Green Desert - Chapter 1.5.5 - Vata

Pí‘oro set the wet rags on the table beside me. I put the bloody towel on the clean, dry ones so as to not stain the wood, and picked up a wet one.

Fírí’s eyes were wide open, her jaw tight.

“Just relax, dear,” I murmured. “We’re here to help you.” I dabbed the wound on her temple, picking out bits of dirt, wiping the blood away.

Fírí remained very tense. Her forehead continued to bleed, bright red pinpricks appearing after my towel lifted from her raw flesh.

I removed the last flecks of foreign matter and stood back. Fírí stared at me, her eyes growing moist.

“Don’t worry, dear.” I took the bottom clean rag and held it out to her. “Take this. Hold it to your forehead.”

She adjusted how she held her dirty sweatshirt and took the cloth. As she pressed it to her head wound with her left hand, I leaned over and began cleaning that elbow.

I wondered if anybody else needed assistance. Several gunshots had sounded since we came inside. If they hit anybody, we’d have to help them, too. “Pí‘oro dearest, could you please see if anyone out front is injured?”

“Yes, dear,” he grumbled and wandered toward the front door.

Fírí winced. A tear ran down her cheek.

“Don’t worry, dear. We’re here to help you.” I kept cleaning her elbow wound, bloody and torn.

Through clenched teeth, the young woman hissed, “Don’t help Zhíno. Whatever you do, don’t help that fucking bastard.”

Syria

Why, if the Syrian government says something, do I automatically assume the opposite to be true?

I know none of the facts, but Damascus says that their interior minister committed suicide.

Methinks he knew too much.

It's not my fault.

The global climate is changing, but you can't lay any blame on me. It has always changed, from way back before I was born. Sometimes it gets really hot. Sometimes it gets really cold. Sometimes the change comes quick. Sometimes the change drags out over millennia. This is what the data shows.

And another thing: everyone is all atwitter about carbon dioxide, but the major "greenhouse gas" is actually water vapor. We're wasting time/money/energy worrying about carbon-dioxide emissions when a small percentage change in water-vapor emissions could accomplish the same net reduction in overall "greenhouse gases."

Of course, that's just if you actually think humankind is powerful enough to change the entire massive ecosystem. Nature is very resilient. When's the last time you didn't see grass growing through cracks in the sidewalk?

What really has me worried is when the magnetic poles destabilize and flip. There's a period of time when we have multiple magnetic north poles and multiple magnetic south poles, all scattered around the globe and moving. If that won't mess up our civilization, nothing will.

Happy Columbus Day!

Don't look at me that way. I know what day it is. I know that Columbus Day wasn't on Monday. That's just the "observed" holiday. Columbus Day is October 12 because that's when he landed in North America. Well, on that little island off the coast somewhere in the Bahamas.

So if you really want to party like its 1492, today's the day to do it. I know I will. I already got my Spanish conquistador helmet on!

Green Desert - Chapter 1.5.4 - Zhíno

170 kilometers per hour. 180. This bitchin’ car could fly. Headlights behind me, way back. The fucking sheriff’s deputy, no doubt.

Pain coursed through my veins. My left hand was numb. I clenched it against my side with my injured right arm. No fucking time to make a bandage. I needed more aspirin. Something stronger. Something a hell of a lot stronger.

The highway was straight for at least another ten kilometers. Nothing out here in the flat desert to get in the way. The police car in my mirror got a bit smaller, but not by much. The bastard had to be doing 160 or 170. I accelerated, the steering wheel shaking in my right hand. 190. I had to ditch that fucking cop. Nowhere to go but straight ahead.

And I couldn’t turn and kill the bastard because that fucking rifleboy had shot me down to one good hand and I needed that one to drive.

The cop car wasn’t falling back. Shit. I needed a fucking plan and I needed it now.

Road sign. One kilometer to the turn off to Suívıpíko. I gently hit the brakes. This was no time to spin out into the ditch or roll the car. Should I turn? Or should I make the bastard cop think I turned?

A lone gas station at the intersection, its lights off. 40 kilometers per hour. Headlights behind me growing quick. I slammed on the brakes, cranked the wheel left––toward the gas station and the road to Suívıpíko. The tires skidded. The car fishtailed and spun. I yanked the wheel back to the right and the car spun to a stop.

I killed the headlights.

Green Desert - Chapter 1.5.3 - Pí‘oro

I set the remaining rags on the table and nearly tripped over the phone cord. I bent over, my back complaining, and picked up the receiver. It incessantly buzzed, letting me know it was off the hook.

“Pí‘oro, could you dampen a couple of these?”

The sheriff’s office had hung up. Did they think I was a crank call? I put the receiver back on its hook on the wall and turned back to the table. The blonde girl’s face was covered in blood, Vata wiping it with a rag. The girl was still topless, but she covered her chest with her sweatshirt. Her elbows were all bloody, too.

“Pí‘oro dearest?” Vata snapped. “Could you dampen a couple rags for me?”

“Yes, dear.” Vata could be a bit snippy at times.

I took the top two rags––old hand towels, a wedding present, I thought––and carried them to the sink.

What was Vata planning to do with this girl after we healed her? And what about the crazy foreign kid in our driveway? Would the police take him away?

I turned on the cold tap, let the water soak into each towel in turn. Not sopping wet. Just damp.

If the blonde was mixed up in it, as she seemed to be, and not an innocent bystander, would the cops want her, too? Would they want to search our house looking for her?

I lay the wet towels beside the dry ones on the table. Vata picked one up and began cleaning the girl’s forehead wound.

If the cops did come looking, we’d have to lie.

Bueller?

