Dusk

Open water was rare and depleting. Alessandro managed them into a rudimentary queue. They marched until twilight, each heavy step bringing them nearer to the docks, and nearer to the grasp of the phosphorus moon. The chant drove deep into the bowels of the boy’s heads, invocative and irrevocable, and Guido barely checked the reflex to join. They continued, tireless and unquestioning, following the shepherd, lame ducks, lank swine, headless chickens clucking a monotonous litany. These were the lone words of cruel irony that the govies left in them. Jesus is my God. And still they spoke only this as their savior lead them to…judgment? Salvation? Eradication?

They stopped.

The wharf at their feet was shaky and rifted. The lake appeared as sullen, blood red under the crimson moonglow. Below the immaculate, unrippled surface were a thousand fathoms of unchartered water. Dario eased his chin upon Guido’s shoulder and spoke into his ear, voice viscid and cool. "Now, you jump."

The dazed rubbernecker jerked from Dario. "What?" His tone surpassed mild surprise.

"Or do you know another angle at coaxing them into the water? I won’t. They wouldn’t follow." And I’m never jumping into those infectious waters.

"But I can’t swim."

"Don’t fret. I’ve heard there’s nothing to it."

Guido ventured a pleading and frightened glance to Alessandro, whose rigid stare offered no solace. "He says there’s nothing to it." Alessandro shrugged.

"Follow the Lord into His glorified waters, and be baptized by His holy hand, for the day of reckoning is upon us." Dario cued Guido, and after a final desperate glance, he flopped into the water, jerking like a paroxysmal trout, eager to be immersed in water and pacify the suppressing pain in its lungs. One by one, they trod off the dock, and met the water with a stoic plop. Rumpling the placid, mystic blanket, Guido floundered to stay afloat, gagging in drinks of air and jabbing in misdirection. Dario stammered between crowlike stammers, "Kick over here…we’ll hoist you out." Guido dipped underwater and surfaced with a maniacal terror. A pair of arms protruded from the agitated water. Several more bolted through the darkness. They grappled for Guido, encircled him, and pulled at his arms, legs, and hair. Some climbed atop him for air.

"Help!"

"Do something. He’s going to drown." Alessandro’s eyes are wide and grave.

"What can we do?"

Before six hundred drones dragged him to the charnel lake-floor, he surged through the flailing arms and gave a last reproving look. Dario broke into hysterics. "Living proof." Alessandro blundered from the wharf alone, dry-heaving behind his sterile mask. "Living proof to the decadence of Christwhores. They bring their own savior down with them!" No one was there to hear.

"M-myself? To meet with God?"

"You’ve done a great deed for His City, and He summons your presence." The govie was a shrill, bespectacled man in a prim penguin-suit. His eyes waxed and waned as he spoke.

Ha-ha. Dario was brimming with joviality. My whole life is coming to a head.

They boarded a cube transporter. Within a moment of the govie entering the locale number into the keypad, the sliding door opened to a broad and bustling room. Garish booths dashed either wall. Yellow, whorly letters spelled ‘Pleasure Booth’ above the folding doors. Sweaty, white-collar men lined behind them, rummaging through their pockets for the correct change.

A woman’s voice sounded over the intercom. "Clean-up in Pleasure Booth thirteen. I repeat, clean-up in Pleasure booth thirteen. Thank you."

"Every level above this is His private property. Up these stairs. You’ll meet Him on the next level. This will get you inside." The govie handed Dario a slip with the access code.