A Fighting Chance (31 page)

What the fuck is happening?

Carlos couldn’t care any less, though, as he lets out an animalistic snarl, before an attempt to tackle me, but I roll away in time. On my left, I see two lit cell phones moving in the opposite direction of everyone else, like trout swimming upstream, and once they’re closer, I discover that it’s Drew, with Miguel several people behind her.

“
Jess! Come on!” she says, shaking the chain-links. “Come on! We have to go. Now.” But as soon as I step out of the cage, pain ripples down my spine. Carlos has succeeded in clocking me, and it’s such a hard hit my legs get a tingly numbness.

There’s another crushing blow and then another. I’m starting to think this motherfucker runs on just two modes: murderous and
insanely fucking
murderous. I gain a few steps until Carlos grips my neck and tries to drag me back into the cage. Drew slams the door on his hand over and over, and he’s forced to let me go as we escape into the frenzy. People are just screaming and running. Some are falling; others are being pushed. There are bodies on the ground with people scurrying right on top of them. Holy fucking shit: if we fall, there’s no getting back up.

This is natural disaster type of shit
. It’s complete chaos, chaos under almost complete darkness. I’m actually far more scared now than I was when I was in the cage with Carlos. More gunshots tear through the air, more screams follow, and the dangerous energy in the room only builds. The two exits are choked with people trying to claw each other to get out, but I try to remember the layout of the place and use the moonlight, along with Drew’s cell phone light, to look for somewhere to hide to keep us from being trampled.

“Hold on to each other!”
I had seen people sitting on a table earlier. It’s bolted to the floor, but we’ll have to move against the flow of the crowd to get there. Shoulders ram mine and bodies plow into me without concern. “Whatever you do, stay upright,” I yell, and we get down low and forcefully carve a path for ourselves as people stampede by. When we reach the table, we lunge under it, and keep our knees against our chest. It’s not the safe haven I imagined, though, because it rocks every time someone accidentally runs into it.

“W
here’s Miguel?” I ask her, looking around. “And what the hell happened?”

She
shakes her head. “A guard shot someone.”

“What? Why?”

“I was looking for a sprinkler system, but then I remembered that these buildings aren’t connected to anything, and it sparked the thought that they shouldn’t be on the power grid, either, but they always have lights. It’s portable generators, Miguel told me. He said one time he was at a fight and the lights went out because it was low on fuel—I guess some cartel guy forgot to do it—and people got pissed that they couldn’t see the fight and weren’t willing to wait around. They got antsy, so the guards had to let them out. That’s when we got our idea. I made sure no one was looking and he climbed out a window and did something to the generator.

“When he climbed back in, p
eople were pretty anxious and pissed like we assumed they would be. Miguel and I went to the door and someone was angrily yelling in a guard’s face, trying to get him to let us out. He wouldn’t at first. Another guard came and they spoke back and forth about what to do, and the second guy went outside to check on the generator. The guy from the crowd was still antagonizing the guard the whole time. When the other guard came back, they talked some more, but they opened the doors. On the way out, though, the angry idiot grabbed the muzzle of the guard’s gun, and the guard shot him. Then all hell broke loose.” She looks at me with guilt and tears in her eyes.

I squeeze her hand
, and we both flinch when someone slams into the table. “Where the hell is Miguel?”

“I thought he was right behind us…” She pulls her cell phone
out again. “Maybe he went outside. God, I hope he did. I’m going to text him. Hopefully, he’s somewhere he can answer.” She taps out a text and her phone beeps back within a few seconds. “Okay…he’s still in here. I’m going to tell him where we are. Do you think you can climb up and wave the cell in the air? You’d be above everyone else and maybe he’ll see.”

“
Tell him I’ll do that,” I say.

“
Uh…he’s in the cage,” she says in a confused whisper.

“What? Why
the fuck is he still over there?”

