One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 17, page 3

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Fírí Parızada actually felt happy for the first time in, what . . . years? She hadn’t been horseback riding since she was a teenager, since she moved away from home. She didn’t have the money to keep a horse--at least she didn’t until she embezzled the bundle tied to the saddle, right behind her.

In a similar position on Pí‘oro’s gray horse, Zhíno’s unconscious body bounced slightly with the rhythm of the gallop.

It was good to be on the move again, after all night cooped up in the old couple’s house, but Fírí wished she didn’t have to still be near Zhíno. He was just one extra complication that she didn’t need. True, it would be wonderful to have the old Zhíno by her side--better than the old Zhíno. A new and improved Zhíno. But she still didn’t trust the Kılímos’ assurances or her dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream. No, she would be better off without that plague-ridden spawn of Zhéporé.

Ahead of her, Pí‘oro slowed his horse to a trot, then turned sharply left onto a different trail. Fírí nudged her roan to follow. It was a good horse; it hadn’t resisted her at all.

Pí‘oro accelerated back to a gallop, and they were off, flying through the desert, northwest this time. The sun hung low behind their right shoulders, casting long shadows ahead and to the left. The steady wind blew from the west, which meant Fírí had to ride with her left eye squinting.

Trails crisscrossed the desert, going every which way through the brush and boulders, and the old man was making use of most of the paths for their journey. If Pí‘oro didn’t take the corners so authoritatively, Fírí would think that he was just turning at random.

“Pí‘oro?” Fírí called.

He reined in slightly so she could ride parallel. “Yes?”

“Even with all this zigzagging, won’t the police be able to track us?” She had to almost yell to get her voice to carry against the wind and over the pounding hooves.

Staring straight ahead, the big man bellowed, “The wind will take care of that. Look how the dust is blowing around on the ground ahead of us.” He pointed vaguely forward as they galloped along. “Anything we stir up will just get blown away and any holes we make will just get filled in. It won’t be impossible to track us, but it won’t be easy.”

“Oh.” Fírí was used to riding in the forests and grassy fields of Mínıhotı, where footprints stuck around for a while.

Pí‘oro glanced her way. “How much riding have you done?”

Enough so I’m willing to risk going my own way if I sense you’re about to doublecross me.

She shrugged. “Almost every week as a kid. Nothing recent, though.”

The old man nodded, his eyes straight ahead. The wind flapped his brown plaid shirt behind him.

“You’re much better than I would have guessed.” He flashed a smile at Fírí.

“Thanks,” she called into the wind.

Fírí relaxed a bit. Once they reached the creek that Pí‘oro said they were heading for, perhaps she’d relax some more. When they successfully crossed under the highway bridge without detection, perhaps she wouldn’t be expecting a doublecross at any moment.

“Where did you grow up?” The old man seemed genuinely interested.

“Mínıhotı,” she replied. “I’m not quite used to the desert yet.”

“When we get to the gully, you’ll feel more at home,” he declared loudly. “Plenty of trees and water.”

“Do the horses have experience riding down creeks?” It didn’t seem like desert horses would necessarily need to ride through water much in their lives. Up in the forests of Mínıhotı, on the other hand, the flat-bottomed creeks were often the best riding trails. Much better than fighting through the brush.

“A little,” he called. “Don’t worry about it.”

Pí‘oro nudged his horse faster, ending the conversation as he rode ahead.

Plenty of other stuff to worry about, anyway. Like Zhíno.

Fírí watched her unconscious ex-boyfriend flop along on the back of the old man’s horse. She needed a plan when he awoke, if he didn’t turn out to be reformed Zhíno, if he truly was as nasty and evil as ever. Fírí needed an escape plan.

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