Las Arenas Silenciosas/The Silent Sands: Parte II: Capítulo V

V

Sergio comenzó a sentirse un tanto entumido, tanto por el frío que producía el sistema de refrigeración del camión, como por el no poder estirar bien las piernas desde hace más de dos horas.

Pero no le quedaba de otra que aguantarse. Se dio un par de palmadas en los brazos para tratar de desentumirlos un poco.

El resto de sus compañeros de viaje no estaban en mejor forma. El grupo de tres mujeres estaban acurrucadas entre sí, tratando de compartir su calor. La más vieja había extendido un chal sobre ellas, para tratar de insularlas un poco del frío, pero la tela era tan delgada que no hacía ninguna diferencia.

Sergio trató de distraerse haciendo un cálculo mental de cuanto tiempo faltaba para que acabara aquél viaje. Hace solo hora y media, el camión se había detenido por un largo tiempo, luego avanzado un poco para detenerse por veinte minutos, y luego había reanudado su camino.

Ahí debió ser cuando cruzamos la frontera, pensó Sergio. Las pausas debieron ser cuando los agentes de ambos lados hicieron sus revisiones de rutina. Uno pensaría que habrían abierto las puertas traseras del camión, y visto con mayor atención el interior, pero al final solo era uno de los cientos que atravesaban la línea fronteriza cada día.

Acaso estuvieran también familiarizados con el conductor y su camión, así que no lo harían pasar por una revisión a fondo. Eso debía explicar el precio tan alto que Felipe les había hecho pagar a todos ellos, destinando una buena parte del dinero a pagar al conductor.

Desde entonces debía haber pasado poco menos de una hora desde que estuvieran en el lado de los Estados Unidos. Él sabía bien la hora, porque la había revisado en el reloj Casio de su padre, presionando el botón que iluminaba la pantalla.

Sergio trató de recordar la distancia de Tucson desde la frontera, pero no lo logró. La primera vez que cruzó con su padre, Miguel, y sus amigos, les había llevado cuatro días llegar a Tucson. Pero habían tenido que hacer la mayor parte del trayecto a pie, ocultándose de la policía, hasta que llegaron a las afueras de la ciudad americana de Nogales.

Bien mirado, el precio del viaje sí que había valido la pena. Una vez que estuviera en Tucson, Sergio tenía planeado ir a la estación de autobuses, y comprar el boleto más barato que lo acercara a California.

Todavía tenía la identificación falsa que su padre les había conseguido poco antes de que tuvieran que volver a México, una licencia de manejo a la que le quedaban cinco meses antes de la fecha de renovación que tenía impresa al frente.

Sergio volvió a revisar la hora. Eran poco más de las diez de la noche, y un bostezo surgió de su boca. Él estaba acostumbrado a estar durmiendo a esa hora, para poder levantarse antes de que el Sol saliera, pero se esforzaba para mantenerse despierto.

Algo le decía que no sería buena idea dormir en medio de aquél frío, ni siquiera por un par de horas.

Se acomodó un poco mejor contra la pared del camión. El metal estaba helado, y podía sentir el frío a través del suéter y la chaqueta de mezclilla.

-Aldo, Aldo, no te duermas -susurró una voz de hombre.

A Sergio le costó un poco distinguir quién estaba rompiendo el silencio. La luz roja del panel de control era apenas suficiente para ver las formas sentadas del resto de los inmigrantes. De acuerdo a la dirección de la voz, y haciendo memoria de cuando se subieron al camión, el que hablaba era el hombre que viajaba con su hijo.

El padre estaba sacudiendo a su hijo, que parecía estar muy desganado. Su padre estaba elevando la voz poco a poco, tratando de que su hijo no quedara inconsciente.

-¿Qué pasa? -preguntó Sergio, tratando de no elevar la voz. No tenía idea de si alguien podría oírlos en el exterior del camión, aunque a juzgar por lo bien aislado que estaba la parte trasera, tal vez podrían hasta gritar sin que nadie los oyera.

-Es mi hijo, lo siento demasiado helado -susurró el padre, con la voz llena de preocupación.

El muchacho se veía demasiado aletargado, no respondía a pesar de que su padre lo estaba sacudiendo con firmeza por los hombros.

-Vengan, acerquénse -susurró la mujer mayor, mientras indicaba a sus compañeras que se acercaran al muchacho.

Fue todo un esfuerzo el mover al muchacho para que quedara entre su padre, que lo tenía bien abrazado, y una de las mujeres, quedando cubierto con el chal. Se podía oír como sus dientes chocaban contra ellos mismos por el frío.

