F | Terminal Cruise

FA: At Temple on the third day of 1943 Apostle Jashen Shy Bear promulgated Decree Nineteen: 𝗔 𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗺 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗯𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲. The Stiffnecks murmured at this, but it was an administrative Decree and none could make objection. So ordered, Cassiel inscribed the Decree in the Book of Remembrance, which lay upon the Table of the Lord. Her scroll and light pen did not have their origin on this Earth, nor did the image of Zuriel standing silently behind her. Few Stiffnecks were fully aware of the nature of the artifacts displayed in plain view. Seer Jashen Shybear then promulgated Decree Twenty and all hell broke loose: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁-𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘅𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗥𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗭𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗪𝗶𝗶𝘆𝗮 𝗪𝗶𝗶𝘆𝗮 𝗦𝗵𝘆𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗿. With an outcry of holy indignation Elder Earl Warner stood up and left the sanctuary, taking half the White Wing with him. Straightaway Warner declared himself the Apostle of the 𝘙𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 Root of Jesse Fellowship.
FB: His chosen Elder Alfred Shoenherr went door-to-door to the homes of white wingers, handing out mimeographed tracts citing scripture and vividly describing the torments set aside for those who remained in the arms of the mother Church. An eternal ban on interracial marriage was Warner’s first and most bedrock article of faith, but there were many more. In fact, listing all the teachings Warner claimed were handed down to all believers from the very mouth Jesus himself (and subsequently forgotten or deliberately suppressed) made up the bulk of Warner’s first Sunday sermon on his “restoration” following the big split in the Church. Warner said the curse of God lay upon all those who played cards. Warner emphatically told his flock to let not one single drop of Demon Rum pass their lips. Backslidden believers who engaged in dancing were in danger of God’s holy judgment. Those who permitted themselves to even 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 to race music, let alone dance to it, would face everlasting punishment in the fires of Hell.
FC: To prove they were indwelt of the Holy Spirit he ordered the faithful to roll in the sawdust in the old barn out on Damascus Road that was their new temple. Perhaps that was just as well, as there were not enough bales of hay provided for everyone to sit. The actual Temple still glistened prominently in the afternoon sun halfway up Migdalel Butte and seemed to mock the Reformed temple just by continuing to exist. Many got up to leave during the Wednesday meeting on the 13th. Most alarming of all to Warner, on Sunday the offering plate came back almost completely bereft of cash. Quietly, some of the more prominent Stiffnecks approached Warner and pressured him to seek some sort of reconciliation with Apostle Jashen Shy Bear because the barn situation was intolerable to them. When Earl Warner and Alfred Shoenherr approached the Temple office door it was opened by Elroy an instant before they pounded on the door. “How did you do that, boy?” barked a startled Warner. “The Seer saw you were about to knock.”
FD: But Warner saw no one in the office except Elroy Shybear, his sister Dory, Remiel Zinter, and her brother Samael. It soon became apparent the men knew only the Zinter kids by name. Quelle surprise neither the former Elder nor the Deacon troubled to know anyone outside of the White Wing of the Church, not even the preacher’s children. Warner pointed his finger at Remiel. “You are wanted by the FBI. There’s posters of you hanging all over town!” “Gosh, you better go rustle up Special Agent Sloane and tell him she’s hiding up here,” said Sammy. “But then you won’t get what you came to get.” “I came here to speak to the Apostle.” “She’s right in front of you,” said Dory, pointing at Remiel. Warner shook his head. “All I see is four kids running loose in the Temple of God. Where’s Shy Bear?” “He’s in a better place,” said Elroy. “He’s dead?” “No,” said Remiel, “but he felt terrible about the split and stepped down as the Apostle. You wouldn’t know anything about that because you were busy preaching in a barn.”
