Free The Dead Run by Adam Mansbach Page B

nothing of the hike there. He’d already tagged Payaso and Britannica as weak links, light on stamina. Deadweight, maybe literally. Dismissing all of them right now might be the smart play.
    But something gave him pause. Protected on all sides. Cucuy hadn’t said what from, but he must have had his reasons. And there was more at play here than Galvan could fathom.
    Starting with the impossible living heart lashed to his torso.
    Disobeying the—what had he called it?—the dictate didn’t seem like an auspicious way to start. More like the kind of shit the dumbest motherfucker in a horror movie would do.
    Best to keep the team intact, Galvan decided. At least for the time being.
    Give it the ol’ college try, anyhow.
    â€œWe’ve got a job to do,” he declared. “Walking away is not an option.”
    The man sneered, turned on his heel, began to do just that.
    Galvan’s move. Again, he felt their eyes. Fuck. It was a no-win. He could tackle the guy, give him a beating, but then what? A protector who was just looking to run was no protector at all. Galvan would only be saving face.
    That, and giving the others a perfect excuse to jump in, tear him apart, go their merry ways.
    The hell with it. Sometimes you just had to play out a bad hand.
    The song of the day chose that moment to reassert itself, Kodiak Brinks’ baritone thundering unbidden through his head.
    Manchild in the promised land / My name known, plus I got it sewn / like a monogram / in man / stomp a man who carry contraband if I gotta, fam . . .
    Galvan stepped forward, then froze as Britannica, of all people, piped up.
    â€œYou leave and you’re as good as dead, Charniss.”
    The man stopped and smirked over his shoulder.
    â€œI know you ain’t makin’ threats, Britannica.”
    â€œIt’s no threat.” The con man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They slid instantly back down. “You’ve been made a protector. You’re bound to him now, same as the rest of us.”
    Payaso, still worrying the ground with his shoe: “The fuck you mean, bound ?”
    Britannica gazed into the featureless distance. “We are the evil that wards off evil. The Messenger cannot succeed without us. But we may be sacrificed so that he does.”
    Galvan sidled up to Britannica. “How do you know so much?” he asked quietly.
    â€œI was a priest once. I’ve studied the ancient religions. The Aztec cults. Anything I could get my hands on.”
    Payaso snorted. “You weren’t no fuckin’ priest. You impersonated one and robbed a whole lot of pobres blind.”
    Britannica pushed his glasses again. They slalomed down a river of sweat, caught on the very tip of his nose.
    â€œI know what I know,” he said.
    â€œMe too,” said Charniss. “So you can shove that mumbo-jumbo up your ass. Best of luck, pendejos.”
    He turned and stalked away.
    Ten feet. Twenty. With each passing moment, as no calamity befell him, Galvan waited for the rest to follow.
    Instead, Gutierrez thundered into action.
    Charniss barely had time to realize what was happening before the brute was on him. He snapped Charniss’s neck between his hands, the body spinning full around before it hit the sand.
    Gutierrez didn’t even bother to watch it tumble, just squared his shoulders and marched back the other way. He came to a stop in front of Galvan.
    â€œYou saved my life,” he said in a voice like gargled gravel, and extended a hand. “Nobody gonna fuck around with you as long as I’m around.”
    Galvan nodded and shook. Over Gutierrez’s shoulder, a thin tendril of black smoke twirled up from the ground.
    Galvan craned his neck. “The hell is that?”
    Gutierrez turned for a look. “What’s what, boss?”
    â€œThat smoke. Looks like it’s coming from his body.”
    â€œI don’t see nothing,