The Day Nothing Happened.
The day began quietly enough, one of those hotter than hell days when horny toads looked for any shade possible. Noon in June along the Mexican border can be dangerous, just from the heat. Throw in the drug runners and the Coyotes, it becomes deadly.
Most people who lived in the area were aware of the simple fact: a person should not travel between the southernmost U.S. towns and the northernmost Mexican cities. The government of Mexico did what it could to protect travelers, but the highways were full of ‘toll’ stops with banditos doing what they must to make a living.
On one of those roads running through the Sierra Madre Mountains, approximately a hundred miles south of Marysfield, the Olson family was about to become the victim of one of those toll stops.
