The Right Side of Wrong (27 page)

Chapter Forty-five

The keys made their way completely around the third floor, and the freed prisoners had control. Grudges quickly settled themselves through a variety of homemade weapons pulled from hidden places. Men bled out on the grimy floors as the rampaging crowd charged the Texans.

“
Alto!
” Bell shouted. For the first time, he opened up with the BAR. The automatic rifle was deafening as he directed his fire over the prisoners' heads. They recoiled at the concussive explosions of the heavy 30.06 rounds, many dropping to the ground for safety. The much greater mass retreated down the corridor.

Bell ejected the spent magazine and slapped another into place with satisfaction. “The right tool for the job.”

Cody held out his hand. “You have anything for me?”

Ned pulled the revolver from the small of his back, and handed it to Cody, butt first. Confident it was loaded, Cody hefted the pistol.

Bell fired again, ejected the empty magazine, and slammed another one home. “We gotta go!” He pointed to the way out. “The same way we came in!
Vamanos muchachos
!”

John didn't need instructions. He rushed past the three men and led the charge to retrace their path. Shrieking prisoners fled the quartet.

Heart thumping, Ned was surprised at how many cells had already emptied in such a short amount of time. Almost trotting, he thumbed more shells into his empty shotgun. Higher pitched gunfire crackled throughout the jail as the guards finally rallied enough to try and turn the tide in their favor.

Acting as a wedge, Big John charged downward past a crowd of rejoicing prisoners running before them. At the sight of the Texan's arsenal, the freed inmates sidestepped and raised their hands as they ran, laughing their way to the next floor.

John led the way down two flights of stairs to the ground floor where the noise wasn't as loud beside the closed door of the stairwell. Still, it was only a matter of time before the mob flooded the stairs as they rushed toward freedom.

Ned paused and laid his hand on the door to the main hallway, as if checking the temperature in case it was hot. “Not many of them have made it this far down. Them guards'll be waiting on whoever comes through.”

His back against the wall, John grasped the door knob. “It's the only way out!”

Tom Bell covered the stairwell above. “Careful.”

“Cody, you gonna make it?”

The young constable squinted through his good eye and gave Ned a grin. “I'll be better when we get back to our side of the river.”

John twisted the knob, cracked the steel door, and a bullet whistled through the narrow opening to pop into the opposite wall with a vicious splat. He shoved the door closed as more bullets rang against the steel.

“Now what are we gonna do?” Neither Cody nor Ned had an answer.

Tom Bell stepped forward, crouched on one knee, and held the BAR at the ready. “Open it again and get ready to run. They're expecting unarmed prisoners, not us.”

“Let's go,” Cody said.

John again cracked the door open and winced as bullets richocheted off the steel. With a low growl, Bell stuck the muzzle of the BAR through the opening. Like Vengeance on two feet, the dance began when the monstrous rifle opened up on full automatic. Powerful 30.06 slugs punched through concrete walls as if they were made of paper.

His aim was once again high, giving the guards a chance to decide whether they wanted to hang around. When he stuck his third magazine into place, he lowered the muzzle and hosed the area beyond the door in a roll of thunder. If they wanted to fight, then he'd give it to them. “Open the door!”

They burst into a corridor filled with the smell of cordite, smoke, and dust. Half a dozen Mexican guards sprawled in awkward positions, surrounded by their dropped weapons. Others retreated in a rout to be cut off by escaping prisoners suddenly appearing from the far staircase Ned, John and Bell had originally used.

The two groups converged. Guards were immediately engulfed with no time to beg for their lives. Screams, groans, and curses rocked the hall.

Taking advantage of the rapidly fading opportunity, Bell led the way and darted into the main reception area. The original guard was gone, the room empty, and the front entrance gaped open.

Outside, pale light revealed the cars parked nearby.

“Almost there,” John said.

“They're most likely waiting.” Shaking like a leaf from exhaustion and fear, Ned wondered at Tom Bell's calm and composed demeanor.

“We can't stay here.” Breathing hard, seeing through only one eye, Cody checked the loads in his pistol for the first time, unable to remember if he'd fired the weapon. “I've had all this place I can stand.”

Bell motioned for them to get against the wall. “Wait! Here they come.”

In seconds, a flood of freed prisoners rushed from the corridor into the reception area. Ignoring the Texans and the arsenal pointed in their direction, they saw freedom in the open street. The tightly packed mass of rejoicing Mexicans burst into the street to be cut down in a withering hail of gunfire as soon as they emerged. Pushed from behind, a steady stream of men raced into the chaos of the street amid a hailstorm of bullets.

It was a slaughter.

The fusillade continued as bodies piled outside the doorway, tripping men trying to escape. Shouts and cries in Spanish were indecipherable to Ned and Cody, but the common language of pain was clear to everyone in that hellhole.

