Raul drove with such reckless abandon that Paco was certain the van would crash any moment. Paco had no idea how the smugglers could navigate in this vast wasteland, with no landmarks or civilization to guide them. He supposed they made this trip frequently enough to know the way.

Suddenly a pair of headlights bounced over a hill in front of them, and Raul spun the steering wheel, nearly pitching them into a ditch. With tires spinning and much cursing, Raul managed to regain control of the overloaded van. As they lumbered up a steep hill, spewing dust and rocks, Machete drew his long blade from its fringed sheath. At this point, Paco knew they had been spotted by the authorities and were trying to escape.

The van careened wildly through a rocky arroyo, reaching such a high rate of speed that Paco was afraid they would become airborne. He turned to look at the frightened passengers, who already knew they were in trouble. He was the one near the window-the one who could talk to the coyotes-and they looked pleadingly at him. When his eyes lit upon Anita, clutching her daughter protectively, he knew he had to do something. "¿Qu� pasa?" he yelled at their insane guides. "Why are we going so fast?"

"¡La migra!" Machete shouted back. "Keep quiet back there, or we'll throw you out!"

The vehicle took such a lurch that Paco was dumped into another man's lap. The van felt like a cork being tossed upon the ocean, and both women and men began to wail. Feverish prayers rose like a litany of the damned, and passengers gripped his arms and legs, looking for a handhold, help, support... anything. The mad chase through the dark night seemed to go on for an eternity, until the careening vehicle smashed hard into an unseen rut. Metal in the undercarriage snapped, and the van tipped over and fell to its side, like an elephant felled by a rifle shot. Screaming, the passengers were pitched on top of one another, and Paco was suddenly fighting for breath at the bottom of a squirming mass of humanity. Over the din, he heard Raul and Machete cursing their blasted luck, and a door banged open.

Paco pleaded for calm, but nobody seemed to hear him until the rear door crashed open. Feeble moonlight slipped into the van and its twitching pile of arms and legs, and the wailing began to hush. Paco could see the slim figure of Machete pulling people out and tossing them to the ground like so much garbage. Anita managed to hold on to her child, even as she was rudely hauled out the door. Miraculously, none of the unfortunate passengers seemed to be dead, or even badly injured, and they were grateful to escape from the overturned vehicle.

Out of fear - or an instinct for survival - Paco decided to play dead. Since he was at the front of the storage compartment, there was no way for Machete to reach him unless he crawled into the van. The young man lay still in the shadows, trying to quell his laboured breathing and thudding heart. Whether Machete didn't see him or didn't care if he was dead or alive, he shut the door without dragging him out. Its hinges creaking loudly, the door refused to latch all the way shut, and about an inch of starlit desert shone through the open crack.

As Raul and Machete bellowed orders, Paco crawled forward to see what was happening. Brandishing knives, the smugglers herded the benumbed passengers away from the wreckage into the black desert, warning them to be quiet. Dust swirled everywhere, adding to the sense of chaos. In the distance, headlights peaked over a hillside dotted with scrub brush and prickly pears, and Paco imagined that the border agents were calling for backup. At least, that's what he would have done.

With muted weeping and limping, the survivors of the crash staggered into the darkness. "Stay under cover!" ordered Raul. "Nobody follow us!"

Machete stared angrily at the headlights on the hill, until the passengers were out of sight. Then he growled, "Let's go deal with them." To Paco's surprise, he sheathed his machete and walked up the hill with his hands raised, as if he were surrendering. That didn't seem possible for either one of these two, but Raul also raised his hands and marched through the dust. Paco knew he should jump out of the van and run for his life. There was a half-empty jug of water tipped on its side, and he grabbed it. As he slid from the van onto the crusty sand of the desert, guilt overcame him, and he couldn't flee. How could he leave Anita, Sofia, and all the others? It was better to turn themselves in to the authorities, as Raul and Machete were doing. If that's what they are doing.

Then he knew he had to follow the smugglers. Paco crept forward, keeping low among the scraggly creosote and desert broom. The heat, the dust, and a strange uneasiness made his skin tingle, and his stomach was knotted with apprehension. Would the police return his money, he wondered. It was clear that none of them was going to make it to Tucson on this accursed night.

Silhouetted in the headlights of their green and white Jeep Cherokee, he saw two border patrol agents with rifles in their hands. Slowly, their arms upraised, Raul and Machete approached them.

