makes me think she’s been here at least a few days. She’s in the same kind of potato sack uniform as I’m wearing. She doesn’t look as bad as Daniella, so I’m assuming she hasn’t been here as long.
The other girl looks about Daniella’s age, maybe even younger. She looks in just about as bad of shape, too. Thin, way too thin. Emaciated, her bones protrude from her collarbone and shoulders. Her sandy blonde hair looks similar to Daniella’s. She’s been here a while.
We don’t say anything. Those two against that side of the van, and me and Daniella on the other. We sit and stare at each other, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
It takes a while, and I turn to look out the window. The scenery seems endless. Sand upon sand upon sand stares back at me and mocks me in my position. I wouldn’t make it five feet if I tried to escape. There’s no hiding. There’s no blending in. There’s the sand, and then there’s whatever is standing in its way.
I can hear the doors open up front and then the van cranks on. All four of us looks at each other, the fear evident as the air thickens in the back of the van.
We’re all terrified.
When we lull forward, all four of us rock back and forth as we take off down the gravel road, headed wherever were headed.
Mexico, I guess.
Where are you Jackson?
Where are you?
24
Jackson
I’m coming.
I keep repeating that sentence over and over in my head as we speed through Texas.
Easton’s truck is a beast. The fact that this old fucker is still running through all this driving, taking our beating as we fly max speed down the highway, puts me in awe.
We started early morning, driving through the day. Starting somewhere near Shreveport, our destination will be somewhere near Ojinaga, Mexico, only on the Texas side. It’s funny, within this past year, I’ve traveled to more states than I’ve been to in my entire nineteen years.
What have I learned? There’s a lot of fucking mobile homes in the world, that’s for fucking sure.
It’s getting to be the evening now, and we’re apparently getting close to where Cara is. My blood thrums harder the closer we get. I can almost feel her. I can sense her fear and it makes fury spread across my body like a wildfire. The need to get her, to spill every motherfuckers blood that even looked at her is a necessity. I’m not leaving until the world is painted red.
When we pull off the highway and into some rinky-dink town with population zero, Easton’s phone starts to ring.
“Shit.” He looks down at the phone and turns it on speaker, setting it on the seat between us. Glancing down, I see it’s the PI calling.
“Easton, pull over. Somewhere where you won’t be seen.” The PI barks.
Easton looks at me, rolling into an old parking lot of an abandoned bar and parking