Chapter 7 - The Devil’s Pit
The diesel engine of Miguel's semi rumbled through the downpour as they turned off Highway 45 onto the unpaved limestone road. Rain lashed against the wide windshield in sheets, the wipers slapping rhythmically against the glass. Behind them, the city lights faded into an abyss of black scrub and jagged white rock formations.
Ernesto sat in the passenger seat, the crowbar resting between his knees, his knuckles white against the metal. Canela lay across his lap, her head resting against his forearm, alert and watching every sweep of the headlights through the gloom. On the floorboards, Lupita kept her hands nestled inside the box of puppies, ensuring the heating pad stayed plugged into the auxiliary 12-volt outlet. The pale pup let out occasional contented whimpers, full of life now that warmth had returned to his veins.
"Turn the lights off," Ernesto whispered suddenly as the truck crested a limestone ridge. "Use the parking markers only. Javier keeps a diesel generator running near the processing kiln. He'll see your high beams from a mile out."
Miguel cut the main lights, letting the truck roll in low gear down the rutted incline. Below them lay the abandoned lime quarry—a massive, hollowed-out scar in the earth surrounded by sheer white cliffs. In the center of the pit sat an old corrugated iron office building and three rusted storage silos. A single halogen lamp hummed above the office door, casting long, distorted shadows across the muddy yard.
Parked beside the office was Javier’s black heavy-duty pickup truck.
"He's here," Ernesto growled, his voice dead and deadly. "The bastard is here."
Canela suddenly sat up straight on Ernesto's lap, her nostrils flaring. She let out a sharp, muffled bark, scratching at the passenger door with her good paw.
"She smells something," Miguel said, bringing the truck to a silent halt behind a mountain of crushed gravel. "Ernesto, wait. We don't know if he's armed. We need to be smart."
"I spent two years crying over a grave that had someone else's daughter in it," Ernesto replied, pushing the truck door open into the torrential rain. "I don't care if he has a cannon. My grandson is down there."
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Before Miguel could grab him, the old man slipped out into the storm, the crowbar gripped tightly in his right fist, with Canela bounding through the mud right at his heels.
"Stay with the truck, Lupita!" Miguel yelled over his shoulder, grabbing a heavy tire thumper iron from behind his driver's seat and plunging into the downpour after them.
