20. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
O h. My. God.
What am I doing?
Why did I think this would be a good idea?
I want my mom.
I need my mom.
Why do I always do stupid stuff like this?
Why do I always think I know everything?
Why didn’t I tell Steve or Ama about the phone?
I’m going to die.
Camila bounced on the hard seat of the truck as the wheels struck a deep divot in the poorly maintained road. The rain was so thick she could hardly see anything in front of her, not even with the windshield wipers flapping as fast as possible and the high beams shining.
She eased off the accelerator and glanced at the GPS unit mounted on the dashboard. There was supposed to be a road ahead to the left, but she couldn’t see it. There were so many overgrown trees, and the clouds were so dark. She could barely tell where the road in front of her was.
“Shit!” She cried out in shock as the truck hit something in the road. A rock? A tree limb? She couldn’t tell. One second, she was driving straight and the next she was careening off the road. She screamed and jerked the wheel, pumping and stomping the brakes to try to regain control. “No! No! No! No!”
Her stomach swooped like she was on a roller coaster. The truck slid down a steep gully. She gripped the wheel as she came up off the seat. The belt barely held her in place, and she screamed even louder, terrified as the truck began to tip and then tumble.
Metal creaked. The engine surged as her foot pressed the wrong pedal. Glass crunched. Her stomach rolled as she flipped end over end. With a crunch, the truck landed on its roof. It wobbled back and forth like a demented seesaw until finally it stopped.
Panting and shaking, Camila reached for the seatbelt latch. She braced herself for the painful fall and fought with the stuck button until it released. She slumped down onto the roof, banging her head and smacking her knee on the steering wheel.
She hissed in pain and rubbed her aching knee. She felt something wet and realized she was bleeding. Glancing down, she saw that both knees were scraped badly. Her head throbbed, and she reached up to touch a tender spot on the back of her head. Again, her fingers came away bloody.
Okay. Not great.
Really not good.
But I'm still alive so....
Grunting in discomfort, she maneuvered her way through the crunched-up truck cab to the passenger side door. It was the least messed up, and she hoped it would still open. It took more pressure than she had expected, but she managed it.
Not looking forward to the deluge of rain that awaited her, Camila searched the floorboards and dash for the phone she had stolen from landscaper’s shed. Miraculously, it had survived without even a scratch.
But she couldn’t find the gun.
It didn’t vanish.
It has to be here somewhere.
But where?
She reached under the driver’s seat, straining as she slapped around for it. When she didn’t find it there, she moved along to the passenger seat. She felt as far back as she could, banging her fingers on metal supports and tangling them in wires. No matter what she did, she couldn’t find the gun.
She grabbed her Peter Pan Loungefly bag and checked that all the money was still in there. She unzipped the clock face pocket and poked at the AirTag she’d slipped in there. Would her dad know what it was? Or how to find out if one was being used around him? She hoped he was behind on technology after spending so many years behind bars. Otherwise...
I don’t have to do this.
Maybe this is a sign.
Call Ama and ask her to come get me.
She’ll be so mad, but she’ll forgive me.
After she yells. A lot.
Camila stared at the phone for a long time, trying to decide what to do. Eventually, she worked up the courage to call her mother. She needed help. She’d made a big, stupid mistake, but her mother would come and save her.
Like she always does.
But when Camila tried to use the phone, she had no service. Not even a single bar.
Great. Just great.
Fantastic.
Maybe if I go up the road I’ll find service?
After waiting a few minutes to see if the rain would let up, she decided it was now or never. Cautiously, she crawled out of the wreckage. The gully was full of water and mud so soft her sneakers sank.
With water pooling around her ankles, she sloshed through it toward the embankment. Her first few tries to escape the washed-out ditch failed. It wasn’t until she grabbed hold of tree roots that she managed to haul herself up out of the filthy water. She slid down a few inches each time she tried to climb higher. Finally, she found a strong enough piece of broken tree to brace her left foot.
