...as the rear hatch lowered open and the crate slid out of the dark interior and into the ravaging winds of the vast night sky. The box plummeted toward the ground. Suddenly, an immense parachute billowed open, the box yanked upwards with tremendous force like a body having its neck snapped by a noose, and the descent slowed, peacefully peacefully drifting on the hot night winds into the endless stretch of dark dunes below in the Chihuahua Desert. With a gentle thud the container scraped along the ground and gracefully landed among a group of chaparral bushes. The pilot looked out his window and nodded his head. He then pushed the red button on his stick and yelled over the roar of the engine.
"Mr. Tiffany, the drop has been made. The package has landed."
The helicopter turned and flew towards the north. The crate lay in the sand under the starlit sky with only the slight rustle of parachute blowing in the breeze. In the distance a gray wolf peered above a ridge of sand staring at the unwelcome invader. Although the crate was solitary and unmoving, the wolf smelled something that caused its tail to point in the air. It barked a warning to the other members of its pack, its call echoing across the dunes. Other wolves nearby heard the call and immediately ran towards the source of the cry.
The wolves slowly approached the crate curiously. They growled a low threat bearing sharp fangs. More confident as their numbers grew, they began to urinate on the box and sniff the foreign scent in the air that surrounded it. Still, seeing nothing but the crate, they pawed and sniffed at its sides, oblivious to what it contained.
Without warning, the side of the container sprung opened and blurs flew out of the crate. Fur and fangs, claws and lightning-quick terrors, flying, biting, and strangling in a night shadow of yelps and growls: a split-second later, nothing but blood-matted bodies. Whatever the box contained disappeared into the dark desert night with the wolves.
The whirring of a departing helicopter high in the night sky was the only sound. Another crate, and another…
The heat blazed as the sun emerged the next morning. Drew tried to summon the energy needed just to get up from the hard ground. In his broken Spanish, he called to his followers.
"Hermanos, when nosotros venimos from Zacatecas, una larga journey. We knew when we started this journey into the desert that it would be peligroso. We sabimos that we would suffer hambre, exhaustion, sed, and possibly death, el muerto. Lo siento mucho, I'm sorry, for your losses, por su familia y amigos, and the miserable conditions that you have had to endure. Let us continue our journey so that those who have sacrificed their lives will not have done so in vain. Vayamos!"
Aarón translated into Spanish so those who were left could understand. Drew bowed his head in reverence.
"Let us pray. Lord God in heaven, we thy humble followers of la Iglesia de Jesucristo de Zacatecas, ask for thy mercy and thy protection on this journey. I remember the day that I entered thy church in Mexico and accepted El Señor Jesucristo as my Savior. I thank thee for giving me this rebirth, and for these people who have accepted me as one of their familia. I remember the night that Thou didst call me in a dream to return to my family in New Mexico and face the consequences that await me there for my past sins. I thank Thee for calling me to take these friends of mine back with me, not as a great leader, but as thy humble servant, a sinner. Please, Señor, por favor, deliver us out of the hands of our enemies and allow us to cross into a new land of freedom and opportunities for these poor people who are following me. Amen."
A sad chorus of amens followed. The people seemed to understand well enough without Aarón's help this time. They grabbed their sparse belongings and followed Drew, who after some thoughtful meditation, felt inspired to take them towards some rock formations in the distance. Drew thought there might be shade and water there. He squinted at an indistinct dark shape in the distance between them and the hills.
Faye showed Drew the way back to where she had found him. It was near dark and Drew was afraid they would be too late. Drew prayed in his mind, God in Heaven, what dost Thou want me to do? How is this going to work? Am I too late?
There were some people. Soft moans of agony broke the darkness. Most were still. Faye handed him the backpack full of supplies she had been carrying.
"Thank you, Faye. You have truly served God and your fellow man today."
"That's why we're here. I wish I had known there were more of you when I found you. The venom must have affected your sense of direction and you must have crawled quite a distance from your friends."
"¡Hermanos!"
Aarón stopped tightening his torn t-shirt tourniquet around his arm and smiled. He lifted his voice for all to hear.
"Drew regresa. Drew!"
One man, Alberto, yelled in Spanish, "How do we know we can trust you? You deserted us."
A skinny woman, pulled herself towards Alberto and yelled, "Drew? We don't need your help. You've helped us enough."
Aaron spoke. "They don't trust you anymore. They think you left us here to die."
I can't believe this! Drew thought. After all we've gone through, and now I can finally help save them. What would God do? When was God ever in a desert with snakebites and…Suddenly, Drew knew what to do.
Drew reached into the pocket of his pants. He reverently removed something wrapped in a deep purple cloth. He unwrapped it to reveal an old sculpture of a crucifix made of brass with Jesus' crumpled form hanging from it in beautiful detail. This handmade piece of art had hung prominently on the plaster wall in the chapel where Drew and his congregation met in Zacatecas. Drew remembered how Father Olivares had given it to him as a gift and how he had wondered if it was worth carrying with him when he left. He couldn't bring himself to leave it behind, since it meant so much to him, and to his pastor. He looked at the sculpted figure of Jesus shining in the remaining light of the setting sun.
