After the Bite (20 page)

But there isn
’t any time for that, now. I asked this man, Buddy, if he could take me to El Paso. You can’t go to El Paso, Manuel. It’s completely overrun by the demons.

Buddy has agreed to help me find Mateo, and then to find you, if we need to. Buddy has other friends, like the man who brought you this letter. But neither of us is sure how deeply we can trust his friends. Some of them are still angry with people like us, Manuel. Some of them have lost their jobs to people like us. Can you believe it, Manuel? There are less jobs in America than we thought. Being in America isn
’t as easy as we thought. We share some of the same problems.

Be careful about who you run into. The man who hopefully found you is named Carl. It
’s like ‘Carlos,’ but without the ending. He should take you to a small gas station on the outskirts of El Paso, where I’m writing this, now. Buddy and I are going to move on, in the morning. Hopefully, we’ll meet up, soon.

I love you, Manuel. I
’ll always love you.

Your brother, Miguel

Manuel finished reading. He tucked the note into his pocket.

“Finished?” Carl said. Manuel didn’t understand. The man spat on the ground again. He opened the door to his truck and got inside. He started it up, and then poked his head back out through the opened door.

“Don
’t just stand there, get in the fuckin’ truck!” he said. Manuel didn’t understand much of it, but he got from the tone that Carl wanted him to hurry up. Manuel approached the truck and opened the door, then looked inside, at Carl.

“Sit down,” Carl said. “We don
’t have forever.”

Manuel was unsure of what to do. He looked at Carl, and he noticed a small sparkle. He looked closer and saw that Carl was wearing a small necklace, a crucifix. Just like Miguel had said.

Manuel got into the truck and buckled himself in. Carl closed his door and pulled backward, not bothering with his seatbelt. He turned the truck around and headed along the path. Once they had gotten moving, Carl rolled down his window to spit out of it.

“So you
’re Manuel,” Carl said, trying to make small talk.

“Manuel,” Manuel
said. “Carl?”

“Yep, I
’m Carl,” Carl replied. “Sí.”

The hills began to smooth out a bit, and the truck was able to move faster. After a while, Carl spoke again.

“Congratulations,” he said. “We just passed the border. Welcome to America. Land of the free and home of the batshit crazy cannibals.”

Manuel wasn
’t sure what Carl was saying, but he understood one word, at least:
America
. He thought about it, smiling. He had finally made it. Carl laughed.

“Well, kid, you made it. You crossed the border. I
’d be pissed, if things were different. I guess we’re all legal, now.”

The truck went on, eventually joining a larger path that was less of a trail and closer to a road. There were tire treads along it, but it wasn
’t paved, and wasn’t a real street.

“I can
’t believe any of this,” Carl said. “Can’t believe one goddamn bit of it. If I had found you three weeks ago, I’d have had a gun to your head, bound for the nearest border patrol checkpoint. Now look at me. Makin’ small talk with a guy who can’t understand a fuckin’ thing I’m saying.”

Manuel laughed, and
after a pause Carl laughed too.

“You
’re lucky Buddy’s a good friend of mine. And that your brother and Buddy hit it off so well. This whole damn world’s gone insane, I tell you—”

The truck went over a particularly jagged rock, and the tire popped. The truck bounced up and down wi
ldly. Carl slammed on the brakes, and the truck started to skid. It didn’t have much time to slow down before hitting a large rock in the path, with broke the front axle off. The trucked slammed to a halt, and Carl flew out through the windshield, which shattered as he hit it. Manuel’s airbag deployed, and his seatbelt kept him inside the truck.

When Manuel was finally able to gather himself, he climbed out. The sun was beating down hot, and the trail of blood across the rocky desert ground had already dried. The crumpled mass at the end of it was already attracting flies, and even from a distance, Manuel started crying. He wasn
’t even sure why. He had hardly known this man, even feared him, but he felt sad. Carl had shown up, had given Manuel the letter from his brother, had been willing to drive him to Miguel. Deep down, it had felt wrong, as though the two of them should simply not have been in the same vehicle, like they were polar opposites, like a predator and prey, yet Carl had helped him, and so Manuel’s heart hurt.

