One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 9, page 4

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Fírí Parızada ran through the loose dirt at the old woman, racing to close the door. If someone was shooting guns, it had to mean Zhíno was nearby.

Still facing the outside, Vata repeated herself in a commanding tone. “Come inside!”

Fírí slammed against the huge door. It shuddered and groaned as she bounced off. The tiny hag caught the door before it swung shut. Fírí landed on her butt, her feet in the air and her shoulder and wrist throbbing from hitting the heavy door.

“Plague of Rívorí!” she cursed.

As Fírí regained her feet, someone barged past the old Vítí-twin, catching himself against the wall.

Vata pushed the door with all her minimal weight.

The newcomer’s cold, gray eyes drilled into Fírí. It was Zhíno.

The giant door quietly thudded shut, entombing Fírí with the Zhéporé-spawn who would kill her.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 9, page 3

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Emperor Bhanar of the House of Narakamíníkı awoke briefly at some loud banging that might possibly have been gunshots, but quickly drifted off to sleep once again. He’d had a long day.

Zhíanoso, the High God of Fire, did not visit Bhanar’s dreams.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 9, page 2

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Zhíno Zhudıro’s hand shook as he pointed his stolen semiautomatic at the closed door, waiting for the Enforcer to enter and get a surprise. Bolts of pain stabbed out from his upper arm as he tried to hold the large gun steady. Ahísıhíta damn the Tara-fucker who shot me. Zhíno’d lost his own gun when that old spawn shot his wrist, so now he was stuck using this clunky, Voro-fucker piece of gooseshit. At least he had a full clip, though.

The doorknob turned and the door flew open.

Zhíno fired twice before he spotted the Enforcer hidden behind the doorjamb. Without pausing, he adjusted his aim and fired several more rounds. Wood splinters showered from the jamb as the door slowly swung back shut. Before it closed, the Enforcer’s handgun appeared in the gap. Zhíno dove to the floor behind the large wooden table as bullets snapped past his head. His broken left hand bumped the linoleum, nearly overwhelming Zhíno with nauseating waves of agony.

“Nıgédazo! The suspect!” the Enforcer screamed as he kicked open the door again.

With tear-soaked eyes and clenched jaw, Zhíno aimed his handgun between the chair legs. He’d be flanked soon; the table would be no protection. And he’d already used almost half the clip. The Enforcer emerged from the garage and Zhíno fired a few more rounds at the Voro-fucker. Wood legs exploded, temporarily blocking his view so he didn’t know if he had hit the plaguing Enforcer or not. He fired again, though, keeping the bastard at bay.

Bullets zipped through the kitchen, shot from the front room, slamming into the floor and table near Zhíno.

He lurched backwards, shielding his face from the flying splinters. The movement turned into a retreat as he staggered to his feet and ran for the back door. He fired two blind shots behind him before shoving his burning-hot gun in his trouser pocket and flinging open the door, protecting his injured hand. He slammed open the screen door and leapt into darkness.

He had to hide. He had to set up an ambush.

His feet landed on the soft soil and he immediately cut left, toward where he remembered some animal cages.

Back inside, an Enforcer screamed, “He went out the back!”

A crack of yellow light dimly illuminated the dirt ahead of Zhíno. He blinked before realizing it was another door to the house and there was a small, old woman silhouetted in the opening.

She gestured to Zhíno, ordering, “Come inside!”

Zhíno ran straight at her.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 9, page 1

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Chapter 9: The Moment of Discovery



Pí‘oro Kılímo gritted his teeth as the medics stepped onto the tile floor of the entryway.

He couldn’t let them stumble across the chapel by accident. He had to show them to the kid and his healed legs. It would throw his previous statements in doubt, but at least it would protect Vata.

He rolled his shoulders under the Enforcer’s grip and growled, “Let me go and I’ll show you where Bhanar is.”

The Colonial Enforcer loosened his hold, but didn’t release him. “Where?”

A door in the kitchen squeaked open. Gunshots exploded, too quick to count. A man barked, “Nıgédazo! The suspect!”