Surviving prisoners fell back in the reception area, well away from the open door, realizing a world of death waited outside. They continued to ignore the Texans against the wall, who ignored them back.

When the roar of gunfire fell off, John knew the men outside were reloading.

Ned had no time to prepare himself for what was about to happen. John kicked the door farther open and stumbled over a body. He caught his balance and ran outside, firing high and shucking fresh shells into his shotgun. He dropped to a knee behind a car.

Bell followed, the BAR hammering the dawn.

Chapter Forty-six

Surprised by the wall of gunfire coming from what they thought were unarmed men, the mismatched army ducked behind their cars, frantically thumbing shells into empty guns.

Instead of Mexican police or the military they expected, the Texans faced a well-armed gang loyal to a man they thought was still alive, Guerrera. Cody recognized the mock uniforms, the same ones that executed Whitlatch and his gang, and charged outside, vaguely aware of a ragged volley of return fire.

“These ain't the police! They're soldiers who work for the bad guys. They're the sonsabitches who took me! Pour it on 'em!”

John and Tom Bell lowered their aim. Hellfire erupted from their weapons in a continuous ear-splitting barrage. Ricochets yowled off into the distance.

Cody shook his head to clear his mind after so long inside the jail. Rounds cracked past his hair and one plucked at his pants. Bullets blasted chunks of sandstone and stucco from the exterior to sting his face.

It felt odd, as if Cody were running in a cloud of feathers.

In the midst of the barrage, he idly wondered how some hit right beside him, as if they'd passed through his body. Protective wings wrapped around him.

I felt something like this the day I wrecked in the snowstorm
.

Outside of his cotton-like cocoon, the Texans' weapons continued to bark.

Men fell like rag dolls.

Ned was the last to exit under the covering fire. One of Guerrera's men had been caught near the entrance when the prisoners first reached the door. Pretending to be dead, he waited in the midst of the bleeding corpses. Seeing the old man, he decided it was time to fight. He raised his arm, jammed a rusty revolver into Ned's stomach, and pulled the trigger.

Ned grunted at the sharp pain, feeling like he'd been kicked by a mule. “Ohhh!”

The wind knocked out of him, Ned's stomach immediately felt hot and wet. He dropped his shotgun from the impact, but years of muscle memory took over. He yanked the revolver from its worn holster, cocked it with his thumb, and shot, and then shot again. Blood flew and the man soundlessly fell back and out of sight.

“Don't stop now!” Cody yelled and grabbed Ned's arm.

John and Bell directed their aim at specific targets. Limp bodies dropped and frightened men dove for cover as Cody and Ned almost collapsed between the two cars. Cody picked up the dropped shotgun and fired until it shucked empty.

John ducked to reload and saw Yolanda waving frantically from halfway down the alley, directly across from the jail.

Gunfire reverberated on the street. High-pitched screams ripped the air. “Go with her!” Ned gasped, holding his belly. Already, flies swarmed to his wound.

“Who?” Cody had no idea who he was talking about.

Official police cars slid to a stop and blocked both ends of the street. They knew of Guerrera's side business and were more than willing to let his soldiers handle the issue at the jail. Their job was to contain the situation and prevent it from spilling into town.

More prisoners ran through the door, drawing much of the fire, but the experienced soldiers focused their aim on the
Anglos
with weapons. Tom Bell ducked and smacked in a fresh magazine. “Do what he says, Cody. Stay with that gal and I'll keep their heads down.”

John shook his head. “Uh, uh. We're all getting out of this.”

“No, we ain't.” Bullets whizzed overhead and punched the car with metallic rings. The windshield exploded, spraying glass in a glittering cloud. The volume of gunfire increased. “Y'all git!”

Ned buckled from pain, and Cody reacted in horror when he saw Ned's ashen face and the bloody wound. “Ned!”

“Not right now. I ain't got the wind for it.”

Tom Bell cast his bright, wide eyes on Cody. “Get 'em out of here, son. My time was up when I got back to Center Springs with the cancer.”

Cody immediately understood the statement. He knew why Tom had left Center Springs for an extended visit while he recuperated in the hospital from the wintertime ambush.

Bell plucked the badge from his shirt and pressed it into Cody's hand. “I didn't know why I had to come back to Center Springs, but this was the reason, for y'all. You'll find out the rest pretty soon. Now ya'll git, and when you make it across the river, tell the Rangers what happened. They'll take care of the rest. Show 'em this.”

Saved for a second time by the man he hardly knew, Cody grasped Bell's arm and gave him a half smile. “I'll finish this back home, where it started.”

“I know you will, son.” Any other conversation ended when Bell coughed and doubled over from the savage punch of a bullet. “Oh!”

