“Where are we?” Teresa mumbled.
But they knew. This was the other side.
The Wrangler tilted. The floors grew heavy with red seawater. Teresa stood up. “Try again!”
He pushed the gas. It sounded like a submerged dentist’s drill. The tires couldn’t grab hold. Martin cursed and attempted another go. They were only off the shoreline by fifty feet, give or take. The tide pushed at them. The jeep sunk deeper. The tires spun in place again.
Teresa turned from the babies, and her gun came free from her pants. Martin caught movement in the trees. Figures emerged.
Orange robes, scythes and oily muskets in swaying arms, tallow faces under hoods. Some human. Some ginger-hued and reptilian. Eyes glowed with equal parts moonlight and sin. A dark faced human with a pointed mustachio put his musket eye level. Martin threw a mantle.
It was a strange feeling. The cold spot in his head felt sticky—instead of ghost matter, a sheet of ocean water lifted and surged forward, departing at once into vapor.
Martin stared for a moment.
Teresa said, “How’d you move the water like that?”
“Fuck if I know.”
Just then a sheet of sand lifted on the shore and ruptured. The approaching orange throng sidestepped and shouts were exchanged.
“Did you—?”
“I did,” she answered. “The mantles aren’t the same here. We’re not pulling matter over—here, I think we move it.”
Martin didn’t understand at first. Then, light. Four small boulders from the shoreline jumped into the air. They spun around on a stiff axis and shot forward. The hooded crowd folded at the impact and some bodies were ripped backwards into the trees. Undeterred, others kept on. Some had reached the water and their orange robes glided around them in the foul, dark red broth. A reptile man had his scythe poised overhead as he trudged deeper.
“Throw more!”
“It’s... harder,” Teresa said with a grimace.
Martin’s ankles were frozen and stinging and the sensation traveled up his body as the level rose. A scaled hand stroked the front right wheel well. Sharp, translucent nails peeled curls of paint.
The Wrangler lunged. Ocean floor assembled behind them and slammed into the tailgate, moving them into shallower water.
“Yeah Teresa!”
The Wrangler’s tire caught and they were off, zigzagging through the shallows. The jeep burst onto the beach, kicking sand. Church members struck the front bumper and rolled away. Martin glanced in the rearview. Teresa draped her body over the babies.
And just in time. They hit an embankment. Hard. The Wrangler went airborne—
Martin’s teeth lathed against each other. Demented trees flung past. Gravity seemed to work better here than at home. The landing would be jarring.
But no impact came. Everything shifted around them, layers of reality peeling back suddenly. They were on flat land again, as though they’d been on land for hours now. The water in the car turned into pieces of mantle, billions of tiny diamonds in the mind. Martin combined them and formed a barrier around the back of the jeep.
They rocketed down a residential street past a costume party. A couple dressed like Popeye and Olive Oyl necked in the street. Shadowy giants in the background, Martin could see some of the industrial buildings near the house where Enrique had been staying. Their trip through the Old Domain had put them on a completely different side of town.
“Well there’s something.” He pointed at the dash and Teresa followed with her eyes. “Hope it means something good.”
12:15
~ * ~
Paul leaned forward. Their lips touched.
“The blossoms will not grow anymore, but there are too many dark... I think they’ll kill me anyway.”
Priestess said, “You need constancy, Paul.”
“There aren’t any more seeds. I took them all. I thought the Nomads would...” He didn’t finish and just tried to eat the torment.
“You can’t do this to me,” she growled.
“I love you.”
The Priestess smacked his face hard. “Love!”
Paul twisted. Strange words came to his lips. “Pipe organ. Pipes, pipes, pipes, blowing into the night, me, the night, me. The song’s going through me, a red hot shovel, twisting and tossing guts... I don’t think anything will ever make sense. Everything will fail. Soon.”
“You fought before. Fight now.”
“It’s killing me.” He couldn’t look at her, but sensed her anger with him growing.
“I don’t have time to baby you, Bishop,” she said. “You need to think of how to get more seeds.”
“How—?”
The Priestess of Morning’s eyes lit up just then. “Shut up! Wait. I see again—there they are. I’m regaining my sight. The Nomads! I see. We need to let Cloth know.”
“Why not go to Cloth?” Paul gasped and bit away a shriek. “Maybe he can help me.”
“We’ll use the telephone device, but we can’t go see Cloth, understand? We need to leave right away. With Eggert gone and you like this, I have to watch out for us both. Where can we go? It should be somewhere far away from Cloth. Can you drive? I have not learned.”
“I think, for a little while,” said Paul. He reached into his pocket and with shaking hands, handed her his phone. “I’ll need to rest now again.”
The Priestess’s warm sigh struck the cold sweat on his face. “Do you have any clue as to where we will go?”
He nodded, an idea coming to him. “I might know a way to find more seeds.”
“Are you raving?”
“I hope not.”
Paul leaned forward. Their lips touched.
