Starwoman

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The bleak stars of dawn fade away as the sun rises from a snowy mountain range. The sunlight slices layers of colors in the dark sky. The blue horizon assures the world that a new day awaits for it. 

An electrical billboard of outer space stands over U.S. Route 191. Under it lies a rundown sci-fi-themed truckstop, Voyager 2. It poses as a lonesome pisspot for weary truck drivers. With the barren desert stretching for miles in every direction, it offers its barebone services at high prices. 

Inflatable green Martians create a crooked perimeter for the cramped truck yard. Cobwebs dangle from the corners of outside restrooms; nothing but putrid stenches emanate from the stalls. The symbols on Voyager 2’s record are depicted along the sandy walls of the adjacent gas station. Flakes of golden paint chip off the gasoline tanks. 

As travelers refuel their banged-up trucks, Voyager 2’s sole employee, Joseff, slumps around in the gas station; trash bags pile up behind it. No one, not even Joseff, wants to linger in the gas station for more than a minute. The reason: the nostril-burning smells. Joseff, with his face buried under a bandana and goggles, protects his senses and straightens up the place. 

Not only does he handle the front counter, but he also cleans the restrooms, cooks in the connected food court, fixes any mechanical or technical issues, and closes Voyager 2 every night. His phone plays a meshed playlist of oldies and rock; a picture of his previous Marine company and him in Syria replaces his home screen. (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones resounds from his pockets currently. 

Today is his favorite day, Sunday. He’s finished with the essentials for the week so - Mierda, I can’t close until midnight. Guess I’ll kill some time. He restocks expired food on the dusty shelves. He mops beer stains on the greasy floor. He holds his breath around exposed drywalls as

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body odors reek from them. He scoops up rat nests and rotting cockroaches with a flimsy broom. He ignores the passed-out drunk, who clings to a flashing gambling machine on the far wall. A pair of twins arrive at the front counter. They stare at a multitude of profane stickers that deface the counter’s chipping tiles. Joseff steps behind the counter, abandoning his futile tasks, and the twin’s silver suits perplex him. 

Their navy blue socks and burgundy ties somewhat normalize their look. Their silver fedoras glimmer in the flickering ceiling lights. He catches glimpses of their glossy pale skin, but black shades veil their eyes. Compared with his average height, parting hair, fuzzy beard, and smeared maintenance suit, these twins look like they’re from another world. 

“What,” Joseff asks them. 

The twins inhale and exhale. 

“No inglés,” he asks them. 

The twins stand over him, expanding twice in height and width. The twins flick up their fedoras and their razor-sharp cheekbones cut concern into him. They don’t look - human. He straightens his posture, growing nervous. Is this a stickup or something? Both of them lean forward and tap on the front counter’s bell. 

“Español,” he asks them. 

Crash! 

The back door slams open, cutting their conversation short. Joseff looks back into the hallway behind him. Slimy footprints of garbage and sand tiptoed from outside to the backroom. Mierda me. What now?

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A white illuminance shines from the backroom and the twins peek over Joseff to look into the back room. The theme from Joseff Carpenter's 1984 Starman blares in the backroom as well. But the theme sounds faster. What now? 

“One mome - un momento,” Joseff says. 

They stare at him. Pendejos. He departs from the front counter and rushes into the backroom. Entering the back he sighs. A woman watches the movie on the company’s T.V. That’s still on? However, the movie fast-forwards at an incredible speed and he scratches his head. He approaches the splintered table that holds up the T.V. and a small fan; action figures of 1980’s wrestlers deck the edges of the table. 

The woman munches through bags of stale chips and crumbs cling to her poncho. Sitting crisscrossed in a lawn chair, she doesn’t turn around. A football cap keeps her ginger hair together. Light blue jeans, typical cowboy boots, and an alien souvenir tee drape over her dusky skin. Wow, she looks a lot like - imposible. I’m just seeing things again. She’s some lot lizard. From the monitors above the T.V., he watches the twins linger at the front counter. “Can I help you,” he asks her. 

