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

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Vata Kılímí shuffled down the hallway as fast as she could, wringing her thin hands.

The blonde girl must be mixed up in the gun fighting that was out front. Vata hadn’t seen a weapon on her, but perhaps she was hiding it.

The one thing the girl did have showing, however, was dirt. If she hadn’t been covered head to toe with dirt from the back yard and the desert both, Vata would have let her walk through the house. As it was, the girl would just have to wait a little while for Vata to get to the chapel door. The carpet would have been impossible to clean.

The girl was not in immediate danger, after all. Pí‘oro was still unharmed, so therefore the situation in the front must be under control. Therefore the girl had nothing to worry about. There was no urgency. The girl was not in danger.

But if the girl was harmed in the back yard while waiting, how would it look for Vata to have refused her entrance to her home just because she was dirty?

Vata tried to speed up, but couldn’t move any faster. Her hip joints ached from this quick abuse. She breathed heavy, feeding oxygen to her old heart. She briefly lost her balance, flailing her arms, catching herself with a hand against the hallway wall, but hardly lost a second in her race toward the linen closet and its hidden door.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 5, page 4

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Fírí Parızada stood in the fenced-in yard, animals milling all around her. In front of her, in a metal cage almost two meters long, she could just barely make out three motionless, frilly bumps. Iguanas. What kind of a farm has iguanas? Is this a zoo, not a farm?

Fírí pursed her lips and took a deep breath through her nose, exhaling sharply. Never mind that. Hide.

The iguana cages sat on storage cupboards, none of which were large enough for Fírí to fit inside.

She spun this way and that, peering into the inky night. Zhíno would be running around the side of the house any second now, guns blazing. She couldn’t just be standing out in the open when he showed up.

Nearby in the darkness, a duck quacked.

Fírí crouched down beside the cabinets, jamming herself in the blackness where they met the wall of the house. She pulled her shoe duffel underneath her and sat on it, hugging her knees. She had to hope that Zhíno wouldn’t find her, or the old-and-young pair from the truck. Hopefully they wouldn’t expect her here with the animals, inside the fence. And if they did look in the yard, hopefully they didn’t have flashlights.

So this is what my life has come to? Huddling next to an iguana cage in the middle of the night, hoping that nobody comes along and shoots me dead? I used to have a good life. Not great, but good. With Zhíno. True, we had drug dealers and other criminals stopping by our house all the time, but we still had a house. And Zhíno was always there to take care of me. Except when he was in prison. But there was always some other man to fill his place then. Not that I’d ever tell Zhíno about those guys, though. That would hurt him too much.

Fírí stared up at the night sky, ablaze with stars. Somewhere up there--she couldn’t spot it--floated her home, the planet Kara. It should have been a bright blue dot, more brilliant than any other star or planet in the sky, since it was so close to the planet Rívorí, where she was now.

Why had she ever left? Had it really been that bad? Surely she could have survived on Kara without Zhíno. Just let him leave and get on with her life.

No, she would’ve been stuck in a dead-end job forever, toiling endlessly for rich bosses and never amounting to anything. None of her bosses had ever respected her, just because she didn’t have a college degree.

Fírí grinned.

Her last boss must’ve noticed the error in his financial books by now. It had been a couple days. But would he ever trace it to her? Would that Sorosotuzho ever realize that it was stupid little Fírí who had outsmarted him?

She bit her knuckle to keep from laughing.

Maybe he’d figure it out, but probably not.

There was no going back, either way. Not anymore. Too great a chance that the police were looking for her.

Her grin dissipated. None of it hardly mattered anymore. She probably wouldn’t even get out of this animal yard alive.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 5, page 3

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Zhíno Zhudıro quickly slowed to a walk, breathing hard. He couldn’t see a plagued thing with all these boulders and bushes blocking the light from the house.

How in Pétíso’s name was he going to find Fírí?

He kept moving forward, squinting in the darkness for rocks or small plants that would trip him up. His wounds throbbed with pain, but he forced them out of his mind. They weren’t life-threatening anymore; Gogzhuè still was. He had to focus on getting those auto keys.

Way back behind him, Zhíno heard, “This is the Colonial Enforcers! Drop your weapons!”

Zhíno grinned. Maybe those two Zhéporé-spawns would act like Névazhíno and get themselves shot by the police. Served them right.

Maybe he could just wait here for the policeman to finish with those two and then leave. Maybe he could just sneak back and shoot them from behind a boulder.

Zhíno stopped. That sounded like a fine idea. Kill the old man, the idiot boy, and this Voro-fucking Enforcer.

No. Stay focused. Find Fírí, get the keys. Stick to the plan.

He stumbled through the darkness, his denim pants protecting his legs from thorny bushes he couldn’t see. Ahísıhíta damn me. I should’ve grabbed that dead Enforcer’s flashlight.

A path opened up ahead of Zhíno, two meters wide, of bright, loose sand. He stuck his face down close to the ground, searching for footprints. Nothing.

He began following the path away from the road, angling away from the driveway. Maybe that twin of Vítí found this trail, too. Maybe it would lead straight towards her.