Manuel took a few moments. He made a cross of his own, then gathered the water from the truck, and continued on.

It was nightfall when Manuel reached the gas station. He hoped it was the same one Miguel had written about. It was out in the middle of nowhere, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

The place was battered
. The windows were smashed and most of the items were strewn about, many of them missing, as though they had been ripped indiscriminately from the shelves. A large cross was painted on one of the glass doors that housed cooled beverages. There weren’t many of them left. Behind the cross was a bottle on an empty shelf. The bottle was empty, and a piece of paper was tucked into it.

Manuel,

We
’re headed for Tucson. Buddy says there’s a safe area there. Mateo might be there, too, if he was working in the area. Can you believe it? We might see Mateo again!

By the time you get this, we may already be there. It
’s hard to tell how much time might be passing between us and you. I think we might be a full day ahead of you.

I can
’t wait for you to meet Buddy. I’ve really grown to like him, and I feel like he feels the same. It’s strange, isn’t it? I feel like we should be enemies. But we can’t really afford that, now. Our enemies are the demons, no one else.

I hope to see you soon, Manuel. Stay along this road. It should lead you to
Tucson. I’ll leave a sign, if I need to. We’ll probably stop at any buildings we see if we need shelter during the day. It’s not safe to travel while the sun is out. Not on foot. It’s too hot, and we can’t afford heatstroke.

Stay safe, Manuel. Take whatever you need from this store.

With love.

Your brother, Miguel.

P.S.

Welcome to America!

Manuel grabbed a bag from one of the shelves and filled it with some food as well as several bottles of water. He anxiously waited for the sky to lose all traces of blue, and then he headed out.

It was difficult to see where the road was, but there was a lot of rough gravel on either side, so Manuel could at least
feel if he was straying from the road. There wasn’t much else out there. Manuel passed a very small town at one point, but it appeared empty, and seeing no crosses, he continued on.

The buildings
became more frequent, after a while. Manuel found one that had apparently burned down. Smoke still rose from the rubble, and there were what appeared to be hundreds of bodies mixed in, smoke rising from them as well. Manuel wondered what had happened. The next building, a large house, caught his eye. There was a large black cross spray painted on the door.

Inside, Manuel found no letter. Instead, what he found told him more than a letter could have. It told him that Miguel and Buddy would not reach Tucson. It told him that the two had formed a bond against all odds, that they had transcended predator and pr
ey, had become simply two men, two friends, with one goal.

There were bodies piled up within the house. Blood had been splattered on a lot of the walls, and there were shotgun shells and bullet cases everywhere. The trail led up the stairs, where Manuel had found this story, where he dropped to his knees and wept.

Against the back wall leaned two men. One of them was a large white man with stubble on his face and a cowboy hat, which was leaned forward a bit from being pressed against the wall. The other man was Miguel.

The two had fought off their enemies, had defended each other to the end. Both men were covered in bite marks, but the fatal wound was one shared by each of them, in the form of a single gunshot to the head. The blood sprayed on the wall behind faced away from either of them, which told Manuel that they had shot each other, had performed one last favor, had not died alone, but together. Two men who were told by the previous world that they were to be enemies, but had decided in this one that they had been friends.

Manuel continued toward Tucson. There was no safe zone, as he found out from large crowds of people he passed, fleeing into the desert. Things had fallen apart, there. Manuel pressed on, and against all odds, by the side of a dirt road, beneath a tree that looked like a cross, found his brother Mateo.

Mateo stood up when he saw his brother approaching. He rushed toward him, and the two embraced, the two cried together.

“Manuel!” Mateo said. “My brother! How did you find me?”

“It was Miguel,” Manuel said. “He showed me the way. With the help of his friend.”

“Where is he?” Mateo asked.

