"So," he said, with a bravado he didn't feel. "What've you got planned now? You can't just kill the poor fucker."
Maneck paused again.
"You are not accurate," it said. "The man must not know of us. The illusion of his knowledge will be corrected. You have proved yourself an apt tool. That will be expressed. The man is by the water now? We must approach him quickly."
"They're here," Ramón said. "The eaters-of-the-young. Those are their ships overhead. What if they're watching? What if they see you?"
Maneck seemed to hesitate, but it might only have been Ramón's overwhelming desire that made it seem so. The alien head bobbed.
"They do that, you know," Ramón went on. "They have sensors. Eyes. Last time they came through, the governor asked them to help find a kid that got lost out on the tierra hueso. And they did it. Took them a couple hours, and they told us exactly where the little pendejo was. How do you know they're not watching me right now? Tracking me because of that man I killed? You go out there where they can see you and kill him, they'll see the energy blast. And you think they'll mistake that for a tree falling or something? They'll know ."
It was the purest line of bullshit Ramón had ever spun. Maneck wouldn't need to fire an energy blast to kill the other man, not with a fucking attack chupacabra on a leash, ready to do whatever it was told. For that matter, Maneck was strong enough to wring the man's neck like a chicken's with its bare hands without any other help at all. But he didn't have the leash in his neck to tell Maneck what his intentions were anymore, or help it judge when he was lying. If the alien didn't believe him, the worst it could do was kill him. He waited, chest thrust out like he was spoiling for a fight. Maneck shifted its body from side to side. The chupacabra whined.
"What better course do you recommend?" Maneck asked.
"You let me go back to him," Ramón said. "You stay right here. You get it? Right here. I'll think of a reason for him to come back with me here. Under the trees where they won't see you, get it? Then you can correct whatever fucking illusion you want."
Because, he didn't say, we'll be on that raft again and out of here while you're still standing around like the ugly girl at a dance. Maneck was quiet and still as stone for the length of three slow breaths.
"Why would you do this?" the alien asked at last.
"It's my tatecreude, monster. I'm supposed to help you track him down, right? Well here I am. Helping."
"No," Maneck said, and its voice seemed almost relieved. "Your function was to behave as the man would. You are attempting deceit."
"So what do you think the man would do then?" Ramón demanded, the despair blooming in his chest, expressing itself in rage. "I'm trying to save my own skin. You think he wouldn't give up fucking anyone to help himself out?"
"No," the alien said. "He would not. You have performed your function, I must now-"
The shriek was high and squeaked at the end, like a little girl's cry of alarm or delight. All eyes-Ramón's, Maneck's, the chupacabra's-shifted. The man stood in the path behind Ramón. His face was pale and bloodless as marble.
"This is in accordance," Maneck said. "The flow brings him down the specific path. You are sometimes excellent creatures. I suspect it is your ignorance that … the man? Where is he going? You will restrain him! You will do so immediately!"
"Stay there! Stay there! Stay there!" Ramón shouted over his shoulder as he bolted off after the other man. The alien likely wouldn't remain where it was, but even if it only paused for a moment, it was a moment more than they'd had. As soon as he thought Maneck could no longer hear him, he turned all his energy and attention to just running. If they could get to the raft, get out onto the river, they could still outpace the bastard. They could still get away. If only Ramón hadn't built a lean-to. If the pinche river could have kept its waterfalls to itself. If anything that had made them pause in the journey hadn't happened, Ramón wouldn't have been crashing through the forest, lifting his legs high to clear brush and roots and stones, the alien and its new pet chupacabra close behind. He found himself calling out to the man, his twin, who was already so far ahead that Ramón couldn't see him.
"Go!" he shouted. "Run! Go, you bastard!"