Zhíno started jogging.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 5, page 2

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Pí‘oro Kılímo stared down at Bhanar’s fractured legs and rubbed his forehead. He had to get the kid inside to stop the bleeding and fix the breaks, but the big man was afraid to touch them. What if he hurt Bhanar even further? The foreign kid had dragged himself across the ground, apparently oblivious to his legs, but Pí‘oro knew the kid was in shock; Pí‘oro could still cause him all sorts of pain and anguish. Pí‘oro could still kill him accidentally.

And now that punk Zhíno had run off into the desert. Maybe he was chasing after the blonde, but maybe he was just hiding so he could take shots at Pí‘oro and Bhanar. Either way, the punk was definitely also running away from the Colonial Enforcers. A cruiser came screaming to a halt just beside Zhíno’s stolen cruiser, then pulled off onto the gravel verge.

“Dead,” whispered Bhanar. “Make him dead.”

Pí‘oro frowned and glanced down at the foreign kid. Did he truly want Pí‘oro to shoot the Enforcer? No, Bhanar was delusional, staring off into the dark sky. He probably still was thinking about that punk, Zhíno.

The old man massaged his scalp with his left hand. He had to get Bhanar in the house, one way or another. If he hurt him further in the process, surely the kid would understand.

“This is the Colonial Enforcers. Drop your weapons!”

Oh, right. The police.

Pí‘oro turned to look down the driveway. The Enforcer was out of his cruiser and ten meters toward Pí‘oro. He’d drawn his gun, but held it with both hands pointing at the ground. He was tall, blond, and young. Then again, just about everybody looked young to Pí‘oro.

“I said: Drop your weapons!”

Pí‘oro shrugged. “They’re unloaded.” Which they were.

The cop pointed his gun at Pí‘oro. “Drop them!”

“Very well,” the old man called. He slowly bent over to gently place his rifle on the gravel. “Bhanar, set down your rifle.”

The foreign kid hugged his rifle tight to his chest. “No, no!”

“Son, drop your rifle.”

But the kid held it tight. It had to be the injuries making him crazy as Nunıta. He clearly knew what they were asking.

To the Enforcer, Pí‘oro yelled, “He’s been hit by that auto. His legs are broken. I don’t think he’s completely here. His rifle is empty.”

The policeman lowered his handgun slightly and began walking forward. “Who was that who ran off into the desert?”

Thus begins the tedium. “The man who arrived in that cruiser. I was told his name was Zhíno by a blonde woman who arrived in that brown auto. She ran off into the desert when he drove up.”

The Enforcer stopped three meters from Pí‘oro and Bhanar. He furrowed his narrow brow as he processed Pí‘oro’s information.

“What is your name?” the policeman snapped.

“Pí‘oro Kılímo. This is my house. I came out when I heard gunfire. This kid, Bhanar, was in the back of the blue truck at the time.”

The policeman’s bright-blue eyes pierced Pí‘oro. He was probably giving too much information, but this was going to take forever otherwise. He had to get the Enforcer out of there as quickly as possible so he could get Bhanar fixed up.

“Bhanar, eh? Where’s he from?”

“I don’t know. Not the Union, that’s for sure. Look,” growled Pí‘oro, “that punk Zhíno is running around in the desert with a handgun.” He was about to tell the policeman to go hunt Zhíno down, but a different tactic hit him. “He might be pointing it at us right this instant. Shouldn’t we get inside?”

Pí‘oro knew the punk didn’t really want to kill them, but just scare them. But the Enforcer didn’t know that.

The Enforcer shook his head. “We can’t move him,” he rejoindered with a nod at Bhanar, “and we can’t leave him out here alone. I’ll call an ambulance and we’ll wait.” He paused and looked closer at the foreign kid. “Didn’t you start first aid?”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 5, page 1

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Chapter 5: Far from Home



Fírí Parızada slowly stood on wobbly legs. Clumps of soil fell from her knees.

“Coming,” she croaked.

She bent over to pick up her shoe bag, collecting the straps with both hands, then began crossing the yard to the house’s door.

She couldn’t run off into the desert. She’d die of thirst and heat exhaustion once day came. So that only left hiding in this house, at the mercy of this elderly woman who somehow had known that Fírí was in her back yard.

The sheep, pigs, dogs--and was that an antelope?--scurried out of Fírí’s path. The soil squished beneath and around her shoes, which luckily were old trainers. Comfortable, but not a huge problem if they got dirty.

Framed in the open doorway stood a small woman with a black bathrobe and frizzy gray hair pulled back in halfway-successful ponytail. Thin ankles sprouted from leather slippers. How many cute little animals had to die for those? thought Fírí. The interior light left the woman’s face in shadow.

“Please come in, dear.” The woman extended a hand towards Fírí. “Oh, aren’t you a mess. We’ll get you all washed up, don’t you worry.”

Fírí stopped two meters away from the door stoop. The old woman sounded sincere, but Fírí wished she could see her face, just to be sure. But it was hidden in darkness. In any case, Fírí had come this far, so she had to trust this woman. It was her only option.

“I need to hide. Some men are trying to kill me.” How much should she tell this woman?