"¡Hermanos! You are the Lord's chosen people, just like the Children of Israel. You have been asked to make a journey to the Promised Land, and in order to make it there you must not lose faith. Remember the story of Moses. Show your faith in the Lord by coming and looking upon Him."
Drew thrust the brass crucifix into the air in his right hand for all to see. Nothing. His strength wouldn't last long.
Finally, he could make out the form of Carlos's skeletal, dark body climbing over rocks and bushes coming towards him. Scared and crying children scurried as fast as their legs could carry them. One by one, Aarón, Carmen, and the others came. When they saw the brass crucifix extended in Drew's fist gleaming brilliantly in the setting sun they smiled and walked a little straighter and more confidently. Faye started to administer the anti-venom.
"Mr. Tiffany, the drop has been made. The package has landed."
The helicopter turned and flew towards the north. The crate lay in the sand under the starlit sky with only the slight rustle of parachute blowing in the breeze. In the distance a gray wolf peered above a ridge of sand staring at the unwelcome invader. Although the crate was solitary and unmoving, the wolf smelled something that caused its tail to point in the air. It barked a warning to the other members of its pack, its call echoing across the dunes. Other wolves nearby heard the call and immediately ran towards the source of the cry.
The wolves slowly approached the crate curiously. They growled a low threat bearing sharp fangs. More confident as their numbers grew, they began to urinate on the box and sniff the foreign scent in the air that surrounded it. Still, seeing nothing but the crate, they pawed and sniffed at its sides, oblivious to what it contained.
Without warning, the side of the container sprung opened and blurs flew out of the crate. Fur and fangs, claws and lightning-quick terrors, flying, biting, and strangling in a night shadow of yelps and growls: a split-second later, nothing but blood-matted bodies. Whatever the box contained disappeared into the dark desert night with the wolves.
The whirring of a departing helicopter high in the night sky was the only sound. Another crate, and another…
* * *
Although it had been hours since the sun had gone below the horizon of shrubs and sand in the Chihuahua Desert, the ragged travelers were still suffering from the blasting heat. Thuds could be heard and clouds of dust appeared in the deep blue of twilight as weary bodies began dropping like sandbags; sweating heaps moaning. Drew Ottwater, a muscular man with sweat drenched hair and a scraggly beard stopped in the sand, his lungs heaving, both hands on his knees. He stood up straight, his strong jaw jutting in the air, his gray eyes focused. He mentally shifted gears into broken Spanish.
"¡Hermanos! I know you're exhausted. Yo tambien, pero we need to hide ourselves! The oscuridad will not keep us out of peligro! Aarón, do they understand what I'm saying?"
Aarón stopped trudging forward. The small Mexican had short hair, and eyes so dark that their whites seemed to glow. Aarón tried to wet his parched lips with his tongue in order to translate.
"Así dice el Señor: 'Escóndense! No se duerman hasta que hayan encontrado un lugar seguro! Si les encuentran durante la noche, todo nuestro viaje será por nada...'"
How late was it? Where were they? Drew knew that some of his followers had stopped along the way and were probably dying. He could hear some coughing in the darkness, he could hear infants crying.
Suddenly, a buzzing, a helicopter in the distance: with what little energy he had left, he attempted to yell to the others
"Find cover! Hide!"
A blinding spotlight shot down that showed too many forms scrambling for safety. Other lights in pairs shone from jeeps emerging from the darkness. Like a giant wasp, the helicopter descended, kicking up sand into the faces of those too tired to move. Others scrambled away in all directions. In the shade of a large cactus, Drew huddled silently, his friends and companions dashed about frantically trying to escape. He gestured for them to stop running and hide, but stopped when he saw a light shining near him.
After the police had rounded up those easy to catch, they loaded them into jeeps and sped away. The helicopter kicked up more sand as it departed. Drew let out a deep breath of despair and silently peered from behind his cactus at the lights growing dim in the distance. He remained still until he was sure that it was safe. He called out to see who was still there: only 34 of his original group of 103. He secured places for them to hide and sleep, and then found a place for himself. The sobs and wails lulled him to sleep.
"¡Hermanos! I know you're exhausted. Yo tambien, pero we need to hide ourselves! The oscuridad will not keep us out of peligro! Aarón, do they understand what I'm saying?"
Aarón stopped trudging forward. The small Mexican had short hair, and eyes so dark that their whites seemed to glow. Aarón tried to wet his parched lips with his tongue in order to translate.
"Así dice el Señor: 'Escóndense! No se duerman hasta que hayan encontrado un lugar seguro! Si les encuentran durante la noche, todo nuestro viaje será por nada...'"
How late was it? Where were they? Drew knew that some of his followers had stopped along the way and were probably dying. He could hear some coughing in the darkness, he could hear infants crying.
Suddenly, a buzzing, a helicopter in the distance: with what little energy he had left, he attempted to yell to the others
"Find cover! Hide!"