The Enforcer released Pí‘oro, his gun drawn in a smooth motion. He popped around the corner into the front room, handgun leveled, but didn’t fire. Instead, he ran out of sight toward the kitchen.

That Zhíno punk’s in the kitchen? How the plagues did he get in?

Several more shots fired. Glass shattered. Something wood crashed to the floor.

Pí‘oro stood irresolute, his hands clenching for something to use to stop this destruction of his home. How much was this firefight damage going to cost to repair? With both Zhíno and the police unlawfully breaking into his house, somebody had to pay.

One of the Enforcers yelled, “He went out the back!”

All that shooting and they didn’t get him? Why’d they have to take my rifle away? I could bag that punk with one bullet.

Footsteps stormed across the kitchen linoleum floor. The back door slammed open against the wall. The Enforcers’ voices faded as they exited Pí‘oro’s home.

Pí‘oro glanced around the entryway. The front door stood wide open. The medics were nowhere to be seen.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 8, page 10

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Fírí blocked Vata’s shuffling path. “No.” She shook her head. “No. Zhíno’s probably out there. There’s no way I’m opening the door for him and I can’t let you open the door, either.”

The small woman didn’t stop moving, but kept on coming straight at Fírí, an evil glint in her eyes.

“Out of my way, dear. If your Zhíno is indeed the person outside, I can handle him as well as any other animal.”

The hag swiped her claw-like hand at Fírí, causing the blonde to back a step.

Zhíno was indeed an animal, and if Vata would treat him like she treated her dog, maybe Fírí should let her open the door, after all. A slit throat would do that Zhéporé-spawn good.

Fírí smiled. “Would you really?” She began walking backwards down the dirt-floored hall in front of the slow woman.

“Yes, of course, dear.” Vata’s eyes sparkled in the dim light.

It suddenly seemed immediately obvious to Fírí that this old woman not only would kill Zhíno if given the opportunity, but could. She exuded strength from some hidden depth within. Maybe that was why Bhanar was such a sheep around her. Maybe that was why the cops weren’t here already, taking Fírí away in handcuffs.

Fírí’s heel bumped into something and she nearly fell over backwards. Only a hand on the stucco wall saved her.

She looked down. It was her duffel bag of shoes and cash. That money was becoming more of a burden than a treasure. If Fírí and Zhíno had succeeded in setting up a farm in the high desert--or if Fírí had ditched him back at the portal like she originally planned--then that money would last her the rest of her life. Now, though, it was incriminating evidence she had to hide from the police, lugging from one place to the next.

It was all Zhíno’s fault. If he hadn’t freaked out and shot at Bhanar--and apparently at an Enforcer, too--Fírí would be safe for life, but she had been a fool to rely on him. Zhíno was insane. He’d shoot at anybody who he thought might possibly get in his way, whatever way that might be. There was no chance in any of the myriad of Pétíso’s hells that he’d ever let Vata stop him.

Fírí looked up to see tiny, frail Vata dwarfed by the door, her hand on the lever.

“Wait! Stop!”

Muffled gunshots rang out from inside the house, seven or eight in rapid succession, followed by yelling and storming feet.

Vata swung open the oversized door and called out, “Dear, come inside.”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 8, page 9

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Pí‘oro Kılímo swung open the door to reveal a tall blond man in a black uniform with two paramedics behind him. In the kitchen, a door latch clicked shut. Was someone back there?

The Colonial Enforcer--the same one who had questioned him before--stepped through the doorway, grabbed Pí‘oro, and spun him around.

“Take it easy, son,” snapped Pí‘oro, almost losing his balance.

“Raise your arms,” the young officer commanded, tugging Pí‘oro’s wrists away from his body. “Do you have a weapon on you?” He patted Pí‘oro’s down jacket, starting with each arm and working his way down.

“No,” growled the old man. “You already took my rifle. When can I get that back?”

“Probably never.” Lieutenant Nıgédazo moved down to Pí‘oro’s torso, slapping hard with both hands.

Pí‘oro snarled. Here he was, being roughed up and probably arrested for crimes he didn’t commit, and the real criminal was on the loose.

The Enforcer’s hand stopped at the bottom of the jacket, pressing a hefty lump against Pí‘oro’s side--the box of rifle ammunition.