Sergio echó un vistazo al panel que indicaba la temperatura de la carga. No tenía ningún tipo de botón, solo las luces que mostraban si estaba en la temperatura elegida, y cuando lanzaba más aire frío al interior. Los controles debían estar en la cabina del camión, para que el conductor pudiera manipularlos sin parar el vehículo.

Uno de los hombres mayores estaba dando un par de golpes en la pared que estaba más cerca de la cabina, tratando de llamar la atención del conductor. Pero era en vano, ya que si acaso llegaba a notar los golpes, Felipe les había advertido que él solo los ignoraría, sin importar que pasara.

Sergio pensó que tal vez podrían tapar los conductos de aire frío, para tratar de evitar que la temperatura estuviera tan baja. Se puso a buscar las salidas del aire con la mirada, y encontró un par de tubos de metal que estaban pegados a las paredes del camión, pero no tenían ninguna salida de aire.

El sistema de refrigeración debía enfriar la bodega de carga de manera directa, sin salidas de aire al interior de la misma.

El hombre mayor había dejado de golpear en la pared. Los dos hombres hoscos no hacían nada más que mirar en silencio, como si no les importara lo que le pasara al muchacho.

¿Cuánto tiempo faltaba para que llegaran a la ciudad?, pensó Sergio. El chico no parecía que pudiera resistir al frío por mucho rato más.

El camión comenzó a bajar la velocidad. ¿Acaso el conductor los había oído después de todo, y quería revisar como estaban? ¿O tal vez el viaje había transcurrido más rápido de lo que calculaba? No tenía manera de saber a que velocidad habían avanzado, sin poder ver al exterior.

Los siguientes minutos se le hicieron eternos a Sergio. Lo peor era el no saber que pasaba en el exterior. Trató de escuchar con más atención, por encima del tiritar que todos sentían por el frío. Creyó oír varias voces que provenían del frente del camión, pero no les encontraba sentido a lo que decían, a pesar de que podía hablar inglés de manera pasable.

De repente, se oyó como la cadena de la parte de atrás era retirada, y las puertas comenzaron a abrirse. La luz de un par de linternas danzó por el techo y entre las cajas de cartón cubiertas de escarcha.

Puta madre, fue todo lo que pudo pensar Sergio.


Paul was sure that what they were going to do was a terrible idea, and he let the others know what he thought.

-Just think of it as some sort of voluntary work -Sam explained, while their truck was following Nick's down the road, heading south.

-We just stop the people to give them some advice, make sure that they won't give a ride to any illegals that they find on the road -Mark added. -Nothing wrong with telling people that.

-Besides, we'll properly identify ourselves, like the good, law-abiding citizens we are -Pete said, from the passenger seat at the front.

-And won't they think you're a law enforcement agent, Mark? -Paul asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at his companion.

-Not my fault if people judge me by my appearance. Shame on them! -Mark laughed it off, and the others followed suit.

Paul started to practice in his mind what he would say to the real law enforcement when they came down on them.

-You worry too much, Paul. You think this is the first time we done this? -Sam talked to him, putting one of his large hands on his shoulder. -The sheriff is grateful for all the help they can get, and if anything happens, he's got our back.

They arrived at the place they were going to put up their checking point at shortly after eight. The plan was to stay there a couple of hours, then go back to camp, where they would drink some more, share stories and then get ready to repeat the same tomorrow Saturday.

Mark had also brought four orange plastic cones, like the ones that were used on road construction, and put them on a line parallel to the road. They parked their trucks on the side, with the lights on.

About an hour passed by, where all cars that drove North towards Tucson got stopped by their group. Mark was the one who did most of the talking, since he already looked the part of a police officer and was familiar with the proper terms. Two of the guys stood next to him, while other two walked around the vehicle, checking if anything was out of place.

They did this with five cars and four trucks, with nothing out of the ordinary. That part of the road didn't have heavy traffic at that time of the night, and soon no other cars came down their way.

Paul yawned a bit. This trip had been nothing like Rich and the rest of the guys had lead him to think. All in all, it seemed more like an excuse to go out on the desert, shoot their guns, drink beer and pretend they were on some kind of patriotic duty.

He walked a bit in front of Nick's truck. The leg was bothering him again, but it wasn't the dull pain of having to put half of his weight on top of a pile of metal and plastic. Sometimes, he could've swear that he felt an itch, coming from the foot he no longer had, and since he wasn't able to scratch it anymore, the feeling stayed in the back of his mind for a longer time.