~ * ~
Chaplain Cloth squeezed his chin until his jaw creaked. The Nomads had been caught in a spatial fold and were nowhere to be found. The luck these two had was one of the great frustrations of his existence. The Nomads could be in the city or a thousand miles away. He had to find them. The possibility of losing the Hearts was out of the question. Cloth wouldn’t entertain that possibility, not so close to the Opening. Things had gone from bad to worse with the space-time distortion. The feast was so inevitable he could smell the roasted gall bladders and buttered bones and cartilage. He wouldn’t lose this year. No.
A smallish, rugged man with an Australian accent and cleft lip approached from the shadows. The smell of lager hung thick on his every word. “Chaplin Cloth, what’re your orders? If it pleases you.”
Disappointing these humans were, but eager to please they were also. Usually Cloth didn’t bother with the aid of flesh beyond the body he absorbed, but this year had been very different so far.
“Search all Void areas in the city. If they’re still here, the Nomads will choose one of these locations to hide. They’ll not risk a motorway.”
“Should I inform the Archbishop?”
“Pager’s done,” Cloth replied. “Assemble some teams quickly. Do you have a phone?” The man yanked free a small, glossy black oblong apparatus and Cloth snatched it away from him. “Have someone call me if you find anything. Is that clear?”
“Chaplin?” The man’s eyes bulged in disbelief.
“I want a smaller team to find Quintana and his harlot. His power has ramped up considerably, so those who go against him must walk warily. They will only take him with words, not with force.”
“I understand.”
“Finish Quintana before he causes another problem. They’re already fleeing. Bring back the Priestess of Morning if you can. She’s still handy.”
“Thank you, Chaplin.”
The man stepped delicately past a knot of children. They were devouring one of their own, who had been trampled. They tugged out a kinky cord of bright pink brains through the orange skull and erupted in a frenzy for the prize. A warm feeling passed through Cloth and he swelled with nostalgia for the days of thrashing darkness and squealing dementia, the time before light, the time before this appalling society.
&
nbsp; FORTY
Colton’s sunlight held little hope. Martin pumped gas in a station across from the savaged trains. Teresa had objected going outside the Void but he convinced her they needed gas, if it came down to leaving in a hurry. That was bullshit though. She knew they couldn’t really run once they hunkered down. To her this was probably wishful thinking, but in reality, it was Martin who needed the gasoline. Well, the plan needed gasoline.
As the tank reached t-minus ten gallons, news reports buzzed over the speakers. In the wake of the strange orbital anomaly, the City of Colton continues to be the epicenter of some of the most peculiar reported stories. Local water districts and San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department are checking the possibility of a hallucinogenic compound distributed through a local water treatment facility. In other related news, a missing bus from California Rehabilitation Center...
Martin had gotten an hour-long nap in the train, but wanted more—this was ridiculous. He was paying for his carelessness, just like last year; being tired all the time was so exhausting!
Watching Teresa feed the babies brightened his mood though, as long as he could forget the stakes. Through the back he saw her tilt the bottle for the blue-eyed girl, Rebecca. Teresa had never looked happier.
Martin took his drink off the hood and sipped his ice tea. He grimaced at the raspberry aftertaste. Damn.
~ * ~
Once they returned to the train yard, Teresa found herself staring for a long time. Particularly unsettling, in the belly of a gray warhorse of rust and rivets, Martin’s look changed from several dimensions of thought. There was a part of this Teresa didn’t know and she had the feeling he was about to let her in.
He sensed her unasked question. “We’re not going to get lucky again—with slipping away I mean.”
“Yeah,” she agreed.
“But we have the time to act now, while there’s still a chance. We can throw him off. There are plenty of hours left in the day.”
“Throw him off?” She asked incredulously. “That’s not exactly how it works with Cloth. Where’s this going, Martin?”
His face softened. “I’m going to lure him and the children away from here.”
“Are you nuts?”
“The suits will search every Void in town. They always do. We’ve taken precautions but there’s still too much time for them to break through. You have enough energy to protect the kids—”
Teresa smiled but it vanished when she saw his expression unchanged. “I’m not doing fine, as you might well see.”
Martin edged closer. “Best possible scenario is I can keep them chasing me until midnight. Then we’re free.”
“What if they show up here right after you leave? Would that be the worst possible scenario?”
“Radio me.”
She growled, “I’m not keeping a radio turned on in here. They’ll hear it! We shouldn’t even be talking right now.”
He sighed angrily through his teeth.
Putting her own advice to heart, Teresa whispered now, “Cloth won’t fall for cat and mouse, and if he did, you’d be taken sooner than midnight. Don’t fool yourself. This is stupid. You’ll die.”
“If I go to the other Voids, I’m sure I’ll run into Church. If I’m in the Wrangler they’ll assume it’s both of us. They’ll follow me to flush out the Hearts.”
Her head shook to the point of dizziness. “That’s too big a risk. You’re too tired. Besides, we do need the Wrangler if he shows up.”
“You think we’ll have time to pile into the jeep? You, me, and four babies? You want to talk about risk? Going a hundred and twenty miles down the interstate—here is our last stand. Here. We both know that, but Cloth doesn’t have to.”
She grasped Martin around the waist, couldn’t let go. His shell necklace pressed into her neck and his warm breath tickled her ear. He hummed their Sam Cooke song, A change is gonna come.
“This is fucking stupid,” she whispered.
