Chapter 15 - The Streets Remember
We moved through the rain-drenched back alleys of Ciudad San Marcos like shadows, keeping to the drainage ditches and the narrow gaps between corrugated iron shacks. Twice, armored pickup trucks belonging to Hector Rojas’s cartel rumbled past on the main paved streets just yards away, their mounted spotlights sweeping the dark alleyways for any sign of fleeing Morales loyalists.
Each time a light swept toward us, I dragged Gabriel and Marcus down into the freezing mud behind rusted garbage dumpsters or rotting fish crates, holding my breath until the rumble of the diesel engines faded into the storm.
By nine o'clock at night, soaking wet and shivering violently, we reached the perimeter of the abandoned San Marcos Central Railway Yards—a sprawling, twenty-acre wasteland of rusting locomotives, rotting wooden boxcars, and overgrown weeds.
As we stepped over the rusted iron rails, three shadows materialized from the darkness between two freight cars.
There was a sharp metallic click of a switchblade opening, followed by the blinding beam of a heavy lantern shining directly into our faces.
"Hold it right there!" a raspy voice barked from the darkness. "You're trespassing on Iron Yard territory. Drop whatever you're carrying and get on your knees, or we cut your throats and leave you for the rats!"
Marcus instantly shifted his weight, his hand dropping toward the concealed pistol at his waistband, but I threw my arm out, blocking his chest.
"Don't shoot!" I yelled into the lantern light, stepping forward so the beam illuminated my face. "Chino! It’s me! It’s Julian!"
The lantern beam dropped from my eyes to my bare, mud-stained feet, then rose back to my face. The shadow holding the lantern stepped forward, revealing a sixteen-year-old boy with a heavily scarred face, wearing a patched leather jacket and holding a rusted machete. Behind him stood two younger teenagers armed with iron pipes.
"Julian?" Chino gasped, lowering his machete in shock. "Man, we thought you were dead! You disappeared four days ago from the docks! And who the hell are these two old guys you dragged into our yard? They smell like copper and gunpowder."
"They are with me," I said, stepping closer to Chino so the other boys could hear me clearly. "Chino, the southern cartel is hunting us. Hector Rojas’s men are burning the waterfront. We need a safe place to hide until morning, and we need to get a message to the federal judges in the capital."
Chino spat into the mud, his scarred face hardening as he looked past me at Gabriel Morales, whose towering frame and intimidating posture couldn't be entirely disguised by harbor mud.
"We don't get involved in cartel wars, kid," Chino warned, shaking his head. "Rojas’s men were through here two hours ago beating up scrap collectors, asking if anyone had seen an old man and a kid. If we hide you, and they find out, they’ll bring flamethrowers to the boxcars. We got little kids and old folks sleeping in those tunnels, Julian. I can't risk them."
"You can risk it for her," I said softly.
I reached under my mud-stained shirt, pulled out the tarnished silver locket that belonged to my grandmother, and held it up in the lantern light so Chino could see the engraving on the casing.
Chino froze. He stared at the silver locket, his breath hitching in his throat as his eyes went wide.
"Where did you get that?" Chino whispered, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the silver metal. "That belonged to Doña Elena... the lady from the bakery truck. She gave my little sister medicine when she had the lung fever five winters ago. She saved half the kids in this yard from starving before she passed away."
"She was my grandmother," I said proudly, my voice steady and clear in the rain. "And the men who are hunting us tonight are the same men who murdered her because she refused to let them destroy this city. Will you turn Doña Elena’s grandson out to the wolves, Chino?"
Chino looked at the locket, then looked me dead in the eye for several long seconds. Slowly, he closed his switchblade and shoved it into his pocket. He turned to the two teenagers armed with iron pipes behind him.
"Flaco, go alert the tunnel perimeter—tell them we have VIP guests under Iron Yard protection," Chino commanded, his voice ringing with absolute street authority. "Memo, run to the old telegraph office on 4th Street. Find old man Samuel and tell him we need his shortwave radio battery charged and ready to transmit a blind frequency to the capital immediately."
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Chino turned back to me, offering a fierce, brotherly grin as he clapped his hand onto my shoulder.
"Welcome home, Julian," Chino said, gesturing toward the dark, secure maze of the railway tunnels. "Let's go show Hector Rojas what happens when he messes with Doña Elena’s family."
