Hector’s chest heaved, trying to make up for all the breath that he had lost in his pell-mell run for safety. He was sitting in the back seat of a taxi he had managed to catch mere minutes after crossing into the American half of Santa Batempa. The vehicle was extremely small, making one feel cramped even when it was completely empty. The taxi was not, in fact, currently empty- Hector’s huge backpack and the scrawny gray Dog took up the backseat, and beside him, in the driver’s seat, was an unfortunate man who looked like he was a direct descendant of a rat. To be specific, he looked like he was a direct descendant of one of the rats who had brought the Black Death to Europe in the 1300s. All of the taxi’s occupants were sweating profusely, the effect of which was compounded by an AC malfunction with a vengeance.

The car was traveling at an ungodly speed through the streets of the border town. One reason for this was that the brakes on the vehicle were not exactly in perfect condition. Another reason was that they were being followed by a sleek black car that obviously didn’t belong in the rough streets of Santa Batempa.

Hector had no doubt as to who was driving. He had seen the heavyset man in black sunglasses behind the wheel and had recognized him immediately.
One of the twins. Hector had seen two nearly identical men searching for him back when he had been in the Sierra Madres. And now at least one of them was pursuing him in a breathtakingly fast car chase.

He urged the taxi driver to go faster. Up ahead the town ended suddenly, as if an invisible wall had prevented anyone from building past a certain line. The road they sped down became a highway and Santa Batempa gave way to a desert landscape only occasionally broken by scattered shrubs and stunted trees.

The sleek car was still behind them. In fact, it was gaining. Something poked out of the overhead window. Something long. Something black. Something… tube-shaped.

The puff of smoke and brief flash of light were the only visible sign that the gun had fired. Somewhere in the desert, a particularly unlucky bald eagle inexplicably and spontaneously winged its way to the afterlife, and a particularly lucky jackrabbit was both confused and thankful for this strange deliverance.

The bullet had, in short, completely missed.

However, very little of this passed through Hector’s mind. The gun belched its deadly payload yet again, and this time the bullet visibly left a mark on the pavement some thirty feet in front of the taxi. Another smashed through the back windshield, passed harmlessly through the taxi’s interior, and shattered the front windshield. At this point the taxi driver was very clearly regretting most of his life choices and decided that the wisest move was to pass out.

Hector grabbed the steering wheel, found the gas pedal with his foot, and attempted to control the vehicle from his position in the passenger’s seat. It was tricky, but if he didn’t get it right, he would only be in a worse dilemma than he already was. Come on, this has to work.

The shooting had stopped momentarily, as if the gun had jammed, but Hector wasn’t sure how long the pause would last. He realized offhandedly that the two vehicles were now well out into the desert, Santa Batempa was no longer visible in his rear-view mirror, and the sun was rapidly sinking into the horizon like a frog in quicksand. Or anything else in quicksand, for that matter.

Hector slammed the gas pedal so hard that the car shook. Something in the engine started to whine and the taxi swerved uncontrollably, almost pitching itself off of the highway. With a resounding CRRREEEEEEEEEEE THUNNNNNNKTSCHCH AIEIEIEICCHHEHCCHICH, it smashed into the traffic barrier on the edge of the road and halted.

Hector had no time to think. He leapt out of the car, opened the side door to grab his backpack, and clambered off of the road with Dog close behind. I need to get away. Somehow.

He set off at a sprint into the desert, but before he had gone 40 yards he heard the quiet thunk of car doors closing. A shot rang out and missed him by a yard. No, no, no, come on, I need to get away… The bullets continued in a staccato percussion, each bullet bringing death a few inches closer. No- not death. Just a whole lot of pain. If I’m hit, death will be the least of my concerns.

As if the universe had decided to prove Hector’s thoughts correct, a bullet pierced his backpack and lodged itself somewhere around his sternum. Hector gaped in a silent scream of agony and fell. There was, surprisingly, little blood- the bullet had not exited his body- yet the hit was clearly fatal.

Well, not fatal in this case, but pretty darn bad.

Dog immediately stopped running and dashed to Hector. After a few despairing sniffs and some whimpers, it gave one last sad look at the prone body and trotted off, tail between its legs.

Someone approached. Hector didn’t bother to turn his head. He knew who would be there- two men, nearly identical, in dark sunglasses. Two men who had been hired by a drug-lord to kill him and take a blue fern.

In his last moment of consciousness, Hector marveled at the fact that three weeks ago, he-

And then the final shot was fired.