Ghost Sniper

20

Vaught and Paolina were in a taxi cab headed south for Toluca when the earthquake hit. The taxi was just entering a tunnel that ran beneath a circular intersection when a portion of the tunnel collapsed, blocking the exit with large chunks of concrete. The result was a thirty-car pileup at fifty miles an hour. The taxi was smashed, and Paolina’s head hit the window, knocking her unconscious. Three-year-old Valencia was tossed into the front seat, where she bounced off the dashboard and bloodied her nose. Vaught slammed into the back of the driver’s seat but took no damage. Meanwhile, the cabby was pinned behind the wheel with a pair of broken legs.

Vaught kicked open the door and got out, taking a look up and down the line of crashed traffic. A propane truck exploded ten cars ahead, and he ducked back inside, covering the unconscious Paolina with his body as the roiling black-orange cloud of fire swept across the ceiling of the tunnel. Valencia shrieked from the front seat, and injured motorists fled past the taxi, some of them in flames. Two more cars caught fire and exploded, threatening to engulf the entire tunnel.

Vaught reached forward to pull Valencia back between the seats.

“Ayúdame!” moaned the cab driver. Help me!

“Women and children first,” Vaught grunted in English, pulling Paolina from the backseat, with Valencia gripped in the opposite arm. “Good thing you’re so tiny,” he muttered, hefting the young woman over his shoulder.

Two more cars exploded as he ran toward the entrance to the tunnel, with the cabby shouting for him to come back.

Once clear of the tunnel, Vaught found a safe place to put down Paolina and Valencia, and then started back for the cab driver. Burn victims ran past him as the tunnel filled quickly with black smoke, obscuring his vision. He reached the cab to find the driver praying out loud for his life.

He jerked at the door but couldn’t open it, so he slid across the crumpled green hood and climbed in on the passenger side, seeing the firewall jammed up against the driver’s knees. “Goddamn,” he said, choking on the smoke. “You’re stuck!”

Burning gasoline on the pavement set the engine compartment on fire, and the driver began to scream, sweat pouring down his face.

“Keep calm,” Vaught told him. “I gotta think!”

But the driver did not calm down: he began thrashing around like a wild man as the flames licked up around the hood.

“Santa Maria! Santa Maria!”

Vaught grabbed the cabby’s shoulders and pulled, but his legs were caught fast, and the man howled. Smoke now filled the car, making it almost impossible to breathe, and Vaught knew he would have to let the man burn to death. Fleetingly, he considered knocking him cold and breaking his neck to save him the suffering, but he couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry! I can’t get you out!”

“Please!” the man begged. “Please!”

The car in front them burst into flames, and the heat became intense.

“Don’t let me die!”

Vaught got out, standing beside the open passenger door. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t leave me! For the love of God!”

That’s when Vaught realized for the first time how close the seat was to the steering wheel. He ducked back inside and reached beneath the driver’s legs, finding the release lever and pushing the seat back a full six inches. The driver gasped with relief, and Vaught yanked him free, heaving him over his shoulder and running for the entrance as the taxi burst into flames.

Paolina was holding Valencia in her lap when Vaught finally set down the driver beside them at the side of the road. As of yet, there were still no emergency personnel on the scene.

“I thought you left us,” she said, cleaning the blood from Valencia’s face with the little girl’s shirt.

“Why the hell would I do that?” he asked irritably.

She shrugged. “It would be easier for you.”

He glanced around at the injured and the people helping them to get clear of the acrid black smoke now billowing from the tunnel. “Well, you don’t know me, Paolina. You don’t know me at all.”