She finishes the last bag of chips and gulps down a liter of soda. He steps next to her to pull her out of the chair and his knees almost give out. 

“Maria,” he says. 

She turns to him and her face scares him. She twitches her eyebrows, making funny faces, and she wails. Joseff staggers back and his stomach turns. Not from her foul breath. Not from the possibility that she’s a druggie and might bite him. Not that she could rob him, because she’s a loony. It’s because she looks exactly like his deceased wife, Maria.

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From the chocolate freckles to her silvery eyes, she’s an exact copy of her. She doesn’t make any facial expressions when he says her name again. 

“You’re not her, right,” he asks. 

The movie ends and she takes her eyes off the T.V. screen. She studies the room with bird-like movements. American flags stretch across the walls of crackling paint. Hooks on metal racks adorn hunting gear. Stacks of outdoor magazines fill up the corners; a booklet on grief sticks out. 

She repeats the name, Maria, in different pitches and volumes. As if she never heard that name before. She speaks to him in multiple languages, but he doesn’t understand one of them. He begins to repeat the Lord’s Prayer as she leans in closer to him. More fear falls upon him and he can’t run away; his feet freeze to the floor. 

He passes out and she says, “I send greetings.” 

He wakes up on the floor with Maria staring down at him. He yells from her ghostly face and she yells back. Realizing a minute went by from his phone, he jumps up and runs for his work desk by the door. If she was to do something, she would’ve done it already. I can’t risk it. Oh no, what if she touched me? Bruta. Road trash in my pants. 

She stands up from the chair and a rerun of the movie pauses; she didn’t touch the remote. He takes out a Glock from his desk and aims it at her. She walks up to him and his hand trembles. He wants to shoot her. He needs to shoot her. But he can’t. All he sees is Maria. Is this all in my head? 

She grabs his arm and says, “I mean you no harm.” 

“I don’t know you. Get away from me!” 

“I mean you no harm.” 

“How do I know that?”

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He wants to pull the trigger, but he can’t. He’s looking at Maria’s face. To watch her die again. I can’t. 

She stretches her arm out and opens her hand. A globe of light forms over her palm and Joseff lowers his pistol in awe. The globe emits a display of red lines and it unfolds on the walls. It morphs into a map of the U.S., and all of the cities and towns twinkle as crimson stars. 

She points to a state in the southwestern region and asks, “Do you know where that place is?” His mouth opens, but words don’t leave it. Que - Her eyes gleam from the globe. “Where,” she asks again. 

He examines the specific region without moving his body and says, “Arizona, maybe.” She touches his lips and says, “Jenny.” 

Then, she points to herself and says, “Scott.” 

“Is that your name?” 

It then hits him. She’s repeating lines and gestures from that movie to convey something. If he remembers it, Jenny escorts Scott to some crater in Arizona. From there, his people can pick him up and he can escape from Jenny’s corrupt government. Gracias Maria for boring me with that movie. 

She grabs him by the arm and says, “We must do that. We will stop at food station. You have hungry too.” 

“I'm not starving at all, cariña.” 

She tilts her head, probably out of confusion. 

Ring!

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An electronic bell sets off as someone steps into the gas station. Joseff hears their footsteps reach the counter. He glances back up to the monitors and a trucker pushes the twins out of his way. He bends his upper body over the counter and he spits chewing tobacco on the floor. 

“I told you, Jojo, the world is ending. They just said it on the news. They’re going to send some robots into space to save us or whatever. Anyway, I need some gas, JoJo. And I ain’t talking about the one from someone’s ass-,” but two sounds silence him. 

Blam! Blam! 

Two helices of pink lasers blast from the twins’ chests. The trucker’s sizzling body soars over the counter and lands by the backroom door. Joseff can view the floor through two holes in the trucker's torso. 