“I’m just too weak to help you here. I’m more help as bait. You know that. You have to know that. This city isn’t big. If they get here, just call me. I’ll be here in no time and have a better position on them.”
“You’re an imbecile,” she said with a sad shake of her head.
“Well you’re the best woman I’ve ever known. You know that?”
“Yeah,” she said with a short laugh. “Among the many.”
He buried his face into her neck. She squeezed his shoulders for reassurance. None came. Just say you’re going to forget this nonsense, Martin. Please?
“For the record, you’re not too shabby either,” she finally said. “What if you don’t come back?”
“I promise—”
“Don’t promise, goddamn it. Okay?”
He kissed her again, then bent over the bundles, one by one, caressed each baby’s face. “You’re some cute little devils. Mama’s gonna keep you safe.”
Teresa tucked a shock of almond hair behind her ear.
Martin fiddled with a detonator the size of an ink pen. “I’m going to padlock the gate and activate the mines now. Remember to go out the other door. There’s probably close to fifty rigged together just on the other side. Deactivation’s the same pin as before—”
She shook her head. “No, don’t go—this—you’re going to die doing this.”
“If I strand the Wrangler somewhere, there’s a bus stop not a block away. For tomorrow, I mean. Just you all stay alive.”
“Don’t go.”
“I won’t be able to bring any more mantles for a long time, Teresa. So this is the only way I can be useful. Let me do this.”
A sudden, incalculable rage tore through her chest. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you? What did you do when I was asleep Martin? What did you do? I sense mantles all over this train yard.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t fuck with me!”
“I set a few out there when you were at the hospital. One I built was pretty damned strong. It took more than a day. That’s why I couldn’t go back to the room. I had to stay put and work on it. They’re great deterrents, but you know that Cloth can go through them like cotton candy.”
She folded her arms and sat back against the wall. For a moment, silence baked in the stuffy train car. “What were you thinking? Stupid!”
Sighing, he said, “Will those be your last words to me?”
She wanted to say, Yeah, dumbass, those are the only words you deserve. Instead: “Yeah just be careful—I’ll kill you if you die.”
He flashed a grin of relief, chuckled. “Wouldn’t want that.”
Each baby had subtle confusion surfacing. She knew how they felt. Martin never acted like this—this didn’t feel spontaneous. This had been planned when she was in the hospital.
She shouldn’t let him go. There was too much at stake. They’d been blessed with escaping earlier, and now he was actually trying to get Cloth’s attention. It wasn’t rational. But Christ, there was something in Martin’s eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. How could she take that away when she’d seen nothing but the opposite since diagnosis? And knowing she’d put that terminal moroseness inside a light-hearted man who had once joked at everything... she couldn’t say no. He was a prisoner, finally skipping out. To throw him back inside would make her happy but destroy him.
Martin jumped out of the train and moved the squeaky door swirling with bright pink graffiti. The light cut away and left her in the mustiness with the babies. About twenty minutes later, after he’d finished setting the mines, the Wrangler started up. She heard the wheels crunch the gravel as he left.
FORTY-ONE
The musical score enthralled Paul’s mind. The blossoms still shifted back and forth, drinking his soul from the roots. He could feel the dead, once fragrant, orange blossoms whither from the stress and he could feel pieces of universe stretching.
The Priestess of Morning sat in the passenger seat. Hands poised over her head, she had been concentrating for
some time. He’d kept quiet so as to not disturb her. The silence (with the pipe organs playing on a tiny music box in a mouse-hole) could be savored. It was beyond enjoyable—it tasted good. So when the Priestess let out a gasp, Paul accidentally spun the wheel and they went into the breakdown lane. “Shit!”
“I see him!” cried the Priestess. “The Nomad—the man. He’s driving south.”
Paul had to muster some interest. “Just the man? Is the woman there?”
“No—she’s somewhere dark. In a vault or something. I can’t make out where.”
“What about the Hearts?”
“The Hearts aren’t with him. They might be with her—”
“Call Szerszen,” said Paul.
She glanced at him and shook her head.
“What?” Something clenched inside Paul, not grief, just searing shock. Cole was gone?
“I think he killed Sandeus Pager too,” she said, “though I’m not sure how.”
A husky chuckle. “And just as Pager got his own.”
“What matters is Cloth—he’s the one.” She dialed a number on his cell phone, touching each number with fascination.
“Who’s that?”
“The Japanese envoy said he would be on the Hunt this year. His business card had his telephone number, which I put in my sight.”
Paul felt a twinge of jealousy but it didn’t last through his delirium.
She waited breathlessly before the other end picked up. “No this is the Priestess of Morning. Yes, I don’t have time. I need to let Chaplain Cloth know something of great importance. A Nomad is heading south on Mount Vernon Avenue. He’s arrived outside a tavern named the Spyglass Saloon. Tell Cloth at once. I’ll call back if the situation changes. Thank you, fine. Farewell.” She sneered at the phone before figuring out how to turn it off. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered.
“What?”
“The envoy’s voice sounded strange. I think Cloth might have told them to get rid of us.”
Fuck, just when my nerves had begun to settle. “What does he care?”
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