Page 42 of Vaquero
Chapter Sixteen
Instead of using one of the tunnels for a hideout, Julio opted for a higher venue, one easier to escape from when needed. Also where the air was fresher and not so hot or stifling. He settled for a quick camp he’d made in the trees above the gravel pit, opposite the trail where Mauricio, Susana, Pepe and his father, Rafael, had gone. But he did some exploring first. Then, Julio spent the rest of the night hauling as much of Oz’s cache of weaponry, ammo, and explosives into that camp as he could. It made for one helluva lot of backbreaking trips up that gravel road. A vehicle would’ve made it easier, but he’d been born for drudgery. Why change now?
It wasn’t until he’d made a dozen or so trips into the quarry and back up the trail again that he heard a donkey bray. That stopped him cold, but it was not unexpected. People would’ve seen and heard the explosion by now. As isolated as this mine was, someone was bound to come looking. Guess that time was now.
Still on the trail, but not far enough to escape discovery, he pulled his pistol and flattened his back to the steep granite wall behind him.
“You still down there,Senhor?”
Julio couldn’t believe his ears. “SenhorContreras?” he whispered, peering up at the group of tired faces staring down at him.
“Aye, me and Papa, too!” an excited Pepe called out.
“Shhhhh,” several voices hissed.
“We must do this quietly and quickly. Come. Let us help our brave defender of the people.” That could only be Susana.
What were these foolish, brave people doing? “No. Please take care of yourselves. Go,” he argued, his weapon now safely secured in its holster, but his heart on fire. These villagers were all in mortal danger. Surely another guerilla band was on its way to raid Oz’s mine. That was how these desperados worked. If they couldn’t take over the country, they raided, murdered, and stole from each other.
But there was no arguing, not with the determined band of villagers or the three donkeys ambling down the trail toward him.
“I don’t need help,” he told them bluntly. Urgently.
But by then, Mauricio and his white donkey were nearly to him. Of all the colors that could blend into this gravel pit and its granite walls, white was not it.
“Is not good to argue with our mayor,” Mauricio said gruffly. “When Mayor Rafael Velasquez says ‘we go’…” Mauricio shrugged. “We go. And now we are here. What do you have in that heavy pack on your back that my brave Annie can help you carry?”
Annie. His white donkey was named Annie. But Mayor Velasquez? Unbelievable. Pepe was the mayor’s son? Why hadn’t anyone known that until now?
Julio stopped fighting then. Besides Mauricio, there were a total of twenty men and women here to help. Oz’s weaponry had to be moved out of the gravel pit. It took a dozen more trips to get the crated weapons and boxed ammo into the trees. Then another dozen to secure the plastic explosives alongside them. That was not the best location, and Julio was well aware he needed a more secure spot for the mountain of guns and ammo he’d accumulated, but first things first. All of Oz’s cache had to be removed from the pit before the fire spread.
While the men and donkeys carried the heaviest loads, Julio handed Susana a paper tablet and a pen from his pack, and assigned her the job of organizing and inventorying every last box and ammo can. Nothing must fall into the wrong hands. Not one bullet. Not one brick of Semtex or C4.
At the first blush of dawn, the last tired donkey plodded out of the pit and into his haphazard camp. By then, Julio had worked non-stop for too damned long. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. He was sweating, tired, and worried. This place was utterly indefensible. All he’d done was make Oz’s weapons more easily available to the first outlaws that came along. And they would come.
He’d ignored his injured arm until now, but the damned thing ached. He couldn’t rest. Not yet. Wiping a quick hand over his brow, he reassessed the growing stockpile.
Susana had done a good job. The wooden crates were divided by type of weaponry, the ammo that went with each rifle, stacked between the crates. She’d organized the LAWs the same way, the warheads stacked neatly alongside the crates of launchers. But what good did that do if it fell into the wrong hands? Now Julio had two problems. Protect this camp above the pit and the ICBMs below. While he lived off the land. While he went without sleep.
Madre de Dios, he would die here.
“I think you have a problem,” Rafael said quietly, his hand suddenly on Julio’s shoulder, squeezing him the way a father squeezes a friend. “Pepe? Run and get Uncle Ralph. Tell him to bring his truck. His big truck. Our friend is injured.”
Julio shook his head. “No, Mayor Velasquez. I’m fine. But I can’t put you and your friends in any more danger. You must leave. If necessary, I’ll set traps and blow this stockpile before I let anyone take it.”
“But we need it,” Rafael said just as quietly. “For years, the Zapata brothers have raided these Highlands, and we’ve had no way to stop them. They’ve taken our children, and they’ve raped our women. Our daughters,SenhorJuarez. It is time we took from them and defended ourselves.”
Julio cocked his head, worried all over again. “How many Zapata brothers are there?” He only knew the two. Please, God, let there be no more.
“Orlando was the younger, but Domingo is much worse.”
That was true enough. “Only two then? Any sisters?”
There were no gender-specific boundaries when it came to psychosis. There were just as many cruel women in the world as men, like Catalina Montego, the Cuban woman who had recently terrorized the East Coast of America.
Rafael shook his head. “Trust me. Two were more than enough.”
Julio nodded. “Their parents?”
