She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) (2 page)

Antonio wipes the side of his face
as droplets of sweat emerge; partially due to his body trying to cool itself,
but more likely caused by his overflowing guilt.  A white bandana is fixed to
the top of his head, still somewhat moist from the well water; the hot Mexican
sun drying it rapidly.  His brown eyes and short stature make him appear
unremarkable, and Antonio’s natural demeanor seems pleasant, almost as though
he could be a member of your family.

            From the second floor balcony of a bright orange
vacation resort, he gazes with disappointment at the jungle just a few dozen
yards from his position.  His eggshell colored shirt is covered in dirt stains,
as are his black jeans.  He puts his hands on his hips, staring down toward the
black, leather belt that he procured from the father of a family of five
several hours earlier.  Antonio raises his head again, looking into the
jungle.  Just below his line of vision, he sees a warrior wasp hovering above
the wooden railing right in front of his post.  The wasp moves its black body
tactfully above the weathered, brown wood, seeking out anything useful to its
colony. 

            As he looks at the wasp, he thinks about the
cartel, and draws a strong distinction of common ground between the colony of
deadly insects, and his organization of deadly smugglers.  There is a sinister
connection, Antonio thinks to himself, regarding how The Federales setup a
roadblock on highway 186, preventing them from getting back to their nest.  With
over one-hundred million dollars in cocaine, they were forced to migrate north
of the highway, pushing deeper into the old jungle.  When they found the bright
orange resort and only a family of five protecting it, their colony of twenty
wasps slaughtered the worker bees and took refuge in the new nest.

            Antonio sighs with shame as his gaze raises back
to the jungle, and he thinks about the five bodies that he just buried there. 
Within the cartel, he has become known as Antonio ‘Gravedigger’ Espinoche; a
man who has dug over one-thousand graves, and lost count a long time ago.  He
ponders all the different graves he’s dug, and the various purposes for those
graves.  Antonio knows that a sensible grave begins by making cuts into the
earth using a shovel to make an oval shape.  Then digging about three feet down
into the very center of the oval, allowing him to leverage the shovel and tear
out large chunks of earth with little effort.  It is also important to layer
the earth around the grave evenly so that it can be filled in faster.  Choosing
the right earth with a flaky, moist consistency to dig the graves also
drastically cuts down the burial time.  He even came up with a cocktail of
herbs to throw off the dogs that might be looking for bodies.  His own mixture
of chili peppers, cinnamon, and freshly ground coffee.  Though in emergency
situations like this one, where bodies must go immediately into the ground;
those ingredients rarely present themselves in time. 

            He glances over to his right at his amigo,
Enrique, a senior smuggler who has seen the best and worst of everything in his
thirty years with the cartel.  The fifty-year-old enforcer stands vigilant on
the opposite corner of the balcony, watching the cache of drugs like a faithful
dog.  He is clad in a light, soft material, tailored to fit his body, making
him appear wise.  His pants and shirt are made from the same black and gold fabric,
giving it the look of a uniform.  Enrique smiles wide at Antonio, unintentionally
showing that he is missing all of the molars from his bottom jaw, and half the
teeth in his upper jaw.  Although he is nearly twenty years older than Antonio,
the veteran enforcer has a powerful body, maintained by daily exercises and a
diet dictated by nature. 

            Antonio is amazed to see this man smiling after
having lost his second son just a few nights ago.  He smiles back at Enrique
with a great deal of respect, knowing that the man next to him has lost both of
his sons; one from a rival cartel, and the other from a shootout with Mexican
authorities.  Enrique turns away for a moment, scanning the jungle with the
AK-47 clenched tightly in his arms.  As the older man turns away, Antonio sees
the familiar machete slung over Enrique’s shoulder with the black sheath tight
against his back.

            Antonio looks out into the jungle again,
remembering the five graves, but his heart goes cold as he sees a figure
standing among the Taxodium Mucronatum Trees.  A woman with long brunette hair
is walking along the tree line; her body is covered by a full-length red robe. 
The robe is secured around her with what looks like a thick black rope. 
Earlier in the day, the smugglers had chopped down a few trees, and cleared a
path for the helicopter to land.  The woman walks around the outer edge of this
new landing zone, seemingly oblivious to the men guarding the resort. 

