Black and Orange by Benjamin Kane Ethridge Page B

Chuy stared at his brother and whispered something in Spanish, and repeated it several times.
    ~ * ~
    The unnamed forest outside Strath had always been famed for its monstrous scarlet trees that reached skyward. I’ve never been there myself, but on my travels I have read that in the springtime the Church of Morning have orgies beneath the canopies of parasol flowers and sacrifice jackrabbits in the russet shadows from the translucent red leaves. Things are supposedly lovely in that forest. Once again, this is from my limited knowledge of that region.
    Even with that limitation in mind, it must have come as a quite a shock when a pilgrim spotted a human head lying sideways in the dirt, mouth unhinged and eyes still glowing white. Particles of foreign red flesh dotted the face like hives.
    Hector Gonzalez had put eyes upon the Old Domain. Cole Szerszen had granted him this privilege, if only for a few seconds.
    ~ * ~
    Cole put away his gun. He dabbed at the wounds on his jaw, which bled freely, as head wounds liked to do. A cold feeling pulsed in their center, indicative of transfer. Hector’s head had taken a trip, but not completely alone. A little smidgeon of Cole Szerszen had gone with it, as well as some pieces of the pretty girl Paul had sent.
    Cole was better now at controlling his personal loss, but still had a long way to go. From what he’d seen, Paul was capable of preventing the wounds altogether. Perhaps Cole could stand to learn a thing or two from him. Unfortunately.
    Fighting through fatigue, Cole centered himself. He’d overdone it. Paul turned to Chuy , who still stood there like a posed action figure. “Where did Ramon go?” asked Paul.
    His brother’s corpse appeared to be the only thing of notice.
    Paul’s voice firmed. “Hey, tell me where that guy Ramon went.”
    Chuy glanced at Cole. “You... melted him. Hector…”
      “Kid, Ramon? Where is he?” Cole staggered over.
    The boy’s eyes still couldn’t unlock. “Ramon changed all of a sudden. Where’s Hector’s head at?”
    “Where is Ramon at?”
    “Going to California— Reche Canyon, Hector said. “How did you—? Why did you do that?”
    Cole almost felt like laughing through his adrenaline, but he bit his lip. “The Church didn’t need Hector. That’s why.” He paused and then added, “The envelope on the floor has money in it. Use it on something worthwhile. It’s yours.”
    Paul silently followed Cole outside, pointing the gun into every hall along the way. Cole felt his heart drop south faster with every step. He was close to passing out and didn’t expect Paul to try and catch him if he fell. He needed water, he needed food, he needed more air. The walls of the world were shattering and everything was coming down. Only when they got back to the limo and he saw Melissa’s face again, did Cole feel any better.

FOURTEEN
     
    Still no letter. This was getting serious. Even though they had some spending money now, Martin wasn’t at ease. The Messenger was never this late. What if they missed a letter? That happened one time before, four or five years back. They arrived in the target city too late and the Church set a trap. Martin blew out his knee and took a bullet to the deltoid. Teresa almost got mauled to death by Cloth’s children. They essentially had to push in all their chips to break even. By a narrow margin, they won their lives. Martin couldn’t say the same for the Heart of the Harvest, a sixty-year-old investment banker named Morton Elisa; after taking the sacrifice from the old man’s chest, Cloth didn’t even leave remains that appeared human.
    Martin thought of that year as a big fluke though. Usually the Messenger delivered no matter when or where. Despite his optimistic delusions, Martin expected they’d find a letter sooner or later. He prayed, however, they found one before the thirtieth. A day to prepare wasn’t realistic, especially given Teresa’s condition.
    The blue toilet water had