The Ninth Day (7 page)

Emma turned to face him. Only inches separated them. He was still looking at her, but this time there was determination in his eyes.

“It’s very, very risky. The odds . . .”

Oz gave a mirthless laugh. “Eighty-five to one.” He must have caught her surprise, because he offered a further explanation. “That’s what I estimate to be the odds based upon the number of cameras stationed around the area. You’ll need to cross the yard, hit the road, and from there make it to a nearby town, all without being seen by one of them. If by some miracle you get past the security, how will you get to town? Steal Raoul’s Jeep?”

“You’re assuming I’ll take the road, but that’s the first place they’ll look. I’ll head out across the fields.”

Oz shook his head. “Won’t work. I drove in here and we’re at least ten miles from any real town.”

She refrained from telling him that ten miles was a stroll in the park for her. At a conservative seven-and-a-quarter-minute miles, she could reach safety in a little over one hour.

“We’ll take the motorcycle,” Oz said.

“
We
won’t take anything.
I’m
leaving. You stay here and wait for the troops to arrive,” Emma said.

Oz gave her an incredulous look. “Are you serious? You mean to do this alone?” Emma pushed away from the fence.

“I do.” She spun around to walk toward the cycle. Oz grabbed her arm, stopping her mid-stride.

“I’m going with you,” he said.

It wasn’t an option. He’d only slow her down, something she couldn’t afford.

“You’re not. The safest thing for you to do is to wait here until I send the authorities. They need you to deliver the shipment. They won’t hurt you until that’s completed.” She tried to continue toward the motorcycle, but Oz wouldn’t let go of her arm. She watched as the surprise on his face turned to anger.

“You are
not
leaving me here. You break out, I do too.”

Emma was acutely aware of the camera on the pole not twenty feet away. If anyone was watching, they’d see that she and Oz were arguing. That was good. She needed them to view Oz as her adversary, not as part of a team. He’d be safer once she left. She jerked her arm out of his grip in an exaggerated motion and pointed a finger at him.

“Listen to me. What I’m going to do will probably kill me. If I manage to elude the cameras, they could catch me in the field. They caught me last time when I landed in one of their hidden tunnels. That could happen again. My only edge is that they’ll have to navigate the terrain in their Jeeps, and that’s going to slow them down, but if they take one of those,” she pointed at the horses grazing in the field, “then it’s going to be an interesting proposition. Who’s faster? Runner or rider?”

Oz looked over at the horses. “Rider,” he said.

Emma shook her head. “Not necessarily. There are ultra runs that match horses against runners. Some are called ride and tie, because two runners on a team take one horse. The first teammate rides the horse, ties it up, and continues on foot. The second runner runs to the tied horse, hops on, and rides past the first. In this case the horse usually moves ahead because it gets a rest in between. But in a straight race on an uneven trail, runner against horse, the best horses will beat the best runners, but not
all
the horses will.” Emma looked at the animals grazing. “I’m one hell of a fast runner. Close to the best. We’ll just have to see what kind of horseflesh La Valle has invested in. No matter what, though, I’ll need to be fast and nimble to stay ahead, but I can’t do that if you’re with me. You’ll fall behind, they’ll find you and kill you.”

“I can run too. Especially if I know it’s going to get me out of here.”

“How fast? Six minute miles? Seven? For how long and how far? You said town is ten miles away. Can you maintain that pace over difficult terrain for sixty minutes?”

Oz paused. “I have no idea how six- or seven-minute miles would feel.” At least he was honest. Emma had to give him that.

“Let me tell you; an untrained runner couldn’t do it. Even for a trained runner, ten miles at six minutes per mile would feel like agony. Your heart starts pounding in your chest and you can’t catch enough breath. Dragging your legs forward time after time begins to feel like an impossible task, you trip when your legs don’t cooperate, and each step feels like you’re running through water. If you’ve eaten it’s likely the food comes up and you’ll have to stop to throw up. It’s a rare person who could run that fast without extensive training. Most amateur runners that
are
trained can’t sustain such a pace. It’s that hard to do.”

