"GOOD SAMARITAN"

A red panda rides his white scooter down the interstate. As the occasional car passes and the New Mexico heat bats down on him, he is aware of how ridiculous he looks. At least, he thinks he's still in New Mexico. As he drives, he sweats in his white button-up collared shirt and dirty black jeans. The aviator sunglasses he wears shield his eyes from some of the sunlight. His thoughts are interrupted by a sputter. The scooter dies underneath him and grinds to a halt. He gets off and pushes it to the side of the road before letting it fall on its side.

"Beshya!" The panda mutters angrily while kicking the bike. He probably should've gotten the transmission checked back in Albuquerque. He pops the cover off the side of the scooter and squats next to it. His worries about the transmission are confirmed. The gear box is blisteringly hot and looks like it broke from overheating. A truck pulls up and stops as he observes the scooter's guts. He turns his attention to it. A pudgy man exits. An antelope? The panda thinks. No, a pronghorn.

"You havin' some trouble there sir?" He stops, seeing the panda's face. "You ain't one 'a them illegals are ya? You don't look like yer from Mexico."

Looking up at the man, the panda shakes his head. "Texas."

The pronghorn squints. "Oh. You're one of those Iranians." The panda rolls his eyes. The stranger continues his gait to the scooter. "At least you ain't here illegally." He lets out a whistle when he gets a good look at the problem. "That don't look pretty, friend. Where ya headed?"

"California. Or at least, I'm trying." He motions to the scooter.

"Yer goin' all the way to hippieville on that thing?" The pronghorn says in disbelief. He points to his truck. "Throw her in back, I'll give ya a ride to Holbrook, but you'll have to figure the rest out on yer own."

The red panda looks a little surprised and picks up the scooter. The pronghorn goes to help him. "I've got it." Says the panda. He shrugs and returns to the driver's seat. The scooter is placed in the truck bed and its previous rider crawls into the passenger seat, then thanks the driver for the ride. The pronghorn to his left looks no younger than 50. He wears a green and white plaid shirt and dark-brown slacks. A brown leather jacket sits in the space between them. Presumably, it was taken off due to the heat. The pronghorn taps his finger on the steering wheel somewhat along to the country music playing on the radio.

"What's yer name?" The stranger asks.

The red panda gives him a side glance. "Er, Rob."

"Well hi, 'Er Rob.'" The pronghorn lets out a friendly chuckle. "I'm Fred." The panda returns a smile. "You said yer from Texas? If you rode that thing this far, color me impressed."

Rob shrugs. "It would of got me the rest of the way if I took better care of it." He says.

Fred continues. "Well, no offense, but I woulda brought some supplies or somethin'. 'Specially drivin' roads like this."

"Maybe you're right." The red panda says. He scratches the back of his neck.

Fred lets out a cough. "I'm visitin' my daughter in Holbrook. Been some time since since I seen 'er."

"Family's important." Says Rob.

"Sure is." Fred agrees.

Rob spots a photograph placed next to the speedometer. A young antelope woman smiles for the camera, that must be Fred's daughter. The duo continue chatting intermittently the rest of the drive through empty desert, save for the occasional billboard. After about an hour of driving, the two enter Holbrook. It's a drive-through town, that's for sure. It seems that the entire town is structured to serve as a rest stop. Though, a few call this rest stop their home. Someone has to man the gas station registers, take orders in the rundown diners, and - with any luck - fix stranger's scooters. Fred pulls his truck up to a convenience store and stops in a parking spot before the door. "Need to get somethin' for my heartburn, you need anythin'?" He asks as he exits.

"No, thanks." The panda says. Pulling his attention away from Fred, he spots a familiar looking black van stop sideways behind the truck. He ducks across the truck's seat. As the van pulls up behind the truck, the German Shepherd in the passenger seat quickly lifts his MAC-10 machine pistol into view and rests the barrel shroud on the door. Shattered glass rains down on the panda from the truck's rear window as the vehicle is pelted with bullets. Emptying his gun, the Shepherd begins to reload. Bystanders run for cover and nearby cars speed off. After the gunfire stops, the panda peeks out of the driver's side window. A motionless pronghorn lays face-down on the pavement. Scrambling, he moves into a slouched position in the driver's seat and shifts the truck into reverse. He floors it as another burst of gunfire erupts behind him.

The rear of the truck slams into the van and its tailgate is knocked loose from the impact. Shifting into first gear, the panda accelerates into the street. The white scooter slides out of the now open truck bed and slams onto the pavement as he gains distance from the black van. A look into the rear view mirror shows his pursuers leaving the parking lot, who have to circle around the broken scooter. He leans to his right and opens the glove box. A black revolver with a wooden grip, fully loaded, and box of ammunition sit inside. The red panda retrieves the gun and holds it as he steers. The black van is gaining on him. He swerves down a road to his right. The van follows.

As it again pulls closer he sees the dog begin the lean out of the window, holding his firearm. Before he can steady his aim, the truck quickly swerves down an alley to the left, evading oncoming traffic. This slows the van momentarily. Then, as the driver of the van turns the corner, he is met with four gunshots. Two strike his chest. The red panda is kneed up and aiming through the rear window of the truck. The driver slumps over the steering wheel and the van swerves to the side. The panda swiftly returns to the wheel and speeds off, leaving the stationary van behind him.

The panda rounds a few corners on his way to the town's exit, keeping an eye out for any police. He's not used to a manual and having to downshift before each turn. Finally, he's back on the main road. The panda is able to gain speed and keeps glancing in the rear views. No cops, no black van. He lets out a tense sigh. Sorry Fred.