One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 13, page 2

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Vata Kılímí shuffled as fast as she could around the hallway corner. Ahead of her, two paramedics crouched over her prone husband, a young lawman standing guard. Heated voices floated in through the open front door. Pí‘oro lay on his back, his nightwear top torn open, exposing his pale, flabby chest. A lump stuck in Vata’s throat. He looked so lifeless. She couldn’t feel anything from him.

“Clear!” snapped one of the medics, two paddles on Pí‘oro’s bare torso.

An electronic whine thumped, twitching Pí‘oro slightly. The medic with the paddles leaned back, looking at the other man, who stared intently at a flickering screen on a box twenty centimeters wide. They obviously trusted their electronic gizmo more than actually putting two fingers to the carotid artery.

It was past the point that medical machines could revive her husband. Only the love of Névazhíno could bring Pí‘oro back. She had to get everybody out of the house. She had to get Pí‘oro on the altar, but that was impossible. She’d never be able to move his body, not even with Fírí’s help. Her only option was to wake the horse and bring her into the hallway and perform the ceremony there. Hopefully the hall was close enough to the chapel for Névazhíno to recognize the sacrifice and respond. Vata had nothing left but hope.

“Mrs. Kılímí,” said the lawman--Tépíto Laparıpasamé, she thought his name was--as he held out his hand to stop her.

The police helicopter thundered past, drowning out the raised voices of the arguing men outside.

Vata slowed, still two meters away from her husband’s feet. She couldn’t look at him.

“Leave him alone!” she begged, staring at the paramedics. “Show some respect for the dead!”

Lawman Laparıpasamé softly said, “They’re trying to bring him back.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the front door.

Vata hobbled to stand over the closer medic, who had the paddles. Laparıpasamé took a step toward her, stretching his hand in front of Vata. His attention was clearly on the argument outside, however.

“Nothing,” said the medic staring at the flickering gizmo.

“Right,” replied the other, nodding briskly. “Clear.”

Why are they ignoring me? “Leave him alone!” Vata screamed.

The machine’s whine sputtered out, only half begun.

Facing the doorway, Laparıpasamé shouted, “That’s not true!” He stormed out the door, his voice soon lost amongst the others.

The medics glanced at the dials on the box, fiddling with knobs.

“Get out of here!” Vata screeched, whapping the closer paramedic on his shoulder.

“There’s a spare battery in the case under the gauze,” he rattled to his partner. “Hurry!” Only then did he turn his attention upward at Vata.

The younger paramedic leapt to his feet and disappeared out the door.

The medic glared at Vata, his jaw tight with stubbornness. “We can still save him.”

Vata hit him again, a closed fist to the top of his head. “Get out!”

“Hey!” He held up his hands to defend himself as Vata struck again. “What the plagues?”

“He’s dead! Leave him alone! Get out! Get out! Get out!” She kept wailing away on his arms, his shoulders, his head--anything she could, as hard as she could.

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