Storm of Lightning Read online

  McKenna looked at her. “Are you kidding?”

  “What? I just don’t want any more Chinese food. Especially swamp eel.”

  “There’s a restaurant across the street from the hotel,” Scott said. “But let’s check in first. Michael, open the glove box.”

  I reached down and opened it. Inside was a thick bundle of brightly colored bills. “Go ahead and take those. That’s a thousand pesos. In case any of you want to buy something.”

  “Whoa,” Jack said, leaning forward. “Mucho dinero.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Scott said. “It’s only worth about sixty U.S. dollars.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, we reached the Naco Hotel. Scott parked the van near the front doors, and we all went inside. The hotel clerk was an older Mexican man with salt-and-pepper hair and a gray mustache.

  “I need six rooms,” Scott said. “Do you have that many?”

  “Sí, señor. For how many nights?”

  “Just for tonight,” he said.

  The man looked at the screen of an aged computer. “That will be 7,286 pesos.” He brought out a calculator and typed in some numbers. “That’s four hundred and sixty American dollars. Will that be on a credit card?”

  “No, I’ll pay with cash,” Scott said, taking out his wallet. “You take dollars?”

  “Sí, señor.”

  Scott laid out five one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “I only have change in pesos,” the clerk said.

  “That’s all right,” Scott said. “We can always use pesos.”

  The man figured out the change on his calculator and gave it to Scott. Then he unhooked six brass keys from the wall behind him and set them on the counter.

  Scott turned back to us. “We’re going to sleep two in a room, so buddy up.”

  Ostin looked over at me, and I nodded.

  “Is the taqueria across the street still open?” Scott asked the man.

  “For all of you to eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sí. I will call the owner and he will open. He is my amigo.”

  Scott said to us, “Everyone grab a key and put your things in your rooms; then we’ll meet across the street at that restaurant.”

  As I took our key, Taylor touched my arm. “What floor are you guys on?”

  “Three.”

  “We’re on the main floor. We’ll wait for you.”

  The hotel had an elevator, but it was tiny, so Ostin and I just took the stairs. We were in room 327, a small, rectangular room with one window and two beds covered with sun-bleached chocolate-brown bedspreads.

  “I’ll take that one,” Ostin said, throwing his bag onto the bed closest to the door. “If you don’t care.”

  “I don’t. Let’s go eat.”

  We locked our door, then went downstairs, where Taylor and McKenna were waiting for us. The four of us crossed the wide street to Miguel’s Taqueria.

  The restaurant was old, but fairly clean. Three tables were already set with utensils, tortillas, hot salsa, and iced bottles of pineapple and strawberry Mexican soda pop. Everyone was eating flour tortillas and tortilla chips with guacamole and bean dip. Taylor, McKenna, Ostin, and I sat down at the table with Scott. There was a black lava rock bowl in the center of the table piled high with fresh guacamole. Scott pushed a woven basket of tortillas toward us.

  “These are fresh. They just cooked them for us.”

  “I love homemade tortillas,” Ostin said. He rolled up a tortilla, dipped it into the guacamole, then took a big bite. “That’s better Mexican than Idaho has.”

  “You think?” Zeus said sarcastically. “Maybe it’s because we’re in Mexico?”

  “Idaho has excellent Mexican food,” Ostin said. “We have lots of Mexicans living there.”

  “Everyone, look over your menus,” Scott said. “Lillia will be back in a minute to take our orders.”

  “Who?” Taylor asked.

  “The owner’s wife,” Abigail said.

  The menu was printed in both Spanish and English, though the English translations were pretty funny. There was pig-spit. (I assume they meant pig roasted on a spit.) Roasted rabbi. (Rabbit?) And Jack’s favorite, “The water served here was passed by the owner.” No comment.

  I was really hungry and ordered a combo plate with two shredded beef tacos, a chile relleno, and a side serving of rice and refried beans.

