Chapter 7: Dedicated to all human beings

The child woke him up again that night. Early morning. He wasn't sure. His head was pounding because they'd overdone it a bit with Paz, who could still drink him – and anyone else – under the table. The kid had stayed up to watch the fireworks with them from the deck over the bay, and he had hoped it meant he would sleep the night. Mando had been worried the noise would frighten him, but Paz had insisted – he had to see it, it was tradition. And the little one had seemed to enjoy the colorful show, although he'd burrowed close to his chest after the loudest explosions.

Burrowing against his chest didn't seem to be working, now. And Mando grumbled.

"¿Qué pasa, chico?" he asked him, after a few minutes of holding him didn't seem to do the trick. He'd reverted back to Spanish to try and calm him, but what had worked the previous night didn't seem to hold true anymore.

Mando stood from the bed, shushing him quietly, and walked to the kitchen on rubbery legs – mixing alcohol with punches to the face was never a good idea, he hurt everywhere. He was afraid the sobs would wake Paz, but if the snores coming from the other side of the house were any indication, he probably shouldn't worry. Offers of milk, water, or food, didn't work either, which made sense – the kid had devoured anything Paz grilled for them, probably eating his own weight in beef, grilled peppers and baked potatoes. Mando was surprised it hadn't made him sick. He wondered if that was the case, and tried rubbing his tummy instead of his back. But there were no changes, warm tears were still running against his neck, and the little one was tiring himself out.

Thinking fresh air might help, he opened the sliding door quietly and went outside. Dawn was probably still a few hours away, and the night sky was impossibly dark. Mando sat on a deck chair, and placed the kid's back against his chest.

"Look, look at the stars, tesoro," he whispered over his whimpers. "Look how bright they are."

Mando could never hope for such clear skies over L.A. But here, San Francisco lying far away down south and facing the ocean directly, they could almost pretend the galaxy was theirs for the taking. It was just the two of them and the stars. The crashing waves below only reinforcing the feeling of vastness and freedom.

His headache set aside for now, Mando quickly got his bearings and started listing constellations and stars in the west sky to the boy. He was a pilot again, rising above the clouds and setting his course. Flying at night had been part terrifying, part exhilarating the first few times. Then it became his favorite place on Earth. No matter which country he was taking off from, the stars would still be there to greet him. No matter how loud it could get in the cockpit over the sound of the engines and the instruments, everything seemed quieter at night. It was like showing reverence to ancient gods.

Reminiscing with Paz today had been painful, but in the silence of the night with the warming, slowly calming shape of the child against his chest, Mando let himself forget for a while.

He came to again to the sound of seagulls and a shiver. The sun had just risen, and Paz was standing over them.

"There you are, I couldn't find you," he said much too brightly for someone who'd insisted on a third round of whisky.

Mando opened his eyes sluggishly, the child mewling in complaint at the sound and movement.

"Are you sure you're not related?" asked Paz, an eyebrow raised in wonder.

"What?" grumbled Mando, completely lost.

"The two of you look exactly the same waking up."

Too sleepy for a witty remark on the merits of being a morning person, Mando groaned in reply.

"Go back inside and get some more sleep, I'm gonna move your car while it's still quiet. No point leaving it here for it to be discovered. I know where to park it so that it won't be found."

"Child seat. Get the child seat, I need it," he mumbled, standing up slowly and moving back to the guest room. He hoped the thing would prove as much a nightmare for Paz to remove as it had been for him. Petty, but deserved.

The third time he woke up was better. The kid was quietly babbling away around his pacifier from his small nest on the futon next to the bed, and he perked up immediately when he saw Mando slowly stand up. He still hurt just about everywhere, but his headache was gone.

He greeted the boy over his happy chorus of the name Paz had thought fit to teach him, and changed him before going to the kitchen. The coffee was still warm, so he got himself a cup while preparing a bottle for the kid. Armed with both, he went to the deck in search of Paz, who was pouring over some maps on the table.

"I'm never having kids," announced Paz, not looking up.

Mando failed to understand until he saw the child seat on the floor next to him. Intact, but just.

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently, but Paz wasn't having it, and grumbled something under his breath that sounded unsuitable with a child present.

Said child needed next to no help to drink his milk, but Mando still held the bottle for him and let him curl his small hand around his thumb. It was a peaceful distraction to delay the inevitable of having to figure out what to do.