The monitors suddenly go off and he hears two sets of footsteps, heavier and precise, close in on them. Two silhouettes stretch across the hallway’s walls and Joseff holds up his pistol. What is the mierda going on? Two separate humming sounds grow louder as the silhouettes close in on the backroom. 

He pushes Maria behind him and tosses his desk onto its side. The silhouettes intrude into the back room, and he takes cover behind his desk with Maria. 

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! 

More shots of lasers whizz over their heads. One of them bursts a hole through the desk and into one of the flags. A sizzling hole resides between Joseff and Maria’s heads, and he peeks through it. 

The twins step inside and their chests hold strange glossy weapons. Their lanky fingers linger on three side triggers. Bulky clips slide back and forth along the weapon’s cylindrical bodies. They aim them with grips on top and electricity hums from the multiple chambers.

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Maria turns to Joseff for safety, but he doesn’t fire one bullet. I can’t. They’re hu- merida! What are they? She snatches the pistol from him and - 

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! 

She empties the entire clip, tearing the twins apart. Pink blood stains the hunting gear and they tumble towards Joseff like chopped down trees. The bullet holes seem to open up and reveal bits of their innards. It sickens him, but curiosity overcomes him and he studies their innards. 

Purple goo flows through a system of transparent “veins”. Two steel “hearts” cease to pump in their hollow “stomachs”. Glass “ribcages” cage their single centered “lung”, three squished “brains” and other metallic “organs”. All of these “organs” stop revolving around a glossy “liver” under their neck. But again, their innards don’t look exactly like this. He’s using his knowledge as a field medic. Just my guess. He passes three craters over their oblique noses as their “eyes” and he gags. Oh hombre. Close to vomiting. 

“Guns make me a little bit jumpy,” Maria says. 

She hands him the pistol back. 

Clank! Clank! 

Beside the backroom, something bangs against the exit door. More of them? He reloads his pistol and dashes out of the back room. He makes sure he takes a spare clip. There are probably more of these pendejos. 

On the way to the front counter, he asks her, “Who - what are they?” 

“Not around from here. Environment: hostile.” 

“No shit.” 

The banging on the exit door stops and they slide over the front counter. They stick their land and he nods to his car outside.

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“We can drive off in that. Then, I deserve some answers.” 

Maria spots an orange 1977 Ford Mustang Cobra II coupe, which is parked in the handicap spot, the closest spot to the gas station. Dual black stripes run from the flat roof to the hood. Kaboom! 

An explosion ruptures from the back of the food court and punches a hole into the hallway. A gust of wind rushes from the explosion and sweeps them off their feet. They crash into the shelves, knocking them down, and a pillar of smoke twirls from the scorching food court. All of this ruckus awakens the drunk by the gambling machines and they dash back to their truck outside. 

While Joseff and Maria recover from their ringing ears, two clones of the deceased twins surface from the smoke. They too are equipped with their advanced weaponry. Mas? I hate being right. 

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! 

Joseff and Maria duck as the clones fire at them. Lasers detonate from their weapons’ twisted barrels and shred the front counter. Chunks of it fly off and spill on the toppled shelves. The clones jump over the obliterated front counter and march towards their targets. 

Joseff drags Maria along with him while they crawl under the shelves. The clones blast through the shelves, severing generic flip flops, cheap plastic memorabilia of Voyager 2, and generic sunscreen. Joseff and Maria stop at the end of the shelves and the ringing leaves their ears. 

They hear the clones chunking away their empty chambers and shoving in new ones. Joseff turns onto his back and peeks through a gap in the shelves above them. Instead of smoke, clouds of electrical charges swirl out of the barrels; the tip of their weapons point down to the floor.

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“We need a distraction,” he says. 

Maria closes her eyes and the gambling machines shriek. Lights on top of them flash rapidly. The screens switch on and off with pixelated images of Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen from Starman. The machines hurl out endless seas of rusty quarters and the clones twist their heads to the machines. Their senses relish in the lights, colors, and sounds. Joseff and Maria crawl out from under the shelves and make their way to the front doors. 