“He didn
’t make it, brother,” Manuel said. Mateo’s face sank, but he only hugged his brother tighter.

“What were you doing out here?” Manuel asked.

“I don’t know,” Mateo said. “Something told me to wait beneath this tree. Something inside. This must sound crazy.” Manuel laughed.

“No, brother,” Manuel said. “It
’s simple. Miguel showed you the way, too.”

Did Your Mama Ever Tell You the Story of the Day You Were Born?

The baby kicked like a kangaroo in her uterus. Byron was beside Deraan on the couch with an arm around her relaxed shoulders. He sat forward, put one hand on the side of her extended stomach, and lowered his ear to just in front of her belly button. He could feel the slight vibrations that little Caleb Johnson’s foot was making in Deraan’s belly. A somewhat strong contraction passed over Deraan. She cringed from the pressure, but it ended within a minute.

“I can
’t believe it,” Byron said. He sat back up and grinned, with bright eyes gazing into Deraan’s. “Baby, I’m gonna be a daddy.” He caressed Deraan’s stomach, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“It
’s a dream come true, I know,” Deraan said, brushing a dread out of her face, tucking it over her right ear. Byron shifted uncomfortably on his part of the couch, and a quiet jingle played. It grew louder when he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. He looked at the glowing frontal display, and then gave Deraan a look of irritation.

“I love my mother, but the way you two fight
…” He sighed and let it ring for a moment. Deraan flashed Byron a look of defiance, but it melted and Byron answered.

“Hey, Ma. How are you?”

Deraan frowned and crossed her arms in front of her, leaning slowly into the couch. She looked around the living room, gazed at various pictures on the walls, and focused on one in particular. It was a small portrait of Deraan’s mother-in-law, Grace Johnson. She shuddered at the sight of Grace’s countenance. Her eyes were filled with contempt, and the smile was fake as can be. Almost every time she and Deraan met in the same room, there was some sort of issue; from a snide comment and a sigh, to a heated debate ending in tears and hurt feelings. Saying that they didn’t mesh well was an understatement.

“What did your mother say?” Deraan asked when she saw Byron close the phone and put it back in his pocket.

Byron rubbed his forehead and replied, “She said she’d meet up with us at the restaurant around six.”

“Okay,” Deraan
said. She sighed, looked at Byron for a moment, and then looked away.

“You know, you two will at some point have to put aside your differences and get along. It really drives me nuts when you both fight. Not to mention, that extra stress on the baby can
’t be good.” Byron leaned in and kissed Deraan on the lips, then leaned back.

“You
’re right, honey,” said Deraan. “I know. She just has a way of saying things… I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Byron smiled and reached in to give another kiss. They remained together for a moment that grew into two moments, and then three.

The time to meet Grace at the restaurant was drawing nearer as Deraan was changing her clothes. She pulled on a purple shirt; it stretched over the bulge that was her pregnant belly, and the hem overlapped comfortable stretchy jeans.

When she was ready, she sat down on the edge of her bed and peered up at the flat screen television mounted on the wall.
“A Baby Story” was on, and the delivery was imminent for the couple on the screen. There was screaming, more screaming, coaching from the husband, and all of it made Deraan smile. Without even knowing at first, she found herself to be rubbing the taut skin of her stomach. She looked down, and a little foot responded to her gentle rubbing. She looked back at the TV, and Byron’s deep voice startled her.

“You ready,
babe?”

“I was born ready.”

Deraan, Byron, and the baby headed out the door and drove off for what they were hoping would be a good meeting with Grace Johnson. A few minutes after they set out, Deraan felt another contraction. This one lasted not quite a minute.

The restaurant
looked busy as the black car eased into a parking space. It wasn’t far from the main doors of Bo Ling’s, but in Deraan’s condition, even with Byron’s help, it was a little difficult. The evening air was moist, and it felt a little uncomfortable. The couple was greeted at the door by the loud chatter of impatient customers, and the cool air of the restaurant fell over Deraan’s exposed parts: her neck, face, and arms. She suppressed a relieved sigh as she and Byron approached the hostess’s podium.

