El Tren de la Muerte

Just as the man said, up ahead were two little houses. A pretty woman, around 40, came out of the one on the right and called down to them. "Muchachos, venga," she said. "Come on, boys—you need something to eat?" Elias and the others followed her into the modest home, where she dished out generous portions of beans, eggs and rice. As they devoured the food, Elias noticed the woman's three sons watching them. The oldest, who looked about 20, offered one of the migrants a Mexican ID. As his friend looked at the card, Elias discouraged him in a whisper. "Who knows who that is?" he told him. "It's probably some criminal—don't buy it." His friend ignored him and paid for the ID. A few minutes later, the woman's three sons emerged from a bedroom wearing boots and walked out the door. "They're going for soda," the woman said. Yeah, right, Elias thought, feeling his stomach sink. After they paid 50 pesos each for dinner and walked outside, he voiced his suspicions. "Get some rocks," he said. "These guys are going to show up down the road."

As the others complied, Elias stood rooted to the ground. He refused to give up his money—how would he eat?

"Get down and give me your money!" the gunman demanded.

"I don't have any," Elias replied.

"I know you have some, I saw it in the house," the gunman said. He smashed Elias over the head with the .22. "Get on the ground!"

This time, head throbbing, Elias did as he was told. The two younger brothers were already rifling through his friends' clothes looking for cash. The gunman kicked Elias hard in the ribs and back, then yanked off his Nikes and looked inside for money. Luckily, Elias had tucked it under the insoles. He felt the gun barrel press into his forehead. It seemed like his heart was beating clear up to his ears. Was this it? Was he going to die here, in the mud in the middle of nowhere, without ever speaking to his family again?

Just then, footsteps sounded on the path behind them. The bandit straightened. "How many people are behind you?" he asked.

"Six," Elias answered, making it up.

"Are there women?" the man asked.

"Yeah, there are women," Elias lied. The cold metal lifted from his head.

"Get out of here!" the bandit yelled. Elias jumped up and ran. Instead of six, a group of some 40 migrants rounded the corner. The youths tried to rob them, but it was too large a crowd, and the migrants all ran down the road and toward the trains.

Elias and his friends walked with the group for another few days before finally arriving in Tenosique. A family who lived near the tracks let the young Hondurans use their shower and sleep in the front yard. One afternoon, Elias was killing time near the tracks when he noticed a 40-ish man on crutches. He was missing a foot. Elias nodded in greeting. "Where you headed?" he asked. "Same place as you," the man said. It turned out he'd slipped while pulling himself onto a train. He thought he was fine and started to get up, he told Elias, but then he noticed the bloody stump where his foot had been. He later woke up in the hospital. The man was determined to continue his journey, insisting he would hop the train again, crutches and all.

After the third day of riding tied to the ladder, Elias can't stand it anymore. He wants to find his friend Pedro, so he unties himself and climbs to the top of the train. Crouching there, he takes a breath and steadies himself before stepping over to the platform. There he stands holding the railing, wind streaming past his face and through his dirty hair. This is much better.

He walks over the top of the car, slowly at first. He leaps from one car to the next and traverses nine before spotting Pedro. His friend is standing on the top rung of a side ladder near two other Hondurans. Pedro smiles, surprised to see him. "I thought you got left behind," he says. They sit together on top of the boxcar. To pass the time, Elias sings. A lot of the migrants carry small Bibles, or a few pages with scrawled verses. Most wear rosaries. But Elias just prays, often in song. "So much I have with my Lord, so much I owe to my savior," he sings. "If I could repay his loving grace, I would give all my soul."