Another tore Cody's sleeve and he realized one of
La Guardia
had a fresh angle on them behind the car.

“Y'all,
run
!” With an effort, Bell twisted to face the fresh attack and opened up once again with the BAR.

One part of Cody's mind wondered idly, how a man of his age moved with such fluid ease. He seemed so young. The other part of his mind screamed for action.

Cody pointed Ned toward the alley and whacked John on the shoulder. “Go!”

The big deputy had tears in his eyes when he gave Bell one last look.

The Ranger fired a short burst. “Hang on a minute! They keep popping up on yonder side of that car.” He lowered his aim and the slugs hit the concrete in a stream of hot lead, bouncing under the dusty Buick, barely raising more than six inches off the ground. The “barking” technique worked, and three gunmen fell to the ground.

“
Now
!” Bell shifted his aim, found another target, and shot again, using the last few rounds to keep the
federale's
heads down and their attention away from his friends. He whacked the last fresh magazine into the rifle. “Go!”

The Texans sprinted for the alley. Behind them, Guerrera's men threw shots toward the retreating trio. They ducked between buildings as the firing reached a crescendo, and raced toward safety.

The BAR ran dry behind them when they ducked into the alley, out of harm's way for the time being.

Tom Bell drew his .45, and the firing resumed.

Chapter Forty-seven

“Hurry, you're too slow,” Yolanda hissed as they trotted in a ragged line behind her between two houses. Dogs barked, but this time no one hushed them. Neighbors watched as the heavily armed and bloody Americans passed.

A wave of gunfire crested at
Las Células
, already sounding far away, and then trickled off to silence. Led by a child, they rushed across an open, unfamiliar street, then darted into another weedy and desolate alley. Fifty yards away, they hurried down an even dustier lane.

One last shot echoed as they zigzagged through a maze of stucco houses, wooden shacks, and crumbling buildings gaping to the elements. The gasping men emerged onto the dirt street where they'd left the car. Ned was horrified to find it gone. “They done stole the care
we
stole.” He panted and sagged to rest one hand on his knee.

Drenched in sweat, the battered troop paused in shock over the stolen car. George ran out of his aunt's house and waved at Yolanda in the same way she'd attracted the Americans' attention only minutes before. “Follow
Jorge
.” Yolanda shooed them forward.

Cody blinked to see clearly through his one good eye. “Who the hell is Hor-hay!”

“That kid right there.” Lightheaded, Ned kept his hand pressed against his bloody stomach that burned like fire as he staggered along, weak and drained. He was running out of energy. “Stay with him.”

John hung back, watching. Relieved that the coast was momentarily clear and there was no pursuit, he shifted the shotgun to his other hand and grabbed Ned under the arm. He halfcarried him around the house and through a haphazard corral full of manure and mama cows.

A shackledy fence made of cast-off boards, doors, metal signs, and leaning posts momentarily slowed the adults. The young, wiry kids slipped past the obstacle and into what Cody thought of as a rickety cow shed. George opened the door and they rushed into the cool interior. The whole building leaned in on itself, ready to collapse at any minute. The filtered morning light brimmed with dust motes.

Ned settled gratefully onto an overturned barrel, his belly filled with pain. “This ain't safe.”

“We don't stop.” George knelt beside a small door barely three feet high on the far side of the cow shed. He twisted a wooden block and pulled it open. “In a moment we go through here.”

Ned moved listlessly, his life's blood soaking his shirt and pants. Cody knelt and stuffed his filthy undershirt against the wound. “Hold this tight. You got to stay with us.”

Ned nodded and closed his eyes.

Cody rummaged through Ned's pockets for fresh ammo. Thumbing new loads into his revolver, he squatted and peered outside at tall clumps of cane, a palm tree, and beyond that, a thick stand of cottonwoods. “That the river?”

George nodded. “
Si
.”

“How do we cross?”

The youngster raised his eyebrows. “You can swim, no?”

“I can swim, yes, but Ned's shot and I'm afraid we'll get seen. How about telling us where a car is so we can drive back across the bridge.”

A strong voice spoke from the other side of the warped wall. “That is a bad idea,
mi amigos
.”

Cody was shocked upright. He cocked the pistol and aimed at the shape flickering between the never-before-painted boards.

George held up his hand. “Don't shoot. That is my Uncle Reynaldo. He is here to help you.”

Shaking from nerves and fatigue, Cody stepped back as Reynaldo knelt and crawled inside through the small door. The handsome, dark skinned young man was in his early twenties. He peeked back through a gap in the boards to keep an eye on the outside. “It is embarrassing to use a door intended for sheep and goats. You can relax. I will not harm you.”