“I don’t know but he just asked if I can see him…” she says
anxiously as she inches forward. “Maybe if I get on the table…” There’s a split second when I notice where one of her hands is, how far out it is.

“Drew, no!” There’s nothing but a wave of feet in front of us, and her fingers are mashed under the frenzy.
As she screams, I grab her wrist and yank it backward.

She hunches over,
still screaming and trembling, with tears falling. “I think they’re broken,” she says, in shock. “They’re fucking broken.” I keep my reaction to myself as I stare down at her hand, but I’m horrified at the unnatural angles her fingers are in.

“I’m so sorry, Drew. Shit. Hold on. I’m going to get us out of here
, baby.” We both glance down at her phone when it beeps with another message from Miguel:

You see me?

I type back
I’ll try.
There’s an ache in my stomach, like an instinct, that tells me something is very, very wrong with these messages. There’s a little tunnel of space on either side of the table, the short ends, because most people are starting to realize there’s an object in their path and are diverting to the left or right. So I carefully slide out from under the short side, gripping the legs to steady myself and hop up onto the surface to kneel. Drew manages to do the same thing, and I hoist her up, too. The table is secure but a few people are still inadvertently bumping into it as they run by, so we have to cling to the edges to stay up. It leaves Drew unstable, though, because she can only hold on with one hand.

I raise the cell phone and wave its flashlight function at the cage.
Carlos is still inside, standing in a ray of moonlight that is shining into one corner. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He’s turning slowly like he’s looking for something. “Carlos is in there.” He stops when he sees the swinging light. He can’t make us out with this much darkness, but I can tell he knows who he’s looking at.

“
What about Miguel?” Drew asks, panic pushing through the anguish in her voice.

“I don’t see him. But if Carlos comes, you run, Drew…”

“Without you?” She speaks with clenched teeth. “Jesse, you can’t take many more hits.”

That’s true, but I don’t respond; I just focus on Carlos
. He hasn’t moved toward us, though. He’s just standing there, staring at us. Finally, he looks to something on his left, and I decide that Drew and I should duck into the crowd.

But she yells,
“They have Miguel! They have him!” Two men bring him into the sliver of moonlight, right up to Carlos. Miguel looks like he’s taken far more punches than he can handle, too, and he’s not even trying to get away.

“He wants to trade me for Miguel,” I say. He’s determined to finish our fight, and I’ll go save my friend. No matter what. “I’m gonna…” I trail off when one of the men in the cage hands Carlos something from his pocket
, and we watch in horror as he drives it against Miguel’s abdomen. Once. Twice. A third time. Then I stop counting. But he doesn’t stop.

W
ith the same amount of maniacal fury, he stabs Miguel in the throat, grinning at him as he holds whatever he’s using in place. Miguel’s mouth is locked in a silent scream as he writhes in agony, fighting for what are probably the last moments of his life. Something inside my chest breaks down and dissolves along with any good that might have still been left in the world tonight. I want to look away, but I can’t. I won’t let him die alone. It’s my way of being there for him from where I am. I swear I hear the final rasp he breathes right over the chaos, right before he falls to the canvas.

“Fuck!” I yell out. That is supposed to be me. It
should’ve
been me. Carlos aims a proud look in my direction and then they all flee the cage.

“No! No!” Drew cries out.
I grab her before she falls into the ruckus surrounding us. Infuriation flares up in her face as she tries to pull away from me. “We have to get him!”

“Stop! Stop! We can’t do that. He’s de
ad, Drew,” I say, still holding her. “He’s gone.”

“No. Don’t say that!
Don’t even say that. Don’t…” She breaks down, falling against my chest, shivering and wailing.

“I’m sorry
. He’s gone. We’re not safe here, and we need to get you help for your hand. If we stay, they’ll come for us. And they’ll do that to you.
In front of me.
They’ll make me watch you die…” My voice starts to crack. “We have to go. We just have to go!” As if to prove my point, someone stumbles and crashes to the ground right in front of us. “Drew. I have to get you out. There was an empty factory. You remember? I’ll come get you. I’ll whistle four times in a row so you know it’s me.”

