Juan winced with every sound. This was hopeless. He could only pray that Mr. Chan wasn’t there, that they could get Manuel fed and get the hell out as soon as possible.

They walked out of the alleyway and into the black hole of the kitchen. Juan took slow, steady steps as he went, trying not to bump anything. Sharp angles and gleaming metal started to take shape as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He stopped and spun his head from left to right, Manuel’s gasping breaths huffing behind him, quick and shallow like he was masturbating back there.

Juan thought he saw movement through the little plastic window on the double doors that led to the dining room, but he wasn’t sure. He stared at it, squinted. Manuel grabbed his shoulders from behind and breathed hot, fetid air into the back of his neck. Juan jerked away, afraid of being bitten. The image of Manuel’s teeth ripping away chunks of hooker meat was fresh in his mind.

Half of a scream escaped his throat, but he slapped his hand over his mouth and swallowed the rest of the sound.

Manuel’s eyes and lips sparkled in the darkness. “The cooler. The food...it’s there.” He pointed to the other side of the kitchen, rubbed his stomach with the other hand.

“Okay, stay here. Let me get you something.” Juan’s plan was to grab what he could and escape as quickly as possible. He would use the rest of his pay to get them a hotel somewhere. A room with a kitchen so he could cook this fucking food. Keep his cannibalistic cousin subdued for as long as it took for him to figure out their next step.

Two American girls dead. Eaten.

The only thing he could think of was to get them back home. To Mexico. Neither of them had any papers, no way for the cops to find out who they were. They were just a couple of faceless, cockroach wetbacks, and Juan was actually glad about that. One and a half days in the United States, and everything went to shit. Juan went through hell to get there, now he would have to find a way out. Part of him felt frustrated with the idea of it, but the other part, the bigger part, was glad to go home. To be with his family. The hell with it all.

Juan rushed for the cooler door, swung it open. A light clicked on and illuminated the over-stocked room. Cardboard boxes stacked higher than his head in all directions, all with indecipherable Chinese lettering. His breaths were clouds of vapor. The sweat that had formed across his body chilled and sent shivers past his bones and into his marrow.

Manuel shoved past him. He circled in place and his eyes became perfect circles. His skin was dyed red, some of the blood flaking off from his neck as he turned his head from side to side. A glob of saliva drooped from his mouth and puddled between his feet.