Green Desert - Chapter 6.4.2 - Fírí

I heaved the ammo box onto the back of Bhanar’s pickup. My arms cried out in joy, despite their agony. My left heel screamed with sharp pain, and my big toe sung harmony just so I wouldn’t forget its mangled self.

I let the blue metal of the truck support me. How the hell was I going to do this? Maybe if I had two good feet still, but not now. My forehead slipped from my hands and hit the hard, warm truck. I needed someone to help me. But anybody I asked––the Channel Six guy?––would ask questions, wonder what’s in the boxes.

Zhíno. Only Zhíno could help me. Only Zhíno wouldn’t turn me into the cops.

“Shit.”

How was I ever going to be rid of that bastard?

A tear slipped off my nose and dripped to the peeling blue paint. No crying. I sniffled and my nose filled with an acrid rusty odor that stood me upright. I wiped my face with both hands and starred at the darkening eastern sky. A few wispy clouds––the same orangish color as this godawful desert––floated starkly on the sorrowful, indigo firmament.

No crying. Zhíno wasn’t coming. Zhíno wasn’t going to help me. Zhíno was in police custody. Or dead in the crash. I had to do this myself or it wasn’t going to happen.

I shoved the ammo box against a sideways coffee table and turned back for the garage.