Growling with effort, she hefted herself out of the gully and onto the road. She splashed dirty water in her face and into her mouth as she crawled to safety. She sputtered and spit, terrified she’d just swallowed some disgusting bacteria that would kill her.
I’ll be lucky if an amoeba is what kills me.
What was I thinking?
Driving out here?
With a gun?
Pendeja .
Uncertain of her whereabouts, she staggered down the road in the direction she thought the ruins were. The area had changed so much since the last time she’d been here. It was so much more overgrown, and the roads were in much worse shape. The heavy rain wasn’t helping. She could barely see five feet in front of her as she stumbled forward.
I’m going to fall and break my neck.
And then get eaten by a coyote.
Or die from starvation.
All because I think I know everything but I don’t know anything.
She trudged toward the fork in the road and held the phone high, searching for a signal. She noticed the rain falling harder and faster. All around her, water was puddling. Along the roads, small rivers were forming.
I should have paid more attention when Tia Lola tried to teach me about flash floods.
It hadn’t been that long ago, only a few months. Tia Lola had let her drive a farm truck through the fallow fields where she was taking soil samples. There had been huge chunks of land missing, the soil eroded and messy drifts of decomposing trees and plants left behind. A flood, her aunt had said. One so fast and quick, it had wiped out a whole field of agave.
Camila glanced behind her, noting the elevation shifts. If enough rain gathered above her, would it wash down the hill and take her with it? She was a great swimmer, but she didn’t think she could fight against the current of water cascading down a slope.
Please have service. Please have service.
She lowered the phone and checked the screen. Yes!
Relieved, she dialed her mother’s number and waited for the call to connect. When it dropped, she cursed and stomped her foot like an angry child. Seeking out cover under a nearby tree, she leaned against the trunk and closed her eyes for a moment. Her aching head made it hard to think.
Worried she had a concussion, Camila dialed her mother again. This time, the call connected. She waited for her mother to answer, praying she would pick up an unknown number rather than let it go to voicemail. The call rang twice and then dropped.
Feeling helpless, she trudged along the road, gaining altitude and hopefully a better signal. She kept trying to get a call to connect. Twice. Three times. Four.
Her hand dropped as she noticed a familiar vehicle parked on the road ahead. The burnt orange Nissan truck was near the mossy, chipped stone cenotaph commemorating the battles and ruins. She saw the truck every day parked in the staff lot at the estate. She’d recognize it anywhere.
But why would he be parked here?
As she tried to make sense of the truck being in the place she’d agreed to meet her father, Camila began to pull at invisible threads tangled in her mind. She thought back to the attack on her family outside the restaurant. No one had ever figured out how those two idiot hitmen who botched the assassination of Tio Rafa and Tia Sky had known to find the family there.
And how had Senora Campos gotten her helpers onto the estate to leave that phone? To shoot at Tio Beto and Steve?
Why had it been so easy for me to sneak around and get up to trouble?
Her eyes widened with horror as she stared at the orange truck. Everything began to make terrible, awful sense.
With shaking hands, she dialed her mother’s number again, praying that it would connect this time.
It did.
On the first ring.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Ama! It’s me!” Camila clenched the phone and frantically scanned for any sort of cover. Road behind her. Road in front of her. Steep ditches filled with water. “Ama! I wrecked the truck.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“A little, but that’s not the problem.”
“Are you at the ruins? How close?”
“I’m here. But Ama! Please! Listen!”
“I’m listening, Camila. I’m listening!”
“It’s not—.”
Something cold and hard pressed into the back of her neck. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.
“Give me the phone.”
Camila trembled as the muzzle of the gun jammed harder into her head. She raised the phone up, hearing her mother shouting and wishing she could scream for help. Her mouth refused to work, her throat suddenly dry and her tongue heavy.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Camila. This would have been so much easier if you’d stayed home.”
This is it.
This is how I die.