-Ok, guys, let's wrap it up! -Sam yelled, walking towards Mark's truck. -We did good today, let's get back to camp!

Good, Paul thought. Still, it wasn't so bad being there. The night sky was full of stars, like the times that he and his father had spent on their hunting and fishing trips. It took him a couple of seconds, but he found the Polar Star, at the end of the constellation that looked like a big ladle.

He was going to turn around to get into Nick's truck, when he saw a pair of lights coming their way. Judging by the size, it should be a cargo truck, going at the top of the speed limit.

-Alright, everyone, just one more time. Remember to be on guard -Mark ordered, then stood in the middle of the road making signs to the driver with the big lantern that he carried around in his belt.

He also carried some other stuff: a nightstick, pepper spray, stun gun, plastic zip-ties, and a swiss knife with green plastic covers.

The truck started to slow down, and the group got back into their positions. Paul grabbed the rifle that he'd left in the back of Nick's truck, and walked to reunite with the others.

The truck driver had lowered his window, and put the engine on neutral gear.

-Hello. Is there any problem, officer? -the big man said, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible, while Mark got right next to him.

-Good evening, sir. We're a group of concerned citizens, just taking this chance to remind you that you shouldn't pick-up any people you find on the road, since there's a high chance of them being illegal immigrants -Mark recited from memory the little speech, one he had spent his idle time practicing while doing his rounds at the mall.

-Well, uh, no, sir, I haven't seen any. None at all, that's for sure -the driver answered, feeling a bit nervous, and praying that they just let him continue.

-We'll just do a safety revision of your truck, just to make sure everything's in working order -Mark continued. He signaled towards the group to indicate them to start with it.

Dan, Nick, George and Paul walked toward the truck, lanterns in hand. Paul stated to check the closest side with Nick, while George and Dan did the same on the other side. Nick crouched to check the truck's underside, while Paul looked at the cargo section.

The box had a refrigeration unit on the top, still running and keeping things inside frozen. The logo on the side of the truck said it was from Sunland Farms, and it was almost sure it carried some kind of fruits or vegetables inside.

When he got to the back of the truck, George was already checking it out.

-Everything seems fine -the bald man said, passing the light of his lantern over the seals and the locked chain. -What do you think, man?

-Yeah, seems that there's no problem -Paul agreed. It seemed like the truck had those seals put into place back at the warehouse, and these looked unbroken.

Paul put his hand on one of the doors. It was cold as ice, so the interior should've been even colder.

-Hey, look at this -George called him over.

The light of his lantern was falling right on top of one of the yellow and orange sticker seals. They looked quite big, and no doubt were very easy to break, so it could be easy to see if the doors got opened.

-What is it? -Paul asked, not sure what was so strange about it.

-It's not reflecting the light. It's just normal plastic tape! -George exclaimed, feeling excited. -They're supposed to be made of reflective material so they can be checked out during the night. I know because I've seen them on other trucks when driving my hog at night.

Paul looked again at the tape with more care. He could see that under the cheap plastic tape, there was a bit of th reflective one underneath, shining back the light.

He tried to think about in a logical manner. Maybe the warehouse had run out of the reflective tape, he thought. But if it was faulty, why did the border agents let the truck pass without a second look?

The darkness was the answer. The checks at the border were done under very bright lights, so the border agents wouldn't notice if the seals were reflective or not.

-We gotta call Mike, tell her to call the police to come check this out -Paul said, turning away to go to where Rich was with the radio.

George walked ran a couple of yards, to where Mark was talking with the driver, now out of his vehicle.

-Yeah, that LeBron guy is overrated... -Mark commented. He had found out he shared a common interest about NCAA basketball with the driver, whose name was Bill. -Hey, what's the matter, George?

-We might have found something -George said, pointing towards the back of the truck.

Mark took a quick glance at Bill. His demeanor went from relaxed to tense, as soon as George had finished that sentence.

This was it, he thought. The moment that he proved that he was cut out for law enforcement. Nothing he would love more than having his name on a news site, congratulating him for finding out and stopping criminal activity.

-Sir, please let us check the inside of the truck -Mark asked in a polite, yet firm tone of voice. He put the right hand on top of his taser, just in case he needed to use it, like he always had trained to.

-Oh, no, I can't do that, buddy. The regulations... -Bill started to explain, but his voice trailed off when he saw Mark had his hand on top of what looked like a side-arm. And to make it worse, the rest of the armed men were coming closer to him.

