Desolation

Jose was fast asleep, dreaming of the woman they had played with on the last run today. She was pretty and plump, but all he wanted was sex. His compañeros had had much more in mind. Her blood and her screams still rattled around in his head, like a bad movie. He tried to push these visions away and hide them in the deep recesses of his mind, sure the evil things he had done would earn him a place in hell.

Then, he was suddenly awake, the sweat-soaked hairs on the back of his neck abruptly alerted. He sat up without a sound and listened for what had woken him, kneading his aching neck. The case of dynamite had been a piss-poor pillow. He was surprised he had slept at all, since this place always scared him; it held much of El Gordo’s excess ammo and explosives, all kept at a distance from El Gordo’s home and the other buildings, just in case they blew: it was that just in case that scared him.

Crack followed by flomp-flomp-flomp-flomp-flomp told him someone was just outside the windows. Jose climbed onto several other cases of dynamite to gain height and saw a man running away. Though he could only see the man’s back, he knew instantly it was Señor Max.

Crack-crack followed by a whoosh from the other window filled Jose with fear. Then, the smell of—fire! He beat a panicked path to the other window, on the other side of the shed, and saw his worst nightmare. He heard a full-throated roar of air as the pile of wood and debris ignited and angry flames viciously gobbled up every molecule of oxygen. The mouth of the fire intended to snack on Jose, its tongue working its way to the window where he stood. The glass shattered and a solid wall of heat like hot bricks knocked him over, then hungrily gnawed at him and the shed’s supply of explosives.

~~~

Max was halfway to his Jeep when he heard the gas igniting. He’d hoped that he’d reach the Jeep before the explosion, and that it would’ve been quite a bit louder. At this point, he wasn’t sure it would provide enough diversion for him to get into the Jeep and take off, let alone get away unnoticed. Now he was alarmed that someone would see him even before he had a chance to get into the Jeep, much less drive away unnoticed. He ran faster, unslinging his AK while he ran, just in case he needed it.

~~~

Dazed from the blast, Jose could feel fire biting into his skin all over his body. He swatted at the few flames dancing on his chest and hair. It felt like he had been covered by a warm winter blanket. Yet, he was still alive. He jumped up and stumbled a little, his right leg not working right. One look confirmed it was broken, a good chunk of his tibia protruding from his skin halfway between knee and ankle. He hobbled to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Next he tried the window he had seen Señor Max running from, but it too was stuck. If he didn’t do something, this place would be his coffin. The other was a wall of flames. Jose reached for the nearest crate, intending to toss it at the stuck window. It was open, full of dynamite sticks. A rolled up coil of fuse lay on top; it was alive and hissing at him like a long, thin snake. He stared, mesmerized by its red-blue slithering movement around, and around, and around, until it disappeared in a blinding, deafening—and lethal—flash.

~~~

Max could see the Jeep’s outline only a few more strides away. The sound hit him first. A thundering roar, as if from some gigantic pissed-off lion, crashed his eardrums. It was unlike anything he had heard, even in war. The lion’s breath, a wave of heat and debris, hit him next. It lifted him up, his legs momentarily running in the air, and pushed him toward his destination. He watched in awe as he flew several feet before coming back down to the ground, faltering as his feet struck mid-stride. He was about to turn and look when something hard hit his shoulder, knocking him to the ground, spinning him around to show him the bright ball of fire rising to the heavens.

“Holy shit, that was no gas can,” he said to the explosion.

More debris rained on him, alerting him that his time was short. Max sprang up, ran the last couple of steps, and hopped into the Jeep, his keys finding the ignition almost immediately. The well-lubed engine awoke at once. He threw it into gear, the wheels engaged immediately. He hit the gas and accelerated onto the secondary driveway, keeping the headlights off. Only one more person to worry about: the guard posted at the end of this drive. Holding the wheel with his left hand and steadying the AK with his right, Max trained it on the spot the guard should be; the gun’s sling steadied it to his right shoulder.