“Oh.” The woman lowered her hand. “Well, dear, if that’s what you need, we can help you, certainly. Just come on in--” The woman looked Fírí over from head to toe. “Why don’t you just wait in the yard, dear? Over there by the iguana cages.” She pointed to Fírí’s right, back the way she had come.

“Um. Okay.” Fírí nodded.

The woman let the screen door swing shut and then closed the solid door behind it, leaving Fírí alone in the dark. Alone with a yard full of eerily quiet animals.

Was this woman really going to help her? Or was she tricking Fírí into staying outside where that perverted old man and kid pair could find her easily?

And if she was going to help Fírí, why didn’t she let her inside? Had Fírí said something wrong? Had she offended the old woman in some way?

Fírí looked around. If Zhíno or those perverts came back here looking for her, they’d find her in an instant. She was caged bait for the predators. She had to get out of the open, right that instant.

She took two quick steps to the door, pulled open the screen door, and tried the doorknob. Locked.

“Let me in!” she called out, pounding on the door.

She stopped abruptly, realizing that she’d better shut up before Zhíno or the perverts heard her. She might as well be yelling, “Hey, here I am! Come rape me!”

If that old lady wasn’t going to return, Fírí had to hide here in the animal yard. If the woman was telling the truth about letting her in through another entrance, Fírí should hide near the house over there, over next to the cages for the--
Wait a minute. Did she say “iguana”?

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

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Bhanar Narak rolled onto his back, careful not to disturb his legs, and opened his eyes. Where was his rifle? He needed to start shooting people. He turned his head this way and that, finally spotting the gun a few feet from the gravel, at the base of a two-foot-tall scraggly bush.

The siren had stopped, but he was sure he could still hear it, faintly. Just ringing in his ears.

“Pí‘oro!” he called. “My gun! Bullets!”

The old man towered over Bhanar, rifle clutched in his beefy hand. He glanced down at Bhanar and growled, “Calm down, son,” then stared toward the road.

Bhanar craned his neck to see that direction. Gravel poked into his scalp, not even coming close to masking the bolts of pain from his legs.

Way back at the highway, Zhíno ran towards them, coming to finish off Bhanar face-to-face.

“My gun!” Bhanar screamed.

The useless old Sorosotuzho wasn’t going to get it for him. Bhanar had to do it himself. Ignoring the excruciating agony in his legs, Bhanar pulled himself across the ground toward his rifle.

“Stop,” commanded Pí‘oro. “You don’t need that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Bhanar stretched out the last few inches and grabbed the barrel of his rifle, yanking it to him. He spared a glance down the driveway, only to find it empty. Just gravel and desert brush flashing red and green. Zhíno had disappeared, probably hiding in the bushes, sneaking up for a surprise attack.

“Pí‘oro, I want bullets!”

“I will help you,” snapped the old man. “Just be quiet and stop moving.”

Was the old man actually going to shoot Zhíno? Or was he just lying to Bhanar to keep him pacified? If Pí‘oro didn’t kill that Zhéporé-spawn, Bhanar would kill them both.

“Dead,” he hissed. “Make him dead.” Or you’ll be dead, too.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 4, page 8

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Zhíno swung open the brown sedan’s trunk and realized he needed to open the Enforcer cruiser’s trunk as well. He hurried around the auto to the open driver’s door. He felt between the seat and the door, but there was no release lever. He had to use the keys.

He yanked them from the ignition. The siren and flashing lights abruptly stopped. Zhíno didn’t care. They were getting annoying, anyway.

A few quick steps and Zhíno was at the cruiser’s trunk. He jabbed the key in the lock, turned, and flung the lid open, the keys jangling, still in the lock. Besides a spare tire and some emergency flares, the trunk was empty. Plenty of room for Gogzhuè’s guns.

Zhíno ran to the Sonla’s trunk and grabbed one of the smallest boxes with his right hand, bracing it with his left elbow. He gritted his teeth against the pain in both arms and lifted.

Red and green flashed in Zhíno’s vision. But that was impossible. The cruiser lights had turned off. It must be from the pain. And then the faint sound of a siren intruded upon Zhíno’s ears. No, you’re imagining it. Start hauling the boxes.

But between the two autos, way down the road, a pair of headlights approached, flashing red-and-green lights above.

“Plague of Kínıtíní!”

Zhíno dropped the gun box back into the Sonla’s trunk and slammed the lid. No matter what, he couldn’t let the police find the guns. Or at least not help the Voro-fuckers find them.

What should he do? Shoot this Enforcer, too? No, this guy wouldn’t stop to ask questions, not with this cruiser parked in the middle of the highway, door and trunk flung open. Zhíno would never get a chance to pull his handgun from his pocket before the Voro-fucker shot him dead.

The approaching police auto only a hundred meters away, Zhíno sprinted across the road, up the driveway a few strides, and into the desert scrub. Fírí had gone this way. He’d hunt down the Vítí-twin, kill her all too quickly, get the keys, and return to their auto. Hopefully the policeman would be lost in the desert searching for him by then and Zhíno would be able to hop in the sedan and drive off.

Hopefully. But not plagued likely.

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