  Taylor ordered the same but with only one taco. Less than twenty minutes later Lillia brought out our meals. While we were eating, Scott said, “Naco’s really an interesting town.”

  “By ‘interesting’ do you mean ‘lame’ or ‘ghetto’?” Tessa said.

  Scott grinned. “Maybe not as interesting as it used to be, but it has history. Its nickname was, ‘Un pueblo chico, olvidado de Dios.’ ”

  “A small village forgotten by God,” Ostin translated.

  “That about sums it up,” Tessa said.

  “Naco is where the longest sustained battle of the Mexican Revolution took place. Any old building here still has bullet holes. The hotel we’re staying at used to advertise that it has thirty-inch-thick mud walls that are bulletproof.”

  “That’s how to advertise a resort,” Tessa said. “ ‘You probably won’t be killed until you go outside.’ ”

  “For entertainment, U.S. citizens used to line the border to watch the fighting. The Mexicans were careful not to shoot over the border, because they didn’t want America getting involved in the war.”

  “Now, there’s a wholesome family activity,” Tessa said. “Let’s go down to the border and watch them kill each other.”

  “Speaking of bullets,” I said, “let’s talk about tomorrow.”

  Scott groaned a little. “As I said, there’re not going to be any bullets or fighting. If we see any sign of the Elgen, we turn back.”

  “Yeah, I heard you,” I said.

  Taylor looked at me with a worried expression. She knew I wanted to fight.

  Scott continued. “I asked the hotel clerk if he’d seen any Americans wearing black or purple uniforms. He said he hadn’t, but he did tell me that there had been some explosions down south, then some smoke for several days. He thought that either the Mexican Army was conducting war games or there was a raid on a drug cartel. Of course he didn’t know anything about the ranch.”

  “Did you ask if he saw any other Americans?” I asked.

  “I asked if your mother or Ostin’s parents had stayed at the hotel. He didn’t remember them, and he couldn’t find their names on the guest register.”

  “If they came this way, I doubt they’d use their real names,” Taylor said.

  “No, they wouldn’t,” Scott said. “And to escape the Elgen, they might have gone west or even south.”

  The idea of my mother fleeing for her life made me start ticking. Taylor put her hand on my arm to calm me.

  “What time are we leaving in the morning?” McKenna asked.

  “The ranch is a two-hour drive from here, so I think we should leave around four. We’ll be coming in from the east on an old mining road that will give us some cover. With Ian’s help, we should be able to see them before they see us.”

  “If they’re still there,” Ostin said. “I’m betting they’re not.”

  “We can hope,” Scott said.

  We finished our dinners, with some churros and an order of flan for dessert. Scott spoke to us again before we left the restaurant.

  “Remember, we’re leaving at four, so get some rest and be in the lobby ready to go no later than five minutes to the hour.”

  “Do we need our luggage?” Abigail asked.

  “No. If all goes well, we’ll be back tomorrow night, then head back the next morning. So get some rest.”

  Everyone walked back to the hotel. Taylor and I were the last to leave the taqueria, and she took my hand as we walked outside. It was dark except for a nearly full moon that lit the sky.

  “You didn’t eat very much,” I
said.

  “My stomach hurts.”

  “Maybe you should see a doctor or something.”

  “It’s probably just stress.” She looked at me. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

  I didn’t say anything. It felt like my brain and heart were tied up together in knots. We walked slowly, taking in the cool night air. Neither of us spoke for a while. A brindled dog ran toward us, growling. I began sparking, but Taylor just reached out her hand, and he suddenly stopped, then wandered away.

  “It’s cool how you can do that to animals.”

  “They’re a little harder than humans,” she said. “I think it’s because they act more on instinct than thought. Thoughts are easier to control. At least for me.”

  I didn’t reply. These days I didn’t feel like I had any control over my own thoughts, let alone someone else’s. After a few minutes Taylor said, “What are you thinking?”

  “I was just thinking that it’s hard to believe that’s the same moon we were looking at in Taiwan just a few days ago.”

