..........Sands..........
His fevered dreams caused him to
wake and pass out randomly. Sometimes he didn't know if he was dreaming
or conscious, and sometimes he didn't care. He couldn't see; every time
he awoke he realized it with more and more panic. Sometimes there was
someone beside him, but instead of going for his gun he lay quiet and
just breathed.
Once there was a cool cloth on his forehead, and
once there was a hand resting on his shoulder. He was sure that someone
was asleep on his covers too, and then he awoke with a gun pressed to
his head.
It was trembling violently and he had gasped out a plea
in his sickened state. Then lapsed back into darkness darker than the
type he saw all day.
When he started sleeping longer and waking for longer too he was given water. But whenever he tried to ask who was helping him, the words wouldn't form and he forgot as he rested. Whoever it was never spoke, but they had gentle, uncertain hands.
And when he was finally well enough to sit; he was alone.
He woke up suddenly. And everything was clearer. He could hear and feel and, after drinking more, he could speak. He sat there, waiting for his pounding head to stop spinning and then he had called out. Something about the way his voice echoed told him the house, or wherever the hell he was, was empty. He was alone. He had stumbled out of bed and towards one of the walls. After feeling down the hall and around the place, he finally found the bathroom and relieved three days worth of water. Then he stumbled around some more until he found the couch. He had rested for only a minute then slept again. His mind rebelled at the thought of having no gun but he ignored it and was seduced by sleeps irresistible call. He woke up when the door clicked open quietly. His hand dove for a gun, but found only a cushion.
Instead he froze, his arm still draped over his face. Hoping that whoever it was would think him asleep and come close enough for him to snap their neck. But it was a bustle of skirts and plastic bags that he heard instead of the harsh click of a gun. The person crept in, then turned into the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. He remained still. The woman approached him. He could smell her cheap perfume. "Signor?" she questioned softly. Sands did not reply.
"Signor?" she tried again. Then sighed and moved away. The kettle boiled and she made coffee he could smell it everywhere. She brought it over to him, placed it on the table beside the couch and moved closer to him. "Signor?" she whispered too close to his ear. "Wake up signor I have made you coffee and you must walk to healâ€, Sands considered smashing her nose in but decided instead to wake up good naturedly and slowly. Make her think he was a nice guy. At least until he had a gun.
He groaned and yawned and sat up. He had a cloth over his eyes, but she did not seem perturbed by this.
"Hello" he said in what he hoped was a warm voice. "Do I smell coffee?" he detested coffee. He thought it was vile.
"Si signor" she replied sweetly. "I made you coffee. I am Lana, your housemaid and carer until you are better".
"Really Lana" He said flatly.
"Si signor. I was paid to look after you and make sure you are well. Would you like something to eat?" she asked. Changing topic from her employment. Sands wanted to know about her employer. But he didn't question the matter.
"I make you a sandwich?" she called chirpily from the kitchen.
"That'd be great" Sands lied. "You know Lana I think I will go get changed, I will be right back" he said and made his way back to his room.
Once the door was closed, he dressed in his old clothes. He had found them on the chair beside his bed; his guns were hanging off the backing. He put on everything but his boots and holsters. Then he put a gun in the waistband of his jeans and strolled back to the lounge room. His side ached and his foot clenched in knots but he forced a smile and seated himself on the couch again.
Lana came in and put a tray down in front of him.
"Thanks Lana" he smiled.
The lady beamed back at him, he could tell by the way she said "it was my pleasure signor".
"Say Lana, could you tell me what town this is?" Sands said, getting right to the point.
"This is Puerto Miyo Signor".
Sands mind jumped to the detailed map of Mexico and all of its cities and dusty little towns that was imprinted in his mind. Puerto Miyo was only one hundred kilometers out of Culiacan. It was closer to Chihuahua... he forced a smile for Lanas' sake and mapped out an escape route.