There was about a dozen of them. Each awash in red light glowing from the back of the parked truck that backed slowly into the bald patch of ground surrounded by forest. Around them were articles of squalor. Thin rubber mats with blankets resting overtop. Pieces of stained clothing. Empty plastic water bottles and half used rolls of toilet paper now swollen and damp. A stuffed animal weather beaten. A child's shoe.
The driver of the truck opened the door and climbed out. He looked at them. All men. The trafficked women and boys had been taken away hours before.
"Howdy," he said.
Someone said something in Spanish.
"English?" He asked.
A man stepped forward.
"This it?" He pointed to the tailgate.
The driver said it was. "Go on an open her up."
The man pulled the lever and guided the latch down. As he did this the driver loosened the tarp that was covering the truck bed and pulled it off. Another man stepped forward with a flashlight.
The rifles were sitting on racks fastened to the side of cab. There were more of them than sets of eyes looking them over. Two large canvas bags rested in front. The man with the flashlight walked up and unzipped them. Inside were metal containers filled with spare ammunition. He turned to the others.
"Beuno?"
The man with the flashlight nodded. "Si. Que Bueno."
"Y'all got what you need?" The driver asked.
"I think we'll make out alright."
When they finished unloading the first man and the driver shook hands.
"You make sure to give the Sheriff my regards," the driver said. "Two in the chest. One in the head."
The man smiled and clapped him on his back.
The driver walked back to the cab and climbed in. Then he left them in the darkness and began his journey back to civilization.
YOU ARE READING
Conflagration
Mystery / ThrillerAfter his boarding school tuition fund runs dry, Bill Dixon is forced to return home to Schodack, a town under the yoke of a corrupt Sheriff's department and the location of his father's suicide thirteen years before. It is also the home of Meadow B...
