(And How Gusto Was Still Eating a Burrito)
I wake up to morning sunlight. It had stopped raining, and the ancient clock in the truck claimed it was seven o'clock. We were driving on a poorly paved road, and the sun beat down on the lake beside us, causing the water to shimmer. I notice the lack of tree's, and frown.
"Where are we?" I ask Gusto. I didn't recognize this place at all, and our family had gone to Mexico a few times.
"Err, about 50 miles over the boarder. A small town is on the next left. I will drop you off there, senorita." He is smiling, and has another burrito in his hand. The sight makes me smile.
"Gracias." I say. He smiles.
We drive onto a dirt road, and pull up in a very, very small town. I can see the beginning and end of it. No trees line the road, and bushes are few and far between. the tires kick up dust
"Here is where I leave you, my dear. Adios. But, remember, stay away from the Foxes." With that he hops back in his truck before I can even say goodbye. He drives away in a cloud of tan, and I look out into what might be where I would sleep tonight.
I cough as a it of the dust goes up my throat, and I rub my eyes. When the dust clears, I see what looks like a building in the distance. I decide to head there, because bigger and more civilized buildings usually meant bigger and more civilized living conditions.
I find a path at the edge of the town, and start walking. All I have is my suitcase, money, and my dad's pistol which I didn't have the faintest idea of how to use. But this was Mexico, most people didn't know how to use a gun, or so I heard. I was still worried about this group, The Foxes, and wasn't sure what I would do if I met up with them.
Gusto's words ring in my head.
Senorita, one more thing. There is a group called the Foxes. Stay away from them all. And if you do see them, it is likely to be the last thing you ever do.
