Leaving
Beneath this, someone has added in a different hand, Y’all got this—R.P.
Ethan will never know how this note was placed in this bag.
Ethan and Kyla walk all the way to Turner.
It’s not so far, now that the power of the ceremony isn’t stretching out the road.
In Turner, they find the dregs of what must have been a very bad day.
Lola’s Den, the fateful diner, is surrounded by police tape.
The parking lot is a crime scene: trucks and SUVs are scattered everywhere.
Broken windshields, shell casings. Blood.
An old farmer in bald overalls is surveying the violence with a pleasant smile. He gives Ethan and Kyla a polite nod. “Run out of gas?”
Ethan says, “How’d you know?”
The farmer is cheery as he drives. They’re in a rusted pickup truck that smells, not unpleasantly, of dog.
Ethan says, “You’re in a good mood.”
“Who wouldn’t be? Frank O’Shea is finally dead.”
Kyla turns from the window. “He’s what?”
“Apparently, the bastard and his goons turned up yesterday to that diner in Turner. Some thug who worked there also worked for Frank. He was a cook or something, but he was also a snitch; we all knew it. Anyway, he got his arm deep-fried. They’re saying the cartel did it.”
Ethan says nothing.
“Frank turned up at the diner a couple hours later, like I said, but then so does the cartel, along with every law agency you can think of. The rumor is that someone done killed a man that the cartel had planted on the inside of Frank’s operation, one of O’Shea’s top troops, but that’s a rumor, obviously. ”
Kyla says nothing.
“Turns out, most of all the boys working for Frank were ready to move on. Half of them was working for the feds and the other half for the cartel. When the chips came down, they knew a lost cause when they saw it. O’Shea saw the writing on the wall.
He tried to run. One of them UBP thugs shot him straight in the back. ”
Ethan says, “What’s the UBP?”
“Didn’t you see the SUVs in the parking lot? The US Border Patrol, son. O’Shea was the captain around these parts. Crooked as the day is long. It’s how he got away with moving people like he did. Just picked them up trying to cross the border and sold them right down the river. Or so they say.”
Kyla says to Ethan, “You didn’t know?”
“As of four o’clock yesterday afternoon, Frank O’Shea stopped being captain of anything. Maybe they’ll let him boss some men around in hell.”
Four o’clock yesterday. By the time they’d reached the Brake Inn Motel, Frank O’Shea had been long dead.
The farmer scratches a spot on the seat, somehow releasing a fresh whiff of dog. “Some new son of a bitch will take over his spot sooner than later, I’m sure. But for now, at least we’ll have some calm. You wouldn’t believe the stories of what that man did.”
“No,” Kyla says. “I bet we wouldn’t.”
The farmer lets them off at the intersection of two highways. North will eventually lead to I-10, which rolls all the way to California. South leads straight to the border. The farmer keeps heading west, presumably back to the dog.
In his duffel bag, Ethan has two bands of cash each worth ten thousand dollars. Kyla wanted to give him more, but this will get an old car up and moving.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Ethan says. “You can head to Mexico from California. There’s money waiting for me. A lot, by the sounds of it. Plenty to share.”
Kyla shakes her head. “I’ll catch up with you later. The border will be chaos today with Frank dead. There won’t be a better chance to slip over without being stopped.”
“If Frank’s dead, the men from the cartel may not even want that camera film. They may not want to help Fernanda’s brother anymore.”
“I can be pretty persuasive. And if they don’t, I still have the cash. I’ll make sure the kid’s set up all right.”
“Not the same thing as having a sister.”
“That’s life.”
“Yeah.” Ethan nods. “That’s life.”
Kyla looks back. She can just see the mountain in the distance. “Do you think it’s true what the old tribe thought? That the mountain has the power to make sure things happen exactly like they’re supposed to?”
“I hope not. I’d rather not imagine some mountain was responsible for wasting my whole life in Ellersby. For putting Hunter in prison for what he was in prison for.”
“For keeping Fernanda trapped at Frank’s house like some animal.”
“Yet here we are.”
“Yeah.” Kyla nods. “Here we are.”
Which is when Ethan realizes that he and Kyla have been speaking, all this time, without opening their mouths. Kyla is already some ways down the southern road. Ethan is well to the north.
He realizes that Te’lo’hi might have given them a piece of his power on their way out the door.
“Keep in touch, Mister Cross,” Kyla says, and despite the distance, he hears her just fine.
“Same to you, Miss Hewitt.”
They left the mountain at dawn. They left behind the city, their friends, The Lake That Travels. One moment, Ethan and Kyla took their first step on the long bridge. The next moment, they were at the mouth of the cave. Behind them was nothing but rubble. No bridge. No silver light. No dead city.
Ahead was the most astonishing view of the desert they would ever see. They watched the sun rise over a landscape so massive it seemed a galaxy itself. One by one, small trees appeared, thin creeks, mile after mile of bright gold potential. A bird sang. Another answered.
High in the sky, just at the limits of their vision, Kyla and Ethan saw a departing glint of silver light.
Kyla said, “What day is it?”
Ethan said, “Tomorrow.”