Aware of the gun in his hand, Cody lowered the revolver. Reynaldo built a smile under his thick black mustache. “We don't have much time. Many police and soldiers will be waiting for you on the bridge where you will be arrested and taken to
Las Células
. They would welcome you back with open arms, I assure you. The river is the only way.”

“You sure we can make it?”

“You have to.”

Light filled the opposite end of the cow shed when Yolanda opened the door and slipped inside. “The shooting has stopped. You must go now.”

Reynaldo was concerned over the condition of the three exhausted men who were breathing hard and nearing the end of their strength. “The children speak highly of you. We want to help.”

“It'll get y'all in trouble.”

“It will not. The
policia
here are corrupt, but they aren't stupid. We are all related. Many of
Los Guardias
are our relatives. They will look, but won't see…if there's nothing here to look at.”

There wasn't time for a cultural discussion. John rose from his kneeling position and put his shoulder under Ned's arm. “C'mon, Mr. Ned. We got to go.”

Face ashen, Ned struggled upright and allowed John to support his weight.

Reynaldo clapped once. “
Bien
. Quickly, across the pasture. Once you are in the tall cane, there is a path leading to the river.”

“What do you get out of all this?” Cody waved his gun toward the jail.

Reynaldo spread his hands. “You have done us a favor, freeing many of our family from
Las Células.
They were falsely accused. Guerrera wanted
mas rescate
to get them out. I gave him almost all the money I earned in my bar, and it still wasn't enough.”

“You have relatives in that shithole with other kinfolk guarding them?”

“It is complicated. You were in there. You know. They didn't took them for nothing, but no one deserves
Las Células.
”

While they talked, John ducked through the door, his bulk almost getting stuck in the small opening. Once free, he reached back to drag Ned into the open. Cody jiggled the pistol uncertainly in his hand. “They won't come here and hurt the kids?”

“No.”

“All right, then. If they do, we're coming back to finish the job.”

Reynaldo's eyes crinkled. “As would I. But do not worry. Now, come.”

Cody dropped to his knees and crawled outside with Renaldo right behind. Once in the open, he felt horribly vulnerable. No one but the buzzards circling high overhead saw them cross the pasture and disappear into the thick stand of cane.

Reynaldo moved swiftly through the ancient cottonwoods lining their side of the river. Leaves rustled high overhead. Puffs of cotton drifted on the breeze like summer snow as the clusters of green grape-like seeds burst open to reveal their fluffy interiors.

The bank sloped sharply toward the river, thick with willows leaning over the water's surface. Cautiously working their way along a footpath, they came to the river's edge. Two men squatted on the bank passing a bottle back and forth. They leaped up and held their hands high in fright when Cody and John pointed their weapons. “No!
Estamos aquí para ayudarle
.”

We're here to help you.

“It's all right.” Reynaldo patted the air. “They are my cousins. Lower your weapons.”

“What are they doing with them jugs?” John asked.

“They are for to help you swim.”

“I can swim.”

“They say American
negros
cannot swim.”

“I can swim!”

“Then they are for
su padre
who is hurt.”

“It's a good idea, John.” Cody eyed the cluster of plastic one-gallon jugs held together by rope. “Ned ain't gonna be much help.”

“I can swim,” Ned whispered and dropped down to sit in the Rio Grande mud.

“This'll help, Mr. Ned.” John took the jugs from one of the young men and tied them to Ned's chest. Blood soaked his shirt and pants. His skin was pale and waxy. “That hole in your belly might cause you to fill up and sink.” He grinned at his own weak joke. “Don't want that.”

Without hesitation, John hoisted Ned to his feet and half dragged him into the muddy river. He stopped when they were waist deep. The morning mist had burned off, and the opposite bank stood in sharp relief. “Won't people see us in that open water?”

“Probably.”

John and Ned splashed into the depths until the soft bottom fell away under their feet. They dog-paddled toward the north bank.

Cody tucked the revolver behind his belt in the small of his back, then stuck his hand out to Reynaldo. “Thanks.”

“
De nada
. Nothing but a few jugs, and your
padre
and his
negro
bought the
ninos
new shoes.”

“He's not my…John's not his…he did? Never mind. Thanks again.”

Behind Reynaldo, the barefoot children stood in the mud beside the trunk of a huge cottonwood, their new shoes tied by the laces and draped around their necks. He waved, and they gave him wide smiles.

Without a backward glance, Cody pushed off and swam to take Ned under his free arm, allowing the wounded man to gratefully lean backwards and float. John supported him from the other side. Together they paddled across the Rio Grande as the current pushed them downstream toward the bridge.

In seconds they were swept out of sight and the five people on the Mexican bank were hidden by the willows. A wedge of startled teal shot overhead, wind whistling over their wings like tiny jets on their way to strafe
Las Células
one last time.

None of the trio noticed the dusty red and white El Camino pacing them along a dirt road on the Texas side.