“Two tonight?”
a short Asian woman asked with a slight accent. Her glittery blush sparkled in the dim light.

“Actually, we have one more
,” Byron said. “It’s under Johnson.” The woman gave a faint smile and looked down at her list, her pen grazing against the laminated surface with lightning speed. When it stopped, she looked up.

“Yes, your third person is here now. We
’ll seat you immediately.” The woman’s smile grew wider as she looked down at Deraan’s stomach. She cooed a little. “When is your baby coming?”

“Very soon, I hope,” Deraan replied, flattered. The butterflies from the notion of Caleb entering the world soon gave her an immense feeling of elation.

“Boy, or girl?” the hostess asked.

“It
’s a boy.” As Deraan responded, a man walked up, their server, and escorted them to a table near the back of the quaint and very busy restaurant. Among the sea of faces, Grace was easily noticeable. She had a similar expression to that in the picture of her back home, and she stood up as they got to the table.

“Look at my baby!” Grace took an excited step toward Byron with outstretched arms. The many charms on her double bracelets jingled loudly, enough to combat the banter of the other people. She squeezed Byron
’s muscular torso in her arms and flashed Deraan a smile. Byron hugged his mother back, and laughed.

“Mama, you don
’t have to get so excited. I’m not a kid anymore, you know.” Byron kissed Grace on the cheek, and she returned a big wet one.

“You
’re never too old for your mama’s lovin’,” Grace replied. She reached up with her napkin and dabbed his cheek with the corner, wiping off most of the lipstick.

“It
’s nice to see you, Grace,” Deraan said. Grace turned to her and gave that same look of contempt. There was a thin layer of genuine happiness to see her, but the way she spoke, it sounded more like she was happy to get on her nerves.

“Well, hello, Deraan. I trust you
’re well.”

“I am, and so is the baby.”

“I would hope so,” Grace said.

“The baby
’s growing just good, and is all healthy, Mom,” Byron said. “He’s due in early July. It’s exciting!”

“I
’m excited for you both!” A bright smile stared Byron straight in the face, and faded by half when Grace looked at Deraan. Deraan smiled back, forcing away the urge to claw Grace’s big expression-filled eyes out of their sockets.

The three of them sat down in the booth and
studied their menus. There were so many choices. The server appeared after a few moments and stood in front of the table. His hair had a slight wave to it, and dark bang hung down in front of his eyes.

“My name is Ling, and I will serve you tonight. Would we like something to drink?” The man pulled out a small notepad and readied a pen. He quickly sized up the three of them with his eyes.

“Yes, I’ll have just water,” Deraan said. Byron ordered the same, and Ling looked over at Grace, who was looking at the dinner menu.

“Ma
’am, could I get you a beverage?”

“I
’ll just have a Pepsi,” Grace said, barely making eye contact with the server. He nodded, jotted it down, and moved to another table with a smile.

“You know, Grace, you
’re so polite to the servers. I bet they get together on weekends and throw parties in your honor.” Byron flashed Deraan a scolding sort of look. Grace looked up from the menu.

“Well played, but if the servers have a problem with it, they should say something
.”

“They can
’t say anything, or else they’ll get fired,” Deraan said.

“People need to grow themselves a backbone, like a certain woman.” Grace crossed her arms in front of her chest. Deraan
’s face tightened with anger, and without realizing it, she grunted. She hated when she grunted. It made her feel uncouth, as Grace had put it once before. That was one thing she could agree with her mother-in-law on.

Ling soon returned and asked,
“Is everyone ready to order?” He smiled over the group.

“Can I get the Sichuan Dan
dan noodles?” Deraan said. Ling nodded, wrote it down, and smiled bigger.

“Great choice,
ma’am. You, sir?”

