Status: In Progress
Quell That Rebel Yell
Siege
July 23
Laredo, Texas
9:04p.m.
In the desert, the sun never seems to go down when it should. It hangs just above the mountains now and the Mexican drug cartel members are collectively holding their breaths, willing it to finally duck down behind them. For weeks, they've planned this hostile take over and their patience, as a whole, is wearing thin.
Miguel stopped praying hours ago, though his head remains bowed and his wife's rosary beads are still clutched tightly in his hands. What is this going to accomplish? he wonders as the men around him start to get to their feet, eager for the night's events to begin unfolding.
All of the advantages of having a base on this side of the border that Antonio had been spouting off about for weeks mean nothing to him. He doesn't care if it will almost eliminate the difficulties of drug trafficking across the border, and it doesn't matter to him what the local law enforcement will think about their bold move.
He's only there to be there. When the others stand to march down the hill toward the ranch lit up below, he stands to march with them.
His wife's screams fill his ears, but he knows that the people living in the ranch below had nothing to do with her death. They weren't the ones that raped, tortured, and murdered her. They were just innocent bystanders; in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The fact that they might decide to do something stupid and brave to protect their home and die because of it doesn't bother him, though. Don't be a hero. It was a lesson that everyone had to learn eventually.
It doesn't take more than ten minutes for the men to reach the ranch. They climb the cattle guards and slink quietly through the darkness, surrounding the house.
Antonio takes the lead at the front of the house, kicking the front door in and aiming his heavy gun at the first person his dark eyes land on. "Don't move!" he shouts. He moves out of the way, his gun still level with the man of the house's eyes to allow the others to file in through the door behind him. "Everyone stay calm," he tells them, his words hinted in his Hispanic accent.
"Sweep the house." Miguel doesn't recognize his own voice when he tells the others what they must do. "Find everyone, make sure no one gets out."
A few minutes later, the men produce all of the occupants of the house, a husband and wife and their three children.
"Why are you doing this?" the wife asks in a whispered voice, her eyes wide and staring dead on into Miguel's.
He doesn't have an answer for her. It's the same question he's been asking himself. His face flushes with humiliation at what he is doing, what he is putting these poor, innocent people and their children through. What are we doing? he asks himself again.
"What do you people want from us?" the husband speaks up, his mouth set into a hard, stubborn line. Anger radiates from him in waves that wash over Miguel and his companions, making them second guess themselves, if only for a second.
Antonio's cruel, accented voice, puts a forceful halt to the questions. "There are two ways that this can play out," he says with a wicked grin. "The first option, my preference, is that you all do exactly what we tell you to, and nobody gets hurt."
"We'll do whatever you want!" the wife bellows, as she pulls her children closer to her legs.
A hand reaches out to slap her, to shut her up, and Miguel is shocked to find that it is his own. He's never hit a woman before.
"I believe," Antonio starts again, eying Miguel warily, as if seeing him for the first time. "What my associate is trying to tell you, is that unless we ask you a question, you don't get to speak at all."
The woman stares at Miguel, pure surprise written on her face. Surprise that soon shifts to anger and resentment. She hates him and she doesn't even know him, Miguel realizes. He can't blame her.
"The only other option you have is to fight," Antonio tells them, giving the husband a challenging smirk. "In which case, you'll all die. The choice is yours, what will it be?"
The wife, still shaken by her introduction to the back of Miguel's hand, remains silent, though her green eyes shine defiantly.
It's the husband that speaks, his voice low and rough; dangerous. "What would you like for us to do?" he asks, glaring at Antonio evenly.
Laredo, Texas
9:04p.m.
In the desert, the sun never seems to go down when it should. It hangs just above the mountains now and the Mexican drug cartel members are collectively holding their breaths, willing it to finally duck down behind them. For weeks, they've planned this hostile take over and their patience, as a whole, is wearing thin.
Miguel stopped praying hours ago, though his head remains bowed and his wife's rosary beads are still clutched tightly in his hands. What is this going to accomplish? he wonders as the men around him start to get to their feet, eager for the night's events to begin unfolding.
All of the advantages of having a base on this side of the border that Antonio had been spouting off about for weeks mean nothing to him. He doesn't care if it will almost eliminate the difficulties of drug trafficking across the border, and it doesn't matter to him what the local law enforcement will think about their bold move.
He's only there to be there. When the others stand to march down the hill toward the ranch lit up below, he stands to march with them.
His wife's screams fill his ears, but he knows that the people living in the ranch below had nothing to do with her death. They weren't the ones that raped, tortured, and murdered her. They were just innocent bystanders; in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The fact that they might decide to do something stupid and brave to protect their home and die because of it doesn't bother him, though. Don't be a hero. It was a lesson that everyone had to learn eventually.
It doesn't take more than ten minutes for the men to reach the ranch. They climb the cattle guards and slink quietly through the darkness, surrounding the house.
Antonio takes the lead at the front of the house, kicking the front door in and aiming his heavy gun at the first person his dark eyes land on. "Don't move!" he shouts. He moves out of the way, his gun still level with the man of the house's eyes to allow the others to file in through the door behind him. "Everyone stay calm," he tells them, his words hinted in his Hispanic accent.
"Sweep the house." Miguel doesn't recognize his own voice when he tells the others what they must do. "Find everyone, make sure no one gets out."
A few minutes later, the men produce all of the occupants of the house, a husband and wife and their three children.
"Why are you doing this?" the wife asks in a whispered voice, her eyes wide and staring dead on into Miguel's.
He doesn't have an answer for her. It's the same question he's been asking himself. His face flushes with humiliation at what he is doing, what he is putting these poor, innocent people and their children through. What are we doing? he asks himself again.
"What do you people want from us?" the husband speaks up, his mouth set into a hard, stubborn line. Anger radiates from him in waves that wash over Miguel and his companions, making them second guess themselves, if only for a second.
Antonio's cruel, accented voice, puts a forceful halt to the questions. "There are two ways that this can play out," he says with a wicked grin. "The first option, my preference, is that you all do exactly what we tell you to, and nobody gets hurt."
"We'll do whatever you want!" the wife bellows, as she pulls her children closer to her legs.
A hand reaches out to slap her, to shut her up, and Miguel is shocked to find that it is his own. He's never hit a woman before.
"I believe," Antonio starts again, eying Miguel warily, as if seeing him for the first time. "What my associate is trying to tell you, is that unless we ask you a question, you don't get to speak at all."
The woman stares at Miguel, pure surprise written on her face. Surprise that soon shifts to anger and resentment. She hates him and she doesn't even know him, Miguel realizes. He can't blame her.
"The only other option you have is to fight," Antonio tells them, giving the husband a challenging smirk. "In which case, you'll all die. The choice is yours, what will it be?"
The wife, still shaken by her introduction to the back of Miguel's hand, remains silent, though her green eyes shine defiantly.
It's the husband that speaks, his voice low and rough; dangerous. "What would you like for us to do?" he asks, glaring at Antonio evenly.