The crimson dust had barely settled over the sun-bleached valley when the first scream tore through the afternoon heat, promising violence and a reckoning long overdue. Santiago Morales stood frozen in the glare, his mind desperately racing to catch up with the nightmare unfolding before his eyes.
For three years, Santiago, known to everyone in the dry expanses of the southern valley simply as Chago, had lived with one absolute certainty that nothing in this world could ever hurt him more than watching his wife draw her final breath. That single afternoon, beneath the merciless eye of the sun, he heard the thunder of hooves tearing through the scrub and discovered he was terrifyingly wrong. Chago had been turning the dry soil of his lower pasture, a dull, repetitive labor meant to keep the quiet ghosts of his home at bay, when the sound shattered the heavy silence. A horse was racing across his land at a suicidal speed, thick white foam spraying from its foaming mouth while its heavy leather saddle was twisted violently sideways, dangling by a single cinching strap. But it was not the runaway animal that made Chago’s blood turn instantly to ice in his veins. A human body was bound with thick, coarse rope directly behind the horse, dragging through the stones and thorny brush.
Her body slammed repeatedly across the hard ground as the terrified animal galloped blindly through dirt, jagged rocks, and exposed roots. Her torn dress twisted grotesquely around her bleeding legs, and dark, angry streaks of crimson smeared across her dirt-caked face. Her raw fingers clawed desperately at the earth in a futile bid for leverage, but there was nothing to hold, only sliding dirt and merciless stone. For one horrifying, suspended second, Chago froze entirely, paralyzed by a sudden, violent vertigo of memory. And then, sharply as a blade to the ribs, he saw Alma. Three years earlier, his beloved wife had lain beneath their modest roof, her frail body wasting away while her trembling, translucent fingers clung desperately to his rough hand. Don’t leave me alone, Chago, she had whispered in the suffocating dark of their bedroom. He had promised her with all his soul that he wouldn’t, that he would protect her from everything, even the inevitable. Death had taken her anyway, ripping her from his arms despite his desperate prayers.
Since burying Alma beside their lonely, wind-scoured house, Chago had existed rather than lived, drifting through his days like a ghost haunting his own homestead. He worked his parched land mechanically, fed his few remaining livestock with empty hands, and returned each evening to rooms filled with an unbearable, suffocating silence. Now, another woman was dying right in front of him, her life slipping away in the dust and heat of his pasture. But this time, unlike that helpless night three years ago, he could actually fight death. He could do something more than sit and watch a life fade into the dark. Chago dropped his shovel, turned on his heel, and ran for Sombra, his massive, powerful black stallion standing patiently in the shade of the lean-to. He threw himself heavily into the saddle without touching the stirrups, gathered the reins with a sharp jerk, and shouted into the wind, Hold on!
Sombra exploded forward with a deep, furious snort, answering the raw urgency in his master’s voice. They raced across the sun-scorched pasture, the dry grass whipping violently against the horse’s muscular legs as they closed the distance to the runaway animal. Chago gained steadily on the terrified beast, his eyes locked on the thick, brutal rope cutting through the woman’s tattered clothing, biting deep and ruthlessly into her living flesh. He leaned out from the saddle, reaching desperately for the flying reins of the runaway horse. His fingers brushed the slick leather, but missed entirely as the animal threw its head back in blind panic. The horse suddenly veered sharply toward a steep, rocky slope littered with shale and boulders. Chago nearly fell beneath the pounding, iron-shod hooves as Sombra scrambled to match the erratic turn, the ground crumbling dangerously beneath them.
He reached again, his muscles screaming under the strain, and caught the loose leather of the bridle. He immediately released it when the panicked animal jerked both horses wildly toward a jagged outcrop of rock that could easily snap a horse’s leg. There was only one chance left, and it was a desperate gamble that could easily cost him his own life. The rope itself. Chago lunged out of the saddle, leaning his entire weight away from his own horse, and hooked his arm deep into the coarse fibers. His fingers closed around the hemp with a death grip. The forward momentum and sheer weight of the dragging horse nearly ripped him completely from Sombra’s saddle, throwing him off balance. Agony shot violently through his shoulder joint as Sombra screamed in protest and dug his iron-shod hooves deep into the stubborn earth, sliding a yard through the dust. Chago wrapped the thick rope twice around his bleeding forearm and pulled back with every ounce of strength remaining in his battered body.
Stop! he roared, his voice cracking against the wind. His muscles burned as if bathed in acid, and the rough fibers of the rope tore savagely through his shirt and into his skin. Then, mercifully, the runaway horse stumbled over a hidden mound of earth. Its trembling legs buckled awkwardly beneath it. It crashed heavily onto its side, kicking up a massive cloud of blinding dust that rolled across the open field like smoke. Silence descended over the valley as quickly as a dropped curtain, broken only by the heavy, shuddering breaths of the two horses and the faint, agonizing groans from the ground. Chago vaulted down from Sombra’s saddle before the dust had even begun to settle, his boots hitting the hard earth with a heavy thud. He hurried to where the woman lay tangled in the remains of the rope and dust, her body motionless except for the shallow, rattling rise and fall of her chest.