Chills & Thrills: Three Novel Box Set (18 page)

Lydia rolled over, letting out a groan, her discomfort obvious. He stroked her forehead and silky hair. Lydia loved him, but something drew him to Marta. The girl who was barely a woman had captured his heart. She possessed a power over him that frustrated him beyond words, because he didn't want to desire her. He should not desire her. But he did. Even at that very moment, he craved her.

Logic told him that it was as well that things were over between them, but the spiritual side of him knew that he would never be the same again. Marta had touched him in a way that no other woman had, and he would miss her deeply.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TRIP FROM COSTA CAREYES TO TIJUANA WERE THE
 longest days of Marta's life. Even longer than when she'd left her home, brokenhearted after finding out the truth about her parents. She was cursed, she was certain of that now. The trip had been hot, dirty and miserable. Marta was sick a good share of the journey. Fernando had been the Godsend that Josefina indicated he would be, trying his best to keep her nourished and hydrated, but the infant growing inside her sucked everything from her. Constant pangs gnawed at her stomach. Even when she did eat, she wanted to vomit. There were a few times when she did exactly that, and Fernando had to stop and help her clean herself. The men in the convoy grumbled at her, complaining that she was holding them up.

Fernando growled at them to leave her alone. “She's my sister, and she's with child. Back off, all of you!”

They left her alone after that and she looked at him in consternation, surprised that he knew of her condition.

“I have six sisters, and at this point I've lost count of how many nieces and nephews I have. But I figured with all that puking you're doing, you must be carrying a baby,” he replied.

Marta nodded, knowing that her face was turning red. She wondered briefly what he thought about her not having a husband, but she felt too sick to really care anymore.

When they arrived in Tijuana, Marta was horrified to see such filth. The stench in the air was one of rot — coppery and foul. It looked nothing like Costa Careyes. Certainly there were poor people there, too, but nothing compared to the poverty she witnessed here. Even the poor where she came from lived reasonably well. They survived on fish, living in small villages where people understood the meaning of family and neighbor. Crime remained low in these villages because it was dealt with in swift, harsh fashion.

Tijuana was far removed from that type of rural poor. As they drove through the main street, Marta noticed how many people, including children, sat on the street corners and begged — encased in dirt. They obviously had no shame. Her feelings went back and forth from sympathy to indignity that anyone would allow their child to beg. It was an indecent thing to do. How could such conditions exist? She had lived a luxurious lifestyle in comparison.

Fernando pulled away from the convoy and over to the side of the road. He glanced at Marta, but didn't look directly at her. “This is as far as I can take you.” His eyes were filled with empathy.

She must've misunderstood him. “But we aren't in America yet,” she said.

“You're right, but I can take you no further. You must understand we take a big risk crossing the border with what we're carrying. You're an illegal. I can go to jail just transporting you. If I get caught with you, they're certainly going to pull us over and discover what we're transporting. I become a risk to everyone then.”

“But I can hide,” Marta pleaded, patting down her disheveled hair.

“If I could, I'd take you all the way, but the others insisted that I let you out here.”

“But you promised me, and Josefina.”

“I know, and I'll make good on my promise,” he replied.

“How? Certainly not by letting me out here.” Marta grew angry with this man she'd grown to trust in such a short amount of time. He was simply more proof that men were not to be trusted. She was so foolish.

“There is a friend of mine named Tito Velasquez. He takes people across the border for a few hundred dollars. I'll take you up the road he lives on. Then you'll have to walk the rest of the way, because the truck won't make it to the top.”

Marta fumed. How could Josefina have entrusted her to this man? Why was Fernando letting her down? To hell with Antonio. This was all his fault. Marta cursed him under her breath, while she nodded her head, defeated again. She had no other choice but to go. She'd come this far, and she was certainly not going to remain in this hellhole a minute longer than necessary.

When Fernando stopped and let her out, he apologized again and described the house that she would be looking for just over the hill. He handed her fifty dollars. “Take this.”