Last night, Mando had related how he'd come across the kid and the machinations of the two gangs after him – what he understood, at least, which wasn't saying much. It was an easier and shorter tale than the one he'd recounted earlier, and the beer had helped loosening his tongue. It had also felt good to bounce off ideas with someone else, even if the someone else in question tended to suggest impossible solutions, such as involving the police or the FBI. Mando was adamant that they couldn't be trusted, and to prove his point, he found the picture of the Lieutenant he had seen with Moff in the tire shop, all of three days ago, on the LAPD website. He agreed that not everybody was crooked, but they needed some time to figure out who they could turn to. Buying some time meant staying mobile, this they both agreed on, and as secluded as Bolinas felt at the moment, he knew he had to leave sooner rather than later.

"What have you come up with?" he asked, the child done with his bottle and back to exploring the deck.

Paz had marked a road for him heading north. His maps were infinitely more precise than anything he could hope to buy and he refrained from asking where he got them.

"How big is your gang outside of California?" he replied.

"Depends which direction you're going. Nevada is a big no if we want to stay hidden, Oregon a bit safer."

"And I'm guessing Washington even safer than that?"

"Sure, but that means crossing two State lines, that's too dangerous."

"You got a better idea?" Paz inquired.

Mando didn't. They'd come to a tentative conclusion last night that their best bet was still for him to head north, and to reach Paz's sister, who lived near the Canadian border. The thousand miles journey would hopefully grant them enough time to figure out who to reach out to while remaining safe. Paz had said he'd take care of that task, and Mando knew he had better contacts than him, especially in the government. Part of him was weary of letting someone else make that kind of decisions for him, but this was Paz. He had trusted him with his life before, and never regretted it. Knowing that he was involved meant that he could breathe a little easier, something that he hadn't allowed himself to do for longer than he cared to admit.

"Are you sure your sister is going to agree to this?" Mando asked, looking at the long journey waiting for him on the map with little trepidation.

"She likes you."

"She saw me once. After you spent an hour basically warning me not to look her in the eye."

"Well, she liked you."

"You told me she just got married," Mando pointed out.

"Yes, to a Canadian." Paz made it sound like an insult.

Mando sighed, marveling at Paz's relation with his sibling. His sister was even scarier than him – in a good way, she was beautiful and fierce, but still. The woman owned her own forge and could shape metal at will. Something she did for fun, when she wasn't busy working for the army, managing supplies and equipment. He hadn't needed Paz's warning when he met her – she clearly knew her own mind and didn't require outside intervention or input regarding whom she liked or didn't like.

"Can you watch over the kid while I take a shower?" he queried, changing the subject.

"You haven't eaten," Paz noted.

"I had coffee."

"That's not eating, I made scrambled eggs, there's still some left, I'm sure the boy would like some as well."

Mando stayed silent. He wasn't hungry – he rarely was. He had eaten plenty the previous evening, and the prospect of the journey awaiting them didn't help.

"You need to take better care of yourself, kid. Do it here while you still can."

"Shower first, then eating," he conceded, not wanting to appear ungrateful.

The hot spray helped his sore muscles, and he told himself that he should stretch and exercise a bit before leaving Bolinas and being cooped up in a car for countless hours. Who knew what would be waiting for them? He wasn't getting any younger and he hadn't so much as done a push-up in three days. He was about to ask Paz when rejoining him on the deck if he thought the beach was safe enough for him to go for a run without being recognized, when he heard an almighty screech from the child.

Fearing the worst at first, he discovered Paz holding the child by his sides far above his head and making…airplane noises? He couldn't leave them alone for ten minutes?

"Paz, that's too high!" he complained, already picturing the kid falling and smashing his head on the hard wooden deck.

"He loves it!" he objected and yes, the squealing coming from the boy were definitely happy sounds.

"Paz! Paz!" the kid chanted when he eventually put him down.

Visibly chuffed to bits that the boy said his name, he carried him to the kitchen for a promised real breakfast. Mando rolled his eyes but followed.

The rest of the day was spent quietly. Mando went for his run at Paz's insistence that no one would bother him or take any notice, and the kid alternated between following his new best friend around and playing with old toys he had found for him in the garage. Late afternoon, when they had finally settled on the best route for him to complete – hopefully – his journey north, and Paz had persuaded him to wait until the next day before leaving, he suggested the boy deserved a trip to the beach. Mando was reluctant, given that his face was still easily available to anyone who would bother turning their TV on in California, but Paz eventually convinced him of the benefits of leaving in such a secluded community.

"Even if they recognize you, they won't say anything to the police – they don't trust them any more than you do," he explained, as they were making their way down to a remote spot he knew on the bay.