"¡Alto!" shouted one of the agents in accented Spanish. "Stand still, and keep your hands where we can see them."

"We mean you no harm," said Raul in a friendly manner. "We need help - we've had an accident."

"We're unarmed," lied Machete. Then he said something else in what sounded like English.

The agents took aim with their rifles and again called for the smugglers to stop. Neither one of the coyotes slowed down; in fact, they seemed to move faster up the hill than before. With no one's attention on him, Paco swiftly followed them, only he kept low among the brush. Aided by a clump of prickly pears and several barrel cactuses, he was able to get close enough to see the border patrol's faces. They were young, about his age, and both appeared to be gringos. Clutching his jug of water, the young man crouched down behind a large yucca plant with spiny topknots, looking like some kind of multiheaded visitor from outer space.

When the smugglers continued to advance upon the agents, one of them panicked and shot his rifle straight into Raul's chest. Paco gasped - certain the coyote was dead. But no... Raul staggered for a moment, then he grinned as his face underwent a horrible transformation. No longer was it boyishly handsome - now it was the wild-eyed, thick-browed visage of a demon. Machete's face also twisted into something inhuman and insane, and both creatures moved in a blaze of speed. They fell upon the border agents, whose screams lasted only a second before these monsters pulled them down into the dirt. They hunched over the prostrate bodies like wolves feeding at their fallen prey.

Paco shuddered and closed his eyes as slurping sounds filled the eerie night. The metallic smell of fresh blood assaulted his nostrils, and he gagged, fighting the urge to vomit. Fear paralyzed him for a few seconds, but he knew he had to get out of there and warn the others. Crawling on his hands and knees, careful not to make any more noise than was necessary, the young man scrambled back down the hill. With a worried glance over his shoulder, he saw that no one was following him. The monsters were occupied with their kill.

Careful not to raise his voice, Paco said nothing until he actually found the frightened group of immigrants, huddled behind two giant saguaro cactuses. The saguaros' twisted green arms reached toward the black sky, like creatures begging for mercy.

"They're killers!" he sputtered. "They're animals - I don't know what they are. They killed those two border agents... we have to run for our lives!"

"Tranquilo, muchacho," urged one of the gray-haired men. "Are you loco? You make no sense."

"We heard the shot," said a woman. "What happened?"

"I told you!" Paco took a gulp of dusty air, telling himself that he was indeed making no sense. He had to slow down if he hoped to reason with these skeptical people. "Raul and Machete... bullets don't hurt them. They killed the border patrol agents. We have to run!"

"Into the desert?" the old man asked incredulously. "Do you know what happens to people out here with no car and no water? You are food for the vultures."

"If they killed la migra, then we are safe," concluded another man.

"No, no!" Desperately, Paco searched for Anita and Sofia among the passengers, and he found them sitting on a rock. The young mother cradled her daughter in her arms, dabbing a dirty blanket at a spot of blood on the child's forehead. Both of them looked as if they were in shock. He crouched down before them and pleaded, "Anita, you must come with me! We must escape before they get back. Look, I have water!" He waved the half-empty plastic jug.

She stared at him with moist eyes full of sadness and disbelief. "My daughter is hurt... we need help."

"Yes, we must get help!" agreed Paco. Suddenly he heard the roar of a car engine, and he turned to see the border patrol Jeep rumbling down the hill toward them. "¡Vamos!" he pleaded. "We must go now!"

Anita shook her head slowly, staring past him into the bewitching night. "No, not into the desert. It's already hot.... By noon, it will be a hundred and fifteen."

"¡Mierda!" muttered Paco, leaping to his feet. Tears streamed from his eyes. "You are all doomed!"

As the Jeep bore down on the cowering huddle of humanity, the distraught man staggered into the darkness. His legs and brain screamed for him to run as far as he could, as fast as he could, but his heart told him not to desert his fellow passengers. He ran until he thought his lungs would explode, then he crouched down behind a large barrel cactus. In the days that followed, he wished he hadn't stopped to witness what came next.

The screams began immediately, followed by terrified wails, thrashing, and growling. Two people tried to escape, but he could swear that man-sized creatures leaped like great elk and dragged them down. It seemed as if the killing went on for hours, but it was probably only a few seconds. Struggling to keep a grip on his sanity, Paco remained still until he was sure that the bloodletting had stopped... and the monsters were busy feeding.

Weeping for those lost, the lone survivor slunk away into the unforgiving desert.