Zach had overheard a couple offederalestalking about it outside the Pesquiera Hermanos, Altar’s big grocery store. He’d played the role of gringo tourist and chatted with them about it. They’d told him that the Zetas had put up roadblocks on every road leading to a U.S. port of entry from Tijuana to Loredo and were searching cars at gunpoint. That included El Sasabe. No one knew why the Zetas were doing this, but word on the street was that a shipment of cocaine had been stolen and Cárdenas was trying to catch the thieves—and make them pay.
The good news was that the Zetas clearly had no idea where he and Natalie were. Zach’s plan for evading them had worked—so far.
The car bounced over the rough dirt road, the washboard bumps making her teeth rattle. “How far are we going to be walking total?”
“I’m guessing it will be about forty miles.”
“That’s not so bad.” She’d run in a few 10K races. That was six miles.
He glanced over at her, his eyes concealed behind sunglasses. “If you say so.”
Despite the rough condition of the road, traffic was heavy, kicking up plumes of dust that made it hard to see. “There are so many vans and trucks. It’s like rush hour.”
“Drug traffickers mostly. Some human traffickers. They’re trying to reach El Sasabe before sundown and get set for tonight.”
It unnerved Natalie to be surrounded by them. “I hope one day you’ll tell me how you know that.”
He said nothing.
His plan was to leave the highway on the outskirts of El Sasabe and drive as far as the car could take them along the dirt roads that fanned out like tentacles around the town and ran across the desert toward the border. Once the car died—which Zach had assured her would be sooner rather than later—they’d put on the enormous backpacks that sat in the backseat and go on foot.
He’d spent what seemed like forever adjusting the straps on her pack and trying to balance the weight. “You’ll thank me later,” he’d promised.
Her pack weighed about thirty pounds, his at least twice that.
And then there were the weapons.
She was going to be carrying both an AK-47 and the Glock, together with two spare magazines and extra ammunition, while he carried two semi-autos in shoulder holsters, as well as two AKs, extra magazines, and most of their ammunition.
The brake lights on the van ahead of them came on.
Traffic was slowing.
ZACH DIDN’T LIKE this.
If this slowdown was the result of the Zetas’ roadblock, then the bastards had chosen their position well. A gully big enough to swallow a Humvee ran perpendicular to the road just ahead, making it impossible for vehicles to avoid the roadblock by simply going off the road and driving around it.
He searched for options.
He didn’t want to try fighting his way through the roadblock, because he had no idea how many Zetas were there or what kind of weapons they had. All it would take to end Natalie’s life was one bullet. No, Zach wouldn’t risk it.
They could head back to Altar and hole up until the Zetas left. But there was no guarantee that the Zetas would leave—or that they wouldn’t raid the hotels. Besides, the longer he and Natalie were missing, the greater the risk to other Americans in Mexico.
The only option was to backtrack along the road, find a good place to head cross-country, and travel north—on foot if necessary.
Ahead of them, the van drew to a stop.
“Maybe it’s just an accident.” Hope failed to conceal the fear in Natalie’s voice.
“I doubt it.” He leaned his head out the window, looking around the van for oncoming traffic. “It’s time to leave this party.”
He was about to flip a U-turn and head back the way they’d come, when he caught sight of three black vans hurtling north in the southbound lane. He slammed on the breaks as the vans streaked by, catching just a glimpse of a man with a grenade launcher—and a license plate without a Z.
The roadblock was about to become a bloodbath.
“Get down!” He checked again for oncoming vehicles, then made a quick and dirty U-turn, just as the sound of AK fire exploded behind them. “Hang on!”
And then—BAM!—a grenade exploded.