She stalked to the motorcycle and waited for him to join her. When she looked back, she saw that he was still standing near the fence. After a moment he started toward her. When he stepped from the bright sunlight into the carport’s shade, she saw that he was furious. His brows pulled together in a frown and his mouth was set in a straight line. He climbed onto the cycle and waited. She slid onto the back and once again put her arms around his waist. His entire body felt rigid with anger.

He swung the bike around and gunned it back the way they came, curving toward the migrant huts. This time the sentry didn’t rise from his resin chair. He simply nodded and went back to talking on a cell phone that was pressed to his ear.

Emma took her kit and marched straight to the hut containing the patients. She stopped right before the entrance to slip on the surgical gloves Perez had given her. As she opened the door she heard the cycle’s engine roar as Oz revved it. She didn’t glance back. She listened to it fade in the distance as he drove away.

The hut’s interior baked with the escalating heat of the day matched by the warmth of the men’s bodies. Some were shifting, moving on their mats, but none looked alert enough to be conscious. Whatever sleeping potion Octavio had given them, it was powerful. She crouched down next to the closest man and analyzed his sores. Raw and inflamed, with black around the edges, they appeared almost gangrenous. Emma assumed the internist had considered gangrene brought on by some sort of infection first, but she would check for it as well. She thought about herpes, shingles, a virulent form of measles, chickenpox: the list was endless. She picked up a scalpel and used the blunt side of the blade to begin scraping cells onto the small glass slides. The skin peeled easily, and when it did, it gave off a sickly sweet smell. Emma would not be surprised if gangrene was the answer.

She collected specimens from each man, working her way down the mats. So intent was she on the process that she failed to notice that the oil lamps had burned low. One guttered and the room went blacker. She sat back on her heels, waiting to acclimate to the new darkness.

A hand grabbed her by the forearm. The sores on the man’s palm scraped against the top of her arm, and Emma felt herself begin to panic when she realized that the man’s infected skin was in direct contact with hers. She would have jerked her arm out of his grasp, but she was afraid that such a violent movement would only rip the sores open, with the end result that she’d be further at risk. She froze.

“Let go of me. Quickly,” she said.

“It’s the revenge. He was right,” the man hissed in a sibilant whisper. His English was heavily accented, but Emma understood him. That he shook in fear needed no explanation.

“Let go of my arm. You’ll spread the infection.”

“He sent them to eat us.”

Emma did her best to breathe normally. The man still had her by the arm. “Eat you? Do you mean the armadillos?”

She felt the man’s movement as he nodded. “Yes. He sent them to eat us. And now, we die.”

“I’m here to help you. Let go of me.”

He let go. Emma ripped open an alcohol swab and rubbed it across her arm, covering every inch of it. When she was done, she took out a second and repeated the action. The tangy smell of isopropyl alcohol stung her nose and she felt her eyes watering with the combination of antiseptic and smoke that hung in the air.

“Please save us. Save me,” the man said.

The desperate plea made Emma’s throat swell with unshed tears. She would not cry in front of this man. She swallowed once, and, when she regained control, she nodded.

“I’m going to solve this. I won’t rest until I do,” she said. She imbued her words with as much certainty as she could. It was easy to do so, because she spoke the truth. She would not leave these men to die. The patient fell back on the mat. His eyes closed.

The door swung open, bringing with it a triangle of sunlight that pointed into the room. Octavio stepped into the hut. He held a small burlap sack gathered together and tied at the neck with twine. He held it up to her.

“I bring the salvia,” he said. “Do you wish to stay?” Emma collected her slides, placing them carefully in the brown paper bag.

“I can’t. I need to look at these under a microscope, but I’ll return as soon as I finish.”

“It will take a while to start. Perhaps an hour.”

