“You stay here, River. Got it?”
Turning up the air-conditioner in the truck, I nodded and signed, Got it.
Slamming the driver’s side door, my pop and the prospect headed off into the woods, the first body bag of the four dead Mexicans being carried by them.
Waiting until they were all out of sight I jumped out of the truck, my feet making a crunching sound as they hit the dried grass.
Tipping my head back, I breathed deep. I loved being outdoors, loved being on the back of my pop’s bike, loved being anywhere away from people expecting me to talk.
Making my way toward the bed of the truck, I snapped a long spindly branch off a nearby cedar and began whacking the reeds around me just for something to do. Sending stiffs to the boatman could take hours—digging, lime, and cover-up—so I made my way toward the trees and set to searching for snakes in the high grass.
I don’t know how long I walked, but when I lifted my eyes, I found myself deep in the forest, the air around me completely still and me completely lost.
Shit. Pop’s instructions were as clear as day. “Stay here, River. Got it?” Hell, he was gonna kill me if he had to come looking. The rules for dumping stiffs were simple: dig, dump, dodge.
Searching around me, I spotted a rise and headed for higher ground. I intended to work my way back to the truck before my pop turned up and got pissed.
Using the trunks of the trees to hold on to, I climbed the steep hill and, when I reached the top, began dusting the dried mud and bark scum from my jeans. When they were sorta clean, I scanned the horizon and frowned. About two hundred yards ahead was the biggest goddamn fence. My mouth dropped at its size; it was higher and wider than anything I’d ever seen before. It reminded me of prison, with curls of razor wire wrapped ’round the top wall. I looked all ’round me, but there were no signs of life, nothing to be seen behind the fence but more forest. I wondered what it was. We were deep in the boonies, miles and miles from the outskirts of Austin, miles and miles from anywhere. Folks don’t really come this far outta town… they know better. My pop said only bad things happen ’round these parts: death, disappearances, violence and other unexplainable things. It’d been that way for years; that’s why my pop chose it as a drop site.
Now completely distracted from finding a route back to the truck, I began wading through tall grasses toward the edge of the fence. Curious excitement buzzed through me. I loved to go exploring, but then I jumped out of my skin when, suddenly, something behind the fence caught my eye.
Someone was there.
I froze, focusing my eyes on the outline of a tiny slim person, the small frame of a young chick dressed in a long gray dress, her hair pulled back in a funny style at the back of her head.
She looked ’bout my age. Maybe a couple ’a years younger?
Heart beating fast in my chest, I crept toward the chick, her tiny, frail-looking body drowning in the dark material of her dress as she curled herself in between the roots of a large tree. Her shoulders were shaking as she cried, her body shuddering with sobs, but not making a sound.
Dropping to my knees, I threaded my fingers through the links of the fence and stared. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t—couldn’t—speak to anyone but Kyler and Pop. Even then it weren’t often.
I closed my eyes, concentrating on trying to loosen up my throat, fighting to free the words that never wanted to come. A battle I always tried to fight but one I rarely won.
Dropping my mouth, I set to relaxing my face muscles when the tiny chick froze on the spot and her eyes locked on mine. I stumbled back, my fingers slipping back through the fence. She had huge, blue eyes rimmed with red marks. Her small hand moved to her face to wipe at her wet cheeks; her bottom lip quivered and her chest heaved hard.
From my new position, I could see her hair was as black as coal and her skin so pale. I’d never seen no one like her before. Then again, I didn’t know many kids my own age; no one did in club life. There was Kyler, of course, but he was my best friend, my club brother.
Suddenly, the chick panicked; her face blanched, she shot to her feet, and her head turned back toward the forest. I scrambled to the fence again at her movement, the metal screeching at the contact. The chick froze and looked back, gripping a branch as she watched me.
Who are you? I signed real fast.
The girl swallowed nervously and tilted her head. Cautiously, she edged forward in silence, curiosity etched on her tiny face. She was staring at my hands, watching me sign, her dark eyebrows pulled down real low.
The closer she got, the more my breath came short and I felt warm all over. Her jet-black hair was tied in a tight knot at the back of her head, covered by a weird white cloth. I’d never seen anyone dressed like her before. She looked so strange.
When she stopped ’bout two yards away, I sucked in a breath, squeezed my stomach muscles tight, and signed again. Who are you?
She didn’t speak, just stared at me blankly. Goddamn it! She didn’t understand ASL. Not many folks did. I could hear just fine, but I didn’t speak. Ky and Pop were the only folks who could translate for me, and right now I was on my own.
Sucking in another deep breath, I swallowed and tried really hard to work loose my throat. Closing my eyes, I thought through what I wanted to ask and, holding a slow, controlled exhale, I tried my damnedest to talk.
“Wh-wh-who a-are y-y-you?”
As I fell back in shock, my eyes widened. I’d never been able to do that before, speak to a total stranger. My hands fidgeted in excitement. I could talk to this chick! I could talk… that made her number three.