Lights ashed behind Santiago’s eyelids. Pretty lights. Steady and consistent.
Like a beating heart.
Exc ept now his eyes were open. Red lights and blue lights. Warnings. Why
would he see lights in the desert? And voices. Male voices. Maybe a female one
too. But not María Dolores’s voice. These voices didn’t use words he
understood.
“Santi.” Alegría’s voice came out breathless near his ear. Now that she spoke,
he could feel her weight, comforting and close, still on his back. “Mami.”
“Shh,” he whispered. He forced his dehydrated mind to focus, comprehend
the events in front of him, and stay hidden. De ep breaths: the only brain food
available to him.
One set of ashing lights came from a police car. He was pretty sure. The
other from a large white van where a at bed was being pulled out. A stretcher.
An ambulance.
Two other cars were parked along the side. Lots of people talked. Still, none
of the things they said made any sense. Not that it mattered. Police in any
language didn’t sound good.
“Shh,” he reminded Alegría. He couldn’t let the police notice them. S t a y
h i d d e n ; d o n ’ t l e t t h e m s e e u s .
He noticed tangled bleached-blond hair mixed with black hair utter against
the desert ground. María Dolores.
Alegría whimpered in his ear. This time he didn’t remind her to stay quiet.
People in uniforms lifted María Dolores onto the stretcher. The sight stung
his eyes, but blinking hurt just as much; his body didn’t have enough water to
produce tears.
Her head rolled in their direction. The wind carried words from the scene he
nally understood: “Alegr— San—.”
The uniformed people shifted, blocking her from Santiago’s sight. A male
voice nally spoke in Spanish. “What are you saying? That you’re a l e g r e ? Or are
you praying to a saint?”
But no other words came from María Dolores.
Someone else gave an order, and the stretcher continued to the ambulance
parked on the road.
The same person who’d spoken Spanish before changed tactics. Instead of
questioning, he turned to comforting. “You’re safe. We’re going to get you some
water and food, and medical attention. You’re going to be okay.”
“Mami,” Alegría sobbed against Santiago’s shoulder as they loaded her m a m á
onto the ambulance twenty meters away.
He’d promised María Dolores he’d take care of Alegría. But he’d also
promised himself he’d look after both of them. Yet here, now, in the desert, they
were taking María Dolores away. Paramedics and police o cers. Just like they’d
taken his m a m i away.
He couldn’t let them get caught. He had to save Alegría’s life. Water. Food.
He had none of those things. Didn’t know where he could nd them. But these
people. They had water and food. Alegría needed water and food. Like she
needed her m a m i .
The ambulance door slammed with a bang.
One hand held Alegría’s leg to ke ep her steady. The other hand pressed
against the ground, gathering his knees from under him, pushing and straining
until he nally rolled up to standing. He raised the hand not supporting Alegría
high into the air. “ P a r e . ¡ A l t o ! ”