The Texas sun beat down on the baked earth. I knelt beside a body, calmly photographing the bullet wounds.Three months on the border had changed me. My skin was tan, my body was strong, and the vulnerability in my eyes was gone."Rose, got another one over here," my partner, Miguel, called out.I nodded and walked over. It was the third body today—all of them young people who had tried to cross the border, left for dead in the desert by human traffickers."Just kids..." I murmured, looking at the young face.Back in Chicago, I thought my pain was the worst in the world. But out here, I saw real suffering. My heartbreak over two men felt trivial in comparison."Let's go, it's getting dark," Miguel said.Just then, we heard an engine. A black SUV sped toward us and screeched to a halt. My gut told me we were in danger. "Miguel, run!"But it was too late. Gunfire erupted. Three masked men jumped out of the SUV, spraying bullets at us."Rose, get down!" Miguel yelled, diving behind a rock
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