One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 3, page 2

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Bhanar Narak gripped his rifle with sweaty hands. The sharp gravel dug into his elbows.

Was this blonde woman the person who had shot at him? That was the same car, he thought. She apologized for the shooting, so she clearly knew what was happening--unlike old Pí’oro, who ordered Bhanar around despite his ignorance.

The old man kept saying things like, “Come on, son. Hand me the rifle. You can’t go around pointing your gun at innocent passersby.”

Bhanar tried to ignore him. He could barely understand half of it, anyway.

The blonde wasn’t dropping her bag. Wasn’t he making sense? Her gun had to be either in her bag or under that baggy sweatshirt. Her denim pants were skin-tight, so he knew it couldn’t be hidden in those.

Bhanar repeated himself, careful to enunciate. “Down the bag!”

She still didn’t drop it. Bhanar’s trigger finger twitched, but the rifle didn’t fire. He eased his finger away, to rest against the trigger guard, just in case. He couldn’t shoot her till she posed a threat to him, until she drew her gun.

The blonde called out, “Zhíno has the gun. I left him in town. Stop pointing your rifle at me!”

Bhanar understood most of that, but the woman had to be lying. Maybe he should just shoot her, gun visible or not. End this standoff.

No, he shouldn’t shoot her. What if the police suddenly arrived? They should be there by now. Why’d that police auto drive past? Bhanar couldn’t believe that Pí’oro hadn’t called the police. Any sane human would call the police if he heard gunshots outside his house.

Then again, perhaps Pí’oro wasn’t sane. Maybe none of these freaks were sane.

Bhanar’s finger tensed toward the trigger.

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