“I
’ll have the cashew chicken, please,” Byron said. Ling nodded, scribbled the order down, and then turned to Grace. She looked up from her menu briefly, and then back down. She clicked her manicured pointer finger against the table.

“Yeah, give me the Mongolian
beef. Make certain they don’t screw it up. Last time I was here, they undercooked the meat. I about hurled when I took a peek.” Byron cast the evil eye at Grace, but didn’t breathe a word. Grace paid no mind; she just whipped the menu up toward Ling with a stiff arm.

“Do
n’t worry, ma’am, they will cook the meat just right,” Ling said. His smile was gone, but he took the menu, along with Deraan’s and Byron’s.

“I hope so
,” Grace said. Her face tightened up for a second, and an unavoidable sneeze erupted over the tabletop.

“Mama, why can
’t you just be courteous to the waiter? You know if they
do
mess up your meal, they’ll replace it free of charge.”

“The next time you
’re rude to the waiter, I’d be willing to bet he spits in your food,” Deraan said.

“I expect nothing less than perfection
from the food service industry.” Grace gazed snidely at Deraan across the table, and took a drink of her Pepsi.

Deraan
hated this constant clashing, but she had no idea how to remedy it. She just felt she had nothing in common with Grace.

Almost twenty minutes passed before
Ling returned with the food. It was steaming, and a delicious aroma rose from the food and swirled around them. Ling set the plates on the table, smiling.

“Enjoy, now!” They gave their thanks, and Ling walked off. As he did, Deraan felt the baby kick inside, and chuckled a little.

“What is it, baby?” Byron smiled and took a bite of his chicken.

“It
’s the baby. He’s telling me it’s time to eat!” Deraan took a sip of water and rubbed her belly. She smiled, and dove into her meal.

As they ate they
talked among themselves, and it was a little more cheery between the two women. For the first time in a while, they were all able to have a civil conversation.

“That looks good, Mom,” Byron said. “How is it?”

“It
’s great! Cooked perfectly!”

“Good,” Byron said. Deraan
smiled briefly, and looked down at her plate as she took another bite. The food melted in her mouth, the taste sent chills up her spine, and she could swear she felt one or two go up baby Caleb’s as well. There was another kick.

“I think I
’ve saved room for dessert!” Byron said with a grin, slapping his stomach.

“Let
’s get some ice cream from the little shop down the street instead,” Deraan said.

“Frank
’s Frozen Treats: The best ice cream in Aberdeen!” Grace’s eyes twinkled as a smile spread over her face. “That sounds like a great plan!”

“We
’ve just gotta get the check,” Deraan said. “I haven’t seen the waiter in a while. I wonder where he’s at. By the way, what time is it?”

Byron looked at his watch
. “Twenty until eight.” Grace looked around, wiping her mouth. After a minute or so, she grew very impatient. None of them could see Ling anywhere in the restaurant.

“Where is that damn waiter?” Deraan looked at Byron, who had been pretty upbeat, but now
his head drooped, and he was silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ling, but didn’t pay any attention to him. She was more worried about Byron; Grace hadn’t noticed and was flagging Ling down.

“Byron
, are you all right?” Byron gave no response.

“Waiter! Waiter! Could we get the check now, please?” Grace
made no attempt to disguise her annoyance, but Ling still smiled.

“Yes, how will you be paying?” Grace eyed Byron
, hoping he would wake from his out-of-nowhere stupor and hand Ling his debit card, but he did no such thing. He was like a vegetable. He hardly even blinked.

“Byron! Honey, what is the mat—oh, here, take this!” Grace fumbled around in her purse for her card, and Deraan looked desperately at Byron, then back to Grace.

“Byron! What’s wrong? Grace, there’s something wrong with him!” Grace didn’t have time to respond before Ling screamed in pain. Deraan’s eyes widened when she saw what Byron was doing. His perfect teeth were clamped down hard on Ling’s right arm. Blood oozed out, soaking his white sleeve. Screams broke out around them, some people fled.