Page 61 of Bad Rio

Chapter Twenty-Six

The filling stationfeatured a mini-mart, and Becca used the extra money Rio had given her to buy packages of beef jerky, granola bars, packets of nuts, and four bottles of water. At the counter was a bowl of oranges, and she picked up six. She also grabbed a container of ibuprofen.

As she drove through the night, she cast Rio fearful glances. He said almost nothing, and despite the four ibuprofen tablets she’d gotten down him, she knew he was in terrible pain. After an hour she nearly turned around. That roused him and he growled at her to keep going.

“Just get me to Mexico,” he commanded. “Just do it.”

The border crossing was simple and went without mishap. Rio managed to sit up and appear normal. She handed over their driver’s licenses and after inspection, was waved through. When days ago she’d left to visit Maria in Matamoros, she’d taken only her passport, and left her driver’s license behind in her bag. Fortunately, now she had it with her.

“Thank goodness they don’t currently require birth certificates to cross,” she said to Rio. “Or we’d be doing the backstroke in the Rio Grande again.”

Her small joke got no traction; he didn’t reply. Anxious, she noticed splotchy patches of color in his cheeks. He began to slump. Was he running a fever? Oh, God. Infection. When his eyes drifted closed, Becca was afraid he’d lose consciousness. She touched his arm. “Don’t pass out. I need directions to your friend’s house.”

He roused enough to point the way, but she could tell he was nearing his limit.

At last, she pulled her car into the dirt drive of the couple who’d been so kind to them before. Switching off the engine, she ran to the door and rapped sharply on the wood.

“Por favor,” she called out, low and urgent. “Por favor, abre la puerta. Mi amigo esta herido!” Please open the door, my friend is hurt!

After that, everything went by in a blur.

The couple came out and helped Rio into the house. They put him in the same room where they’d stayed only days ago and sent for a doctor. A man arrived carrying a black bag, examined him, gave him a shot of something, cleaned and stitched his side. Before he left, he pressed two bottles of antibiotics and pain meds into Becca’s hands with instructions for Rio to take them over the next ten days. In the deep of night, the doctor hurried away.

For a brief moment, she left the room to find their host. She touched his arm. “Please,” she said in Spanish, “can you contact the pilot who flew us here? Julio? I want to go back, back to where he picked us up, to the Chihuahua Mountains. Also, we need coats. And food. I’ll pay.”

The man nodded.

Unable to safely return home, unsure of who their enemy actually was, Becca made the best decision she could, a desperate one, but at the mountain cabin at least they’d be safe.

Before falling into bed beside Rio, she plugged both their phones into wall chargers so they’d have full batteries.

They slept and spent the morning resting.

Late the following evening, the wife pressed heavy coats and a full bag of food into her hands. The husband gave her short driving directions to the dirt runway. It was dark when she found it. The pilot and his modified Cessna waited. Julio asked them only a single question. Where did they want to go?

They flew south, and on landing, Becca touched the pilot’s arm. “Come back in ten days,” she said. “We’ll be ready to fly home then.”

His answer was a wordless wave.

---