The clones hear their fleeting footsteps and finish reloading their weapons. The front doors slide open from their advancing presences and the clones return to work. 

Blam! Blam! Crash! Crash! Crunch! Crunch! 

The lasers shatter the glass of the front doors, and Joseff and Maria run over the glass shards. They head towards the handicap spot and - 

Swish! 

One of the lasers shave some flesh off his side and he leans onto Maria. She catches him and they drop down behind a row of sticky shopping carts by the car. 

Bam! Bam! Bam! 

Joseff returns shot through the shopping carts and a bullet drives through one of the clone’s fragile neck. As it collapses onto its knees, another bullet scalps the other clone. The rest of the bullets pierce through the twins’ torsos and they splash into a puddle of spilled sunscreen. Joseff shoves the last clip into his pistol and they depart from the shopping carts. 

Two more clones hop out of bushes on the side of the gas station and Maria screams. Joseff fires quick shots at them from his waist. The clones leap back to the side of the gas station for cover and the bullets miss them.

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He lets loose three more shots and slides over the car hood. He arrives at the driver’s door and reaches into his pocket. Joder! Where’s my keys? He remembers he left them on his desk and he smacks the hood. 

Crash! 

He bashes open the driver window with his elbow and unlocks the car manually. The clones depart from their cover, and Joseff and Maria squirm through the shattered window. Maria crouches down in the passenger seat and Joseff ducks by the wheel. 

The clones spray a swarm of lasers at them, shredding the car apart. Joseff and Maria cover their eyes from the shattering car windows; sunlight shines through the slashed roof. Lasers incinerate the top half of the wheel and puncture through the driver’s door. The clones’ combusting chambers light up the abandoned parking lot like firecrackers and Joseff takes out his phone. A laser cremates the upper half of his phone before he dials a number, almost burning his thumb off. 

The ruckus scares off truck drivers and they evade the lasers by kicking rocks. They race off to the next gas station with enough or little gas in their trucks. A couple of truck drivers either call the police or videotape it as they flee the scene. 

Maria trembles in terror and Joseff shields her with his body. The clones close in and Joseff points his pistol towards their direction. 

“When can I fire back,” Joseff asks her. 

“Believe what I tell you. Bingo,” Maria replies. 

The hail of lasers halts and the electricity in the clones’ weapons dims. The humming fades away and the chambers pop out. As the clones approach the passenger door, Maria spits onto the ground and some of her loogie splatters onto his boots.

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“Bingo,” Maria then says. 

Joseff, keeping her down, returns shots. Two bullets for each of them. One in the stomach and one in the forehead. They slump onto the hood and stain the pavement with their blood. They stiffen and gag out their last breath. 

He looks at Maria and she says, “Bingo.” 

She spits again. This time, her loogie ricochets off the car mat and into Joseff’s face. “Pinche, stop spitting,” he shouts. 

“I think I am becoming a planet Earth person,” she says. 

“An asshole? You are! Anda a cagar,” he tells her. 

She smiles back and he sighs. Before he reaches for the glove compartment, he listens to their surroundings. Silence and tranquility. He releases the clip from his pistol and he counts five rounds left. Joder. 

Clouds of electrical charges hiss from the tattered center console and he opens the glove compartment. He rummages through trash and finds a cluttered medical kit. Opening the kit, he takes out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and shakes it. He bites onto his sleeve and pours some alcohol on a crackling gash over - are those my rib cages! ¡Qué Cabrón! He grunts as the rubbing alcohol seeps into his deep side wound; he stares at his exposed rib cages. I don’t think rubbing alcohol will fix that. 

Maria places her hands on his stinging wound and he winces. A warm sensation flows over his wound like a cleansing flood and soothes him. A white light illuminates under her clamped hands and his breathing slows down. He collects his thoughts and the light under her hands vanishes. She lifts her hands and his side is restored. He touches his smooth side and he drops his pistol from amazement. He simply stares at her and loses two things.

