One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 1, page 8

(start of book) (previous page)



Fírí Parızada gripped the pepper-spray can so tight she feared it might burst. The flashes from Zhíno’s handgun still blinded her eyes; bright blobs danced everywhere she looked. Through the ringing in her ears, the Research Suicide song was as good as dead silence.

Fírí was drawn to her boyfriend’s crazed face. Zhíno’s bulging eyes stared at the rearview mirror and, through a twisted grimace, he muttered something Fírí couldn’t hear.

She had to get out--out of that automobile, out of that relationship. The Sonla sedan was technically hers, but Fírí didn’t care if she never saw it again. It and its paranoid, Névazhíno-brained driver. Zhíno, Névazhíno: it was all in the name.

Zhíno hit the brakes, preparing to turn the auto around one more time.

Fírí yelled, “Why don’t you just leave them alone? Let’s just go!” Just go and let me out in the next town, for Vuzhí’s sake.

Her boyfriend pointed his wide eyes and his handgun Fírí’s direction and bellowed, “Shut the plagues up!”

The rear window shattered.

Fírí realized her hearing was returning as she turned to look back.
Zhíno jerked the steering wheel back and forth, forcing Fírí to let go of the pepper spray so she could hold on.

Her crazed boyfriend started screaming, “That bastard! That Zhéporé-spawn! That Tara-fucking Zhéporé-spawn bastard!”

She couldn’t see a thing out the rear window. It was nothing but a shroud of cracks. Except for one dark hole in the middle.

“That Tarénara-fucking Ahísıhíta-damned Zhéporé-spawn shot me!”

Fírí glanced at Zhíno. In the dim light from the dashboard, she saw black blood spreading quick on the white sleeve of Zhíno’s singlet.

“You’ve been shot.”

Zhíno slammed down the fuel pedal, forcing the little Sonla to accelerate as best it could. To Fírí, he growled, “That’s what I Tara-fucking said, you Névo-brained twin of Vítí!”

He raised his right hand as if to hit her, but winced, biting his lip, and dropped his hand to his lap.

Fírí smiled inwardly. Zhíno deserved to get shot. Zhíno deserved everything that came to him.

A large, blue roadsign flew past them, almost too fast for Fírí to read in the instant before their headlights passed it. But she was fairly certain it said:
“Welcome to Tuhanı! Population 1,873.”

Add one more to that, Fírí thought, because I’m stopping here.

(next chapter)