“The 12 hectares are not for sale, Don Arturo,” Elena replied firmly, putting the deeds in her worn leather bag. Vicente spat on the tiled floor. “You’re going to starve to death, you stubborn widow,” his brother-in-law declared.
That afternoon, the wind blowing down from the mountains brought a stifling heat.
Officially, Commander Rojas, the local police chief, had closed the case, saying Mateo’s truck had lost its brakes. But Elena knew the difference between an accident and murder. Because three days before he died, Mateo, his hands trembling and looking out the window at the dark street, had whispered to her: “If anything happens to me, don’t trust my brother. Go to the old ranch in the canyon and look under the stone heart in the dry well.”
Chief Garza wielded absolute power in the region, controlling the agave fields and bribing and intimidating the authorities. Elena knew she was alone. Her husband’s entire family had turned their backs on her, siding with the man who ruled the town. So, the next morning, she packed a blanket, four cans of food, two bottles of water, and Mateo’s old hunting shotgun with twelve cartridges. She climbed into an old pickup truck and drove toward the Cañón de las Ánimas.
The path was a scar of red earth. Upon arriving, she found the ruins of an adobe house, consumed by time, and, 15 meters away, the stone rim of a well that had been dry for 20 years. The heat was infernal. Elena descended into the well with a rope and, searching through the darkness and dust, found an enormous rock in the exact shape of a heart. With bleeding hands, she managed to pry the slab loose. Beneath it, wrapped in thick plastic, was a metal package.
Just as Elena pulled the package out and began to climb toward the surface, the sound of engines broke the silence of the canyon. Three black pickup trucks without license plates pulled up in front of the ruins. From the bottom of the pit, Elena heard the unmistakable voice of her brother-in-law, Vicente.
“Spray gasoline on the house and the well!” Vicente shouted, laughing cruelly. “Don Arturo will pay 500,000 pesos if we make sure the widow disappears today with her stones.”
The smell of fuel filled the stifling air as the sound of a metal lighter echoed off the canyon walls. It was impossible to imagine the nightmare that was about to unfold…
PART 2
The instinct for survival is a primal force. When the first burning rag fell down the well’s mouth, illuminating the darkness with an orange glow, Elena didn’t scream. She pressed herself against the dampest, coldest wall of the cavity, dodging the fire that landed on the dry earth at the bottom. Above, the laughter of Don Arturo’s men and her own brother-in-law mingled with the creaking of the old adobe beams of the ruined house.