-Why are you so nervous, dude? Got something you don't want us to see? -Nick asked, getting behind Mark with his rifle at the ready.

-Of course I'm nervous, you have all these guns, and I... -the driver babbled, while he could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead, despite being a cool summer night at the desert.

And I'm alone, he thought, realizing how compromising was his current situation.

-Sir, I'm going to ask one more time. Please, let us see what's inside your truck -Mark repeated, in a firmer tone of voice. He undid the little strap that kept his stun gun in place, in case the driver tried to make a run for it.

Paul and Rich were the last ones to join the tense stand-off. Mike had been pretty happy at hearing the news, and was notifying the sheriff's department to come sort things out.

The last thing he expected was to see his companions acting in such a threatening manner towards the driver.

He didn't know what to do. Many tense seconds passed by, while the world seemed to stop to a stand-still.

-Ok, alright, I'll do it! Just don't shoot me, Jesus! -the driver relented, lifting his hands over his head.

Paul took a deep breath, full of relief. Now, he hoped that the driver was really guilty of something, because if he wasn't, all them would be in deep trouble, even if that sheriff tried to help them out.

George and Dan flanked the driver, and walked with him towards the back of the truck. Mark followed them, having taking his stun gun out and keeping it ready. Nick, Sam and Paul stayed by the front of the vehicle, with their rifles down. The others went back to see what had made the driver so nervous.

Bill fumbled with the keys a bit, his hands jittery from fear. He dropped them and was about to grab them, but Pete took them first.

-Which key is it? -he asked, his voice as relaxed as if he was asking what kind of beer he wanted to try.

-It's the silver one, then the one with the three edges -Bill answered. He was then grabbed by Gerge by the left arm, and made him take some steps back.

Pete found the keys with ease, and opened up the lock. He let the chain fall down to the floor, the steel links making a heavy sound against the hard asphalt of the road.

Then he introduced the three-sided key in a small lock near the partition of the doors. Before he turned it, he took a look back, to see if the others were ready. Everyone got their guns at the ready, except for George, who kept the drivers arm in his firm grip.

Dave got a hold of the other door, and as soon as he did, Pete turned the key, releasing the last lock. The two men opened the doors, and the others lighted up the interior of the truck with their flashlights.

-Is anyone in there? -Mark said, in a very loud voice.

Las Arenas Silenciosas/The Silent Sands Parte II: Capítulo IV

IV

Sergio dio un vistazo al cuarto una última vez, asegurándose de no olvidar nada. Lo cual era fácil, ya que todo lo que llevaba cabía en la mochila negra que siempre llevaba consigo.

Se sintió un poco acalorado, ya que estaba usando el suéter negro debajo de la chaqueta de mezclilla, pero había recordado las palabras de Felipe acerca de estar abrigado. No sabía si tendría tiempo de ponérsela cuando estuviera en el lugar al que lo había citado, así que era mejor llevarla puesta de una vez.

Después de dejar la llave del cuarto con el encargado, salió a la calle. Eran las seis de la tarde, y la oscuridad comenzaba a avanzar entre las largas sombras que el Sol proyectaba conforme se ocultaba.

Tenía un par de horas antes de ir al lugar convenido. Él ya sabía dónde se encontraba, ya que había ido en la mañana a dar una vuelta por las cercanías.

La dirección estaba justo en medio de un área llena de bodegas y patios industriales, algunos con viejas máquinas de construcción en el interior, detrás de las bardas de malla metálica, protegidas con alambre de púas y candados más grandes que su mano.

Sergio camino con paso tranquilo por las calles de Nogales. Era una tranquila tarde de Viernes, y se notaba en algunos de los bares por los que pasó. En su interior podía oírse a la gente riendo y chocando sus copas, las melodías de la música norteña, y las luces de colores que parpadeaban y se movían por las paredes de los locales.

La música se fue volviendo más queda, hasta que el único ruido que Sergio podía oír era el de sus pasos sobre la grava de las calles sin pavimentar que había entre las bodegas. Aquí y allá se podía oír el sonido de la maquinaria pesada, de los camiones y grúas que entraban y salían de las bodegas, y del metal al ser soldado y cortado con sopletes.

Por fin llegó a la bodega que estaba indicada en el pedazo de papel. De acuerdo al reloj de su padre, había llegado quince minutos antes de la hora.