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First, time. His world stops as he gawks at the miracle of his wound. Hijo de puta. This shit is like magic. Maria smiles at him as he rubs his side. He’s tended to numerous wounds in the military and such an injury would take months - years to heal completely. Until today. 

Second, words. The more he gazes at Maria, her beauty envelops him and he can’t breathe. Everything’s the same. The hair. The eyes. The smile. She looks like Maria before - she took that nap. So happy and innocent. 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. 

He escapes from her beauty, reminding himself that she’s not truly Maria. He tells her, “I don't know what you are, but you're not,” but he stops. 

Her smile dies out. 

“Who knows what you are,” he says. 

“Doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Can’t they just leave me alone,” she says. 

“Why are they trying to kill me then?” 

“Think you are a very primitive species. 

“So, you’re an alien to help us?” 

She glances up at the few stars left and he sighs. He can’t believe he’s going to quote that lame movie. 

“I want to show him where his father came from,” he says 

She exclaims and points at the brightest star above the mountains. 

“There. Glowing in the sky. There,” she answers. 

“How is it up there,” he asks.

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“It is beautiful. Not like this, but it is beautiful. There is only one language, one law, one people. There is no war, no hunger. The strong do not victimize the helpless. We are very civilized, but we have lost something, I think.” 

“And why look like my wife,” he asks. 

“I look like him?” 

What this thing really means is her. 

“Disculpa? Yes,” he tells her, 

“I look like him, so you do not be a little bit jumpy,” she says 

A little bit jumpy? My nerves are jumping off a cliff with you. I love - loved her. She was mi vida.” 

“Love,” she asks 

He explains, “Love is when you care more for someone else than you do yourself. But it's not just that it’s - it's when someone isn't a part of you and when they -” and he pauses. “What?” 

“She died from a drug overdose. Wish I was a better husband.” 

At this point, Maria doesn’t understand him, but he continues. 

“She gave me everything and I gave her nothing. I was too - dura with her. I couldn’t accept someone so perfect loving me. Our dream for the future was to buy a ranch, start a family, retire from our terrible jobs, and enjoy the last years together. Imposible with a flawed person like me. I guess she couldn’t take the abuso anymore. During our divorce process, she kept taking aspirin pills for her raging headaches. Mas and mas every day. Until she took a nap and -” He stops and Maria tilts her head again.

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He bows his head and says into this chest, “No mas. No more pain. And no more breathing. When someone you love dies - oh, mierda.” 

“Define mierda.” 

“It's like shit,” he says. 

“Define shit,” she asks. 

“Nevermind.” 

She sits back and folds her hands to her sides. She stares at his salvaged wheel and the empty ignition switch. 

“I can’t get the engine started, cariña,” he tells her. 

She touches the ignition switch and - 

Vroom! 

The engine roars like a hungry lion and rumbles the car. 

“What else can you do,” he asks her. 

The lights of a truck beam on them from Maria’s side and Joseff holsters his pistol in his pocket. 

“I must go back,” she says. 

“Do I have a choice,” he asks. 

“No.” 

The truck screeches its horrendous horn and hurls at them. 

“Shit,” Maria says. 

CRASH! 

Before Joseff and Maria can do anything else but buckle up, the truck rams into them and pushes them across the parking lot. The truck shoves them all the way into a ditch between the

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truck lot and gas station. The driver of the truck slams on their brakes, and Joseff and Maria roll down the ditch in the car. They hold onto the laser-ridden walls and flip around. Every time it smacks the desert floor, their knees collide into the dashboard. Each collision fractures more and more bones in Joseff’s legs. Glass shards slash through her poncho and slice her arms. Their necks whip around in all kinds of angles and their wrists almost break as they grip the seats. 

After countless rolls, the car comes to a stop at the bottom of the ditch. Upside, they groan in pain. He tries to move, but the crash broke both of his legs. 

Click! Click! 

