No—it didn’t come from the letter. Davy heard it a second time: the cackle came from the naked trees across the street.
He turned to it. He saw a small speaker, in plain sight, dangling from a swaying branch. A ray of green light, through the dark woods, shined directly on it . . .
The letter crinkled and bloodied with the gripping of Davy’s fist. He clenched his teeth and wheezed in rage. Spit flung through the gaps of his teeth.
He turned his eyes toward the crater. Then back to the letter. Then to the crater again.
Namiane—oh, hell, she might have to wait just a little bit longer.
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About the Author
A.M. Caturello is a new writer of speculative fiction. He is currently a college student, majoring in both English and Economics. He writes from Los Angeles, CA.
The Water Thief Page 21