Sergio echó un par de vistazos a ambos lados, sintiéndose un poco intranquilo. Esa parte parecía desocupada. A lo lejos, en medio del camino de grava, un par de perros callejeros estaban acostados, tratando de guardar sus energías para ir a buscar entre los botes de basura a la mitad de la noche.

La bodega tenía una gran cortina de metal, por dónde debían pasar los vehículos. A un lado, había una puerta de metal, sin agarraderas, solo el agujero de la cerradura para meter la llave. Justo arriba de la puerta, había una esfera de plástico negro, con una cámara de seguridad que de seguro lo estaba viendo.

Sergio iba a golpear en la puerta, cuando escuchó de detrás de la puerta el sonido de varios seguros moverse, seguido por el de los mecanismos de la cerradura.

-¡Vamos, entra ya! -susurró Felipe de manera autoritaria.

Sergio hizo lo que le indicó. Una vez que estuvo adentro, vio que el interior de la bodega era muy diferente a su exterior.

Las paredes estaban bien pintadas de color blanco, y una franja de color arena que le llegaba casi a los hombros. En una de las esquinas más lejanas había varias cajas de cartón apiladas una sobre otra, casi al doble de su altura. A un lado, había varios tambores de metal, cubiertos de óxido.

Junto a la puerta había una pequeña oficina, con paredes de aluminio y grandes cristales. Adentro había un hombre de cabello cano, ocupado en leer el periódico, tratando de no poner atención a Sergio cuando entraba.

-¿Tienes el dinero? -preguntó Felipe, después de cerrar la puerta.

Sergio metió la mano en el bolsillo izquierdo de la chaqueta, y sacó el fajo de billetes, bien contados y separados por denominación. Al recibirlos, Felipe los paso de una mano a otra, contándolos con rapidez. Satisfecho al ver que estaba la suma correcta, se metió el dinero en un bolsillo del pantalón, y señaló a Sergio que fuera hacia el fondo de la bodega.

-Espera allá. Todavía falta que lleguen algunos -indicó Felipe, mientras regresaba a la oficina.

En la pared de la izquierda, dos hombres estaban sentados en unas sillas de plástico verde oscuro, conversando entre sí en voz baja. Estaban igual de abrigados que Sergio, incluso con gorros de lana y guantes guardados en los bolsillos de sus chamarras.

-Hey -saludó Sergio, mientras se sentaba en una de las sillas que estaban libres.

Los dos hombres no respodieron al saludo. Solo le echaron un rápido vistazo de arriba a abajo, como si trataran de tomarle la medida. Luego volvieron a su conversación, bajando aún más el volumen.

Uno de ellos tenía una mochila casi igual a la de Sergio, aunque algo más nueva. Parecía estar tan llena como la suya, aunque parecía algo más pesada. Aparte de tener mochilas, también llevaban consigo un par de bolsos deportivos, también llenos.

Era raro ver a alguien que llevara tanto equipaje para intentar cruzar la frontera. Acaso tenían planeado viajar aún más lejos, quizá ir a Florida o Nueva York, pensó Sergio.

Los hombres dejaron de hablar. Uno de ellos había notado que Sergio miraba las maletas que tenían a su lado. Sergio voltéo, y sus ojos se cruzaron con los de esos hombres, que lo miraban de manera hosca.

-Vamos, vamos, pasen de una vez -se oyó la voz de Felipe, que dejaba entrar a un grupo de recién llegados.

Se trataba de un par de hombres de más de cuarenta años, vestidos con camisas y pantalón de vestir, rompevientos de color verde oscuro, y tenis muy usados. Detrás venían un grupo de 3 mujeres, la más joven tenía apenas veinte años, y la mayor tenía casi cincuenta. Iban vestidas con pantalones de mezclilla, y chamarras con capucha, de tela gruesa tejidas a mano, de colores rosa y morado.

Los dos hombres dejaron de ver a Sergio y se distrajeron en ver a los que habían entrado a la bodega.

-Muy bien, tenemos media hora. Si alguien quiere ir al baño, solo pasen a la oficina, a la puerta del fondo, y no hablen con el guardia para nada. Para él, ninguno de ustedes está aquí, y eso costó caro, ¿está bien? -explicó Felipe, como ya era su costumbre -Una vez que estén a bordo, la puerta no se abre hasta que lleguen al destino, así que si tienen hambre o se sienten mal, aguántense. El conductor también está pagado para ignorarlos, sin importar que pase.

La espera se le hizo eterna a Sergio. No podía dejar de mover la pierna derecha de arriba a abajo. Incluso tras visitar el baño, y echarse agua en la cara, se sentía ansioso por el viaje.

