One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 2, page 5

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Zhíno Zhudıro pointed his semiautomatic at the retreating automobile.

“Get the plagues back here, you Tara-fucking twin of Vítí! What are you doing to me? Don’t leave me here in this Pétíso-damned plague-pit!”

Illuminated by a lone streetlight, Zhíno stood in the center of the deserted street, feet far apart and his gun arm fully extended forward.

“Don’t leave me, you Kínıtíní-licked Névo-brain! I love you!”

He didn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk hurting his girlfriend, no matter how treacherously she had just betrayed him. He couldn’t risk destroying the shipment in the trunk of the auto. Without it, Gogzhuè would kill him without a second thought.

Zhíno snarled, “Plagues of Rívorí, Ríhíví, Rékaré, and all the rest,” and lowered the handgun.

His left hand, which held the gun, hung loosely at his side. His right arm also hung limp, a hastily tied elastic bandage around the upper portion. Blood already began to seep through.

He had to get Gogzhuè’s guns and explosives back. He had to deliver them to Umo at the drop. And then he had to hunt down the Zhéporé-spawn who shot him and put a bullet through his brain. After that, he could finally escape to the desert and live out the rest of his life, free of Koro-brained humankind.

Of course, if it was one of Gogzhuè’s goons who shot him, everything changed. He had to be ready for that. He had to have his gun ready at all times.

But first, chase down Fírí.

Across the street from the pharmacy sat a fix-it shop, several automobiles in the lot. Most of them wouldn’t be running very well--why else would they be there?--but maybe one was. Zhíno trotted across the asphalt and jumped over a concrete curb into the parking lot.

A cargo van, no. A truck covered with rust, no. A old-model Huírupho sports sedan, maybe. Zhíno jogged over to it. “Plagues.” It was missing its tires.

And then Zhíno saw it. He could barely believe his eyes. On the other side of the cargo van, facing the street, sat a yellow Rènzas RZ-7 racer. Zhíno’s jaw dropped. What the plagues is that thing doing here? But he didn’t have time to find out. He had to go.

He ran for the RZ-7.

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