FE: Warner said, “Shy Bear was right to blame himself for the split in the Church but if he left you in charge he must have gone completely demented in the end. The scriptures say, ‘I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over men.’” “Mr. Warner,” replied Remiel, “you’re going to have to show me a little more respect. I am indeed presently the Apostle of the Root of Jesse Fellowship, notwithstanding whatever Paul wrote to his own church in Corinth about wenfolk. Here, I’ll prove it.” Remiel reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a leather-bound green notebook. “I know you’ve seen this before. It’s the original Green Book. It’s Joshua Lange’s handwritten translation of Cassiel’s scrolls.Starting from the last page and working backward Remiel found Decree Twenty-one, which was so recent none of the men had yet seen it: 𝗘𝗮𝗿𝗹 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗘𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗝𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲 𝗙𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽, January 10, 1943. Warner grew angry and objected to that. “No! I never resigned!”
FF: “I was there in the barn you call your temple,” Sammy said. “I’m still White Wing, remember? You introduced yourself as the Apostle of the Reformed Root of Jesse Fellowship.” “Well? What of it?” “When that reached the ears of the Apostle of the actual Root of Jesse Fellowship he took it to be your resignation as Elder. How did Jashen put it, Dory?” “My father said, ‘No man can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.’” “In fine,” said Samael, “if you’re an officeholder in the new thing you cannot simultaneously be an officeholder in the original thing.” That put a cork in whatever riposte Warner was fermenting. Remiel then showed both men the entry where Alfred Shoenherr resigned as Deacon. “Do we need to go over the same argument for Deacon as was already established for the Elder? No? Then let us go on.” The final three Decrees in the Green Book officially elevated Remiel, Dory, and Elroy to the vacated offices.
FG: “Good,” Remiel said. “Now, having established our right to run loose in the Temple as you put it, what else have you and Mr. Shoenherr come to say?” Warner silently gnawed through his options. At length he saw he had to go along with these kids playing clergy. When he cleared his throat, Dory interrupted. “Aren’t we forgetting something?” “What could it possibly be now?” Warner was irritated now to the point of distraction. “The Benediction of course,” said Dory. “This is the very Temple of God.” “Very well, get on with it,” Warner said impatiently, rolling his open right hand with a gesture of impatience. Dory said, “May the divine spirit of encouragement grant us to meet in harmony, that together we may with one voice glorify God Most High. In the name of Lord Yeshua we pray.” Everyone but Warner said ‘amen’. Warner said “We look for the reunion of the whole Church. Were the Killing Artifact to alternate in possession between the Red and White Wings it would go a long way towards sealing the breach.”
FH: “Zuriel herself gave the Windgate to my grandfather,” said Elroy. “Had she not done so there would be no Red Wing or White Wing. There would only be whites in Havilah and the Kuwapi would be stuck at Pine Ridge. I know if the Stiffnecks ever get their hands on it they’ll never let it go.” “You Red Wingers have your hands on it now and you’ll never let it go,” Warner replied bitterly. Remiel said, “I actually agree with both of you.” So she took up a pen and wrote the Twenty-fifth Decree in the Green Book: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗺𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗘𝘅𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗥𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗝𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲 𝗙𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽. She dated it January 18, 1943. This Decree was not entirely to the liking of Earl Warner, but he could think of no intractable objection to it. “That is acceptable,” he said, “if and only if you enter another Decree that affirms our Lord’s eternal and immutable law forbidding non-consanguineous marriage.” Remiel smiled and said with equanimity, “That is just as easily done.”