A blinding spotlight shot down that showed too many forms scrambling for safety. Other lights in pairs shone from jeeps emerging from the darkness. Like a giant wasp, the helicopter descended, kicking up sand into the faces of those too tired to move. Others scrambled away in all directions. In the shade of a large cactus, Drew huddled silently, his friends and companions dashed about frantically trying to escape. He gestured for them to stop running and hide, but stopped when he saw a light shining near him.
After the police had rounded up those easy to catch, they loaded them into jeeps and sped away. The helicopter kicked up more sand as it departed. Drew let out a deep breath of despair and silently peered from behind his cactus at the lights growing dim in the distance. He remained still until he was sure that it was safe. He called out to see who was still there: only 34 of his original group of 103. He secured places for them to hide and sleep, and then found a place for himself. The sobs and wails lulled him to sleep.
* * *
The heat blazed as the sun emerged the next morning. Drew tried to summon the energy needed just to get up from the hard ground. In his broken Spanish, he called to his followers.
"Hermanos, when nosotros venimos from Zacatecas, una larga journey. We knew when we started this journey into the desert that it would be peligroso. We sabimos that we would suffer hambre, exhaustion, sed, and possibly death, el muerto. Lo siento mucho, I'm sorry, for your losses, por su familia y amigos, and the miserable conditions that you have had to endure. Let us continue our journey so that those who have sacrificed their lives will not have done so in vain. Vayamos!"
Aarón translated into Spanish so those who were left could understand. Drew bowed his head in reverence.
"Let us pray. Lord God in heaven, we thy humble followers of la Iglesia de Jesucristo de Zacatecas, ask for thy mercy and thy protection on this journey. I remember the day that I entered thy church in Mexico and accepted El Señor Jesucristo as my Savior. I thank thee for giving me this rebirth, and for these people who have accepted me as one of their familia. I remember the night that Thou didst call me in a dream to return to my family in New Mexico and face the consequences that await me there for my past sins. I thank Thee for calling me to take these friends of mine back with me, not as a great leader, but as thy humble servant, a sinner. Please, Señor, por favor, deliver us out of the hands of our enemies and allow us to cross into a new land of freedom and opportunities for these poor people who are following me. Amen."
A sad chorus of amens followed. The people seemed to understand well enough without Aarón's help this time. They grabbed their sparse belongings and followed Drew, who after some thoughtful meditation, felt inspired to take them towards some rock formations in the distance. Drew thought there might be shade and water there. He squinted at an indistinct dark shape in the distance between them and the hills.
* * *
An empty husk like a monstrous beetle came clear in the distance. A Police jeep like the ones from the night before was parked in the middle of nowhere; bodies lay on it baking in the sun. Other blood-spattered bodies surrounded the jeep, some still alive, and some from Drew's group that had been taken the night before.
Carmen, a young woman with curly hair rushed to a twitching woman. Carmen had taken on the duties of nurse for the group because of her past studies in medicine. She noticed blood was coming from bite wounds, as well as the gums and nose of those still alive. She couldn't understand it. The uniforms identified some of the bodies as Police officers, while others were their comrades.
"¡Ayúdame! ¡Ayúdame! Aaaaaah!"
The sudden sound from the presumed dead caused others in the group to scream. Carmen hurried to the flailing man to see if she could still help. She talked to him in comforting tones to try to help him relax.
"What happened to you?" Drew asked, placing his hand near the open bite mark on the man's outstretched arm. "Do you speak English?"
The man's eyes darted frantically from one person to the other. He was with the Police. His uniform had been shredded in spots.
"Please help me! They were dead when we arrived."
"What happened?"
The man paused, as if lapsing into subconscious, then as if coming back from the dead:
"We just stopped the jeep when we saw the...the dead and… we heard this loud buzzing...before we could get back... back into the jeep... they… they attacked us..."
The man's body straightened suddenly as if he was being shocked. His eyes started to roll back into his head. More blood began to trickle out of his nose. Carmen checked his pulse.
"He is dead."
Before the words were out of her mouth, some of the group called her to another man.
"They flew at us! They...came out of the bushes and ... and...."
With a violent shudder the man collapsed.
Carmen quickly checked his pulse and then released his wrist.
Although some found it disrespectful and callous, others searched the bodies and jeep. They found some knives, flashlights, a little food, bottled water, and even a couple of revolvers. They all knew if they were caught here they would be blamed for the deaths. They continued toward the rocks and safety.
Carmen, a young woman with curly hair rushed to a twitching woman. Carmen had taken on the duties of nurse for the group because of her past studies in medicine. She noticed blood was coming from bite wounds, as well as the gums and nose of those still alive. She couldn't understand it. The uniforms identified some of the bodies as Police officers, while others were their comrades.
"¡Ayúdame! ¡Ayúdame! Aaaaaah!"
The sudden sound from the presumed dead caused others in the group to scream. Carmen hurried to the flailing man to see if she could still help. She talked to him in comforting tones to try to help him relax.
"What happened to you?" Drew asked, placing his hand near the open bite mark on the man's outstretched arm. "Do you speak English?"
The man's eyes darted frantically from one person to the other. He was with the Police. His uniform had been shredded in spots.