            The young enforcer closes his eyes for a moment,
and as he reopens them, the woman is no longer there.  His heart starts to beat
fast as he remembers killing the mother of the family, and wonders if, in his
haste, he neglected to finish her off.  He glances over at Enrique, but his
comrade has obviously not seen anything that is attention-worthy.  Antonio
closes his eyes again, grabbing his canteen and drinking with a remorseful thirst,
trying to put the family out of his mind.  As he opens his eyes, he sees the
warrior wasp staring at him, settled on top of his silver canteen.  The black,
menacing little body is less than an inch from his fingers with its yellow eyes
focused directly on Antonio’s brown eyes.  The young man holds perfectly still,
breathing heavily and watching the wasp creep slightly toward his dirty hand. 

            Soon the sound of a helicopter approaches from
the north, and the large insect takes flight, zooming around Antonio, and
disappearing behind the resort.  The young enforcer smiles and breathes in with
relief, screwing the cap back on his canteen as he looks out at the landing
zone.  His eyes squeeze tight as he sees the woman in the red robe again,
walking around the outer rim of their helicopter landing zone. 

            “Señorita, you cannot be out there!”  Enrique
shouts to the woman.  “There is poison gas from a truck explosion on the
highway. You need to leave!”

            Antonio is relieved that Enrique can also see
the woman, and he watches her carefully as the sound of the helicopter becomes
louder every second.  In the distance, the woman reaches out and touches a
large, one-hundred-and-twenty-foot Montezuma Cypress Tree.  Then she calmly and
dutifully moves a few steps closer to the resort, staying at the edge of the
tree line.  After a few seconds, there is a crackling sound of fresh wood
breaking, and the enormous tree snaps at its base right where the woman touched
the trunk.  The entire mass of branches and leaves crashes down behind the
woman, falling away from the landing zone.

            Antonio’s eyes grow wide with awe as he tries to
understand what has happened.  Just fifty feet above his head, and thirty feet
away, the black helicopter is descending to the landing area.  In the distance,
the woman steps gracefully forward, and touches another large tree, strolling
casually toward the resort as the approaching helicopter begins to blow her
robe tight against her petite body.  The young woman’s hair flows backward in a
wild whipping motion, but she remains uncharacteristically calm for someone
near a helicopter.

            When the helicopter is just fifteen feet off the
ground, the sound of wood breaking is heard again, and another massive tree
snaps from its base, falling inward on the landing zone.  Antonio watches with
surprise, shielding his face instinctively as the branches and leaves of the
heavy tree bear down on the vulnerable helicopter blades.  He hears two
whacking sounds in quick succession before the bulk of the tree pushes the
helicopter to the ground with a thunderous crash.  The top of the tree misses
the resort, falling at an angle past the corner of the building where Antonio
is standing guard. 

            With a confused expression, the young enforcer
looks down at the helicopter that is now crushed under the weight of the tree. 
Smoke rises from the wreckage, and he cannot hear any sounds of life coming
from within.  Antonio looks over at Enrique, and the older man shrugs with a
spooked expression.  Both men turn their attention to the woman approaching the
resort from the tree line, feeling uneasy and confused. 

            As she encroaches within forty feet of the
resort, Enrique aims his AK-47 at her and opens fire.  Antonio watches with
mixed feelings, waiting for her body to hit the ground.  But his face displays
concern as he notices that Enrique’s bullets are pelting the earth halfway
between him and his target.  This is impossible for the angle of fire, and the
velocity of the bullets, but nonetheless, they are striking the ground as if
bouncing off a wall of steel. 

            Enrique stops firing after also noticing this
unnatural occurrence, and lowers the rifle, staring at the woman with the
contempt of a seasoned killer, but the fear of an intelligent hunter.  When the
woman gets within twenty feet of the resort, she holds up her palms toward the
two men with her fingers outstretched, and then rolls both hands into tight
fists.  Antonio feels his body go limp, and hears Enrique fall onto the wooden
balcony in unison with him.  For a moment, he tries to pull himself up from the
rough, dark stained wood, but his mind feels immediately exhausted, and he
loses consciousness. 