FI: She inked Decree 26 in the manuscript: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁-𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲. Again she dated it January 18, 1943. Satisfied, Alfred Shoenherr spoke up. “When do you announce the end of your engagement?” “Never, Mr. Shoenherr,” Remiel replied. “The decrees of the Lord of Hosts Fellowship don’t work ex post facto. Review Decree 11: 𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲, 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁.” “The new Decree governs marriage and you haven’t married him yet.” “Ah, but there you are dead wrong, Mr. Shoenherr.” Remiel displayed her wedding ring for both men. Elroy flashed his own. She did not mention they were wed in Hell and already spent a whole year down there because they would never believe it and besides it wasn’t Hell as they knew it. Remiel said, “Yeshua taught if a wan puts aside her husband to marry another she commits adultery against him.” “That’s one of the Lord’s non-negotiables,” Elroy told both of them with a wicked grin. Mt. Si #Washington
FJ: Warner suddenly stood up and made to stomp out of the office with Shoenherr in tow, but Remiel interrupted their departure with a warning. “I agreed to see you gentlemen today, but if you act like a couple of public high school students and storm out of here when you don’t get your own way it will be the last time we ever meet.” Samael added, “My sister is ready to follow through on that threat, fellas. She truly is a Seer. How else could she evade three FBI guys scouring this itty bitty town?” “You have one more chance to reunite the Church,” Warner cautioned in return. “Alfred is Deacon again and I’m the Elder again or the Root of Jesse Fellowship is finished forever. Those are 𝘮𝘺 non-negotiables.” Remiel said, “You came to see us, not the other way around. Nevertheless, will you, Elroy, resign the office of Deacon?” “I will not.” Warner prepared once more to leave the office with Shoenherr, all the while muttering a string of foul curses that completely obscured what Dory quietly said underneath them.
FK: Remiel asked her cousin to repeat herself. “I said, I will resign as Elder.” The sailor talk coming from Warner trailed off to silence. Remiel opened the notebook again and penned the twenty-seventh Decree: 𝗡𝗮𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗮 𝗦𝗵𝘆𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗘𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗛𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗙𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽. Remiel dated it January 18, 1943. “It’s done,” she said. “Will you, Mr. Warner, now take Dory’s place as Elder, or is Mr. Shoenherr making Deacon still non-negotiable?” Warner turned to the man and said, “It’s a temporary setback, Alfred, one that will be remedied soon enough.” Alfred nodded his reluctant assent. Earl Warner said, “Mrs. Shybear, make the appropriate entry.” It did not escape her notice that he declined to call her Apostle Shybear. Petty man. And his mouth! She could think of no one less qualified for the job he so desperately wanted back. Dory locked eyes with Remiel and told her, “I’m trying to imagine someone in 2043 reading the Green Book and wondering what led to this whole sudden flurry of Decrees.”
FL: Remiel had to be content only to imagine it. Her Mercy of precognition reached a blank wall in just two days. “Where’s the Killing Artifact?” “If you mean Shahar Haruach,” said Elroy, “It’s here in the building.” “How do I know that’s true?” “Sir, this is the Temple of God. Liars have no part in the life to come.” “You still need to show it to me.” “Go ahead and show him,” Remiel said. “But Mr. Shoenherr? You’re done here, I’m afraid. Good day to you.” Elroy took Elder Warner to the main Temple storeroom on the same floor and unlocked the door. Along one wall was a gray metal cabinet and inside there was a galvanized steel mop bucket on casters, a mop, two brooms, and a black metal rod about three feet long. The rod was leaning against one corner of the cabinet and stood in a little puddle of water. “The Windgate, sir,” Elroy told him. There was no mistaking the thing. In all the world only the jars for Cassiel’s scrolls were so black. It was made by Ayat herself. “Why do you keep it in a broom closet?”
