Robert Browne: Down Among the Dead Men

T HEY FOLLOWED HIM as he moved the past the choir stall and opened a door, gesturing them inside. He led them down a narrow hallway to a tiny, cluttered office, then moved to a wall that was dominated by a large woven reredos depicting the birth of Christ. Grabbing it by the corner, he pulled it back to reveal a hole in the wall where a door used to be.

Cristo took a small flashlight from his pocket, flicked it on, then led them down a set of wooden steps to a storeroom crowded with the shadowy remnants of the church’s past: old lecterns, several floor candlesticks, a broken font, and at least two wooden kneelers.

He crossed to another door, produced a key from the same pocket, then unlocked it and threw it open.

Behind it was a small cramped closet, with several cardboard boxes piled up inside.

Cristo shoved the boxes aside to reveal another hole, this one low to the ground. Stepping through it, he waved for them to follow.

Beth, Vargas, and Ortiz exchanged looks, then stooped down and climbed through the hole, finding themselves in a long, narrow tunnel, its mud walls braced by thick pieces of lumber.

“Come,” Cristo said, and using the flashlight to guide them, he moved toward the far end of the tunnel where it abruptly turned left.

As she walked, Beth began to get that feeling of deja vu again, knowing that she’d been down here before.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Father Gerard say the church use the tunnels to smuggle guns and hide freedom fighters during the Revolution.”

They reached a junction, the tunnel splitting off in several directions, and took another left. Beth was surprised to hear the faint echo of waves crashing.

And just beneath that, something else…

“Do you hear that?” she asked Vargas.

“Sounds like kids,” he said. “Playing.”

Beth’s heartbeat began to accelerate as they followed Cristo along a curve in the tunnel, the sounds growing louder with every step.

A moment later they were standing in a large cave, carved out of the cliff. And beyond it, the Sea of Cortez stretched out endlessly toward the horizon.

There were about a dozen children here, some playing, others eating fruit and sweet breads, while still others lay asleep on straw mats. It looked as if every single one of them had burn marks on their bodies: face, hands, legs-some worse than others.

A young girl, whose forehead was mottled with scars, saw them and shouted, “Elizabeth!” and one by one they turned to look at Beth.

And the next thing she knew they were all crowding around her, hugging her, touching her, saying her name.

Five boys and seven girls.

Refugees. Victims of the La Santa Muerte cleansing rituals, and brought here one by one by Cristo.

Cristo had been the first to flee, shortly after his third cleansing, when his burns were still raw and festering, the pain nearly unbearable.

He had escaped late at night, through a labyrinth of underground tunnels and caves beneath the La Santa Muerte compound. This, he told them, was where the cleansings and fire ceremonies took place.

When Beth asked about these fire ceremonies, Cristo explained that many women who were brought into the compound were forced to work in private brothels throughout the country. Those who did not succumb to the will of El Santo were offered in sacrifice to La Santisima, strapped to the Holy Chair and burned alive.

Beth thought of Jen and Andy, and what Rafael had told her, and again a nearly uncontrollable anger rose in her chest. But she fought it off. She had to keep a rational mind.

Children were also brought to the compound, Cristo said. Some from as far away as Monterrey and Piedras Negras. They were snatched from the slums-sometimes in broad daylight-then brought to the compound to be indoctrinated and trained to go out into the streets of the cities to deliver drugs for the local dealers. Some of the children were sold into sexual slavery and auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Most of the children came from poverty and neglect and were happy to have food and shelter. But those who revolted or misbehaved were cleansed during the nightly prayer. And sometimes they, too, were sacrificed on Holy Friday.

When Vargas asked why no one went to the police about this, Cristo told him that the police and the politicians could not be trusted. Many of them were believers, followers of El Santo, and La Santa Muerte’s network extended far and wide. Even nonbelievers protected and worked with them, lining their pockets with El Santo’s gold.

And those, like Cristo, who had managed to escape and had the opportunity to expose the cult, were hunted down and killed. Cristo and his brothers and sisters here in the cave were the lucky ones, thanks to Father Gerard.

And Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth and her sister were brought to the compound, they were separated and the sister, Jennifer-who was with child-was kept in the High House with Marta and Rafael.

Elizabeth, however, was taken to the cages, where, at Rafael’s command, she was chained to the floor like a mongrel and beaten and starved and fed drugs. Cristo, who was in charge of washing down the cages, felt sorry for her, and late at night he would sneak back and bring her food and try to talk to her. They did not speak the same words, but after a while, with Elizabeth’s help, Cristo began to learn her language.

El Santo and Rafael thought they could break her, as they had so easily with her sister. But Cristo knew better. Elizabeth was strong-willed and would not bend.

But she wasn’t stupid. She pretended to go along with them, allowing Rafael and El Santo and whoever they chose to defile her.

Elizabeth soon became Rafael’s trophy, Cristo told them, and was free to roam the compound-which was heavily guarded by men with guns. She was even given access to the High House, all the while plotting with Cristo to escape.

And to take Jennifer with them.

Then one night Cristo made a discovery. A part of the tunnels that was hidden from view, blocked by fallen rock. There was a hole in the wall, and through that hole he found more tunnels and more caves, and soon he was standing in the church.

“The tunnels lead here?” Ortiz asked.

“Si,” Cristo said. “They lead many places. They run like a maze beneath the city, and most who know about them stay away for fear of getting lost forever.”

In his exploration of the tunnels, it was not unusual for Cristo to come across old bones or a rotting corpse.

When he found the church, Cristo shared his discovery with Elizabeth and they knew that this would be their way out. But before they could execute a plan, Jennifer gave birth, and Elizabeth said they must wait until the baby was strong enough to travel.

Then Cristo was caught stealing an extra ration of food and was taken for a cleansing, and in his pain that night he fled, coming straight to the church before collapsing beneath the statue of Jesus. He was discovered the next morning by Father Gerard and the sisters, who took care of Cristo’s wounds and nursed him to health.

And when he was healed, he told Father Gerard of La Santa Muerte and where he was from.

“Are there more children like you?” the father asked.

“Si,” Cristo said. “Many more.”

Father Gerard, who was very, very old, had once lived in a faraway place. And during a great war, he had worked with many people to smuggle refugees out of their country. He asked Cristo if he was willing to go back into the tunnels and bring more children to the church.

Cristo agreed, and late at night he returned to the compound and found Elizabeth, who was overjoyed to see him. He told her of Father Gerard’s request, and the two of them worked together to bring many of Cristo’s friends to safety.