One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 4, page 3

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Fírí Parızada scrambled to hide behind a meter-high boulder, dragging her duffel bag. Could Zhíno still see her? She pressed against the cold rock until she was entirely in shadow from the house’s floodlights to her left. Surely he couldn’t see her now, not from the driveway. And until he turned off that annoying siren, Fírí could probably sing and Zhíno wouldn’t ever hear her. Plagues. That scrawny, pot-bellied bastard never liked her singing, anyway.

Over the cruiser’s siren wail, the sounds of a revving engine and skidding tires drifted across the desert to Fírí. Maybe Zhíno was too busy to be looking for her now. Maybe those two sick Zhéporé-spawns had realized that Zhíno was the perfect target for their fantasies, not her. In any case, they were occupied. Therefore she could use this moment to escape.

She slowly peered over the boulder, her hands against the rough stone, ready to push herself back down if necessary. But she couldn’t see anyone. The desert bushes hid the driveway entirely. She could just barely see some flashes of red and green through the branches.

Which meant she could run and they wouldn’t see her.

She shoved herself to her feet, grabbed her shoe bag, spared another glance toward the hidden gunmen, and began running diagonally away from both the driveway and the main road. Out, away from anywhere Zhíno may look, away from all his insane paranoia and violence.

Quickly, Fírí left the flood-lit area and entered near total darkness. She halted. Where was she going? She couldn’t just run into the desert forever. Once the sun came up and started baking her, she’d die.

She looked around. The bulk of the house loomed in the near distance. Maybe they had a garden shed or something outside she could break into. She’d hide for a day or more, until she was certain Zhíno had left. Until all those Koro-brained bastards had left.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dark just enough so she could pick her way between the craggy rocks and wind-rustled bushes. She stumbled out into a wide stretch of bare soil--the dirt seeming as bright as day compared to the shadows elsewhere--and followed the path toward the house. She sped to a jog. Zhíno may not be looking for her right that instant, but he’d be on her tail soon.

The trail curved leftward, toward the back of the black mass of the house.

Ahead of Fírí, it sounded like something thumped against a piece of wood. And was that a chain rattling?

Someone had to be up ahead. Fírí stopped and crouched down, leaning one hand against her lumpy duffel bag. Who was up there? Zhíno? The rifle-toting Zhéporé-spawns? Fírí held her breath to listen but her heart beat too loudly to hear much. No one was there, right?

But then, over the distant siren, Fírí distinctly heard two pieces of wood hitting each other, like a door closing, just ten meters ahead. Someone was definitely there!

She flattened onto the ground, trying to melt into the sandy soil.

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