“Mmmm…hungry...”

A NEW PLACE

Juan tumbled into the bodies next to him as the panel truck lurched to a stop. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell who sat with him or even how many others there were. He could only hear their whimpers, their rapid breathing.

The trip was long and hard; he had no idea how long they’d been traveling. The air in the cramped space was thick and musty: body odor, urine, and excrement mixed with the sting of vomit, a result of those suffering from motion sickness.

But the truck had stopped. Juan didn’t know what that meant. Are we finally here? he thought. He hoped so, and could only be thankful that his wife and daughter weren’t with him. His mind flooded with worry at the thought of them going through the same long journey in the future. If he could raise the money.

What seemed like hours ago, he heard the unmistakable sounds of rape, somewhere on the further end of the truck toward the front: grunting and guttural moans over the gasps and squeaking of an unwilling female. Juan started to do something about it, started to climb blindly through the darkness to help whoever this poor girl was, but he couldn’t risk it, had to put his family first, so he stayed put, stayed seated. And nobody else moved to stop it either.

“¿Donde estamos?”a woman’s voice chirped from somewhere to Juan’s right.

A chorus of murmurs and weeping ensued. Juan wrapped his arms over his knees and pulled them to his chest.

The truck rocked and a door slammed.

The murmuring raised in volume and intensity. Prayers began flowing from unseen lips, pulling tears from Juan’s eyes as he thought about his wife and daughter, what he left behind.

The back door swung open and harsh sunlight engulfed them. Juan squinted, held out a hand to shield his eyes from the burn. He turned his head and saw the others; all packed tightly like sardines in a tin can. Their feet and pants were caked with shit-piss-puke stew. Brown faces stared out, some trying to dash toward the opening, toward the new beginning they had all hoped for.

A red-faced man in a straw hat frowned at them like a sunburned toad. A toothpick shifted from left to right and he snorted then swallowed. One eye clamped shut as he studied the group. He shoved an older man in the chest who’d managed to push to the opening. “Get yer ass back there. Not yer stop, Jose.”

Juan peeked past the man and into the brightness of the day behind him. They were parked in a narrow alleyway, the walls decorated with graffiti and questionable stains. Trash cans lined the alley and stray cats paused in mid-stride to watch the commotion.

The man swatted Juan’s knee, sending it clanking into his other one. “You, Jose. Get up and get out.”

Juan looked back at the others for a moment, but their stares of envy and longing were too much. He nodded toward them—none nodded back—and jumped out of the truck, stretched his aching body. The man sized him up with his one eye, the other still squinting, and spat a wad of yellow mucus just between Juan’s feet.