            “SAN PEREZ, YOU SONOFABITCH!”  Enrique shouts
through gritted teeth.

            Antonio opens his eyes to see Enrique charging
toward him with his machete gripped tightly in his right hand.  The older man’s
pupils are dilated with hatred as he moves toward Antonio shouting the name of
his son’s killer; the rival cartel chief.

            “I am not San Perez!” Antonio pleads, glancing
at his own AK-47 just ten feet away, leaning against the corner of the wooden
railing.  “Enrique, it’s Antonio; look at me!”  He pleads with a respectful
gaze, hoping the older man will come to his senses.

            Antonio realizes that Enrique is not backing
down, and he begins to shuffle backward clumsily, half crawling and half
walking to where his rifle is resting.  Enrique approaches closer, staring him
down as if he were an abomination, rapidly closing the space between them. 
When Antonio is only three feet from his rifle, Enrique strikes with the
machete, bearing down hard with his sinewy muscles.  Antonio raises his right
arm to protect his face from the blade, and the machete connects, slicing deep
into his muscle just above the elbow.  The younger man screams in agony as the
blade impacts his bone; he can feel the heat of freshly cleaved flesh hanging
from his arm, and the warm blood is saturating his chest.  Antonio kicks with
his legs and lunges for his rifle with his left arm, feeling his heart pounding
in his ears as Enrique bears down on him with intense rage.

            Antonio grips his rifle as the older man raises
the machete again, and brings it down repeatedly toward the younger man’s face,
trying with all his might to finish him.  He protects his face with his right
arm for a second time, and the machete cleaves into it just below the elbow. 
Antonio grits his teeth as the blade lands another strike against his bone, and
to his horror, it comes down a third time, hitting in almost the same spot,
instantly breaking the bones of his forearm.  The pain is unmerciful, and
Antonio uses all of his strength to raise the rifle across his body at an
angle.  However, the machete connects a final time with unrelenting accuracy,
slicing through the remaining flesh as the young man helplessly watches his
right arm fall onto the filthy surface of the walkway. 

            Antonio shrieks in pain as he fires a burst from
his AK-47 into Enrique’s torso, causing the older man to fall straight backward
from the force of the gunfire.  The young cartel enforcer winces in agony,
watching the blood shoot from the remaining upper half of his arm.  With
desperation and panicked movements, he lays down on the walkway, releasing the
rifle, and using his left hand to remove his black leather belt.  Once he has
the belt in hand, Antonio uses it to apply a tourniquet to his wounded right
arm.  With his left hand and teeth, he cinches the belt tight around what
remains of his limb, shaking all over from the intensity of the pain.

            As Antonio looks up from the walkway, he sees
the woman standing in front of him.  She has beautiful olive skin, and
unforgiving green eyes.  He doesn’t recall at what point she arrived, or
whether she was there the entire time. 

            “Tell Miguel Horatio to stop hurting my people.”
The woman begins with a sinister tone, staring evenly at Antonio.  “If he harms
another of mine, I will claim his firstborn son.”

            “Who are your people?”  Antonio asks with a
shaky voice, feeling suddenly cold as his heart begins to pound from the loss
of blood.

            “You are not my people, Antonio.”  She declares
with a powerful stare, showing ancient strength and wisdom.  “All those who
have been deceived and abused; living or dead… are my people.”

            “Antonio!”  A voice calls out from within the
resort.  “Enrique!”

            Another cartel enforcer steps out onto the
walkway and beckons for the two men.  His aging face shows panic from the
recent helicopter crash, but this is further aggravated when he glimpses the
bloody scene on the balcony.  After a quick mental inventory, he realizes that
Enrique is dead, and rushes to where Antonio is lying on the floor.  He then
uses his strong, sturdy frame to lift him up on one shoulder and carry him into
the resort, being careful not to touch his severed arm.