“What’s this?” He jabbed a sharp corner into Pí‘oro’s flesh.

“Bullets for my gun. Take them. No good without my rifle.”

The policeman yanked them out of the pocket, ripping fabric in the process.

“Watch it, son. There’s no need.”

Lieutenant Nıgédazo shoved Pí‘oro against the wall with a thud, slamming his cheek on the drywall.

“There’s every need,” hissed the officer into Pí‘oro’s ear. “An Enforcer’s been killed.”

Pí‘oro groaned. They were going to ransack this house. He had to stop them before they found the chapel. He had to stop them before they arrested Vata.

“Excuse me,” said one of the medics, still in the front door. “Where’s the victim?”

If Vata had completed the ceremony, there was no victim. The medics would be useless.

The Enforcer’s radio coughed static. “The garage is clear. Proceeding to only interior door.” Another burst of static.

Was another Enforcer in the house--in the garage? It sounded like he’d be entering the kitchen. They usually left that door unlocked.

“The victim’s somewhere in here,” barked the lieutenant pinning Pí‘oro to the wall. “I saw this one carry him in. Search the house.”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 8, page 8

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Vata Kılímí crossed the hallway to the linen closet door. She could hear Pí‘oro talking heatedly with an Enforcer. They’d forced their way inside. Vata shook her head disdainfully. The police thought they had to stick their noses into everything, not realizing when they’re not wanted or needed.

She could sense that Pí‘oro was aggravated, but he’d just have to handle the meddling police on his own. Vata had to go help the poor victim in the back yard. It was obvious her husband had not made it that far. Pí‘oro wouldn’t become so agitated very quickly. On the other hand, Vata couldn’t sense anything from the animals anymore. Perhaps the victim had lost consciousness. Perhaps he was dying.

She swung open the closet door and paused briefly to make sure the police weren’t coming around the hallway corner.

The Enforcer snarled, “What’s this?” but didn’t seem to be moving toward the corner.

Vata released the catch and pushed the shelves into the chapel, quietly closing the thin door behind her as she stepped inside.

It was possible the victim was no longer in the back yard, but there was no down side in speedily opening the door if no one was present. The downside in not opening the door could be the loss of a life.

She moved aside and shut the door of shelves, removing her slippers without much thought. Across the chapel stood the blonde girl with her hands on her hips, staring straight back at Vata.

The girl tilted her head back slightly. “What are you up to? Why did you kill the dog? What are you going to do to me?”

The house shook with a heavy thud from the direction of the front door. The blonde spun to look at the chapel wall which backed on the entryway. A bit of dust drifted down from the painted stucco.

Whatever was occurring, Pí‘oro would surely do the necessary action to protect himself, this chapel, and Vata. She had to believe that.

While descending the wood steps to the cool, soft soil, Vata called to the girl.

“Please, dear. I’ll answer your questions in a minute, but could you go open the back door? I fear another victim of the gunman is injured and hiding in the yard.”

The girl didn’t respond, her ears apparently focused with her eyes upon the commotion near the front door.

Vata shuffled toward the hallway in the far corner, but she had a long way to travel if she were to save someone’s life.

The horse exhaled loudly. She would wake soon.

If the victim truly was on Pétíso’s doorstep, Vata would have to sedate her horse again and sacrifice her. If the victim’s injuries were not life-threatening, though, she would need a different animal. Another dog, or maybe a deer. Vata growled softly at herself. Thinking about such things before seeing the victim was a waste.

The girl snapped her gaze upon Vata. “What in Pétíso’s hells is going on around here?”

Almost across the chapel to the blonde and the start of the hallway, Vata implored, “Please, dear, go get the door. I fear it may be urgent.” She shifted to a harsher tone. “Someone may be dying. I can’t walk fast enough. Open the back door!”

As if she finally realized Vata was requesting something from her, the young woman scowled. She shook her head vehemently, her chin-length blonde hair dancing back and forth at random.

“No, no! Zhíno’s probably out there. There’s no way I’m opening the door for him.” She stepped in front of Vata, her jaw firm. “And I can’t let you open the door, either.”

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