FM: “If I left it out in the open, sir, people might forget they are in the Temple and develop sticky fingers.” “Why is it wet?” “Sir, that is condensation from the air. The hilt of the Windgate absorbs light and heat and emits none. So it can get cold.” “I want my own key to this room.” “Yes sir.” Warner opened another door at the rear of the storeroom and saw a tunnel cut in rock that was only a little larger than the door itself. “Where does that go, boy?” “Sometimes it goes to the mikvah directly under the altar, sir.” “Sometimes?” “Yes sir. And sometimes it just comes to a dead end. God help you if the tunnel ever dead ends going both ways!” “Boy, I think you’re just jerking my chain. Go get me that key.” “Yes sir.” It grew quiet in the storeroom after Elroy left and Warner could hear dim voices somewhere down the tunnel. He decided to investigate. The rough-hewn tunnel gradually curved to the left and reached a chamber. A straight channel of water flowed through glossy carved and polished limestone. Print the 25 most common words in a file with #Python from collections import Counter import re import sys words = re.findall(r”\w+”, f.read().lower()) counts = Counter(words) for i, (word, count) in enumerate(counts.most_common(n), 1): print(f”{i:2d} {count:6d} {word}”) print(f”\n{len(words)} words, {len(counts)} unique”)
FN: Warner had never performed baptisms in the Temple before, that was for the Apostle and his wife. But the mikvah should be twenty-five feet below the level of the storeroom. Warner was confused: he descended no stairs to reach this place. The tunnel never even slightly canted down as a ramp. Two young girls dressed in white robes stood at the edge of the water with their mothers. Cassiel Shybear saw him standing there and grew angry. “Mr. Warner, why are you breaking your own rule?” “What do you mean?” A third young girl stepped unclad from the water. Cassiel rushed to shield her from the eyes of Warner with a large white towel. The girl was Kuwapi. Her mother brought a white robe to her daughter and helped dress her behind a screen. “You segregated baptism by sexes for the sake of modesty years ago, or have you forgotten?” “Why are you breaking my 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 rule holding baptism for girls on Tuesday?” he demanded. “This is Tuesday, Mr. Warner!” “Bolshevik! Today is the Eighteenth. Check the Temple Bulletin.”
FO: “Today is Tuesday the 12th,” Cassiel insisted. “Are you well, Mr. Warner?” “You need to show a little respect and call me 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 Warner.” “Hardly. My own daughter is Elder.” “Well, see what she says now.” He scrambled past Cassiel and the girls and ascended the stairs to the Sanctuary. Now the town of Havilah, like its namesake in the book of Genesis, was compassed by the Pison River. The paved Yellow Brick Road ended there, as also did the railroad. There were no hotels or even motels. To the west, north, and south of the town was nothing but the Aubry National Glasslands and hilly scrub. No one from out of town ever spent the night in Havilah because no one ever passed through. There was nothing on the other side of Havilah to pass through to. The Bureau craned off a modest trailer to have a place for its three agents to sleep. The Root of Jesse Fellowship steadily lost adherents after peaking in 1915 but there were still a dozen tabernacles scattered across America and even a few chapels in Europe.
FP: Sometimes families of the deceased were put up by their kin but frequently the only place for them to stay was the Temple C Wing, where small rooms were made available for their brief stay of a day or two. Warner had never given them much thought. As far as he knew the beds made themselves. So Wednesday morning on the 20th he was startled to find Dory and Elroy cleaning one of them. “What is this?” “It goes with the position of Lay Minister of the Last Rite, sir,” said Elroy. “Somebody has to get the rooms ready. “What is she doing here?” “My sister is pitching in like always.” “That better be an unpaid position, boy.” “Purely voluntary, sir.” “I’m here to see the Apostle and you need to be there too.” “Yes sir.” Remiel did her usual trick of having somebody suddenly open the office door right before Warner could knock. “Everyone please come in,” Sammy said. At Remiel’s insistence everyone took seats. Earl Warner said, “The Reformed Root of Jesse Fellowship is gathering this morning at our own temple.”
FQ: “Barn,” said Dory. “I didn’t tell 𝘺𝘰𝘶 to be here, Missy.” Remiel cut in. “Elder Warner, why are you still talking about a Reformed Root of Jesse Fellowship? I thought we settled that two days ago.” “We’re having our Wednesday prayer meeting. Will you meet with them, Mrs. Shybear, and affirm the regrettable division in our Church has finally reached an end?” “You tell them, Elder Warner,” Remiel said. “They are entirely welcome to come to Temple next Sunday morning as they did before.” “Some of them may have feelings of guilt about walking away. You should welcome them back to the Church as prodigal sons.” “Alright. I see what you mean, Elder Warner. I will speak to them.” “And they should meet the new Deacon as well. One of our parishioners has passed away. The Deacon should perform the Last Rite down there this morning.” Samael was incredulous. “You want to have Last Rites in that barn?” “It would do much to bring the necessary healing between the Red and White Wings of the Church,” Warner put in.