He unbuckles their belts and he lands on his stomach; a massive headache distorts his vision. Que te folle un pez. She crawls out of the car and brushes glass shards off her poncho. Even though pink blood drips from her bruised arms, she pulls him out of the car with no struggle and sets him down in the sand. The truck hangs over the ditch slightly and the lights shut off. Ten more clones - one from the driver seat and nine from the trailer- hop out of the truck. 

They all stand on the edge of the ditch and fixate their weapons on them. At the end of the ditch, corroded railroad tracks vibrate. Maria notices an incoming automatic train far away on the tracks. Its sprinting wheels, tooting horn, and steaming head comforts her. “Boxcar,” she shouts. 

While Joseff struggles to sit up, she retrieves his pistol from his pocket. The ringing in his ears drowns out the sounds of the world and he smells gasoline. 

“You smell that,” Joseff asks.

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Warm liquid runs over his legs and hangs and Joseff sniffs the liquid. Maria looks back at the car and spots gasoline leaking from a busted gas tank and spilling around them. She taps him on the shoulder and he asks, “Yeah?” 

She nods to the leaking gas and Joseff shouts, “Mierda! That’s flammable!” She tilts her head. He rattles the pistol and points at the gasoline. He imitates the sounds of a gunshot and then an explosion with his mouth. 

She gives him a thumbs up and says, “Take it easy.” 

Why did I tell her that? 

She faces the clones and gives them the middle finger. 

She yells, “Up yours!” 

The clones slide down into the ditch and Joseff searches for the closest weapon near him. The clones surround them like relentless vultures and Maria whispers to Joseff, “For a primitive species, we have our points.” 

Did they fall for her - bluff? But, por qué? Uh - she’s - no, no, no! 

Bam! 

She fires at the gas tank and - 

Kaboom! 

The car blows up and flames consume the clones. The whip blast of the explosion thrusts Joseff’s head into the car trunk and almost knocks him out. His vision blurs out more as the flames rush over him. Fire fills the ditch and devours everything in its reach. Pop! Pop! Pop!

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The clones’ bodies burst from the boiling temperatures and their body parts drizzle on the ditch like confetti. The flames gallop out of the ditch and swallow the truck. They heat up the truck’s engine and - 

Kaboom! 

A much larger explosion erupts by the ditch and expands the flames. The fire torches the truck lot and scorches the outside restrooms. Within minutes, Voyager 2 swaps from a pisspot into a burning heap of trash. But neither Maria nor Joseff are on fire. 

An aura of blue light outlines their bodies, shielding them from the fire. Joseff sticks out his hand and the fire doesn’t penetrate through the aura. Maria taps him on the shoulder and he points to his legs. 

“Okay,” Maria asks. 

“Okay? You almost got us killed, cariña!” 

“Define cariña.” 

“Stop quoting that movie!” 

She whistles (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction and he sighs. She smiles and scoops him as if he weighs nothing. Their aura splits open the flames and smoke, like Moses and the Red Sea, and the fire blazes next to him. Joseff restrains himself from gasping as they navigate through the burning ditch. 

She carries him out of the ditch and they head to the tracks. Joseff rubs his throbbing head, looking away from everything. This can’t be happening. Smoke and dirt slide off their aura and they wait next to the tracks as the train converges to them. 

“Arizona,” she asks. 

“The one and only.”

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Their aura vanishes and he spits onto the tracks; the train whistles. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says. 

“Sure -” and he pauses. 

Just quote it and get this done pronto! 

“Why me,” he asks her. 

“You are at your very best when things are worst,” she answers. 

“What I needed to hear.” 

She doesn’t understand the sarcasm underlining his statement and pats him on the head. Chooga! Chooga! Chooga! 

The train whizzes before them and she takes some steps back. 

Joseff grips onto her and asks her, “ Can’t you just fix my car or something?” She bends her knees and leaps off the ground. The chilly air whistles in their ears while they glide a foot over the desert floor. They soar into an open compartment and she plants her feet onto the wooden floor. 

She looks at Joseff and asks, “It's good, huh?” 

