Sky pulled himself up on the tanker peeking into the graffiti covered box. He wondered how the artist had time to tag the car as it made its way north. Whoever it was, must have had eyes in the back of his head. The gang symbol wasn't there when they left it before Mexico City. He recognized the serial number as he played his flashlight over the side of the grey hulk.

He spotted his beat up Tilley wedged in exactly where he'd put it and snatched the hat with the tips of his fingers. Shaking it hard, he smoothed it out, and slapped it back on his head, wincing as the tops of his ears made contact with the stiff cotton rim. If his doctor was right, he'd end up with skin cancer. Was this insane challenge really worth it?

"Let's get the hell out of this fucking maze," Dan hissed.

"There's a break between the train cars up there," Sky pointed.

"Go, I feel like a bunch of insurgents are following us."

"Probably just a guard making rounds, but I feel it too," Sky said, "You set the pace, I'll keep up."

He kept up easily as they trotted to the front of a half formed freight train. Dan moved sideways across three sets of tracks, and down into a ditch. He stopped to get his bearings, he knew they came into the town from the south and a gentle curve to the left had them facing west.

"Straight along that fence," he whispered.

"Yeah, I can see a hole under it. Must be where other hobos get in and out of the depot."

"Get your butt under, and I'll shove the packs out. We'll see if there's somewhere we can set up camp."

They continued west along the road they found, hoping to find a water source. At least that way they wouldn't have to use any of their bottled water to cook.

"Hola! Alto ahi!" The voice growled from behind a Paulo Verde tree.

"You take it Dan. He sounds like he means business." Sky knew his voice trembled a little with surprise.

"Nostros soma amigos," Dan began.

"Muestrame tus manos!" The man demanded.

Dan extended his empty hands palms up and Sky followed his lead.

A flashlight beam hit them in the face, blinding them and Sky instinctively covered his eyes.

Dan turned his head away from the intense light

"Gringos, what you doing here?"

"Traveling, we need to get to Manuel Benevides," Dan said keeping his tone neutral.

"You got gear?"

"Tent, bedrolls, some stuff to cook," Dan replied and gestured to Sky to show the man his pack.

"Ven conmigo," the man stepped out from behind tree trunk and walked over the rise in front of them.

"How did you find us?" Sky asked.

"Always someone who gets off el tren," the scruffy man replied. "Only have to wait." He continued in heavily accented English. He jerked his head, indicating they should follow.

Twenty minutes later they came out at the edge of a shallow creek. Three others were there, sitting on hundred pound bales of packaged white powder. Drug runners.

"We don't want trouble," Sky began.

"Not worried, we take your tent, your tarp, you keep walking." The speaker wore a fully masked motorcycle helmet.

"You'll let us go?" Dan wasn't sure he liked the set up.

"Sure you, take some pesos for the stuff, you go, and you die out there. No one has to shoot you; most don't know how to survive."

"We'll take your money," Sky released the bungee cords holding the tent and tarp. "The stuff is yours."

They completed the transaction, and Dan stuffed almost 20,000 pesos into his pocket. He knew it wasn't as much as he should have for the state of the art light weight pop up shelter, but hell, it would buy food and water. That was the important thing.

He thought about how they would travel; he knew getting rid of the pounds on the pack was a good move. It was hitch hiking from here on in. Good thing these guys were arrogant enough to assume the usual. No shelter from the sun during the heat of the day, and none at night when you could see your breath, was pretty much a death sentence.

Maybe they could get rid of more weight and save him from carrying anything. He still couldn't pull is arm up, something was really wrong with his bicep.