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...r approaching the border was was death. The penalty is DEATH.  Nobody wanted to think about it.  But they all did.  Especially the woman with a three year old clutched to her chest.  She'd been carrying him for miles.  Cuauhtémoc bit his lip and ran a hand through his thick, wavy black hair. He didn't want to think about it either.  But he did.

The sun blazed out from the horizon, blinding them all.  The coyote indicated that it was time to camp out.  The ventured away from the wall and into the arid hills.  They found a shady spot between two boulders and they tried to sleep.  Cuauhtémoc mostly thought about home.  It was dusty and dry and dull.  And he didn't think it was worth it to leave it behind anymore.  Not for this torture.  He drank some more water.  A spider crawled over his leg and he smashed it, dead.

Death is the penalty, he thought to himself, and he waited.

The coyote betrays them.

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