IIIIIIIIIIIIJuan Carlos was eleven miles into the desert when he came to the dry wash. A few saguaros stood on the crest of slopes surrounding the wash, along with prickly pears, chollas, and sharp rocks. The desert seemed to blossom with sharp rocks.
IIIIIIIIIIIIHe stopped his Jeep and got out to find a safe place to cross. That’s when he saw the scorpions. Not the small but poisonous bark scorpions living in ironwood trees and the occasional closet or laundry room back home in San Ignacio. These were larger, some the size of a mouse. Juan Carlos knew the difference. When one crawled his way, he crushed it in his meaty hands.
IIIIIIIIIIIIThis looks like as good a spot as any.
IIIIIIIIIIIIHe got back in his Jeep and started driving. Halfway across, a sharp staccato blast echoed across the landscape. He threw the Jeep into first gear, letting it stall as he jumped out. Juan Carlos laid flat on the ground for a long time afterwards, afraid to move.
IIIIIIIIIIIIThere are many dangerous creatures in the desert.
IIIIIIIIIIIIOne hour passed. There were no more blasts. No one came to finish him off. Crouching low to the ground, he moved cautiously around the front of his Jeep. That’s when he saw the tire. What was left attached to the rim was in shreds, a trail of rubber pieces leading from a very sharp rock. The bottom of the wash was all gravel and sand except for this one rock.
IIIIIIIIIIIIMust have slid down here during a storm.
IIIIIIIIIIIIThe desert is like that: 120 degrees one day, next day clouds lost on their way from California creep over the mountains, bringing a torrential chubasco and flash floods.
IIIIIIIIIIIINo problem. I’ve got a spare. I made sure while I was packing jugs of water. And a jack. I’ll be out of here in no time.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIt was seven o’clock in the morning when Juan Carlos grabbed the jack and wrestled the spare from his Jeep. The temperature was not yet 90 degrees. He was used to working many hours outside in the sun. Stacking cinder blocks. Asphalt paving crews. These Nogales runs. Strong backs can always find work. His back was strong, his hands calloused. Changing a tire would be easy.
IIIIIIIIIIIIHe placed the jack under the frame of the Jeep and turned the crank. Instead of lifting the Jeep, the jack sank into the sand.
IIIIIIIIIIIIThis isn’t working, I need to build a foundation, something to hold it up.
IIIIIIIIIIIIJuan Carlos climbed out of the wash, up the slope, and collected several flat rocks. Carrying them back to his Jeep, he piled them up to make a base for the jack. He turned the crank again. This time the jack lifted the Jeep. But the jack and the rocks were an unstable rig. The weight of the Jeep on the jack made it swing and sway. As he loosened the last lug nut on the wheel, the Jeep suddenly shifted and fell off the jack, the fender landing on his right leg just below the knee.
IIIIIIIIIIIIPain around his shin welled up into flaring agony. Juan Carlos yanked away desperately, trying to pull free. He kicked at the fender with his left leg, but because there was nothing to brace his back against for leverage, he could not mange much force. After two hours, he lost all feeling in his right leg.
IIIIIIIIIIIISomeone will find me. Another mule. Polleros maybe.
IIIIIIIIIIIIJuan Carlos stopped sweating after eight hours. His tongue started to swell. The temperature was almost 120 degrees. There were no clouds or promise of clouds. No relief from the heat. Night was still many hours away. Scorpions and the occasional rattlesnake or gila monster were not his problem. His problem was water. He needed it. Trapped like this, there was no way he could get to the jugs of water inside his Jeep.
IIIIIIIIIIIII cannot survive so many hours in the desert without water.
IIIIIIIIIIIIJust then he heard a noise. Not a gunshot or loud blast. This was a low rumble, and it shook the ground. Sand and gravel vibrated. He saw the sharp rock, the one that ripped his tire to shreds, slide up the slope until it disappeared over the crest. Other rocks followed, along with saguaros, prickly pears, and chollas. Thousands of scorpions rose from the sand. Rattlesnakes and gila monsters crawled out from under creosote bushes, trailing the scorpions. A pack of javelinas, wild boars with tusks that can rip a man apart, ran down the wash. Juan Carlos covered his face with his meaty hands, waiting for the worst. A cloud appeared in the sky. Then a second cloud, and a third, then more. Darkness fell over the desert. He felt one drop of rain on his neck. Another on his arm. Rain splashed against his forehead and cheeks, soothing parched skin. He opened his mouth and swallowed large wet and wonderful drops of rain, sweet and delicious on his swollen tongue. The low rumble grew into a loud roar. Suddenly a wall of water ten feet tall came crashing down the wash. The Jeep and Juan Carlos disappeared under the water, swept away.
IIIIIIIIIIIILater that night the saguaros returned to the crest of the slope above the wash. Prickly pears and chollas, too. Javelinas foraged around the spot where Juan Carlos had been trapped. Scorpions burrowed back into the sand. Rattlesnakes and gila monsters took shelter under clusters of creosote bushes. The desert blossomed again with sharp rocks, one sliding down the slope, coming to rest in the wash that was dry again.