Are any of you regular readers (I know who you are) actually reading the story? I'm not going to stop posting chapters, no matter what you say. But I guess I would like to know if you're confused, bored, interested, agitated, etc.

Gripe Aviar

Uno de actualmente, tendré que llamar en enfermo y decir que tengo la gripe del pájaro. "Estoy apesadumbrado. Tengo que quarantine." Y entonces podría permanecer en el país y lograr algunos artículos de mi lista. Completo Green Desert. Extienda mi calendario diario. Pinte mi condo. Ponga para arriba las decoraciones de Navidad. Tome hacia fuera la basura. Lave el lavadero. Limpie el piso con la aspiradora. . .

Green Desert - Chapter 1.5.2 - Fírí

The large old man left the room and the small old woman said, “Let’s see your injuries, dear.” She could clearly see my bloody elbows and my scraped-up ribs.

Her clammy hand touched mine and pulled it away from my face. Her wrinkled cheek twitched. Her eyes momentarily narrowed. My injury was that bad.

The lights dimmed. The world swam.

Vata steered me toward the table. I grabbed a chair, plopped down on it. The room twisted and the table hit my shoulder. The tablelegs squeaked and scratched the floor. Vata laid a hand on my other shoulder, held me in place.

“Careful, dear. Sit up straight.”

I pushed against the table with my hand, bumping my elbow in the process. Agony pounded up my arm and replaced the dull void in my head. The room snapped into focus. Green walls––somewhere between seafoam and grass. Oak table, dark and solid. White and tan plaid linoleum. Through a doorless doorway, a living room with pink floral wallpaper, thick brown carpet, yellow curtains.

The old man returned, carrying a stack of ratty paisley bath towels. I held my sweatshirt over my breasts.

“Thank you, dearest.” Vata took the top towel and put it to my face, rough and soft at the same time. I held still as she wiped my cheek, the yellow cloth instantly dark red. She dabbed my temple and pain seared my brain. I could see every wet fiber in the towel, glistening scarlet in the artificial light.

Scientists Believe. . .

Why do most people take scientists' beliefs on faith? If a news story says "Scientists believe _____," everyone seems to think that _____ is indisputable truth.

But why? A scientist is supposed to test a hypothesis and prove something. Quite often there is a margin of error or a shadow of doubt in the answer, but it still supposed to be just the facts.

When scientists start spouting beliefs, they are no longer speaking as scientists. They are then speaking as just regular human beings. True, they may know more about one particular subject than the vast majority of the population, but that doesn't turn their beliefs into facts.

If it's speculation and "we think this may be the case," the rest of us shouldn't nod and use it as gospel. Anybody can speculate. Anybody can say what they believe. A scientist can collect data and prove the laws of the universe.

If you're willing to doubt God, shouldn't you be willing to doubt scientists?

Happy Turkey Day!

Do Canadians eat turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce on their Thanksgiving Day? They should. Actually, according to some people, everybody should have turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce once a month. Or was it once a week?

Anyway. . . I have lots of turkey and mashed potatos and gravy leftovers to eat today. Only a couple bites of leftover apple pie remaining, though. That was breakfast.

Green Desert - Chapter 1.5.1 - Bhanar

Zhíno flew down the driveway in reverse, right at the second police car. I watched impotently; I had no bullets. The policeman’s car suddenly lurched forward, smashing into Mé‘ısí. I shouted, “Hey!” and started jogging down the gravel drive.

The policeman accelerated back in reverse. Zhíno’s stolen police car barely missed, skidded on the gravel, spun on the asphalt, and halted facing my left, back the way we’d all come.

I was forty yards from the road, still running. The policeman jumped out of his car, aimed his gun at Zhíno, and fired. The back window shattered. A squeal of tires and Zhíno flew down the highway. The cop fired again, but the stolen police car disappeared over the slight rise.

I stopped by my pickup. Her chrome bumper was crumpled in two spots matching the black tusk things on the front of all police cars. The right headlight was busted and the fender dented and scraped from the mailbox.

The non-stolen police car raced past me, lights flashing and siren blaring. The night air stunk of burnt rubber. I stood alone in the desert.

Now what? I had to replace Mé‘ısí’s windshield, the side window. I could get away with not fixing the front end until the insurance money came through. I turned back toward the house. I had to see if the blonde woman was all right.

Suddenly, a shiver ran over me. My knees grew weak, buckled. I dropped the rifle. I landed kneeling on the gravel. Another shiver ran up my spine, through my stomach.

Green Desert - Chapter 1.4.6 - Vata

The animals barked and bleated and howled. Someone was in the backyard. I shuffled to the screen door. It must be that blonde girl. She circled the house, hiding from the men and their guns.

I pushed open the door and called, “Come in, dear.” The animals quieted at the sound of my voice.

I heard footsteps, soft on the dirt, then the girl emerged from the shadows. She held her burgundy sweatshirt to the side of her forehead, but I could still see the pain and fear in her face. Blood and dirt oozed in a sickly mud on both her elbows and her lower ribs.

“Come in, dear. Let me help you. My name is Vata.”

I stepped aside and held the door for her. She mumbled, “I’m Fírí,” as she entered the kitchen.

Fírí spotted Pí‘oro sitting at the table and immediately tried to cover her breasts with one arm while still holding the sweatshirt to her forehead. Pí‘oro, though, faced the living room, motionless.

The first step was to clean her wounds, or else they wouldn’t heal properly. “Pí‘oro dearest, can you fetch some clean rags?”

He stood and walked into the living room, presumably heading for the linen closet. Fírí relaxed her modesty arm, but didn’t move it.

“Let’s see your injury, dear.” I took the sweatshirt, my hand over hers, and gently pulled it away. Fresh crimson blood covered half her face.