"Please help me! They were dead when we arrived."
"What happened?"
The man paused, as if lapsing into subconscious, then as if coming back from the dead:
"We just stopped the jeep when we saw the...the dead and… we heard this loud buzzing...before we could get back... back into the jeep... they… they attacked us..."
The man's body straightened suddenly as if he was being shocked. His eyes started to roll back into his head. More blood began to trickle out of his nose. Carmen checked his pulse.
"He is dead."
Before the words were out of her mouth, some of the group called her to another man.
"They flew at us! They...came out of the bushes and ... and...."
With a violent shudder the man collapsed.
Carmen quickly checked his pulse and then released his wrist.
Although some found it disrespectful and callous, others searched the bodies and jeep. They found some knives, flashlights, a little food, bottled water, and even a couple of revolvers. They all knew if they were caught here they would be blamed for the deaths. They continued toward the rocks and safety.
* * *
"What are they saying, Aarón?"
"They say things about the dead and what killed them. They think the officers were maybe on drugs."
"Please tell them we are almost across the border. We need to move again when it is dark."
Aarón paused.
"My cousin Victor told me a story about the people that he was traveling with when he was trying to cross the border last month. He said that while they were traveling through some thick bushes the people heard a terrible sound like bones being torn into splinters. They just kept on walking into a huge nest of deadly demons. Faster than they could see, these flame-colored things came out of nowhere and flew at them. They actually left the ground and flew through the air at them! Victor said that the people who were bitten screamed that the bite felt like they were being pinched with red-hot pliers, or like they were on fire from the inside out. I think all the victims that were able to get to the hospital were all right, but my cousin Victor said that all of the people that were with him swore they would never attempt to cross the desert again. I heard that same story from more than one of the people in that group. They were scared like nothing I've ever seen before! They called them las serpientes, ardientes voladoras."
"Others in the group are telling the same story."
"I have heard it too," said Carmen. "And the wounds on those bodies could have been bites."
Drew thought he was hearing an old wives' tale. It sounded like pure fantasy, like la chupacabra or something the Border Patrol was seeding the people with to deter border crossings. Unfortunately, what was left of his group were all talking in excited tones, and not just about las serpientes.
"We didn't have any problems with desert predators before. Why did we separate ourselves from the group and follow this gringo? They knew where they were going."
"Why are we walking this way? It will take ten times as long to get to the border!"
Two brothers were talking loudly to the group.
"Why is God allowing us to suffer needlessly? Doesn't He love us? Haven't we done what He has asked of us? What more does He want from us?"
"God is going to punish us for trying to break the law! Those monsters from hell are going to get us!"
"Why are we following this gringo? I heard he murdered a man and then fled to Mexico to escape the police."
"He is not one of our raza! He is an ugly gringo! We are stupid sheep following a blind shepherd!"
Drew was standing still with his hand out to stop and silence the people. A strange sound was coming from nowhere and everywhere. It sounded like a saw cutting through branches. The buzzing filled the air, and although some of the more curious were trying to get a better look at what might be the source of the noise, everyone remained quiet and refused to move.
The scraping and scratching grated on the people's nerves and made their skin itch. The hair-raising rasping was replaced by a piercing hiss, loud and violent from everywhere. The people began to panic, grabbing children into their arms and scrambling away toward the hills and shelter, but it was too late. Dark-reddish writhing forms, twisting their way out of the low-lying brush flew at them. Drew was suddenly on the ground after a gunshot violently pierced his ears. Flashes of red leapt lightning-fast from everywhere it seemed. The red creatures sank their fangs into the horrified people, who were tripping over each other in a mad frenzy to escape.
Drew started to run, but then stopped for Pablo, a fat boy crying on the ground. He hugged the dirty child close to his body and rushed away towards the edge of a nearby hillside. He set the boy down behind some brush just to be knocked over by a group of people rushing madly away from the carnage. Oblivious to anything but their own self-preservation, they scrambled past Drew who fell backwards on the sand beneath him and down the other side of a hill that emptied into a wash.
Lord, Jesus, help me! He prayed silently, desperately. He heard hissing. Lord, Jesus, I've got to get up. The wide head of a serpent came over the hill and into the wash. Drew closed his eyes and focused on peace and his faith. He could see his front yard in New Mexico. He was on his knees in the garden with his gloves and hat on. He saw a teenage girl with a ponytail frantically screaming and running out of her house across the street in a pink t-shirt and blue jeans. A man with a white unbuttoned shirt appeared with squinting eyes, shaggy locks of black hair, and jagged teeth. The man grabbed the girl's ponytail and pulled her back toward their basement door. Drew heard his voice slow and loud utter something, and the man stopped in his tracks. A small pistol materialized into view as black and as deadly as the guttural threats the man spat at him.
Something changed. Drew could still feel the smooth handle of his shovel, the uncomfortable yet pleasant adrenaline pumping. The shrouded images became increasingly detailed and red. He saw the man smile, turn around, and pull the girl by her ponytail. He felt the weight of the shovel, he was suddenly there, at the basement door, hurtling the shovel down with all the pent up anger of his soul towards the back of the man's head. With an alarming crash of metal on bone, the blinding and painful bite of the serpent brought him back. His flock? His escape? His walk across the desert? He shot straight up in bed.