Emma nodded and walked past him through the still open door into the fresh air and sun. She tilted her face upward, basking in it. On an impulse, she turned her arm, the one the man had grasped, and angled it into the sunlight. She held it there, feeling the heat warm her skin. After a moment she jogged out of the enclosure and headed into the trees. Once in the shade she picked up her pace. Running always had the effect of soothing her, no matter what the circumstances. She kept moving past the hacienda, stable, and onto the dirt road headed to the ranch. She held the bag as steady as she could, keeping the arm that clutched it still and swinging the other in rhythm. After a moment, the ranch house came into view. Perez’s SUV was gone, but in its place was Oz’s motorcycle.

Emma stepped into the kitchen and found Oz sitting at the table, eating a sandwich. A brown paper bag sat in front of a nearby chair. He glanced up at her, then jerked his chin at the bag.

“That’s a sandwich for you. Raoul said to bring it. He wants you to keep working.” Oz spoke in a formal tone and returned to eating, making it clear he was still angry with her. Emma set the slides down next to the sink and washed her hands. She slid into the chair next to Oz’s and pulled a sandwich out of the bag. “I have some bad news,” Oz said. Emma bit into the sandwich, a turkey club with fresh tomatoes. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how hungry she was. She nodded at Oz to continue. “Perez went to the hacienda and asked La Valle if she could take your samples to a lab for analysis. He said no.”

Emma stopped eating. “Why not?”

Oz shook his head in disgust. “Seems La Valle doesn’t want anyone on the outside to get wind of what’s happening here. Raoul said he’s afraid the other cartels will learn of it and see it as a sign of weakness, and if the government hears that a strange disease is sweeping through the area they’ll feel compelled to send their own scientists.”

Emma wasn’t surprised at La Valle’s decision. A man like him never worked within the system, and his fears of government scientists descending on the ranch were probably right on target. He was maneuvering himself into a corner, letting his fear of arrest cloud his judgment. Emma was pleased that Perez had asked, though. Perhaps the woman had a conscience after all.

“When do you make your move?” Oz said.

“Tonight.”

Chapter 9

E
mma jogged back toward the migrant huts, having declined Oz’s offer of a ride. She wanted to count cameras and get the lay of the land. Outside the fence lay expansive fields dotted with scrub, trees, and low-lying brush. Oz had told her that the town lay due south. Halfway down toward the hacienda she saw a guardhouse next to an electrical pole. She knew there were four others: one located close to the main entrance, and the other three positioned along the perimeter. Each held two guards, and the far ones also included dogs. She wondered how many screens each position maintained. It made sense that the house at the main entrance held the most equipment. Oz had told her that it was by far the biggest of the five. He opined that the “satellite” stations monitored only the perimeter areas closest to them. Emma certainly hoped he was correct, because it would simplify her mission immensely. If he was, then she could disable the guardhouse at the main entrance and run from there, but the others would not see her leave.

She hugged the fence line and worked her way around the hacienda, neither speeding up nor slowing down. When she reached the driveway leading down to the gated entrance, she turned to run that way, keeping her pace, hoping she looked to all as though she was simply out for a run. After a couple of minutes, both the primary guardhouse and the entrance gates appeared. She ran toward them both, but slowed.

The guardhouse lay fifty meters back from the gate and to her left. It was a two-story building made of the same materials as the hacienda, and bearing the same terra-cotta tile roof. Tinted windows lined all four sides of the second level, and the roof bristled with antennas and a cluster of satellite dishes. Each corner boasted a camera along with a spotlight and megaphones, and at the very top, in a sort of cupola, was a revolving spotlight, like a lighthouse. Presumably the guards left it off until it was needed.

Emma slowed to a walk, her hands on her hips, and did her best to appear as though she was tired. She drew even with the guardhouse and heard a whirring sound. The closest camera moved slightly, tracking her. She walked in a circle and continued back toward the hacienda along the driveway. She heard the whirring sound again as the camera followed her progress.