La puerta de la bodega se abrió otra vez. Esta vez los que seguían a Felipe eran un padre y su hijo. El hombre parecía estar apenas en la treintena, y su hijo tenía la mitad de su edad. Los dos llevaban Un par de suéteres grises, con el escudo del club América impreso en el pecho.

El padre llevaba una mochila deportiva grande de color azul colgándole del hombro. Su hijo llevaba una mochila de color rojo, y un par de bolsas de plástico. El chico también llevaba en la cabeza un gorro de lana de color negro.

-Bien, ya son todos y están todos los que son -manifestó Felipe, mientras echaba un vistazo al reloj. -Quedan cinco minutos, estén listos.

Mientras Felipe intercambiaba unas palabras con el padre y su hijo, los demás migrantes comenzaron a hablar con sus compañeros. Sergio aprovechó de elevar una plegaria silencioa, hacia la Virgen María y todos los santos, para que todo saliera bien en su viaje.

Al otro lado de la cortina metálica, se escuchó el pitido de un auto. Felipe fue a la oficina, dónde se podía ver el exterior de la bodega por medio de la cámara.

El guardia se levantó de su silla, y fue a dónde estaba el mecanismo para elevar la cortina. Felipe salió con paso presuroso de la oficina hasta dónde estaban sus clientes.

-¡Órale, ya es hora de irse! -dijo el pollero, haciendo ademanes para que se levantaran de sus sillas y del suelo de concreto.

Ya era hora. Sergio dejó de mover la pierna, y se levantó de un salto, agarrando su mochila y poniéndosela al hombro. Los demás migrantes también fueron poniéndose de pie, agarrando sus cosas, dirigiéndose hacia el camión.

El camión era de tamaño mediano, con una caja de transporte bastante alta. El conductor bajó de la cabina, y se dirigió a abrir la puerta trasera. Era americano a todas luces, con una gran panza, cabello rubio algo largo bajo su gorra de color verde de los tractores John Deere, y una barba de dos días en su rostro cansado.

La caja de transporte tenía varias etiquetas en la unión de las puertas, además de una gran cadena con candado. El conductor sacó una llave de sus deslavados pantalones y abrió el candado, quitó la cadena, y abrió las puertas de par en par, rompiendo las etiquetas.

Felipe estaba al lado del camión, y mientras hacía ademanes a los otros para que subieran, sacó un juego de etiquetas que parecían casi idénticas a las que se habían roto.

-Vayan al fondo, ahí hay lugar, detrás de las cajas -informó Felipe, ayudando a que subieran las mujeres primero. -Nada de hablar, ni moverse durante el viaje. Si se les duermen las piernas se aguantan.

Sergio subió después de los dos hombres mayores. Al agarrarse de la caja del camión, se dio cuenta del porqué tenían que ir todos tan abrigados. El frío debía estar por debajo del punto de congelación, incluso varias de las cajas de cartón tenían algo de escarcha sobre su superficie.

El joven se las arregló para caminar entre las cajas amontonadas. Estaban ordenadas de tal manera que se podía avanzar de manera lenta entre ellas, con un espacio apenas lo bastante grande para que todos estuvieran sentados hasta el fondo de la cabina.

Al sentarse, Sergio quitó un poco de la escarcha de una las cajas con su mano. Las cajas llevaban "frozen vegetables", de acuerdo a la impresión en inglés. Se preguntó que tipos de vegetales, pero de seguro que al conductor no le gustaría que estuviera de curioso.

Los últimos en subir fueron los dos hombres de mirada hosca, cargando consigo sus pesadas maletas. Se acomodaron entre los demás, con las espaldas apoyadas contra las paredes del camión, dejando su equipaje en el espacio que quedaba en el centro, con el de los demás.

-¡Buena suerte! -se despidió Felipe, su voz llegando por encima de los montones de cajas.

Las puertas del camión se cerraron. Sergio oyó como la cadena era corrida de nuevo, y el sonido de varios golpes en la unión de las puertas.

El camión comenzó a moverse, dando algunos tumbos por el camino de grava y tierra. Dejó atrás la zona de bodegas, y se integró al resto del tráfico normal, dirigiéndose hacia la frontera.

En la caja el frío era muy duro. Sergio podía ver su aliento condensandose al salir de su boca, gracias a la luz roja que provenía de un panel de control en una de las paredes del camión.