  “Same moon, different world.” She sighed. “Just imagine what she’s seen.”

  “The moon is the earth’s witness,” I said.

  She smiled sadly. “That’s poetic.”

  For a moment we were both silent. Then I said, “You were right. There is no going back.”

  “There never was,” she said. After a moment she leaned into me and we kissed. Suddenly I felt a current of electricity flowing through our mouths, and Taylor leaned back. “Wow. Your kisses are electric.”

  “That’s what all the girls say,” I said.

  She grinned. “You already told me that I’m the only girl you’ve ever kissed.”

  “It’s true.”

  “That’s still hard for me to believe,” she said.

  “I think my Tourette’s scared them.”

  “Or maybe you just thought it did.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  We kissed again. Then Taylor said, “Tomorrow starts early. We’d better get some sleep.”

  We turned and walked back to the hotel. When we entered the lobby, Ostin, McKenna, and Nichelle were sitting on vinyl couches near the front door playing cards.

  “You guys want in?” McKenna asked. “We’re playing hearts.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “We’re going to bed.”

  “You guys should too,” Taylor said. “Tomorrow could be crazy.”

  “We’ll just play one more hand,” McKenna said.

  Taylor asked, “Would you like me to stay with you for a while, or do you want to be alone?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone,” she said.

  We headed upstairs to my room. I unlocked the door, and we went in. I lay back on my bed, and Taylor lay down next to me. “I’m so worried about you,” she said again. “Can I hold you?”

  I nodded. “I’ll try not to shock you this time.”

  She put her arms around me. “Don’t be afraid. Remember what your mother always said, ‘Things have a way of working out.’ ”

  Hearing this made me angry. “My mother’s dead. So things didn’t really work out.”

  “You don’t know that, Michael,” she said quietly. “At least not yet.” Neither of us said anything for a while. Then Taylor said, “If it’s true about your mother, what will you do?”

  “If Hatch killed my mother, I’m going to hunt him down.”

  Taylor thought for a moment, then said, “Whatever you want.”

  “I didn’t mean you.”

  She raised herself up on one elbow. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m just saying you don’t need to come with me.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “None of this is what I want. I’d just rather not see you die because of me.”

  “Maybe I’d rather die than never see you again.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re asking why? After all we’ve been through, you still don’t know I love you?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just upset.”

  “I know. Let’s not talk, okay?”

  She pulled me into her again, and for the next ten minutes we just lay together in silence. Taylor had just fallen asleep when someone knocked. I carefully undraped her arms from around me, then got up and opened the door. It was Ostin.

  “Sorry, you have the key.” He stepped inside. “Taylor’s here.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Where’s McKenna?” Taylor asked sleepily.

  “She went back to your room. She was tired.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” Taylor asked.

  “No, you’re good,” Ostin said.

  I lay back on the bed, and this time I held her. In just a few minutes, Taylor fell asleep again. After a half hour or so, I looked over at Ostin. His eyes were wide open. “I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

  “Me neither. Let’s see if we can get something on TV.”

  “Taylor’s sleeping,” I said.

  “I’ll keep the volume low.”

  The television was ancient—the kind with an antenna on top. Not surprisingly, the picture came in fuzzy. Ostin adjusted the antennas, which made the picture a little better, but not by much. Then he flipped through about a dozen channels, most of which were in Spanish. He finally stopped on a show called Gilligan’s Island. It was an American show, but Spanish had been dubbed in over their voices. I had seen the show in English—I had watched it on reruns—but it was funnier in Spanish.

  After it, there were other old American shows, one called Hogan’s Heroes, the next called The Wild Wild West.

  By the time the third show came on, Ostin was asleep. I looked at my watch. It was half past twelve. We would be meeting downstairs in just three and a half hours.

  I carefully let Taylor go, then got up and turned off the television. It was strange that turning on the TV hadn’t woken Taylor, but turning it off did. As I was about to leave the room, Taylor said, “Michael?”

  I turned back. “Yeah.”