His eyes were wide open, but Drew had a hard time waking up. For the first time in a long time he wasn't underneath the blazing sun or freezing in the night, he was in a soft bed. His eyes focused. He was in a white tent with someone sitting next to him. He squinted his eyes at a teenage girl with long hair. Her face and arms were very tanned and she wore a stained t-shirt. She spoke.
"Are you okay?"
""Yeah...yes. Where am I? Who are you?"
"I'm a volunteer Samaritan. My name's Faye. You're in one of our recovery tents."
"Samaritan?"
"Yeah, we're an organization that helps people like you that are dehydrated and suffering from heatstroke. Here, have some water." She pulled a bottle out of a white and blue cooler. "I found you unconscious in a big tangle of bushes. What happened to you?"
Drew poured the water down his throat and front.
"I've got to get help for my people! They've been attacked by snakes up on the hillside where you found me."
"Saw-scaled vipers..."
"What?" Drew asked as he sat up.
"Saw-scaled vipers," she annunciated hesitantly. "That's the species of snake that I assume you're talking about. We don't know why, but there have been several reports of Samaritans and Mexican immigrants being attacked by them. At first, we didn't know what they were, but then we found out that they were this really deadly snake normally found in the Middle East."
"The Middle East?"
Drew was suddenly very tired. He didn't want to think about snakes, or people, or anything.
"That doesn't make any sense. This is the Chihuahua Desert."
"That's exactly what we've been trying to figure out. It would make sense if someone released a few into the wild from a zoo, but there seem to be hundreds of them."
Drew was so very tired. He couldn't keep his eyes open.
"Do you guys have a cure for these bites? How long does it take someone to die once they're bitten?"
"Yes, we have anti-venom. Healthy victims have a few hours before they are in serious danger. Most of these people trying to cross the desert aren't so healthy. You were lucky."
Drew was drinking more water. He had an I.V. in his arm.
"Usually the anti-venom makes people really tired."
His eyelids were so heavy.
"What about my friends?"
"They say things about the dead and what killed them. They think the officers were maybe on drugs."
"Please tell them we are almost across the border. We need to move again when it is dark."
Aarón paused.
"My cousin Victor told me a story about the people that he was traveling with when he was trying to cross the border last month. He said that while they were traveling through some thick bushes the people heard a terrible sound like bones being torn into splinters. They just kept on walking into a huge nest of deadly demons. Faster than they could see, these flame-colored things came out of nowhere and flew at them. They actually left the ground and flew through the air at them! Victor said that the people who were bitten screamed that the bite felt like they were being pinched with red-hot pliers, or like they were on fire from the inside out. I think all the victims that were able to get to the hospital were all right, but my cousin Victor said that all of the people that were with him swore they would never attempt to cross the desert again. I heard that same story from more than one of the people in that group. They were scared like nothing I've ever seen before! They called them las serpientes, ardientes voladoras."
"Others in the group are telling the same story."
"I have heard it too," said Carmen. "And the wounds on those bodies could have been bites."
Drew thought he was hearing an old wives' tale. It sounded like pure fantasy, like la chupacabra or something the Border Patrol was seeding the people with to deter border crossings. Unfortunately, what was left of his group were all talking in excited tones, and not just about las serpientes.
"We didn't have any problems with desert predators before. Why did we separate ourselves from the group and follow this gringo? They knew where they were going."
"Why are we walking this way? It will take ten times as long to get to the border!"
Two brothers were talking loudly to the group.
"Why is God allowing us to suffer needlessly? Doesn't He love us? Haven't we done what He has asked of us? What more does He want from us?"
"God is going to punish us for trying to break the law! Those monsters from hell are going to get us!"
"Why are we following this gringo? I heard he murdered a man and then fled to Mexico to escape the police."
"He is not one of our raza! He is an ugly gringo! We are stupid sheep following a blind shepherd!"
Drew was standing still with his hand out to stop and silence the people. A strange sound was coming from nowhere and everywhere. It sounded like a saw cutting through branches. The buzzing filled the air, and although some of the more curious were trying to get a better look at what might be the source of the noise, everyone remained quiet and refused to move.
The scraping and scratching grated on the people's nerves and made their skin itch. The hair-raising rasping was replaced by a piercing hiss, loud and violent from everywhere. The people began to panic, grabbing children into their arms and scrambling away toward the hills and shelter, but it was too late. Dark-reddish writhing forms, twisting their way out of the low-lying brush flew at them. Drew was suddenly on the ground after a gunshot violently pierced his ears. Flashes of red leapt lightning-fast from everywhere it seemed. The red creatures sank their fangs into the horrified people, who were tripping over each other in a mad frenzy to escape.
