The Only Road Read Online Free PDF Page B

guard and Pancho kept talking like the dogs didn’t exist.
    â€œThat one’s a good style. She can wear them with sandals or heels,” Pancho said.
    â€œFine, but if she complains they don’t fit—”
    â€œThen you give them to your mistress.”
    The guard laughed and slapped Pancho in the shoulder. “Good man.”
    A panting breath along with the chiming collar came closer. Jaime couldn’t see the canine but guessed he couldn’t be more than a car away. Next to him Ángela muttered a prayer to San Francisco, patron saint of animals, and stowaways.
    The guard waved Pancho along and the truck jerked forward, creaking over a bridge. In unison Jaime and Ángela let out a huge breath, only to catch it again as they passed a dog that began to bark. The truck, however, chugged along. No shouts called for them to stop, and Pancho didn’t. A slight bump in the road and then it suddenly became smoother, as if the pavement had changed textures. If Jaime had to guess, he’d say they’d crossed the border into México. All that fuss and for nothing.
    Pancho drove for another half hour before cutting the engine. The truck coughed and seemed to sigh as its worn-out mechanics stopped churning.
    â€œ Fuera, patojos .” Pancho banged on the side of the truck for them to get out. “ ¡Ándale! ”
    Jaime grabbed his backpack and the plastic food bag Abuela had packed for him. He tumbled out of the clothes sacks, blinking against the morning sun. His left leg wobbled as blood circulated back into it like millions of scurrying ants. He pushed his chest and belly out as his lungs filled with fresh air and smiled as he looked around.
    He should be nervous, he should be scared, but at the moment his sense of adventure had taken over. He was in México! A different country, a new place, a strange town . . .
    Which wasn’t very different from the towns back home.
    Pancho had parked between two concrete buildings, a spot visible only to people who might look down the alley.But no one did—it was early in the morning. Ripped plastic bags wedged in corners and oozing trash littered the alley. The cool of the night was giving way to hot humidity. From where he stood, Jaime could see concrete houses with wrought-iron bars covering the doors and windows along the quiet residential street.
    â€œWhere are we?” he asked.
    â€œTapachula, in Chiapas,” Pancho said as he threw a couple of bags back into the truck that had fallen out with Jaime and Ángela’s emergence.
    Chiapas, of course. The most southern state in México, and the closest to Jaime’s home in Guatemala. He could see the map of América del Norte that hung in his classroom. All those hours in the back of the truck and they had barely gone a few centimeters. This was going to be a long trip.
    â€œHow are you continuing from here?” Pancho asked, glancing out into the street and trying to act as if he always parked between buildings with two fugitives.
    â€œBus,” Ángela said. “To Arriaga.”
    Pancho shook his head. “Don’t take the bus. Too dangerous.”
    â€œThen I guess we can take the train from here,” she said slowly.
    â€œEven worse. You won’t survive in one piece.”
    Ãngela looked at Jaime. They were running out of options, and they weren’t even half a day into their journey.
    â€œWhat do you suggest we do, Pancho?” Jaime asked. Maybe he would volunteer to drive them a bit farther, another centimeter or so on the map.
    Pancho looked at his watch and again up and down the street. His white mustache twitched as if it could detect some hidden danger. “There’s no safe way unless you have a lot of money or an invisibility cloak. Most people around here won’t pick up hitchhikers, and if they do, the driver might work for a gang or la migra . You’ll find yourself being held for ransom or