Era algo tétrico, el ver a los demás bañados por esa pobre luz monocroma, y sintiendo ese frío intenso. Por un momento pensó que tal vez así sería el limbo del que tanto había oído en los sermones de la iglesia, un lugar sin tiempo ni forma, hasta que se decidiera si su alma iría al cielo o al infierno.

Sergio sintió las manos heladas. Las metió dentro de la chaqueta, justo debajo de sus axilas, para tratar de calentarlas un poco. Los otros migrantes también trataban de mantenerse lo más cálido posibles, juntándose con sus compañeros.

Solo tenía que resistir aquel frío unas horas, y la parte difícil habría terminado.


Paul was feeling a bit bothered by what happened in the morning. He didn't talk much while the others were talking and joking around, eating the food they had brought with along with them.

The group was next to an old, but well-maintained blue Dodge Ram pick-up truck. It was Mark's ride, and Nick's truck was parked right next to it. Helen, George and Dave had gone on another recon patrol, southwest of their current position.

Paul was sitting on the bed of Nick's truck, eating a half-soggy tuna salad sandwich made by Dan and Pete. They had also brought some potato chips, and a couple cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon to wash it all down.

Nick and Rich walked over to where Paul was. He just kept nibbling at the sandwich, trying to bite just enough to not feel sick.

-Hey, Paul, how you doing? -asked Nick, leaning back against his truck.

Paul didn't answer. He just kept taking small bites from the sandwich and taking a drink from his beer in between.

-You did the right thing, Paul, there's nothing to feel bad about -said Rich, standing right next to his young friend.

Paul sighed. If that was the right thing, he sure as hell didn't want to know what doing the wrong thing felt like.


Paul had accompanied  Sam, Mark and Dan on their patrol. They went to the East, to an area where it was mostly sand all over a rough terrain, and almost no plants around, except for a few rachitic trees and some cacti.

They were all wearing camouflaged green clothes, except for Mark, who looked more like a SWAT agent in his dark blue clothes. He even had a black baseball cap with a police star on it.

When Paul questioned him about it, Mark said that he had tried to join the Oregon police department, but had failed in some test. The guy almost talked Paul's ears off by going into a rant about how he suspected that the real reason was that diversity quotas were the real reason for him not getting hired.

Most of the reconnaisance consisted on them getting about five miles from the border, stand in the middle of nowhere, and look all around by using binoculars. Then Sam, who was in charge of the radio, sent a report back to the others saying that everything was clear so far.

They did that at what looked to Paul like random intervals, just stopping whenever Dan and Sam decided to. After the tenth time, he was getting bored, and was just looking outside the window, hoping to at least see some wildlife around.

-Hey, what's that? -Paul asked, pointing at a small group of trees just North of their route.

Sam put down the map he had been scribbling marks in, motioned Dan to stop, and grabbed his binoculars. The old man looked outside his side window, right towards Paul was pointing at.

-Motherfucker! -exclaimed Sam. Then he turned around and faced Dan. -Take us there. Good catch, Paul!

Paul had no idea what he had found. He just happened to see something bright, shining intermittently beneeath the trees.

They arrived there just five minutes later. Dan parked the truck just a few yards from the trees.

-Everyone, grab your guns. Be prepared for trouble -Sam ordered, after grabbing his own.

Everyone else had a hunting rifle, but Sam had broguth along a twelve-gauge shotgun, all black steel and high-grade polymers. He had the extra ammo on a bandolier that hung from his left shoulder and ran around his chest.

Paul grabbed his gun, which was a loan from Mike's own. Unlike the ones from his companions, the only notable thing was that the stock was painted in an intrinctae camouflage pattern, and had a medium-sized scope on the top.

-Paul, Mark, you two keep an eye out -Sam indicated. -Dan, you come with me.

The two men approached the trees with care, looking around them like they were expecting some kind of ambush. Their attitude made Paul feel tense, while hoping that they wouldn't find anything troublesome.

Mike and the others had explained to him that the mexican drug cartels sometimes used these routes to try and smuggle in their product.Just that year, had been a couple of incidents where the criminals had shoot against the border patrol agents, before retreating to the other side of the border.

That was the main reason all of them were carrying their guns around. Paul was no stranger to using one, having been on hunting trips with his father since he was a teenager, but he didn't want to be in a shoot-out for his life, like out of the Wild West.

His father had felt a bit dissapointed that Paul didn't want to go tot he police academy. And now here he was, trying to enforce the law with a gun at his side. The irony was not lost on him.