"Do they know what you do for a living?" Mando countered, the child safely against his left side.

"Sure," Paz confirmed, "and they don't give a shit."

"On that subject, do you know where I could get a car? I can't keep driving the one I came with, you were right to hide it."

"By getting you mean stealing right?"

Mando shrugged. He'd been honest with him about that until then, and didn't see why he should start lying now.

"You can take my car," he announced.

"Paz…" he tried to cut in, unsuccessfully.

"I don't need it, I can easily get a ride to SFO at the end of my break when I'll have to report back."

"I can't accept that," Mando objected.

"It's better than you stealing another car, and I can write you a note and let my insurance know or something. Police officers would believe I willingly gave it to you if you're pulled over."

"That'll be the least of my worries if I do get pulled over..."

"The car's almost new, it's fuel-efficient so you won't have to stop for gas often, and I'd feel better if you had it, okay?" Paz concluded, stopping in his tracks. Mando could tell he was getting slightly cross, and since he knew better than making him full-on angry, he nodded, and sat the kid on the sand.

Their argument was quickly forgotten and they allowed themselves a break from serious considerations. For the kid's sake, at least, Mando reasoned. It seemed that he had never been to the beach before, and once he accepted that no, sand was not for eating and yes, he could go a few steps in the water but only if someone was holding his hand, it seemed to make a big impression on him. Inglewood, if that was indeed the neighborhood he was from in Los Angeles, was quite close to the ocean, which made Mando sad: surely taking one's child to the beach shouldn't be a luxury, but maybe it had been for his parents. He felt uncomfortable stealing that experience from them – seeing the marvel and excitement shining in his eyes. Making sandcastles with the bucket and spade Paz had also found in the garage, and which dated back to his own childhood. Running after seagulls and jumping over the surf - Mando trying not to freak out when Paz encouraged him to go for bigger waves.

Carrying him back to the house after a couple of hours of reveling, all snuggled up in a beach towel wrapped around him tightly, Mando reckoned that whatever happened next, they'd always have this, the kid and him. He didn't care that the toddler wouldn't be able to remember it, he would hold the memory for him. Surely it still meant something.

They left the following evening.

Anxious, but rested at least, Mando intended to cover as many miles as possible during the night, with the kid sleeping in the back. Paz wouldn't let him leave without a few extra gifts, including a satellite phone (Mando didn't ask where it came from), more cash than he felt comfortable accepting (but eventually did when he saw the determined look in his eyes), a military-grade first aid kit ("let's be honest, with that face of yours, you're gonna need it"), as well as several more items ("gadgets", Paz had said) placed in a bag he would check out later.

Mando also left something with his mentor: a URL to a private server and some login information he'd written on a piece of paper from memory.

"I can't tell you what it is, but you'll have to figure out who to send it to if you ever need to access it. In case I don't make it, it might still protect the child."

He could tell Paz didn't like to entertain this train of thoughts – hell, he didn't either – but he still accepted the scribbled note.

"It's my insurance policy – I meant only to use it as a deterrent, but perhaps if…" he paused, realizing startlingly that it wouldn't be the end of the world if he didn't reach the end of his journey, so to speak. The boy on the other end…that wasn't something he wanted to envision.

"I got this, kid," promised Paz, who didn't let him finish his sentence. "Aim high… Fly-fight-win."

Fly, fight, win. They'd used to joke about this – the recently introduced addition to the Air Force motto, which sounded both too grand and too silly at the same time. Paz and him had never been big on mottos and preferred acts rather than words. But that particular evening, it resonated with his current situation a lot more than he expected, and he took it to heart.

Driving at night wasn't as pleasant as flying, but a few hours in, once the sky got pitch dark, and the kid had definitely succumbed to deep sleep, Mando started to relax. He did have a long road ahead of him, but Paz's car was comfortable. And although he was on his own in the vehicle, notwithstanding the boy, he was no longer alone – his friend was helping. Mando knew he had already started making discreet calls today, but hadn't wanted to inquire about them before leaving: he needed to focus on the road, and the road only. His mission was arriving in one piece with the child at Paz's sister's.

There were a lot more things he wished he'd had the time to say to his former superior. He'd never been very good at articulating his feelings, but surely words existed to express his gratitude. For having listened to him. For having heard him, and still chosen to help. No matter what happened next – and he could start thinking that there might actually be a way out now, one where he didn't end up either killed or in jail for the rest of his life – he'd never regret having confided in him. His story was no longer just his.

