One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 11, page 5

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Pí‘oro Kılímo furrowed his brow at the bloody bandage around Bhanar’s shin. Why in Névazhíno’s good graces hadn’t Vata removed that thing? It blew Pí‘oro’s story wide open and left him looking very suspicious, like he’d staged the whole scenario.

The house shook as a helicopter passed close overhead. More police here to destroy my property, thought Pí‘oro with lowered brows.

Bhanar glanced up at the ceiling till the sound dwindled away, then finished untying the bandage. He tossed it onto the floor and pulled up his trouser leg to reveal a tan and injury-free shin. Not even a scar remained. Névazhíno had worked His wonders.

The younger medic turned to Pí‘oro. “What kind of a game are you playing here?” he snarled. “Where’s the real victim?”

Pí‘oro rubbed his forehead, shaking his head. “No, this is him. He just . . . wasn’t as injured as we thought.”

“No!” Bhanar insisted in his thick Zhuphíoan accent as he stood up. “I was hurt. My legs did break. But Zhíanoso fixed me. He healed me.”

Pí‘oro closed his eyes. Why’d the kid have to disagree with me? Can’t he see what kind of a mess we’re in? And why does he keep attributing his healing to the fire god? Is he some kind of moron?

“Seriously,” said the younger medic. “Where’s the real victim? We don’t have time for this.”

At the far end of the house, glass shattered. Aw, plagues. Someone was probably breaking into the house through the kitchen window, and that someone had to be the police. I should’ve bought a second gun.

Bhanar pointed at his legs as he hopped from one to the other. “See? I am good. You can go now.”

The two paramedics glanced at one another. The older one jerked his head toward the door and they both started going out. Pí‘oro sincerely doubted they were leaving the house. A growl escaped his throat as he stomped after them.

“Sons, you can’t look anywhere else. This here’s the kid who Zhíno ran over. Get back here now!”

The medics turned down the hall toward the other bedrooms, away from the front room. Pí‘oro hotly pursued. This was his property, Pétíso damn it. They had no right. He had to stop them before they stumbled upon the secret door.

He reached out and grabbed the trailing medic’s shoulder just as a man shouted, “Enforcers! Stop where you are!”

Pí‘oro’s heart lumped in his throat, but he kept his hand firm around the medic’s shoulder. He needed to get everybody out of his house now. They had no right to be in here. The murderer was outside. The Enforcers saw him leave, for Vuzhí’s sake.

Pí‘oro inhaled deeply through his nose, his face turning red, and spun to look back the way he’d come. At the corner in the hallway, several men in black uniforms leveled guns directly at him.

“Let go of him!” the lead Colonial Enforcer shouted.

His jaw tight, Pí‘oro replied, “Have you captured the murderer Zhíno, yet? You won’t find him in here. He ran out the back, remember?”

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