Drew started to run, but then stopped for Pablo, a fat boy crying on the ground. He hugged the dirty child close to his body and rushed away towards the edge of a nearby hillside. He set the boy down behind some brush just to be knocked over by a group of people rushing madly away from the carnage. Oblivious to anything but their own self-preservation, they scrambled past Drew who fell backwards on the sand beneath him and down the other side of a hill that emptied into a wash.
Lord, Jesus, help me! He prayed silently, desperately. He heard hissing. Lord, Jesus, I've got to get up. The wide head of a serpent came over the hill and into the wash. Drew closed his eyes and focused on peace and his faith. He could see his front yard in New Mexico. He was on his knees in the garden with his gloves and hat on. He saw a teenage girl with a ponytail frantically screaming and running out of her house across the street in a pink t-shirt and blue jeans. A man with a white unbuttoned shirt appeared with squinting eyes, shaggy locks of black hair, and jagged teeth. The man grabbed the girl's ponytail and pulled her back toward their basement door. Drew heard his voice slow and loud utter something, and the man stopped in his tracks. A small pistol materialized into view as black and as deadly as the guttural threats the man spat at him.
Something changed. Drew could still feel the smooth handle of his shovel, the uncomfortable yet pleasant adrenaline pumping. The shrouded images became increasingly detailed and red. He saw the man smile, turn around, and pull the girl by her ponytail. He felt the weight of the shovel, he was suddenly there, at the basement door, hurtling the shovel down with all the pent up anger of his soul towards the back of the man's head. With an alarming crash of metal on bone, the blinding and painful bite of the serpent brought him back. His flock? His escape? His walk across the desert? He shot straight up in bed.
His eyes were wide open, but Drew had a hard time waking up. For the first time in a long time he wasn't underneath the blazing sun or freezing in the night, he was in a soft bed. His eyes focused. He was in a white tent with someone sitting next to him. He squinted his eyes at a teenage girl with long hair. Her face and arms were very tanned and she wore a stained t-shirt. She spoke.
"Are you okay?"
""Yeah...yes. Where am I? Who are you?"
"I'm a volunteer Samaritan. My name's Faye. You're in one of our recovery tents."
"Samaritan?"
"Yeah, we're an organization that helps people like you that are dehydrated and suffering from heatstroke. Here, have some water." She pulled a bottle out of a white and blue cooler. "I found you unconscious in a big tangle of bushes. What happened to you?"
Drew poured the water down his throat and front.
"I've got to get help for my people! They've been attacked by snakes up on the hillside where you found me."
"Saw-scaled vipers..."
"What?" Drew asked as he sat up.
"Saw-scaled vipers," she annunciated hesitantly. "That's the species of snake that I assume you're talking about. We don't know why, but there have been several reports of Samaritans and Mexican immigrants being attacked by them. At first, we didn't know what they were, but then we found out that they were this really deadly snake normally found in the Middle East."
"The Middle East?"
Drew was suddenly very tired. He didn't want to think about snakes, or people, or anything.
"That doesn't make any sense. This is the Chihuahua Desert."
"That's exactly what we've been trying to figure out. It would make sense if someone released a few into the wild from a zoo, but there seem to be hundreds of them."
Drew was so very tired. He couldn't keep his eyes open.
"Do you guys have a cure for these bites? How long does it take someone to die once they're bitten?"
"Yes, we have anti-venom. Healthy victims have a few hours before they are in serious danger. Most of these people trying to cross the desert aren't so healthy. You were lucky."
Drew was drinking more water. He had an I.V. in his arm.
"Usually the anti-venom makes people really tired."
His eyelids were so heavy.
"What about my friends?"
* * *
Faye showed Drew the way back to where she had found him. It was near dark and Drew was afraid they would be too late. Drew prayed in his mind, God in Heaven, what dost Thou want me to do? How is this going to work? Am I too late?
There were some people. Soft moans of agony broke the darkness. Most were still. Faye handed him the backpack full of supplies she had been carrying.
"Thank you, Faye. You have truly served God and your fellow man today."
"That's why we're here. I wish I had known there were more of you when I found you. The venom must have affected your sense of direction and you must have crawled quite a distance from your friends."
"¡Hermanos!"
Aarón stopped tightening his torn t-shirt tourniquet around his arm and smiled. He lifted his voice for all to hear.
"Drew regresa. Drew!"
One man, Alberto, yelled in Spanish, "How do we know we can trust you? You deserted us."
A skinny woman, pulled herself towards Alberto and yelled, "Drew? We don't need your help. You've helped us enough."
Aaron spoke. "They don't trust you anymore. They think you left us here to die."
I can't believe this! Drew thought. After all we've gone through, and now I can finally help save them. What would God do? When was God ever in a desert with snakebites and…Suddenly, Drew knew what to do.
Drew reached into the pocket of his pants. He reverently removed something wrapped in a deep purple cloth. He unwrapped it to reveal an old sculpture of a crucifix made of brass with Jesus' crumpled form hanging from it in beautiful detail. This handmade piece of art had hung prominently on the plaster wall in the chapel where Drew and his congregation met in Zacatecas. Drew remembered how Father Olivares had given it to him as a gift and how he had wondered if it was worth carrying with him when he left. He couldn't bring himself to leave it behind, since it meant so much to him, and to his pastor. He looked at the sculpted figure of Jesus shining in the remaining light of the setting sun.
