Badlands

“What is it?” the guard asked.

“I cut my foot.”

He approached to take a look, kneeling beside her. Her skirt rode high on her thighs as she extended her foot, whimpering. When he bent his head to inspect the injury, she walloped him. Her first strike was weak, partly because she didn’t really want to do it, but also because winding up would have caught his attention. The short swing and glancing blow failed to incapacitate him.

He touched his temple, dumbfounded.

Cringing, she hit him again. And again. The third one did the trick. He slumped forward on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Oh, God. Now she would die of suffocation underneath him. Saying a quick prayer, she asked for forgiveness. Then let go of the rock, which was wet with blood, and shoved him aside. He made an odd groaning noise that she hoped wasn’t his last breath. Pulse pounding in her ears, she tugged off his boots and put them on her own feet. They were slip-on style, reaching just past her ankles, and only a size too large.

She hurried toward the tent, afraid he’d regain consciousness and start shouting. His canteen was sitting by the crate, along with the vest he’d been wearing earlier. Grabbing both, she stuck her head inside the flap. Cruz blinked at her in confusion. “Silencio,” she hissed. “Vente, ya! Apúrate.”

He knew she meant business when she issued sharp orders in Spanish. Her family had a lot of Mexican pride, but Penny and her sisters were typical second-generation immigrants. They spoke English almost exclusively.

He scrambled out and grasped her hand, voicing no complaints as she yanked him along. She rushed past the SUV, searching for a set of ignition keys. She couldn’t knock on the tent flaps, asking for him. She didn’t see a cell phone lying around.

They had to leave on foot. Trying not to panic, she fled with Cruz, circling around the side of the canyon until they were out of sight. Faced with another immediate dilemma, she paused, taking a ragged breath. She didn’t know which way to go. Following the tire tracks back to the road seemed like a reasonable option, but she doubted they would reach civilization before the kidnappers found them. The opposite direction was just as risky. Getting lost in the desert might be a fate worse than death.

Even so, she headed away from the tracks, dragging Cruz across the moonlit landscape. The terrain was difficult to navigate, full of loose pebbles and shifting sand. They ran until the camp was far behind them, and Cruz begged to stop.

“Where’s Owen?” he asked, winded.

“I don’t know.”

“Are we lost?”

She couldn’t lie again. “Those were bad men. They wanted to hurt us. We have to get far away and hide.”

He started to cry, which wasn’t unexpected. This situation didn’t sit well with her, either. She hadn’t wanted to leave Owen with those bastards, dead or alive. She was afraid to take her son into the deep desert. The ill-fitting boots were already bothering her.

“Drink,” she said, passing him the canteen. “Don’t let it spill.”

While he sat down with the water, she rifled through the vest. She found a pocketknife, a pack of matches, ChapStick and a miniflashlight. All useful items. There was also a medium-sized bag of corn nuts.

She used the knife to cut strips from the bottom of her dress, making it shorter. The length inhibited her movements, and she needed the fabric. She wrapped up her feet and stuffed the excess into the toes of the boots. Much better.

That done, she put on the vest and canteen, adjusting the strap across her chest. Then she knelt, gesturing for Cruz to climb on her back. As soon as he was secure, she resumed jogging. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t weigh much, just forty pounds, and adrenaline fueled her every step, but she didn’t have the strength to go all night like this. She wasn’t a cross-country runner or an experienced hiker. Cruz tightened his arms around her neck, half choking her. She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see Mad Max.

After a few minutes, she realized that she was following a dry riverbed and leaving discernible footprints. Her trail would be easy to see. Switching directions, she traveled across a series of low hills, dodging the boulders and cactus plants that threatened to trip her up. She continued at a brisk pace, alternating between carrying Cruz and making him walk. They had to cover as much ground as possible before sunrise.

Hours later, the horizon turned pink with approaching dawn, and she slowed to a stop. Defeated, she let Cruz slide off her back. She had nothing left. Her arms felt like spaghetti; her thigh muscles were trembling and her feet were raw.

Cruz couldn’t go another step, either.

She searched their surroundings for a place to rest. Like wounded animals, they needed to crawl into a hole and hide.

The hills in the distance looked promising. Tall mounds rose up toward the sky, their jagged surfaces resembling peaks of meringue. She’d been hoping to find a group of large boulders to duck behind, but perhaps these structures would suffice.

“This way,” she said, grasping his hand. “Just a few more minutes, and we can sit.”

He trudged along gamely, more cooperative than usual. Cruz had endless energy for fun activities, but no patience or endurance whatsoever on long, boring trips. He seemed to understand that this was neither.

Her spirits lifted as they got closer. There appeared to be a hole in the side of the hill, a tunnel of sorts, carved from wind or water erosion. She turned on the flashlight, inspecting the interior. What an amazing stroke of luck.

“It’s a cave,” Cruz said, excited.

“Let’s explore.”

They stepped through the opening, which widened out to a large area before narrowing again. The passage zigzagged along for several hundred feet. Penny had to turn sideways in some areas, and duck in others to avoid bumping her head. When they came to a fork in the path, she veered left, choosing the tighter squeeze. She dropped to her hands and knees, inching forward with the flashlight in her mouth. Cruz crawled behind her. They reached a section she could barely fit through. It opened up to a small room with a skylight.

She didn’t think the men could reach them here. She couldn’t get out, either, because the hole in the roof was tiny. But the little window comforted her, making the hiding place seem less tomblike and claustrophobic.

Penny hated enclosed spaces, for obvious reasons. “Here we are.”

“We can stay?”

She nodded, resting her back against the wall. “We have to be very quiet.”

“Will they come looking for us?”

“Maybe.”

They shared the corn nuts, which weren’t actually nuts, but roasted corn kernels, called elotitos in Mexico. She tried not to drink too much water, though she was thirsty. The canteen might have to last several days.

“Why do they want to hurt us?”

“They want money,” she amended.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do they touch kids?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, disturbed by the question. She’d told him about child molesters out of necessity. He had no fear of strangers, no shyness. One day he’d wandered off in the library when her back was turned. After a frantic search, she’d found him talking to a friendly older man. Later, at home, she’d explained the danger.

She doubted any of the kidnappers were pedophiles, but the threat of rape had felt very real to her. A woman of color surrounded by racist gang members was at high risk. She thought about the way Dirk had manhandled Owen, with threatening postures and suggestive insults. These men weren’t above using sexual violence as intimidation.

She felt another pang of guilt for leaving him. This was all her fault. He wouldn’t have taken this job under normal circumstances. Her father had probably appealed to his sense of chivalry, claiming she required special protection.

If she hadn’t been such a coward and a pushover, none of this would have happened. She should have moved away from home three months ago, when she graduated. Or sooner, before her father announced his candidacy. She hadn’t because her father claimed it wasn’t safe. He’d insisted on enrolling Cruz in a private Catholic preschool for the same reason. After he offered to pay full tuition, how could she refuse?

Her father doted on Cruz, spoiling him with expensive gifts. He was like the son Jorge had always wanted. And Cruz needed a man in his life, so she didn’t complain. If her father had his way, Penny would marry a young conservative—Cuban, perhaps, because there were so few Mexican-American Republicans—and move in next door.

She should have stood firm and been more independent. She should have told her father flat out that she had feelings for Owen.

Now it was too late.