The Last Run

Rain pelted the windshield as Javier "El Lobo" García gripped the steering wheel of the old pickup truck, his knuckles white with tension. The winding roads of the Sierra Madre were treacherous on a clear day; tonight, they were a death trap. But the storm was the least of his worries.

Beside him sat Martín, a young recruit whose eyes darted nervously between the road and the side mirror. "Are they still following us?" Javier asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Martín glanced back. "I think we lost them."

Javier knew better. The shadows lurking behind them weren't so easily shaken. The Sinaloa Cartel was crumbling from within, torn apart by power struggles and betrayal. What was once a brotherhood had become a nest of vipers, and Javier was caught in the middle.

"Why did you take it?" Martín's question hung heavy in the air.

Javier hesitated before answering. "Because it doesn't belong to them anymore. It never did."

In the truck bed lay a duffel bag filled with cash and a ledger detailing every transaction the cartel had made in the past decade. Evidence that could dismantle what remained of their operation—or ignite a war.

A flash of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. Javier's heart sank. "Hold on," he warned, pressing the accelerator. The engine roared as the truck sped down the slick mountain road.

Bullets shattered the rear window. Martín screamed, ducking as shards of glass rained down. Javier swerved, narrowly missing a fallen branch. "They're gaining on us!" Martín shouted.

"Not for long." Javier veered onto a narrow dirt path barely visible through the rain. The tires slipped, but he managed to keep control.

As the dirt path leveled, a new problem emerged—a second set of headlights blazed through the rain directly ahead. It was Diego, once Javier’s closest friend, coming head-on in his black SUV, blocking their escape route. Diego was pushing his vehicle toward them, daring Javier to back down.

"It's a chicken match," Javier said, his voice low but calm.

Martín’s breath hitched. "What do we do?"

Javier locked his jaw and stared straight ahead. "We don’t flinch."

The old pickup truck and Diego’s SUV thundered toward each other, engines roaring, tires throwing up mud. Martín gripped his seat with white-knuckled fear, heart pounding with each passing second. Both vehicles sped dangerously closer, headlights glaring, the road narrowing with no room to swerve.

The distance between them evaporated in heartbeats. At the last possible second, Diego yanked his wheel to the side. His SUV fishtailed wildly, tires struggling for grip on the slick road. He lost control—his vehicle skidded off the path and collided violently with a tree. Metal crunched, and the force of impact shattered the windshield.

Javier slammed his foot on the brake and swerved slightly, narrowly avoiding the wreckage. Martín gasped, still frozen with disbelief.

"Is he—?" Martín started.

"Doesn’t matter," Javier cut him off, breathing heavily but keeping his focus on the road ahead. "We keep moving."

The SUV’s twisted frame was a dark silhouette in the rearview mirror as Javier pushed the truck forward, mud splashing beneath the tires. Diego’s men would soon catch up, and they couldn’t afford hesitation.

"Why are you doing this?" Martín asked again, his voice trembling.

Javier’s grip on the wheel tightened. Memories of betrayals, lost lives, and broken promises flooded his mind. "Because someone has to stop them," he finally said. "And no one else is coming."

The path opened up to a clearing overlooking a steep ravine. Javier slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt just meters from the edge. "Grab the bag!" he ordered, jumping out of the truck.

Martín hesitated. "We can't go down there!"

Javier pulled a rope from the back. "We don’t have a choice."

The rain hammered down, soaking them both. The shattered rear window let in the cold wind as Martín clutched the duffel bag and began descending the ravine. Javier kept watch, scanning the road for any signs of Diego’s crew.

A pair of headlights cut through the darkness. Armed men emerged from a second vehicle, silhouettes menacing against the truck’s flickering lights.

"Javier!" a voice boomed through the storm.

It was Diego, limping from the wreck but still standing, his pistol raised, fire burning in his eyes. "You made your choice when you stole from us!"

"Stole?" Javier scoffed. "I’m taking back what’s ours—what belongs to the people we hurt."

Diego’s jaw clenched. "You think you’re some kind of hero? You’re just a dead man."

Javier glanced down the ravine. Martín had reached the bottom and disappeared into the shadows, taking the evidence that could bring the cartel to its knees.

"Maybe I am," Javier said, raising his hands. "But it’s not too late for you."

"Enough!" Diego fired.

The bullet grazed Javier’s shoulder, pain searing through him. He staggered but stayed upright. "This won’t end with me," Javier shouted through the rain. "The cartel is finished!"

Sirens echoed from the distance. The authorities, tipped off by Javier’s earlier call, were closing in. Diego’s men exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the end was near.

"What did you do?" Diego hissed, rage giving way to panic.

Javier gave him a grim smile. "Leveled the playing field."

Diego cursed, signaling his men to retreat. They sped away in their remaining vehicle, leaving their leader behind with the wreck.

As the sound of the SUV faded into the night, Javier collapsed to his knees, the adrenaline ebbing away. He pressed a hand to his wounded shoulder and stared down the ravine, where Martín had escaped with the evidence.

The rain eased to a drizzle as flashing lights emerged through the mist. Officers approached cautiously, guns drawn. "Hands where we can see them!"

Javier slowly raised his good arm. "I’m unarmed," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "And I have information you’ll want."

Months later, in a modest apartment in Mexico City, Martín scrolled through headlines announcing the arrests of cartel leaders and the seizure of millions in assets.

A knock at the door startled him. Peeking through the peephole, he let out a breath of relief and opened the door. "You came," he said.

Javier stood there, his arm in a sling but his gaze steady. "Told you I’d find you."

Martín grinned. "I saw the news. We did it."

Javier took a seat, wincing slightly. "The testimonies and the ledger were enough to bring them down. At least, the ones that mattered."

"And Diego?"

Javier’s expression darkened. "Gone underground. But he’ll resurface. They always do."

Martín nodded. "So what now?"

Javier looked out at the bustling city below. "I testify next week. After that… we’ll see."

Silence settled between them. Then Martín spoke. "You know, there’s a group—activists, community leaders—working to tackle the root causes of all this. Maybe we could—"

"Make a real difference?" Javier finished. He smiled faintly. "That’s a fight worth having."

And together, they stepped forward, ready to leave the shadows behind.

The source...check out our great article that inspired this short story: The Sinaloa Cartel’s Civil War: A Powder Keg Explodes in Mexico’s Underworld