The Coyote and what happened after

Chapter 4

The pick-up truck was speeding along a long dusty road. It was an older model Ford, but it was reliable and had been across the country more than once. Mexico was in the cab, listening to the radio, which was spazzing out, while Texas and California were trussed up like pigs in the bed.

"Agh." groaned California, "I've gotta hella bad headache."

"Yes, that would be sensible, Cali. You did get knocked out by Méjico." snarked Texas in response, not particularly caring. He was preoccupied with the fact that he was tied up in the back of a pickup truck in the middle of Mexico somewhere.

The truck suddenly lurched to the side as Mexico turned off the main road and onto a smaller dirt path that was in poor condition. The two states in the back were jounced around, and California almost threw up. The ride was not doing good things to his head or his stomach.

Eventually they stopped in front of an old spanish villa. It was in dire need of a repainting, and didn't have modern commodities, like electricity or running water. This villa was actually Spain's old house when he had an empire in the Americas. All of his colonies would live in the house, and work on the land surrounding it. The old fields were overgrown, and much of the property had lost its old splendor, but California and Texas could still see when the house used to be lively and full of the nations forming New Spain.

"Well hermanos, we are here!" smiled Mexico. He seemed rather happy for them to be with him in the middle of the Mexican wilderness at the vieja casa española. He led Texas and California off the back of the truck and into the living room of the old villa.

They were led to the master suite, where Spain would have stayed, and untied. Unfortunately, the door was locked behind Mexico, and the windows were closed, making escape at the moment impossible.

In the corner of the room was a bed, and dresser. On the floor were various pieces of junk, like old buckets and loose knick-knacks that were left behind by previous occupants.

California sighed, and lay down on the bed to try and quell his headache. Texas began to pace around the room. He never had done well with being cooped up or imprisoned.

"We are outgunned!" Texas declared suddenly.

"What?" said California, he looked up disinterested as Texas marched around the room.

"Outmanned!" Texas whirled towards California.

"What?" said California again, slightly confused as to what Texas was getting at.

"Outnumbered, outplanned!" began Texas again. He was walking toward the bed, but halfway there he tripped over a bucket, and it made a clattering noise like "buck buck buck buck buck" as it rolled into the other knick-knacks on the floor.

"Texas, I hardly think we are outnumbered. There is only one Méjico, and two of us." reasoned California, thoroughly done with the day.

"Dammit California, can't you see?" pleaded Texas, "I haven't got my guns, and I was fixin' to do somethin' to get back to the Union."

California sighed, and looked up at Texas. "Texas, lower your voice. You keep out of trouble and you double your choices. I'm with you, but the situation is fraught. You've got to be carefully taught. If you talk you're gonna get shot."

Texas smirked and sat down at the other side of the bed. "What do you propose then? I think we should break the doors, steal back our weapons and run for the hills."

California just nodded his head, "I'm going to sleep, and I'll see what tomorrow brings. Besides, I hardly doubt that America and Dixie will leave us here."

With that said, he turned on his side away from Texas and fell asleep. Texas sighed, he walked around the room a little more, but eventually went back to the bed and fell asleep as far from California as he could. He may be the friendly state, but some people he just couldn't stand.