Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
ON AMADOR’S COMPUTER, the old one he kept in the candy store, Chayo was able to search up a map of the area around Barranco Azul and Tabaloapa. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t show him the truly safe trails or passages, or anything important at all, but it gave some direction, some shape, to his plan. He wrote down a list of towns within a few days of the river on the americano side: Presidio, Terlingua, Redford, Nathan, Dryden . . . He didn’t think he could get Neva all the way to Houston or Dallas, places she’d talked about before, but she and Batista had familia over the river . . . somewhere . . . and if he could get her that far, it was a start. If they traveled at night to escape the day’s brutal heat, if he read the shadows and stars as he’d done since he was a little boy on his papa’s farm, if . . . well, there were a thousand ifs, but only this one choice. This one chance. Amador had tracked down some of the things he’d asked for: oranges and plastic water jugs and rope and muslin cloths to tie around their shoes and their faces; a small knife, some aloe cream and bandages and needle and thread. Also a small hemp pack for each of them, where Carmelita had hidden some tightly rolled tortillas and a handful of chamoy candy, and Chayo had smiled at that . . . almost cried.
He didn’t know if any of it was enough, but it was all they had.
Later, he handed Neva his list of American towns and a pencil, told her to circle the one where her familia lived. She studied it for a long time, her wounded mouth and the stitches across her face trembling, tears at the tight corners of her eyes. At night when she slept, clenching her teeth in her sleep, her wounds wept, too; bloody tears all their own, and every morning Chayo wiped them away with his shirt. He did it again now, as she finally leaned forward and added another town to his list.
He watched over her shoulder. Like those other places, it didn’t mean anything to him. He may have heard its name once or twice, but he knew nothing about it other than it was where Neva wanted to go, and that was all that mattered.
He studied it, said it out loud, committing it to memory.
Murfee.
Then he took the paper and tore it into small pieces, tossed them on the candle Carmelita had lit for them, and went to pack their bags.