"¡Hermanos! You are the Lord's chosen people, just like the Children of Israel. You have been asked to make a journey to the Promised Land, and in order to make it there you must not lose faith. Remember the story of Moses. Show your faith in the Lord by coming and looking upon Him."
Drew thrust the brass crucifix into the air in his right hand for all to see. Nothing. His strength wouldn't last long.
Finally, he could make out the form of Carlos's skeletal, dark body climbing over rocks and bushes coming towards him. Scared and crying children scurried as fast as their legs could carry them. One by one, Aarón, Carmen, and the others came. When they saw the brass crucifix extended in Drew's fist gleaming brilliantly in the setting sun they smiled and walked a little straighter and more confidently. Faye started to administer the anti-venom.
* * *
Peter showered, shaved, ironed his snow white shirt, and then flipped on the air conditioning. As he was buttoning up his shirt, his cell phone sang a classical tune from his twill slacks pocket. He casually flipped it open and put it up to his angular jaw.
"Peter," a voice on the other end of the connection.
Peter ran his fingers through his chestnut hair as he remembered how much James Tiffany's voice annoyed him. He sat down on a leather chair in the tidy den of his condo and drawled, "Hello James. What is it?"
"Have you seen the news?"
Peter reached for his remote control and clicked on the wide-screen TV across the room from him.
"What should I be looking for?"
"I think the plan is finally starting to get some notice. The rumors and legends in the Mexican media are becoming reality. I just saw a piece on CNN."
"Are you serious? They haven't connected this with AIIA have they?"
Peter stood up with excitement.
"No, don't worry. The organization is in the clear. We're in the clear. The reporter said that there have been numerous reports of people being killed by a jumping, aggressive snake that they believe to be the saw-scale viper."
Peter's excitement froze and turned to concern. "Killed? How many?"
"Oh, I don't know. They said there were casualties among the Police and Border Patrol, volunteer groups like No More Deaths and some Samaritan group, as well as some Mexicans trying to cross the border."
"What? Americans weren't supposed to get killed!"
"I know, it's terrible," James continued calmly. "Eduardo has called me several times and most of the American's and Mexican law enforcement have gotten the anti-venom in time. I guess that's the risk we all took when we decided to get involved. Some of our people have died too, you know. That's why we started dropping them by helicopter and opening the crates remotely, right? They'll learn to stay away from the snakes, and the border. That was the whole point of the project, right?"
"I thought the point of the project was to try to keep Mexicans from wanting to cross the desert. Put a dangerous snake that made a lot of noise out there to scare people away. I didn't donate a hundred thousand dollars to ship snakes over to kill everyone, especially Americans!"
"Hey, don't get so bent out of shape! A few people sacrificing their lives now is worth keeping millions of Mexicans out of our country, don't you think? That's what the police and the military do. They put their lives on the line to protect the freedoms of the whole country. You don't see people getting excited when they die, do you?"
Peter clicked his phone shut and continued to flip through the channels on his TV to find CNN. When he found the right channel, he let the remote fall on the plush carpet. He dropped back down into his leather chair and cradled his head in his hands to avoid looking at the flailing victims on the screen and listening to the grisly descriptions of the attacks.
James Tiffany hung up the phone and shook his head in disgust. He opened the sliding back door of his home in New Mexico and took in a deep breath of the hot summer air to try to forget about Peter's Holier than Thou attitude. He felt genuine pride welling up in him. His hard work was finally starting to pay off.
When he settled in New Mexico he had no idea that illegal immigrants were such a serious problem. One of the reasons he moved there was because he majored in business and Spanish. He loved the people and the culture and wanted to be a part of it, from the American side of the border, of course. That was before he had a neighbor running a meth lab out of his basement, even though he had been deported back to El Salvador three times.
James felt that it was his duty to protect his family from illegal immigrants, not because they were Hispanic, but because they were people who broke the law and didn't care about the consequences. He was so relieved to be introduced to Anti-Illegal Immigrants Activists, an organization that didn't just talk about the problems, or try to legislate answers, but did something about them. Obviously the government's approach was not working. More illegals were coming across the border than ever before, not to mention drug dealers and possible terrorists. AIIA was committed to taking the bull by the horns and coming up with hands-on solutions.
James walked around on his backyard lawn thinking about the long hours that he had spent doing research on the Mexican culture. Their religious beliefs, their oral traditions, and their superstitions and folklore all played nicely into the fiery, flying serpent operation. Sure, some would die, but then the Mexican mind would take over and they would be afraid to cross the border, afraid to even get close. James walked around a tall bush to his garage.
The sound, scales being rubbed against each other. It can't be. James suddenly felt fear. Somebody must be playing a joke. How could they have gotten this far north?
His seven-year-old daughter flashed in his mind. She had been playing in the back yard.
"Crystal! Crystal!"