A shot broke the silence around them. Paul and Mark got their guns at the ready, pointing towards the trees. That had come from Sam's shotgun, and another followed it soon.

The two men ran towards the trees, gripping their guns tight. When they arrived , they saw that Dan was pointing his rifle towards something in the ground. He pulled the trigger, and shot his target in a perfect way.

Paul saw several plastic bottles and a couple of large plastic barrels, all shot up and broken. In the ground, there was a large puddle of water that came form the bottles.

-It's okay guys, we just wanted to do some target practice -Sam said, while doing a great effor to bend over and pick up the expended shells he had shot.

-It's also faster than using a knife -Dan said. He took a brand new package of cigarrettes from a pocket inside his jacket, and lighted one up.

The gleaming thing that had catched Paul's attention was hanging from one of the lower branches of the largest tree. It was one of many wide strips of aluminum foil, hanging like some kind of misplaced Christmas decoration.

-Wanna shoot one, guys? -Dan asked, pointing with the barrel of his gun towards the last, untouched plastic barrel. It had a black plasstic lid on, screwed on in a tight manner.

-What are those? -Paul said, intrigued.

-It's an immigrant watering hole, that's what it is -Sam answered, while reloading his shotgun. -It's so they have an easier time crossing through the desert.

-Some bleeding-heart type must've left them here. We find a couple of those every time we are in the area -Mark added. He kicked around some of the plastic bottles laying in the ground, to check if there were no intact ones.

-Don't go feeling bad about these people, Paul -Sam mentioned, after seeing Paul's face. -They're criminals who have made their choice.

-Yeah, you don't just leave your keys hanging from the front door just so thieves don't cut themselves breaking a window -Dan added, taking a long drag from his cigarrette.

Paul knew that they were right. The persons who had left there must've done it with the best of intentions, but it only helped people that broke the law.

His father used to say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, that people often did things that they knew were bad only because they somehow justify it to themselves as neccesary for something good down the road.

Paul lifted his gun, took aim at the lower part of the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. A large chunk of the barrel broke off, and the water jetted out with great force at first, but soon it was just a lazy stream.

-Nice shot! -Mark said, putting his left hand on Paul's shoulder.

-Let's wrap it up, guys. We should look around the area, see if there isn't any more of these water holes near -Sam indicated. He grabbed the radio he had hanging from a clip on his belt, and started talking into it. -Base, we found us an illegal well. Over.

The base was in Mike's house, with Mike as their operator. She had drawn the short straw earlier that day, before everyone headed out. This suited her well, since even though he loved going out on patrol duty, she had found it more and more difficult to rest well in the cold, hard ground instead of her comfy bed.

The duties of the person who was at the base included keeping a record in their movements by drawing in a large, old map that was kept at the dining table, making sure every team made updates about their condition ever hour, and making sure someone could call 911 in case of an emergency.

They also had the very important duty of keeping everyone out of trouble with official law enforcement. They were supposed to do their watching out for illegal immigrants within the limits of Mike's property and the nearby national park area, and just inform the proper authorities when they spotted someone.

Mark always brought his police scanner, and the person at the base used it to be informed of the border patrol movements. That way they could cover the areas that the understaffed border forces couldn't, and be more effective about their activities.

Paul was about to get back inside the truck, when Mark pointed at something behind his back.

-Look at that -Mark said. He was pointing towards a small figure in the hills that were some distance from them. -Didn't know there were any coyotes around.

When Paul turned to see him, all he could catch was a glimpse of the animal running away, hiding behind some large rocks.

-It's so weird that the shots didn't scare him away -Mark added. He was already sitting down in the backseat of the truck.

Paul remained silent all during the rest of the patrol. They didn't find any more spots with water drums and bottles. While the others felt a bit dissapointed, Paul felt a bit glad. Even though he knew that shooting them was the right thing to do, the whole thing was bothering him some.

It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon when they went back to the meeting spot to eat with the others, and Rich and Nick heard about his deed.


-I just didn't came to shoot drums full of water, guys -Paul said, after finishing the soggy sandwich.

-Well, we have some good news, then. Tonight we will do something much, much better than that -Nick announced, smiling like a child full of anticipation.

-We'll be doing some proper law enforcement, that's what -Rich revealed, clapping once with his hands with excitement. -Try and get some rest, we need to be sharp, and I mean SHARP for tonight.

-Great -Paul commented. He wondered what the plan would be, but before he could ask them about it, his friends had gone back to trying to make sense of the instructions for their tent.

Whatever it would be, he hoped it would be good.