One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 4, page 1

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Chapter 4: Animal Instinct



Zhíno Zhudıro shoved his mangled left wrist into his right armpit and pinched it tight as he steered the cruiser straight at the old Zhéporé-spawn. Lit up by the cruiser’s headlights with flashes of red and green from the top of the auto, the old man’s jaw dropped. He started to swing down his rifle, but Zhíno knew the old Voro-fucker wouldn’t have a chance.

Through the agony of his shattered arm, Zhíno laughed with retribution, his cackles drowned out by the cruiser’s wailing siren.

Suddenly, the dark-haired kid pushed the old man out of the cruiser’s path. The kid tried to jump aside, but his legs thumped against the auto’s bumper, sending him flying over the hood of the cruiser to disappear from Zhíno’s view off to his right.

“Stupid Névo-brain,” Zhíno spat as he slammed on the brakes. The cruiser skidded on the loose gravel, the rear end swerving back and forth. Zhíno fought the steering wheel with his one good hand, keeping the auto going straight until it stopped.

Immediately, he shoved the gearshift into reverse and floored the accelerator. This part of the driveway wasn’t wide enough to turn around quickly.

Fírí had escaped him, disappeared into the desert, so Zhíno couldn’t let this bastard escape, too. He had to punish that old Zhéporé-spawn while he had the chance.

Zhíno craned his neck to see backwards, looking for either bastard. Maybe he could run them over with the cruiser repeatedly until they died, crushing them to bloody bits smeared into the gravel.

In the distance at the end of the driveway sat Fírí’s car, loaded with Gogzhuè’s guns. If Zhíno left with them now, he still might make the delivery on time. He still might avoid being hunted by that band of Voro-fucking thugs.

Much closer to the speeding cruiser, the kid lay in a pile at the edge of the driveway. Zhíno steered towards him. But there, at the other side, was the fat old man, just standing up. Zhíno swerved to hit him, but the steering wheel slipped in his grasp and he careened past the old Zhéporé-spawn by mere centimeters.

“Plagues!” shouted Zhíno.

He stomped on the brakes again. He had to kill that old Voro-fucking bastard. He had to make him pay for what he did to him.

The cruiser jerked to a halt.

Zhíno glanced in the mirror at Fírí’s car. If he delivered the guns and hurried, he just might make it back before these Zhéporé-spawns got their truck out of the ditch. And he just might save his own hide from the wrath of Gogzhuè.

But he really wanted to smash that old bastard flat, right that instant.

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