Lulled into a false sense of security, it took him a while the next morning to spot his tail. He had stopped once, just after having crossed the border into Oregon around 3AM, for refueling and a power 20 minute nap, and wondered if the van had started following him from there. He had two choices now – either he acknowledged the tail, and did his best to lose it quickly via alternative roads and possible reckless driving, or he pretended not to have noticed it, and studied its behavior.

He chose the latter, and after about half an hour, he was pretty sure he knew who was in the van. Two silhouettes in the front, two in the back. It had been a while, but he was quite certain the front passenger was Qin, which meant his sister Xi'an was in the back. The other two, he didn't know: a bald guy was driving, and a huge hulk sat behind him. This was still Norteños territory, then. They were affiliated to Nuestra Familia, and he'd "collaborated" with them in the past, but it seemed that they didn't hold him any allegiance. This was a further blow, as part of him had hoped Greef was the exception in his siding with La Eme. Norteños's boss, Ran, had almost been a friend, once. A long time ago.

They were not far from the exit for Crater Lake National Park, which meant that despite the early hour – it was a little after seven, and the boy had just woken up – the roads could still get jammed with tourists and people on holiday anytime soon. He needed to make up his mind, and quickly.

"This is probably a bad idea, but let's try it anyway, kid," he said out loud. The toddler babbled something back, and Mando pretended he was agreeing with him.

He then picked up the satellite phone from the glove compartment, and dialed a number he had easily memorized – it appeared in red, just under a picture of his face on countless news networks, after all. The license plate of the van following them was also easy to recall, and he happily provided it to the person on the other end of the line. And yes, the road he had seen the van on, and the next exit road.

"It was just before the Crater Lake National Park sign, ma'am, I remember it well."

Now he just had to wait. And hope that he hadn't made a big mistake.

Tensed, his hands gripping the wheel tightly and his eyes lingering more in the mirrors than on the road ahead of him, he didn't have to wait long. Once he was sure that the two patrol cars were indeed focusing on the van and forcing it to stop on the side of the road, he discreetly took the next exit, and started breathing a little easier. That had been a gamble, and he had actually learned something – the police was still interested in finding him, even outside California. Which meant the feds were now involved, as he had feared. The fact that they had arrived so quickly worried him – but there was no way he would have been able to take on four people on his own. If the kid hadn't been with him, maybe. Still, even for him that would have been a bit reckless. The police was bound to find interesting stuff in their van, he was sure. They hadn't come without any weapons.

He drove on for another hour, staying on the smaller road for the time being, then allowed himself a break at a deserted rest area. The kid needed changing, breakfast, and to stretch his legs for a bit. Paz had happily provided him with his favorite food, bagels and bananas, and the boy was his usual unfussy self, and ate what he gave him.

"We'll make a proper stop somewhere once we cross the state line," he promised him as he was putting him back in his seat over soft complaints. The border was four hours away and although the coffee was still somewhat lukewarm in his thermos, he'd been driving almost nonstop for eleven hours.

It felt good speaking to the kid, who couldn't offer much in term of replies except for the few words he knew, but just hearing Mando's voice also seemed to settle him on the journey. He was too wired to feel the pull of sleep himself, and the next few hours passed quicker than he had expected. The barren scenery had turned into forests and small lakes, and they seemed to captivate the child as much as the baby carrots he got him to munch on around lunch time.

They crossed the Columbia River and entered Washington State around 2PM, and Mando took his time choosing a gas station that would also allow them to eat something more substantial. He steered clear of major chains or busy intersections, and got his wish near a small place called Castle Rock. He saw logging and dairy trucks parked beside the ancient looking café which doubled as a gas station, and thought it'd be a safe choice.

He was wrong, but he didn't know it then.

The café was busier than he had expected at this time of day, but the lady looked pleasant enough and unconcerned at seeing him with the kid after he refueled the car. She got them a booth overlooking the parking lot – fine by Mando – and suggested cherry pie to go with his coffee for dessert, also fine by him. He ordered burgers for the both of them, knowing that the kid would at least eat the fries, and went in search of somewhere he could change him in the restroom while they waited for their food.

"Shit," he couldn't help uttering out loud, seeing that the changing table was in the ladies'. A woman seemed to guess his dilemma as she exited the room, and offered to guard the door for him while he took care of his kid, since there was no one else inside.

"It's not often you see this, be my guest sir," she told him with a smile. Mando was too stunned to do anything but go in and do as she'd suggested.

