Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Andy’s “test drive” lasted more than an hour, with Pedro Hierro riding alongside on his favorite saddle mare. They rode toward the New River. Negotiating the upper banks gave Andy the chance to see that Prieto was confident on steep terrain. Crossing the river twice made it clear that he wasn’t afraid of water.

The saddle that Andy borrowed was a good fit, although Andy would have preferred a thicker saddle pad. After working out some tack fitting issues (with one stop early on, to adjust stirrup height) and learning the horse’s preferred gait, the ride went well. Andy and Prieto quickly developed a bond. The horse was obviously well trained and had good ground manners. Prieto didn’t balk at being ridden over steep ground and rocky spots. He was also just as quiet as the old man had advertised.

They returned to Hierro’s house at a trot. After they had unsaddled the horses, Andy looked the old man in the eye and said: “I like this caballo. He will do. Here is my offer: I trade you my one-ounce Krugerrand for your horse Prieto, along with this saddle, this bit and bridle, a pair of hobbles, a lead rope, and also a pair of large saddlebags.”

Pedro Hierro nodded slowly and gave a thin smile. “Show me this gold.”

When he left Pedro Hierro’s rancho the next morning, Andy had all that he had asked for, plus a collapsing canvas bucket, a grooming brush, and a hoof pick. The saddle was soon modified with a leather punch and nylon straps, allowing Andy’s backpack to be strapped on behind the saddle deck. An extra-large saddle pad protected the horse from the weight of the backpack. The pack’s position made it awkward for Andy to mount and dismount the horse, but it obviated the need to use a separate packhorse. Andy’s goal was to make a small signature when traveling.

It was thirty-five miles from the rancho to the Mexican border. He planned to cross at Santa Elena, just west of the large city of Chetumal, on the Rio Hondo. By evening he was camped in the jungle near the village of Chan Chen, just four miles short of the border. He gave the horse more than an hour to graze in a meadow while he ate his own dinner: chili, straight from the can. Then he led Prieto off into the jungle.

Andy hobbled the horse and camped on a small knoll. It was an anxious night for him. He was saddle sore and he felt cranked up. He desperately wanted to talk with Kaylee, but it was two days until his next scheduled contact. After a fitful night in his bivy bag, worrying about both the horse and the upcoming border crossing, he awoke at dawn. He had a breakfast of day-old johnnycakes and some iguana tail jerky. He was already missing Senora Mora’s cooking.

Before departing, he repacked his backpack, secreting the pistol and its accessories inside a large bundle of clothes that was secured by string. That went in the bottom of his backpack in the hope that it would be the last thing that would be searched by the customs officers.

Crossing the border was easier than he had anticipated. The Santa Elena border station was a simple structure. The sight of his horse passing through was only a little unusual.

Leaving Belize, tourists were supposed to incur a twenty-dollar exit fee, but this was waived for Andy after a glance at the consul’s letter. When he stepped across the line to the Mexican side of the station, his passport check was perfunctory. The Mexican customs agent looked bored as he stamped Andy’s new American passport. He just waved Andy through.

He had prepared himself by placing a bill of sale and a veterinary health certificate form letter from Hierro as well as his letters of introduction in the top of his saddlebag. He even had a half-ounce American Eagle gold coin in his pants pocket, ready to palm as a bribe if necessary. He was greatly relieved when it wasn’t needed.

Just a few miles past the border, Andy led Prieto into some scrub brush out of sight from the road, and retrieved his pistol. He positioned the holster in its usual spot on his belt above his right buttock. He felt more at ease, knowing that the SIG was safely cradled there, ready for quick action. It was concealed by his leather vest, which he habitually wore unbuttoned. He kept his horse off the road, following what looked like a motorcycle trail that closely paralleled the highway.

The road west toward Ramonal was almost deserted. No buses were running, and just a few local ranchers’ trucks went by. West of Lago Milagros, Andy could see that he was entering big rancho country. The soil was noticeably more sandy. In places the sand was snow-white. Barbed-wire fences now bordered both sides of the road. Still, the country seemed more like Belize than Mexico. The brush and trees were still the same. Only the truck license plates were different. Some of the fences sagged and looked comical, and Laine wondered how well they held cattle.