“We can’t just leave him. Please. We can’t.”

“Drew, listen to me,” I say, cupping her face, “you have to get out.”

Understanding and acceptance finally
pass through her eyes. “Okay. Okay. Yes. But what are you going to do?”

“Make a way. Just get out. No more questions.” I kiss the top of her head. “Ready?” After she nods, I launch myself off the table, slamming into a few people
, and clearing just enough space for her to jump down into the mob. Holy fuck, I hope she can stay on her feet. She probably thinks I want to use myself as a diversion to stop Carlos from coming after her, but I’m staying behind for something else.

I don’t see Carlos or his friends anywhere so I
weave carefully through the crush and crawl up into the cage to be with my dead friend. To thank him for saving my life. To apologize to him for having to give
his
to do it. I can’t help wondering if he stayed behind to distract Carlos and his friends, to give Drew and me a chance to get away. It’s hard to look at him without screaming, but I suppress the urge, even though it feels like I’ve swallowed razor blades.

His shirt is soaked with blood, his empty stare
nailed to the ceiling. I close his eyes, and check his wrist and neck, just in case. Nothing. Miguel is dead.
He is dead, cabrón.
Maybe he wouldn’t have been if I had gotten to him sooner or made sure he was behind us, but I can’t dwell on what I can’t change. I will carry it, though, and it will stain my soul. I choose to let it.

There’s so much blood, and it has spread out around his body like dark, wide wings. Someone else might’ve seen an optimistic sign in
this, but I know better. The only message here? Good perishes and evil is immortal.

I pick up his cell phone, and
I tear his gold cross off his neck. I have never met his mother, but I take it as a silent promise to get it to her. As I stuff it into my pocket, the building gets even darker suddenly.

M
y brain fires off a warning.

It’s not the room.

There’s a shadow looming over me.

“
Pinche idiota
,” Carlos swears in an amused tone. I wince, bracing myself for what’s coming next, fully aware that it’s going to hurt.

Badly.

Pain rips through my shoulder, like lightning is striking inside my body, and I shout. I’ve been stabbed, and I can see the handle of a short, thin screwdriver still wedged in my skin.

He pulls it out
and wipes my blood on his side, and I dive away as he swings it again. He tackles me and I land on my back with him straddling me, the bloody screwdriver raised over my head. His eyes are just voids. No empathy, no mercy, no humanity. No hesitation, as he brings the weapon down. I catch his wrists before he can plunge the metal shaft into my chest. He gets close, though. Way too
fucking
close. The tip drills into my collarbone as I strain to push him backward, because he knocked the wind out of me when he sent me flying. He raises it again, misfires his aim during our struggle, and carves a gash along my forearm, all the way from my wrist to my elbow.

Miguel’s body is still in my line of sight
, and I refuse to die and let
his death
be in vain. I move past my physical pain, pushing Carlos back with every bit of power I have. My strength overtakes his and he growls as he pulls away on his own, but his anger makes him faster. I only have time to twist my body as he brings the screwdriver down once more. It slams into my upper arm nearly to the hilt, sinking like a knife through butter, and it feels like I’ve been lit on fire. When he yanks it out, the handle separates from the shaft, leaving the sharp metal embedded in my flesh. Carlos stares at the handle in his hand, and I use these split seconds of distraction to hammerfist his nose, punch him in the throat, and throw him off me. 

I don’t want to lea
ve Miguel in here with the madman who killed him. There’s a moment of reluctance once I’m outside of the cage, where I imagine myself carrying Miguel’s body out on my back and allowing his family the chance to give him the burial he deserves. But Carlos is almost on his feet again, and there’s nothing more I can do, except leave an invisible trail of silent apologies for my fallen friend.