“I don't need your money.”

“Please. Take it. You may need it. Don't be foolish.”

She grabbed the money from him. He told her to tell Tito Velasquez that Fernando had sent her, and then he would cut her a deal on how much she would have to pay to cross over to the States. Marta reluctantly thanked Fernando and slammed the door to his truck.

She climbed the hill ahead of her, and by the time she reached the top and found the shack of a house she was looking for, she was exhausted and longed to be back home. 
Home. Home? 
She had no home. She swallowed the lump in her throat and summoned up all her courage, lifting her shoulders back and holding her head high.

Shacks dotted the hillside; many of them made of cardboard and scrap material. After coming from one of the finest haciendas in all of Mexico, this was overwhelming. She bit her lower lip and sucked back the emotion choking her.

The house she was looking for turned out to be one of the better ones. It was small, but made of wood and had wrought iron around the windows. There were a handful of children playing in front of the house, ranging from toddlers to teenagers. A man stepped out of the doorway. The first thing Marta noticed was his facial hair and bald head. He reminded her a pirate she'd seen in a book that Señora Rodriguez had read to her and Josefina. There was a large scar across his chest, which she could see through his open shirt. His eyes were dark and close together. He squinted them, watching her as she approached the house.

“Hello. My name is Marta. Fernando sent me here.” The man nodded. “He said that you could get me to America.” He nodded again. “I am at the right house, aren't I?”

“Yes. I'm Tito Velasquez. Please come in. We can discuss business. You look tired.”

“I am. It was a long ride here and not a very comfortable one,” Marta replied.

“You came from the Governor's?”

“How did you know?”

“I know Fernando works for him. I have helped others who have come along with him, wanting to cross the border. To be honest with you, I don't have any idea why you would want to leave the beauty you came from for the world you're headed for.” He waved his thick arms in exaggerated fashion as if she were a fool.

“Oh, I don't plan to stay here. As I said, I want to go to America,” she replied. She thought that he understood this.

“I know. That's what I meant. Come, my wife can make you something to eat. I'm sure you're hungry, and then you can get some rest.”

Marta nodded. A few moments later seated at a small wooden table, a plate of beans, rice and tortillas was placed in front of her. The food nourished her and took away the nausea she'd experienced all morning.

She learned from Tito that it would cost her three hundred dollars for him to get her across the border. Usually it took five hundred, but because she was Fernando's friend, he had agreed to cut her a deal. The three hundred would include getting her across safely, because as he explained to her, many times bandits got hold of people and robbed them, and even worse, sometimes raped the women. The thought produced goose bumps on her slender arms.

“Once you get across, you will meet up with my partner, who will take you to Los Angeles. Jobs are plentiful there.” He winked at her. “We'll be leaving soon. Right after the sun sets. We will walk most of the night, and it will be long and hard. I set a certain pace, and expect you to keep up with it. It's necessary to move quickly in order to avoid immigration and bandits.” Marta's heart raced at the thought of what dangers may lie ahead. “Of course, you can change your mind if you'd like, and stay here in this beautiful city we call Tijuana,” he mused, a smirk on his face.

“No. I look forward to going,” she replied. She searched his eyes for confirmation.

“Then don't look so scared. I make this trip often. Like Fernando said, you are in good hands.”

Weren't those the same exact words that Josefina had used when she'd handed her off to Fernando? But what did she have to lose? She'd come this far; she would keep going. There really weren't any other options. Antonio had already stripped her of her dignity, friends, job, and home. She handed Tito the money and he got up from the table, muttering under his breath about stupid people and their silly dreams.

Tito's wife let Marta lie down on a cot, and told her it was necessary to get some sleep for the crossing. His wife was portly and aged. Her face, lined with crevices, made Marta want to reach out and touch it. She wondered if it felt like the sandpaper it resembled. However homely, the woman treated Marta in a gentle way, which she greatly appreciated after the hardships she'd encountered so far.