He darted back inside the house and slammed the sliding door hard behind him. Frantically searching for the phone, he grabbed it and dialed 911. He returned to the glass window urgently searching for his daughter. The sight of the red vipers took his breath away. He could see one coiling itself, the horrible sound penetrated the glass that separated them. Then he saw Crystal, screaming, running, tripping and falling onto the grass outside.
"Hello, this is 911. What is the emergency?"
"Peter," a voice on the other end of the connection.
Peter ran his fingers through his chestnut hair as he remembered how much James Tiffany's voice annoyed him. He sat down on a leather chair in the tidy den of his condo and drawled, "Hello James. What is it?"
"Have you seen the news?"
Peter reached for his remote control and clicked on the wide-screen TV across the room from him.
"What should I be looking for?"
"I think the plan is finally starting to get some notice. The rumors and legends in the Mexican media are becoming reality. I just saw a piece on CNN."
"Are you serious? They haven't connected this with AIIA have they?"
Peter stood up with excitement.
"No, don't worry. The organization is in the clear. We're in the clear. The reporter said that there have been numerous reports of people being killed by a jumping, aggressive snake that they believe to be the saw-scale viper."
Peter's excitement froze and turned to concern. "Killed? How many?"
"Oh, I don't know. They said there were casualties among the Police and Border Patrol, volunteer groups like No More Deaths and some Samaritan group, as well as some Mexicans trying to cross the border."
"What? Americans weren't supposed to get killed!"
"I know, it's terrible," James continued calmly. "Eduardo has called me several times and most of the American's and Mexican law enforcement have gotten the anti-venom in time. I guess that's the risk we all took when we decided to get involved. Some of our people have died too, you know. That's why we started dropping them by helicopter and opening the crates remotely, right? They'll learn to stay away from the snakes, and the border. That was the whole point of the project, right?"
"I thought the point of the project was to try to keep Mexicans from wanting to cross the desert. Put a dangerous snake that made a lot of noise out there to scare people away. I didn't donate a hundred thousand dollars to ship snakes over to kill everyone, especially Americans!"
"Hey, don't get so bent out of shape! A few people sacrificing their lives now is worth keeping millions of Mexicans out of our country, don't you think? That's what the police and the military do. They put their lives on the line to protect the freedoms of the whole country. You don't see people getting excited when they die, do you?"
Peter clicked his phone shut and continued to flip through the channels on his TV to find CNN. When he found the right channel, he let the remote fall on the plush carpet. He dropped back down into his leather chair and cradled his head in his hands to avoid looking at the flailing victims on the screen and listening to the grisly descriptions of the attacks.
James Tiffany hung up the phone and shook his head in disgust. He opened the sliding back door of his home in New Mexico and took in a deep breath of the hot summer air to try to forget about Peter's Holier than Thou attitude. He felt genuine pride welling up in him. His hard work was finally starting to pay off.
When he settled in New Mexico he had no idea that illegal immigrants were such a serious problem. One of the reasons he moved there was because he majored in business and Spanish. He loved the people and the culture and wanted to be a part of it, from the American side of the border, of course. That was before he had a neighbor running a meth lab out of his basement, even though he had been deported back to El Salvador three times.
James felt that it was his duty to protect his family from illegal immigrants, not because they were Hispanic, but because they were people who broke the law and didn't care about the consequences. He was so relieved to be introduced to Anti-Illegal Immigrants Activists, an organization that didn't just talk about the problems, or try to legislate answers, but did something about them. Obviously the government's approach was not working. More illegals were coming across the border than ever before, not to mention drug dealers and possible terrorists. AIIA was committed to taking the bull by the horns and coming up with hands-on solutions.
James walked around on his backyard lawn thinking about the long hours that he had spent doing research on the Mexican culture. Their religious beliefs, their oral traditions, and their superstitions and folklore all played nicely into the fiery, flying serpent operation. Sure, some would die, but then the Mexican mind would take over and they would be afraid to cross the border, afraid to even get close. James walked around a tall bush to his garage.
The sound, scales being rubbed against each other. It can't be. James suddenly felt fear. Somebody must be playing a joke. How could they have gotten this far north?
His seven-year-old daughter flashed in his mind. She had been playing in the back yard.
"Crystal! Crystal!"
He darted back inside the house and slammed the sliding door hard behind him. Frantically searching for the phone, he grabbed it and dialed 911. He returned to the glass window urgently searching for his daughter. The sight of the red vipers took his breath away. He could see one coiling itself, the horrible sound penetrated the glass that separated them. Then he saw Crystal, screaming, running, tripping and falling onto the grass outside.
"Hello, this is 911. What is the emergency?"
Paul Walton
Paul G. Walton is a Spanish teacher at North Davis Junior High in Clearfield, Utah. He has also taught English and loves to read and write. He grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, lived for two years in Guatemala as a missonary, and now resides in Salt Lake with his wife, Marcie, his young children, Nicholas and Amanda, and his golden retriever Samwise.
A crate ten feet long and five feet high constructed of steel quivered on the dark cargo deck of the roaring helicopter. The container's exterior was painted beige with no words or markings of any kind except for several minute holes in the front panel. The muffled sound of the wind became a scream...