  “Is it time to get up?”

  “No. It’s only twelve thirty.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out for a walk. I can’t sleep.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. Get some sleep.”

  “Okay.” She rolled back over. I grabbed the room key, stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, and then walked downstairs to the lobby. There was now a young Mexican woman at the front desk. I nodded as I walked past.

  “Buenas noches,” she said.

  “Yeah, buenas noches,” I replied, which is about all I remembered from eighth-grade Spanish.

  I walked out into the warm night air. The small town was asleep, and the only sound was that of crickets and the occasional howl of a dog or coyote. I looked around, then walked out to the main road and back toward the U.S. border.

  Even though there were no streetlamps, the moon was bright enough to see where I was going. Normally I would have been worried that someone might notice my glow, but I didn’t care about that right now. The truth was, I didn’t care much about anything. My mind was too preoccupied by other emotions. In six hours I’d know the truth about my mother. I was already in so much pain that I couldn’t even imagine how the truth would affect me. What if I found her body? I didn’t know if I could live with that.

  I walked about three blocks from the hotel, turning at a road sign that read CALLE HILDAGO near some kind of weird monument in the center of the road—a stucco and concrete slab adorned with the plaster bust of a man wearing a bow tie. Several old pickup trucks were parked up against the curb, and as I walked around them, I saw a group of young Mexican men. A gang. They immediately started walking toward me.

  “Güero!” one of them shouted.

  I counted seven guys, all a little older than me. Three of them carried bottles of beer, and two of them were prob
ably drunk, as they were wobbling a little. Three of them wore white tank tops, and one wore a T-shirt that read:

  I got caught trying to cross

  the border, and all I got was

  this lousy T-shirt

  Three had no shirts at all, exposing myriad gang tattoos that covered their arms and backs. The one who seemed to be the leader, the tallest of the group, said, “¿Qué estás haciendo en nuestra ciudad?”

  The man next to him with a bottle said, “Está caminando en nuestra calle.”

  I looked back and forth between them. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  I didn’t know whether they understood me or not, but they all laughed. The tall man nodded. “No worry, gringo. I speak English. Bad news for you. We will take your money. And your watch.”

  “I’m not giving you anything,” I said. “Just leave me alone.” I turned away from them.

  “¿Qué dijo?”

  “Dijo déjame en paz.”

  As I was walking away from them, an empty beer bottle hit me on the side of my head. Fortunately, it wasn’t a direct hit, or it probably would have knocked me out. Instead, it caught me in the back of my jaw, cutting the skin beneath my ear. I spun around. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to fry them all to ashes. “Who threw that?” I shouted.

  They looked at one another, coolly, smiling. Then the shortest of them motioned to himself with both hands. “Lo hice yo, güero. Ven por mí.”

  I didn’t know what he said, but he wore a big, stupid grin. Then I noticed that he was blinking wildly, imitating my facial tics. I wanted to melt his face.

  “You have five seconds to run away,” I said. I thought about what Spanish I knew and said, “Cinco secondi vámonos!”

  They all burst out laughing. Then two of the guys pulled out switchblades. The one closest to me said, “Vamos a cortar ese güero.”

  “My friends do not like you, gringo,” the tall one said. “They want to cut you.” The gang fanned out, forming a near circle around me. “. . . And then we take your money.”

  The small guy with the knife was now behind me, walking toward me.

  “Times up,” I said. I spun around and pulsed, blasting the little dude so hard that his feet left the ground. He slammed into an adobe wall, and plaster fell around him as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

  “Bet that hurt,” I said. Then, as I turned back around, something bizarre happened to me—something that had never happened before. Electricity completely encompassed me in a brilliant, bluish-green light. It was almost as if I had become one of my lightning balls, and the sound of electricity sizzled like a hundred frying pans of bacon. I looked down at my arms and couldn’t see my flesh, only the brilliant glow of electricity. When I looked back up, the gang was just staring at me like I was a ghost. Actually, I was something much stranger.