As soon as her head hit the cot, she was sound asleep. Around four o'clock, the sun beating in through the open window woke her, and Tito came in shortly afterwards to let her know that it was time to go.

Walking to the border took only an hour. On the way Marta saw more of the poverty locked inside Tijuana. She was ashamed that this was even a part of her country. Many of the people she saw didn't look Mexican. They possessed darker skin and more angular faces. They appeared to be the poorest of the lot, and Marta knew they were Indians. Tito spit on one as they walked past. The sight caused Marta's stomach to rumble and feel that all too familiar feeling of wanting to vomit.

When they reached their destination, they met up with a few other people who'd obviously had met with Tito beforehand. There was another woman, a little older than Marta. She smiled shyly at Marta when they exchanged glances. But Marta wasn't in the mood to make friends. She'd already been forced to trust enough strangers in the last week to last her a lifetime. No more.

There were also three other men in the group, as well as a girl of about thirteen traveling with one of them who had to be her father. Marta could see the sad desperation in the girl's eyes. She instinctively wanted to comfort this frightened child.

She found it odd to see at least a hundred or more men, women, and children lined up at the border fence, like a group of dogs wanting to jump over to the other side. The Tijuana River before them was nearly dried up, but it disgusted her all the same. It smelled putrid from feces and rot. A dead dog, its guts hanging out, added to the dreadful odor. Marta averted her eyes. There were several abandoned old cars up and down the river bottom for as far as she could see, and trash was strewn everywhere.

Tito faced them, “This is not where we cross. We go further along the fence away from all of these ignorants. There is a much less chance that we get caught going in a little further before crossing over. And many times the fencing is down the further we walk, so we won't even need to cut through.”

At first Marta wasn't too sure about Tito's idea of waiting to cross the fence. Surely they could run fast enough and then they'd be there — America. It was only a stone's throw away. Why was he so cautious? So many others were taking their chances.

As the group continued to walk along the fence line, she looked back for an instant, and could see some of the people who hadn't been quick enough after getting through the holes cut into the fence, and she now understood why Tito took such great care. Because her entire life savings was on her, and because she'd already spent so much money and time getting to the promised land, she grew grateful for this man's caution. She could see those unfortunates who had been rounded up like herds of cattle by Immigration officers. She heard angry shouts and screams coming from them.

As her group pushed forward, others who also decided to travel further inland before crossing made their attempts, and before long it was Tito and his handful of travelers trekking through the dust and chaparral alone.

After some time, they stopped and Tito let everyone have a drink of water. He then pointed to the mountain they would be climbing. “Follow me at all times,” he said sharply. “Once we are over the mountain, we are out of any danger of being caught by Immigration. They have yet to find these trails, I've made. But there are other dangers out here, and you need to all be close to me and be aware.”

The last thing Marta wanted was to climb that intimidating mountain. And she certainly didn't like the sound of whatever dangers might lie ahead. But there was no looking back now.

Climbing the rough terrain was hard on Marta's pregnant body. Barren bushes snagged her skirt and produced small cuts on her legs. Her muscles, stiff from the hike, began to spasm, causing her to groan in pain.

Finally, around ten o' clock at the top of the mountain, Tito let them have another rest and some dinner that his wife had packed for them.

"Hi, my name is Elisa. What's yours?" the other woman asked.

Marta answered hesitantly. She wasn't eager to meet anyone new, and she felt so miserable from the climb that she glared back at Elisa. "Marta," she replied, biting her lower lip at the sound of her irritation.

"Are you excited?" Marta looked at her dumbfounded. "I mean, about the United States."

“Yes.”

"Do you have a job there?"

"No."

"This is my third time crossing. I already live there. My two boys are citizens, because they were born in the States, but my family lives in Mexico, so I try to go down once a year to visit with them." The woman buzzed on.