ose's Bad Day continued.....

The man beside began softly sobbing before the tank was even sealed.

In minutes Jose was soaked in sweat. He was swallowed in unforgiving blackness. A few splinters of sunlight sparkled through the air holes but it felt like a tomb.

His tomb. His mothers tomb. His heart began to race and he slowly sobbed.

Stop. Do not hyperventilate. But it has to be over a hundred in here.

But what's taking them so long? We must move and we must move soon.

We are being toasted in our tombs. Slow cooked....

Outside voices were arguing. Then Loco's voice raspy and ugly snapping a command.

Don't panic, Jose repeated it over and over in his mind as the man beside tried to stifle a sob.

We can't even move our arms. The sealed packages were piled tight around them.

Jose twitched his toes. He controlled his breathing. He dreamed of Rita. He prayed for Rita, he prayed for himself. Beside him the man was grinding his finger nails on the tank crying.

Maybe hyperventilating. Maybe dying. Why aren't we moving?

It had only been minutes but it seemed like hours, days, lifetimes....his life danced behind his clenched eyes illuminating the blackness, fighting the darkness.

Dig yourself out of this tomb Jose thought rubbing St Christopher's face. Soon you will be home....

"Okay..."The sudden rap scared him. Loco's voice was flat and hard. "We go. We move fast. You must be silent to survive. Breath, breath, breath and do not panic. Do not cry out."

Steps a final burst of angry words and the truck roared to life. Jose heard a garage door lift and they were away, rolling, rocking in the mid day heat.

The roar of the engine drowned out the man beside Jose's heavy breathing.

Loco had the radio on. Mexican pop filtered through the blackness.

Jesus was Loco listening and singing along to Rickey Martin? Jose concentrated but Loco was singing and singing badly.

Sin querer me he vuelto a enamorar
? no será que siempre ocurre a mi edad?
Fué un amor relámpago
Que me hace combatir

Eres mi principio mi final
El infierno el cielo y todo lo demás
Por un beso tímido
Te dí mi corazón

Fuego contra fuego es amar
Fuego del que no puedo escapar
Donde nadie oye mi voz
Ahí te espero yo.

The man beside him groaned. Apparently not a Martin man either.

Jose counted black minutes in his mind. A quick trip the man said. Back roads then a fast trip over the border. Beware of the dogs but Loco said his man at the Border said today was the Dog mans day off.

That was good. Jose had a fear of dogs. Especially big dogs. Big snarling dogs like the black suited border guards had. Once, in what the guard called, an unfortunate biting incident a border dog had bitten Jose in the balls.

For a promise not to report the guard had driven Jose over the border as he grabbed his bleeding balls bawling while the hound howled in the back seat. Jose worried that dog might be on duty today.

Jose was soaked in sweat and his throat was parched when he heard the siren and heard Loco swear.

Ricky Martin went silent and Loco cursed some more as the siren closed. The truck rattle, Jose heard gravel, then he bucked badly upward.

Luckily upward was only six inches. Still he painfully crunched his broken nose and shattered shin. His fucking brother still mad because he banged his girlfriend...

And even the pain pills and booze couldn't quite kill the pain in his battered legs..if he could reach them he take another, and another. But he couldn't move his arms which were trapped at his side.

The truck bounced, bucked, and stopped. The siren got closer and stopped.

Loco's voice. A hello. Jose hoped he knew the officers...and he could bribe them.

A door slamming. More voices. Loco's voice from a distance. Angry voices from further away.

Was that Loco shouting Fuck you?

A loud crack. A gun shot. Jose jumped. Another. And another.

The man beside him whimpered. Jose whispered stop.

Laughter. Closer.

Men talking searching the truck. Seats being slit. Curses.

Be silent or die, Jose thought.

A kick to the trucks side. A curse. Voices cutting the blackness.

"Come back for it later."

"I'll send Alfredo. He'll strip it. When he gets back."

"I need a drink..."

"Me too....."

Should I scream Jose thought? No they will kill us like they did Loco. But to die in here? Sealed alive in my tomb.

Scream, no someone will come. Someone else will stop then we scream. Then we are saved. Someone will come the border is close.

More voices. Doors slamming. Laughter. Someone taking a piss. A car leaving.

Silence. Heat. Darkness.

Eternity.

Jose spoke softly. "Someone will come. They would have killed us. Maybe burned us alive."

The man said yes someone will come. And began praying.

Jose thought it was three or four hours later when the man convulsed, fouled himself, foamed and died.

The heat and the stench were unbearable.

It had to be daytime. Jose could hear birds. Crows cackling he thought.

He always hated Crows. His Mother, in her tomb, always said Crows spread lies.

Jose just hoped they weren't vultures.

Sometime he passed out and dreamed of Rita. He awoke in utter darkness thinking he was in Kentucky. Brushing the horses, shoveling shit wasn't all that bad. No.

The dead man smelled terrible. Worse then Kentucky horse shit. Or maybe it was Jose himself he thought because sometime he had soiled himself.

Jose twisted, turned, thrashed screamed shouted, tried to kick, dig, roll himself free.

He bit his tongue badly. He banged his head. He bled. He passed out. He awoke and screamed and passed out again.

He awoke in an oven cooking tried to scream and could not.

The man beside him had a grinning Crow's head and was cackling. Rita was reaching for him and her hand turned into a talon.

The water bottle was right there, against his face. So close.

Tantalizing. Touching his cheek. It turned into Villa laughing then it turned into a vulture spinning, sinking. Rita...with a pitcher of icy water.

His mother turned to him in her tomb and cried. Day turned to night and to day. He dreamed of a lake.

Crows cackling. Crows mocking. Tired. Trapped. Trapped in a tomb. Trapped in his tomb. A scream was it his? Or was the dead man screaming? Or was it Rita?

Cooking. Sweating. Alone. Rita.

The dead man was Rita alive. No dead. Noooo

Trapped. Tomb tired. I tried. I tried.

No one will ever know. Oh Rita...I tried...

Night.

Day.

When Alfredo arrived late and hungover after a three day whiskey binge first he noticed the crows and vultures circling the truck.

Some were a little further away in the desert, dancing like demons and ravaging Loco.

Eating Loco's eyes and spreading lies.

That truck really stinks, Alfredo thought, pulling a red bandanna over his face. What the fuck was in it? And why would those cops want a truck that stank like that?

Alfredo always got the shit jobs. And they paid him shit still he needed the dough. Times were fucking tough and he had six kids.

So he grabbed his shovel, cursed at the carrion birds, and walked towards Loco thinking not so fucking tough now eh Senor Loco? Tough luck for mister tough guy... how ya like that lizard eating your fucking nose?

But what the fuck was up with that funky smell in the truck? No one was in it....

Hey Crow, Alfredo shouted, what's up with the fucking truck?

The hopping Crow look at Alfredo then laughed and flew far away to find easier prey.