Muerte Con Carne by Shane McKenzie Page A

from the crumbling door. It looked more like some kind of barn than a house, and she could have sworn she heard a low growl rattling out from inside.
    As she backed away from the structure, she remembered her cross pendant. The camera.
    She pressed the button at its base, made sure to get some footage of the rotting barn before turning away from it and continuing to follow the fence along the border.
    “Day one,” she said. “I just made it to the border and I’m hoping-”
    A shuffling sound scraped across the dirt just ahead of her. Marta squinted into the darkness and squeezed the cross as her mind raced. Don’t be scared, Marta , she told herself. This is why you came out here in the first place. Go! It sounded like it was getting closer and closer, and she jogged toward it.
    “Hello?” she said. “ ¿ Hola?”
    The shuffling stopped. Something shiny stood just in front of her, and it took Marta a few moments to realize it was a pair of eyes glaring at her. Another set stood just beside the first pair, slightly shorter.
    Marta’s heart skipped a beat. She made sure the crucifix was pointed straight as she took tentative steps forward.
    “ ¿ Hola?” she said again. As she grew nearer, she saw that it was a man and a woman, and it wasn’t until she stood right beside them that she noticed the child draped over the man’s back. A little boy, maybe six or seven, unconscious, his lips chapped and white.
    “ ¿ Agua?” the man said. “P-por…por favor.”
    Marta opened her bag, pulled out the two remaining bottles and handed them to the man and woman. Their hands shook as they reached for the bottles, their dry tongues hanging from their flaky and moistureless lips.
    “G-gracias…gracias…” the woman muttered as she struggled to twist the cap from the bottle.
    “No problema, no problema,” Marta said. “ ¿ El niño está bien?”
    Just as Marta said it, the woman ran some of the water over the boy’s face. His eyes cracked open and he moaned, and his mother poured water into his mouth. The boy drank, his tongue lapping it up as fast as it could. He choked but never stopped drinking.
    The man took a long drink, then put it to the woman’s lips and held it for her as she drank.
    “Where did you come from?” Marta said in Spanish.
    They didn’t answer, just continued drinking, panting. The woman began to whimper as the boy struggled to lift his head from the man’s back.
    “How long have you been walking out here?”
    “Days,” the man said. “Long…hot days…”
    Marta fumbled with her bag again, pulled out her Powerbars. “Are you hungry? This isn’t much, but it will help. Go ahead.”
    The man took the bar, eyed it suspiciously. “Who are you?”
    “I only want to help you. Please eat.”
    The man and woman shared a long glance with each other, started to back away from Marta. When Marta tried to follow, they hurried their pace.
    “Wait. Please, I only want to help.”
    The boy started to cry, his voice hoarse and dry.
    The small family started to run from Marta, but they still couldn’t move very fast. Marta followed, but kept her distance, didn’t want to scare them any more than they already were.
    And then there were headlights.
    The family froze up, spoke in hushed panicked tones to each other. They both shot an accusatory glance at Marta behind them as if she was the cause for this.
    This is it, Marta. This is what you wanted.
    But something wasn’t right. If this was Border Patrol there would surely be more than one vehicle, and the officers would be shouting orders, running toward them by now.
    The vehicle just sat there, the headlights bright and engulfing them all. The driver’s door popped open, and Marta shielded her eyes to try and get a look. She could see a figure, but just barely over the glow of the lights.
    There was a sound, a clicking and a sort of whoosh.
    The Mexican man yelped, wobbled on his feet for a minute before crashing to the dirt. The boy bawled,