He shakes his head and his nostrils flares in anger. He slips out of her grip and crashes onto the floor. She approaches him, but he pushes her away. He inches his way to the back of the compartment by grabbing and pulling himself towards plastic-wrapped tribal tools. It’s a long process, which Maria refrains from joining in. 

She looks back at the disappearing gas station and the bright flames soon become blurry glows in the dark. She smiles and waves it farewell. 

Midway, he catches his breath and asks,“Why show up to my place as my wife?” She shrugs.

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“Full of answers, aren’t you,” he says. 

She walks up to him and crouches down. She rolls up his pants and pulls out metal debris from his legs. He flinches, but her eyes compose him. She places her hands over his legs and the healing white light returns. 

All of the pain, not only in his legs but in his body dissolves, within a minute. He can feel his bones snapping back into place, his muscles being reattached, and his skin regrowing. However, he doesn’t look up at her. He keeps his eyes locked on the floor. 

“Cried when you saw Bambi,” she asks him. 

“Uh? I haven’t seen that movie since -” 

It was the last movie he saw with his wife. An hour after it, he discovered her dead in their bed. 

“Cried when you saw Bambi,” she asks again. 

He chokes up a little and says, “Nada.” 

What a lie. That movie has haunted him since her death. 

As Maria heals his legs, a tear drops from his sore eyes. He was the hunter and his wife was Bambi. He killed something so innocent for pure game. He thought he could push his luck with her by being a piece of shit and receiving her love. Lure her in a forest. Follow her tracks. Stalk her. Scare her. Trap her. Shoot her. 

Her hair hangs over his eyes and she picks up his chin. He sinks into the eyes of Maria. Not an alien or a burden, but his high school sweetheart. His partner-in-crime for twenty-plus years. Amor de su vida. He takes off her hat and strokes her hair. Two more tears leave his lifeless eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I was so full of anger. I couldn’t believe someone so good could stay with someone so bad like me.”

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He hugs her and she embraces him. Their hearts beat together. Their hands clench each others’ sides. She rests her chin on his shoulder and he rests his head against her. Just like her. He pulls himself back from her and she tilts her head. Some weight slips off his heart and comfort resides in him. 

“Too bad you’re not her. Mierda,” he tells her. 

Only if. Most of the weight remains on his heart and she feels it. She turns his distressed face towards her serene eye and she kisses him. 

“Thank you,” she tells him. 

For a moment, he’s with his wife once again. As if she truly surfaced from this being and forgave him. The rest of the weight begins to perish in a sea of peace. Did I - did help my Maria? “Now, what,” he asks her. 

Snow sprinkles on the desert floor and he pokes his head outside. A gigantic shadow cloaks the stars and the breaking dawn. The sand illuminates as a scarlet essence and blue light gleams from the shadow. Their frozen breaths mingle with one another as the temperatures drop below zero; strange machinery blare from the shadow. Mierda. 

Joseff and Maria bask in the alien environment, and he lets out a single, “Woah.” She chuckles. 

“Are those your people,” he asks. 

“One and only.” 

Snow howls into the compartment, urging them that it's not over. Two more trucks, full of those clones they assume, swerve off U.S. Route 191 and converge on them. Their front lights capture Maria and Joseff in the compartment. They skid across the sand and haul ass to reach the train. Joseff counts the remaining four bullets in his clip and smacks the floor.

22 

“We need to do something,” he says. 

“Go ahead,” she replies. 

“What?” 

The trucks disband and converge on different sides of the train. Their massive wheels dig into the sand and rocks for maximum speed. They reach Maria and Joseff’s compartment, and clones climb out of the trucks from the back. They face their chests to the train on top of the trucks, and Joseff and Maria duck. The truck on the left goes first. 

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! 

They shower lasers on them and maul the compartment. They vaporize the tribal tools and blast holes in the wooden floor. The clones aim low enough to not inflict damage on the other truck. They melt some of the compartment’s wheels and it grazes along the tracks. The train releases a cry for help with its horn and takes a sharp right turn. The truck backs off and the other truck waits for the train to straighten out. 