He was still slightly dazzled when he rejoined their booth, and thus didn't notice the man looking at them from two tables over. Not having the road to focus on also meant that he was starting to feel how much gravity wanted to pull him down. His body was letting him know that he should just close his eyes and rest.

Rest quickly became the last thing on his mind when their food was brought over. Not because he was hungry – the kid on the other hand had started attacking his fries the minute his plate was placed in front of him – but because he had finally seen the man following the waitress's movements. He looked young, barely old enough to order a beer, and yet there was no mistaking that stare. Mando had no idea if he was Nuestra Familia, Norteños or La Eme, but there was no point ignoring the small movement of his head towards the restroom.

Maybe he just wanted to talk. Right.

Mando asked the waitress to keep an eye on the kid for a few minutes, and followed the mysterious man after making sure no one else would be joining them.

He locked the door behind him, knowing it wouldn't fool anybody for long, and kept his back against it, feeling the reassuring shape of his gun against his skin.

The young man cased the place, which told Mando he hadn't been doing this for very long – there was no way anyone could be hiding in the two small stalls, and a quick circuit of the room when he entered should have told him that.

"What do you want?" he pressed, hoping he would quickly have an angle on the situation.

"The name's Calican, Toro Calican," the man said, still fidgety.

Great, did the kid think he was James Bond or something?

"And?" he settled on replying.

"I'm with NF," he added confidently.

Instead of repeating the same question again, Mando simply raised his eyebrows.

"Greef is looking for you." No shit, he thought, but stayed silent. The kid was a talker, maybe he could glean some new info.

"I'm the only one who figured out you would be going north," he announced.

"Not really," Mando couldn't help but reply this time, "but at least you're speaking to me, so go ahead. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What it is Greef has promised you for my return."

"Greef just wants the kid," he must have seen him tense at that, with the uncomfortable realization that he had left the child on his own behind the closed door. "But even if we're not supposed to hurt you in the process, I'm sure giving him the both of you would help my case."

This should have somehow pleased him that Greef still wasn't after him personally, but it didn't. It just made him angrier.

"Oh, so you're supposed to bring us in, is that it?" he couldn't help but chuckle humorlessly. That was his usual job, and it never went the way he expected.

Laughing at him had apparently been a bad idea – big surprise, young gang members were entitled little shits – and he squared his shoulders and took out a gun from inside his jacket faster than he had anticipated. Ok, the kid was an idiot, but he was quick, he had to hand him that.

"Look, I don't think you understood me: I am both taking you back to L.A. Whether that's dead in the trunk or alive in the backseat is your choice."

The gun aimed at his chest wasn't wavering. And there was not much reserve in his eyes, if any. Mando took in a calming breath, trying not to picture the toddler eating his fries with pleased gusto on the other side of the door.

He slowly walked towards him, his gaze never leaving his, and only stopped when he could feel the cold muzzle of the gun against his sternum, dead center.

"You're going to shoot me here, with all these people a few feet from us? When someone could come in any minute? How is that gonna look?" he asked him quietly.

"How far do you think you'll be able to go, with a kidnapped child under your arm?" he continued, waiting for the right moment.

"Any of those truckers out there will be able to stop you, and then who'll be bringing in the prize to Greef?"

That was it, at the mention of the boss's name, the still impressionable gang member had a split moment of hesitation and lowered his gun just enough for Mando to safely sidestep him, encircle his right arm with his left, and swing his elbow hard against his wrist, successfully making him drop the piece. He used the same momentum to push him to the ground, employing the pounds and muscles he had over him to his advantage, and pressed his forearm against his throat, his other arm trying to control his wandering hands.

Mando knew he had a few minutes at best. Someone was bound to come in, find the door locked, and inquire about it to the staff. He also hadn't been playing a trick on the kid when he had warned him not to make too much noise – the place was tiny, and the other patrons right on the other side of a thin wall. So he pressed against his throat with all his might, his knees digging for purchase against the other man's flailing chest, hoping to get this over with quickly. His right arm was starting to shake with the effort and he felt cold sweat breaking against his neck. Seeing that the kid's head was valiantly trying to come up for air, Mando stopped trying to prevent his hands from hitting him, and instead used his left hand to grab his hair and push him back against the tiled floor.

That was his mistake.

His opponent stopped trying to move his head and his breath was thankfully starting to come in shorter and shorter puffs, but with his freed hands he grabbed something in his pocket which Mando didn't see and aimed it at his back.

