Sin Fronteras Spring 2018 Sin Fronteras 2018 | Page 59

The truth was, even amidst the animosity, not much happened. Usually, Saúl
would crouch for hours, looking for signs of trouble and never finding any. The
refinery’s guards still looked the other way. Nobody ever used this corner of the
pipe except for the men Saul worked with. That’s the way it had been for weeks.
At first, Saúl had been restless. He’d jump every time he heard a sudden
nois and his eyes would dart around the grass field, analyzing the scattered trash
bins and car wheels, looking for potential hidden enemies. Now, Saúl enjoyed
the quietness. He was careless. He listened to birds chirping and enjoyed sunsets
and passing clouds. He thought about his mother and about girls, and about
movies he’d seen that had made him think. He knew everyone else felt the same
way. Ramón would hum corridos as he siphoned gasoline from the pipes. Luis
and Joel would joke and push each other around as they carried the filled
containers to the truck. Things had become much simpler. Too simple.
Maybe it was because of that, that the first shot didn’t startle Saúl as much
as it did the others. It happened amidst the quietness, while Israel cut his hair.
The first shot was a blank, either a careless mistake or an ally’s warning. Saúl
dove into the wreckage as soon as he heard it, and through his new hideout he
saw how the others were too late to react. He saw how men came from all corners
of the hills, armed and deadly. He saw how Israel was shot in the back, and how
his shirt turned red from the blood that spilled out of him. He saw his companions
panic as they realized they were outnumbered. Saúl shot one of the other men
before he began to run. He scrambled across big pieces of trash, ducking as he
ran for his life.
He heard screams and grunts but he kept running. He knew he should stay
and fight back. He thought that as he kept running, until it was just him and the
barren fields, until he scrambled into a random truck parked on a dirt road and
hid behind the carrot boxes. He breathed in. He could still hear the gunshots.
More closely, he heard two men argue in whispers. They were worried. Saúl was
too. He couldn’t hear what they said, but he imagined it had something to do
with the bullets. It was smart to get as far away as possible.
Sure enough, the truck started suddenly and Saúl was pushed to the side.
He let himself wait. His mind was flashing and his muscles were throbbing. A
strange sound pierced his ears. Maybe leaving was worse than surrendering
yourself to dying. He’d be caught by the others and captured instead of killed.
If that didn’t happen he’d be known as a traitor, most probably. They’d cut his
ears and his nose, and make him scream in agony for days. But Saúl wasn’t ready
to die. His survival instincts betrayed his loyalties. He could deal with anything
else, he decided. He could deal with anything but death.
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