The Border Nation

Luiz stopped, crouched down, and quietly laid the burlap bag beside him. The night sounds were heightened by his excitement and fear. He turned his left ear in the direction of the rustling sound. Then he heard it again, the almost imperceptible snap of a small twig followed by a scratching sound. Luiz remained motionless and continued to listen for what seemed an eternity. Finally, with a great deal of effort, he convinced himself that it must be some kind of small animal foraging in the underbrush. Luiz knew it was best to be cautious. Go slow. After all, he was already in the United States of America. Luiz sat down and continued listening to the night sounds and felt the gentle breeze on his back. Finishing his last bottle of water, he then turned his gaze to the heavens. The night-time sky was so majestic with a canopy of a thousand tiny lights. Luiz thought to himself, “Why, God, do you allow the Hispanic nations to suffer? Why do the Americans get all the blessings?” With a deep sigh, Luiz lowered his gaze from the heavens, gently shook his head and reached for his burlap bag. He didn’t understand these things and knew he would never understand. These were issues for his priest and realized he had forgotten to say good-bye to Father Contrallo. Staring into the black horizon, Luiz knew it was time to move on and eventually find cover before daylight. It must be three or four in the morning, he guessed. A couple more hours of complete darkness and then he would be exposed by the sunrise of a new day in the United States of America. Darkness was his only friend. Keep walking. **** Pulling back on the bolt action with his right hand, one cartridge slid smoothly into the breech of the 50-caliber rifle. Martin LaTour slowly shoved the bolt forward and down while listening for the distinctive click of the locking mechanism. Bending slightly and resting his right cheek against the butt of the rifle, Martin peered into the rifle’s scope. The view was illuminated with a green tint as Martin stared at an empty landscape. A scene that was void of humans, void of illegal aliens and therefore, void of any targets. Martin mentally marked a spot on the landscape as his starting point and very slowly began scanning the rifle to his right. Nothing but the empty landscape could be seen. Continuing his search, he slowly moved the scope, inch by inch, to his right. Moving the scope slowly back to the left Martin passed the original starting point and continued scanning to the left. More of the same scenery greeted him. Returning to his original spot on the landscape, he raised the weapon slightly to view further downrange another 20 yards in the distance. Again following a practiced motion and routine, he slowly scanned to the right. Martin jumped and caught his breath when the image of a man came clearly into view through the high-powered night vision scope. The surrounding landscape was no longer visible as the image of the man completely filled the telescope’s lens. Martin stared at the man with fascination, watching his target’s every move. Watching with growing excitement just as a voyeur would gaze through a bedroom window. Sweating profusely, Martin noticed the scope was not as steady as he needed it to be. With his nerves tense, Martin’s breathing sounded ragged in the quiet nighttime air. Using his left hand he wiped the sweat from his brow and licked his dry lips. Reaching across to the deck railing, Martin grabbed the opened beer can and emptied the contents in three massive gulps. Reaching back across the rifle, Martin moved to set the can back on the railing but misjudged the width of the ledge. Absentmindedly, he placed the can too close to the edge of the railing and the empty can tumbled twenty feet to the ground. Striking a concrete pad holding up a support column to the deck, the can made an astoundingly loud bang. Martin froze and held his breath. The clank of the empty can was amplified a thousand times in the stillness of the night. “Shit!” Martin cursed out loud. Returning to the night vision scope he peered at the landscape. The man was gone. **** Luiz was about to stand and continue his journey north when he heard the distinctive sound of something metallic in the distance to his left. He couldn’t identify the exact sound but knew it was not the sound of a foraging animal. With the hair on the back of his neck twitching, he fought the urge to cough and realized he had been holding his breath. His eyes were open as wide as possible, but only minimal ambient light entered. The sound was not right. It should not have been there. To Luiz, the aberrant sound signaled danger. Lying back down on the ground, Luiz listened intently as time seemed to stand still. He knew he couldn’t stay in his current location forever. He must keep moving. Fighting the urge to turn around and run to the river, Luiz rose to his feet and very quietly moved to his right, away from the noise. Maybe it was other laborers attempting to travel north. Should he call out? He quickly dismissed the thought. Maybe it was the border patrol agents on a routine patrol. Maybe it was a rancher. This border crossing might prove to be more difficult than he first thought. Continuing to move to his right and slightly forward, Luiz strained to hear even the smallest sounds. As sweat dripped into his eyes and down his neck, he continued to move. He must keep moving but with extreme caution. Walking in a crouched position, Luiz continued northeast into the darkness. “One step at a time, just take it one step at a time,” Luiz mumbled as he encouraged himself and gazed toward the heavens. As an act of reassurance, he raised his right hand and made the sign of the cross on his chest. **** “How could his target disappear so quickly?” Martin thought. Martin was slowly beginning to panic and began moving the scope rapidly in every direction. “Stop,” He mumbled angrily to himself. “Remember the lessons from Win Lu. Always establish a grid pattern and relax.” Martin backed away from the scope and stretched his right arm over his head while clenching and unclenching his fist several times to relieve the tension. He then performed the same routine with his left arm while holding the rifle with his right hand. Inhaling slowly, Martin returned to the rifle’s scope and began a slow sweep of the landscape. Returning to the location where the invader was last seen, Martin thought aloud, “If I heard the sound what would I do?” Martin answered his own question, “Move away from the sound and keep moving.” Martin gradually moved the scope to his left and lowered the rifle slightly to see the landscape 20 yards closer. Once again Martin found his target. “You heard me, didn’t you, you son of a bitch?” Martin whispered. At that point, Martin’s mind flashed to a memory of Maggie. “Did she hear them? Did she know they were waiting for her?” he wondered, “Oh God, what was it like in the last few minutes of her life?” Martin was holding the rifle so tightly and trembling that he couldn’t hold the image steady in the scope. He forced himself to take several more calming, deep breaths. Reaching in front of the trigger guard, Martin slid the safety to his left. Slowly inserting his right index finger into the trigger guard he could feel the tip of his finger slide down the steel trigger. Every nerve ending was intensified beyond anything Martin had ever experienced. His senses were heightened and stretched to the limits as he continued to watch the target through the scope.