If he could just reach the river …
Ramón reached the river. The water was fierce and the roar of the cataract louder than he remembered it. The other man was nowhere Ramón could see, and where the raft had been, deep muddy furrows angled down the bank. It took a moment for him to believe it. Powered by mortal fear, desperation, and panic, the other man had somehow managed to launch the raft by himself, something Ramón wouldn't have believed possible. He ran out, his feet sinking into the mud, cold water soaking his knees and thighs. There, five meters out from the bank and ten or more from where he stood, the raft bobbed on the rushing water, his twin crouched at the helm. Ramón could see his wide, fear-rounded eyes.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Get back here! Stop!"
The man on the raft waved; a wide, frantic gesture that carried no meaning. Ramón spat out a stream of invective, wading uncertainly out into the water. When he looked over his shoulder, Maneck and the chupacabra were just coming into sight, slowed only slightly by the cumbersome leash and Maneck's wounds. Ramón lifted a hand to the alien, his palm out; a gesture that was intended to mean "It's okay, I've got it." And then, before waiting for the alien's response, he took a deep breath and dove. His robe soaked through in an instant, but he didn't stop to shed it. Under the water's surface, the river seemed misty-tiny bubbles from the cataract and floating silt conspired to hide anything at more than a meter's distance. Arms and legs flailing, Ramón struck out for where he thought the raft would be.
The man, like him, was at the mercy of the water, Ramón told himself. They'd be pulled along at the same rate. All he had to do was make up the distance. The turbulence was hard, though, and Ramón felt the water buffeting him as he fought to rise up for air.
"Motherfucker!" he shouted as his head broke the surface, and his mouth filled with water before he could say more. The raft was closer, but not as near as Ramón had hoped. A blast of energy lit the air; Maneck firing from the shore. The man yelped and started working the oar as Ramón took another breath and dove again. Maybe Maneck would hit the sonofabitch and solve Ramón's problems for him.
The cold here was unpleasant, but not the vicious, deadly chill it had been farther upriver. Maybe they were farther south than Ramón had thought. Or maybe there was warmer water from rain swelling the flow, as he'd expected. The water above him glowed twice more as Maneck fired. So at least the raft was still that close. A swirl in the gloom warned him a moment before he struck a wave of powerful turbulence, the water hitting him in the gut with the power of a fist. He lost his air, the bubbles rising awkwardly as he clawed his way after them.
The river was definitely faster. Already, Maneck seemed like a tiny figure on the distant shore. Inexplicably, the chupacabra was loping down the bank, free of the sahael and running like all the demons of hell were after it. Ramón spat and bobbed, trying to find his twin and the raft. The other man had drawn farther out into the river and was yelling something, his face flushed almost purple and his mouth gaping wide. Ramón couldn't tell if the asshole was yelling at him or at Maneck or at God. Maneck seemed to have given up the shooting match, so Ramón didn't dive again. He broke into a crawl, kicking at the waves, lifted by them. Tossed. Slowly, the raft drew near, and then the river drove them apart and brought them near again. The other man was on his knees now, the oar extended out into the water. He was still shouting. Ramón couldn't yet make out words, but the man's expression was more nearly one of encouragement now.
Too little, too late, cabrón, he thought, but reached for the oar all the same. His fingers grazed it, the coarse grain of the wood feeling improbably solid after struggling in the water. He pushed again, surging forward, catching it in both hands and pulling it close to his body. He felt the tug as the man pulled him in toward the raft, but Ramón let himself hang limp, his arms and legs tingling with exhaustion. Let the little coward sonofabitch do some of the work.
It was less than a minute before the man's hand touched Ramón's shoulder. The raft was right before him. Ramón raised his arm, throwing it onto the laced branches. He pulled, and the other man helped, dragging him up. Ramón lay on the raft's leafy deck, his sodden robe heavy as lead, his lungs working like bellows.
"Fuck!" the other man said. "I thought you weren't going to make it there, ese ."
Thanks, Ramón thought but didn't spend the energy to say.
"Bastard sonofabitch tracked us," the man said, returning to the oar and the river. "I thought you said the chupacabra killed him."
"I thought it did," Ramón said, sitting up. He belched. It tasted of silt. "Maneck used the sahael on the poor fucker. He enslaved it. Never thought I'd feel sorry for a chupacabra. Did we get any firewood at all before-"