Flash Fiction -260 words
They crossed over to the Texas border on a moonless night. Six immigrants hailing from Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador bearing backpacks. The coyote, who name was Carlos, urged them to move faster.
“Estoy exenuado!” a young man from Guatemala complained.
“Seguier avanzando!” Carlos warned him not to stop.
The four men and two women who followed Carlos were silent after that, not wanting to anger the coyote and be left to die in the Rio Grande Valley’s harsh environment.
Just before daylight Carlos led them to a wooden shack that was almost entirely concealed by clusters of small barrel cactus and honey mesquite. The one room shack was just big enough for the tiny group.
“Descansa y duerme,” he advised the immigrants, knowing they would need all the rest they could get, because the next night was the most perilous part of the journey.
The next night the moon crept up over the horizon like a silver ball as Carlos looked out the one window in the shack. A full moon. How could that be, he wondered? He checked the almanac, and the national weather service. It was supposed to be a quarter moon tonight!
His perfect record of delivering his cargo to a safe haven on the other side of the border was going to be ruined. He hoped he wouldn’t get a bad reputation. There weren’t too many jobs for werewolves these days.
As his body morphed into a mass of muscle and hair he briefly felt sorry for the group. Then he let out a howl!