A small globe of changing colors descends on the train and Joseff asks her, “What the hell is this about?” 

“You behave yourself, Mark,” Maria says. 

“My name isn’t -” 

The globe hovers over their compartment and follows the train. Misery falls on the clones’ faces and they shriek at the globe. 

It shines as a garnet hexagon and Maria tells him, “Red light, stop.” 

Its radiance blinds the clones and the driver in the left truck loses control of the wheel. It swerves away from the train and they crash into a frozen pond. They plunge into the freezing

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water with the truck. The truck crushes them as it sinks to the bottom; none of them surface from the shattered water. 

The hexagon morphs into a lime-colored octagon and she tells him, “Greenlight, go.” She grabs him by the collar and they hop out of the compartment. They balance themselves on the railroad coupling between the devastated compartment and the one up ahead. They place their backs against the undamaged compartment, but the remaining clones don’t retreat. The octagon’s brilliance doesn’t hurt their eyes and Joseff targets his pistol at the right truck. Maria points at the clone driving the truck and says, “Yellow light, go very fast.” The octagon morphs into a yellow decagon and she rattles his pistol. The driver struggles to stabilize the truck as the yellow light melts its face. Joseff closes one eye, aligns the sights with his vision, focuses on the pistol, and takes a deep breath. Por mi amor. 

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! 

He bombards the driver with his remaining bullets and disperses purple blood on the truck’s windshield. The truck veers into madness and rams into the last compartment. Kaboom! 

The explosion wipes away the compartment, and wooden planks and truck parts whiz towards them. Joseff and Maria evade the deadly debris with quick moves and clutch onto the railroad coupling for balance. 

A flaming skeleton of the truck tosses and turns away from the train along the tracks. The clones that survived the explosion soar off the truck like eagles with broken wings and snap their bodies on the desert floor from the impact. None of them get up and Joseff breathes. No mas.

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The train brakes and ivory sparks spew next to them. The horn echoes in the desolate desert and the train slows down. The decagon reforms back into a white globe and the train stops in the middle of nowhere. 

Its brilliance burnishes brighter and doesn’t blind them. If anything, it eases any pain in them. Completely consumed in white light, they listen to a consoling drone that resounds from it. Multiple benevolent presences -completely invisible to the eye but experienced by other senses emanant from the droning and wrap around them. Like mothers swaddling their children in a warm blanket. Joseff gets a small taste of what Maria really is. 

He looks down to their feet levitating off the coupling and widens his eyes. A couple of more feet above the train and Joseff stops ascending. But Maria doesn’t and proceeds higher in the sky. The snow coils around her like a snake, leaving behind a funneling trail, and the globe escorts her to the gigantic shadow. 

“I have nada now! Take me with you,” he shouts 

“I can not,” she tells him in a soft but booming voice. 

“Please." 

“You would die there." 

“I don't care." 

“I care." 

Maria dematerializes in the globe’s brilliance and a new presence surrounds him. The presence gently sets him down by the tracks and the globe darkens. It darts off into the looming shadow and the shadow fades away. A new day suddenly shines on him and he fixates on the morning, blue sky.

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Harsh sunlight dissolves the ground snow and the yellow sand returns. The falling snow concludes as clouds part ways from the desert. The unworldly presences withdraw from him and -he thinks- return to their place in the stars. Everything is back to normal, except for the damaged train. 

If Maria was here, she would tell him the same thing. ‘I care’. He could rebound to his old bitter days. When he hated himself for Maria dying. Or. He could take on a new perspective in life. He did let Maria down, but not this time. He redeemed himself today and that’s what matters. I’m starving. I need some Menudo. 

He chuckles and strolls along the tracks. It’ll take two hours before he reaches the next train station, yet it gives him time to think about his new dream for the future. Gracias, Starwoman. Who would’ve thought a stranger would save him from those clones and himself.