He lowered the binoculars and looked over the country at large. Then he raised them again.
There looked to be men lying on the ground. He jacked his boots into the rocks and adjusted
the focus. The vehicles were four wheel drive trucks or Broncos with big all-terrain tires and
winches and racks of rooflights. The men appeared to be dead. He lowered the glasses. Then
he raised them again. Then he lowered them and just sat there. Nothing moved. He sat there
for a long time.
When he approached the trucks he had the rifle unslung and cradled at his waist with the
safety off. He stopped. He studied the country and then he studied the trucks. They were all
shot up. Some of the tracks of holes that ran across the sheetmetal were spaced and linear and
he knew they'd been put there with automatic weapons. Most of the glass was shot out and the
tires flat. He stood there. Listening.
In the first vehicle there was a man slumped dead over the wheel. Beyond were two more
bodies lying in the gaunt yellow grass. Dried blood black on the ground. He stopped and
listened. Nothing. The drone of flies. He walked around the end of the truck. There was a
large dead dog there of the kind he'd seen crossing the floodplain. The dog was gutshot.
Beyond that was a third body lying face down. He looked through the window at the man in
the truck. He was shot through the head. Blood everywhere. He walked on to the second
vehicle but it was empty. He walked out to where the third body lay. There was a shotgun in
the grass. The shotgun had a short barrel and it was fitted with a pistol stock and a twenty
round drum magazine. He nudged the man's boot with his toe and studied the low surrounding
hills.
The third vehicle was a Bronco with a lifted suspension and dark smoked windows. He
reached up and opened the driver side door. There was a man sitting in the seat looking at
him.
Moss stumbled back, leveling the rifle. The man's face was bloody. He moved his lips dryly.
Agua, cuate, he said. Agua, por dios.
He had a shortbarreled H&K machinepistol with a black nylon shoulderstrap lying in his lap
and Moss reached and got it and stepped back. Agua, the man said. Por dios.

Chapter 1