Mando didn't see what it was but he felt it. The cold blade went in quickly, and only stopped when it hit bone. If he had wanted to scream, he wouldn't have been able to. The sensation took his breath away and chilled him to the core. He'd been stabbed several times, and each time he was struck with the sheer violence of the assault on his body. He'd rather take a bullet any day. Instead of a burning sensation, he felt like his very soul had taken residence in his lower back and was howling in agony.

Tears blurring his eyes, Mando didn't stop. He couldn't.

The tip of the blade scratching against his rib cage deep inside him, and his body hesitating between passing out or throwing up, he kept on pressing with all his shaking strength. He might have stopped breathing himself, he didn't care. As long as the man below him stopped breathing for good, he would be fine. He was using both his hands now, and the sounds coming from under him were becoming less and less human. Mando sighed in relief when the kid's hand released the handle of the knife, the savage pressure against his back abating slightly, then didn't have to wait long until there were no movements at all.

He waited a few extra seconds, taking no pleasure in seeing the eyes rolled upwards, the discolored neck and the bluish lips. Trembling everywhere he stumbled up, his own breath coming back in shallow bursts, each inspiration coiling low in his back, as if his wound was directly connected to his throat. He finally had a look at the knife, and was surprised at how small it seemed, the black handle sticking out. Hoping that since the blade had stopped at his ribcage, it hadn't caused too much damage, he took it out swiftly, for the first time emitting a yelp. His hand came out with a lot of blood, more than he had expected.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" he whispered, his legs barely responding as he dropped the knife in the bin and took out as many paper towels as he could from the dispenser, trying to be as quick as possible. He wiped the red stains from the floor and washed his hands in the sink, endeavoring not to worry at the blood he could still feel coursing low on his back, hot and sticky. He placed more paper towels against the wound, wincing and shaking still, then arranged the unmoving body over a toilet, the gun back in his jacket, and the stall door closed as far as it would go.

The deception wouldn't hold for long, but it would give him a little time to make his escape – hopefully.

He refrained from looking at himself in the mirror on his way out, and it took all his remaining strength to sit down in the booth across from the child, his back screaming at him the whole time.

The boy had barely made a dent in his fries, he'd been gone less than five minutes.

Mando gestured to the waitress, trying and failing not to notice that dark spots were appearing in his line of vision, and asked her in a voice he didn't recognize if they could have the food to go, instead.

Five minutes after that, they were exiting the parking lot.

He knew, just like he knew that his injury was more serious than any he'd had in a while, that the place would soon be crawling with cops and feds. Too many people had seen him. Noticed him. Probably picked up on his odd behavior when he came out of the men's room. He had to change direction, he couldn't get back on the road he'd intended to take, and which would have led him to Paz's sister in just a few more hours. His approach had to be reexamined, and he needed to lay low, to hide, to change car, to heal, to take care of the kid, to…

The child emitted a sorrowful wail.

Mando sighed and pressed the tissues against his wound – they were saturated with blood already and he could feel more against his fingers.

"It's gonna be okay, cariño, it's gonna be okay."

His words of reassurance didn't work, either on him or the kid, and he drove aimlessly for a few miles, turning randomly and heading west, towards the ocean. He needed to put as much distance as he could between them and the café – it was still broad daylight, barely after 3PM, and he wouldn't be able to drive until the sun set, using the cover of darkness to disappear. Given the larger and larger spots dancing across his eyes, he'd be lucky if he lasted five minutes, let alone five hours. He was drenched in sweat, his mouth was dry and his ears were buzzing.

Still, he pushed the car on. He needed the maps, he needed the first aid kit, he needed the satellite phone, he needed… God, he needed to stop the car, but he couldn't, he had to keep driving, and find a quiet spot further on.

Mando had no idea how long he managed to carry on. All he knew was that the roads were getting smaller and smaller, and the ocean was coming closer and closer, the water somehow pulling him in. He had stopped paying attention to the worried sobs coming from behind him, or the blood drenching the back of his shirt and jeans. One of his last conscious thoughts before he applied the brakes quickly, hoping the small covered spot he had just found under fir trees on the side of the road would hide them for a while, was to worry he would mess up Paz's upholstery.

He's gonna kill me, he told himself, passing out.

He was still out cold an hour later, unresponsive to the car horns coming from the vehicle he was blocking the path of, or the increasingly loud litany coming from the kid. He was repeating one word, and one word only. The one he'd been using to call him for the last few days. Mando didn't see the woman coming out of the car in front of him either, or the young girl following her.