FR: “It should wait until this evening,” Elroy said. “It’s when I always perform the Last Rite here in the actual Temple.” “Half the White Wing is waiting down there this morning,” replied Warner. “Besides, it has already been eight days. The poor lady is growing unpresentable.” Remiel nodded and said, “You should do it, Darling. It’s of a piece with the other thing.” “But are you ready to go through with the other thing?” “I’ve had a year to think about it. I know Hope will see me through.” “I’m glad I don’t have to watch any of it,” Dory said. Warner completely misunderstood what they were talking about. He reminded Dory, quite needlessly, “You wouldn’t be welcome down there anyway.” Dory caught Remiel’s eye once more but now there were tears in them. She said in a broken voice, “I don’t recognize my own church anymore.” Remiel saw how utterly sad her friend had become. She moved to comfort her. But a blank wall was closing in now and all she had left was the assurance of Hope. Hope and the love of her kin. Convert csv to wikimedia table format with #Python import csv,sys print(‘{| class=”wikitable”‘) for i,row in enumerate(r): print(‘|-‘) print((‘!’ if i<1 else ‘|’)+’ || ‘.join(row)) print(‘|}’)
FS: “Last Rites on short notice,” said Elroy. “But if Dory doesn’t drive how do we get down there?” Warner said, “I’ve got a truck.” For the first time Elroy sensed what it must be like for his wife to exercise her Mercy. Reality itself had closed like a noose until only one path remained, and that path led directly to Remiel’s murder. At some point in the last few minutes everything became much more important, even where Samael was supposed to be standing, and he had no more direct role to play in the game. So Remy and Elroy shared a long defiant kiss. It was a shot of courage for Remiel and one more thing to throw in the face of their tormentor. Then Remiel drew close to give her brother a farewell hug as well. Earl Warner muttered oaths and led the way out to his truck. On the road he said to Elroy, “The sight of you kissing this girl was disgusting. You’re not married in the eyes of God. Hell, you’re not even the same species!” Elroy tried to conceal his disgust at the way Warner looked at the world.
FT: But it was something that infected fully half the Church. “Sir,” he said, “the Bible and the Green Book acknowledge only ethnic differences. We read of peoples and kindreds and tongues. We do not read of whites and blacks and yellow men and red men. Races are artificial things.” “Son, are you telling me to doubt what I can see with my own two God-given eyes?” “Sir, consider the aborigine people in Australia. They have a European and Asian genetic inheritance but they are as dark as Africans. It really has only to do with where you live and how sunny it is.” “Academy trained, my Elroy,” Remiel said. Elroy added, “Sir, even the Lord Yeshua was a nice coffee-with-cream brown. He spent a lot of time outdoors you know.” Warner grew angry at that last remark and pulled his truck over to the side of the road. “Get out,” he barked. “I can’t stand to be anywhere near a blasphemer, let alone one who entices our white women to become traitors to their own race.” “𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 white women,” Remiel muttered sarcastically.
FU: “And the Last Rite, sir? You said there’s a barn of believers waiting for me to send the body of that poor lady to God.” “What would be the point of sanctifying her body if the minister of the Rite is a filthy blasphemer? The Lord is brown like coffee? Get out! Now!” Elroy squeezed his wife’s hand and did as he was told. Warner peeled out in the snow, taking Remiel away from Elroy forever. Stranded lakeside, he turned to walk back to the Temple. Few of the roads beyond Havilah were much more than pairs of rude dirt tracks in the scrub. Winter ice only made them worse. Via Dolorosa forked left to the northwest. To the right Silk Road went to the edge of the Aubry National Glasslands, set aside for federal management only six years prior. Warner grew confused which way to go so he brought his truck to a stop. They weren’t anywhere near his temple barn but Remiel wasn’t surprised. Nothing surprised her anymore. “We all have choices in life to make, Elder Warner. Here’s a big one for you. Maybe the biggest.
FV: “A right turn will take you to a little blue trailer where the FBI guys are staying. You can tell ’em you made a citizens’ arrest and hand me over. You’ll be a big hero for catching a known fugitive.” “Having these federal agents call me a hero is about as useful as tits on a bull.” “I can’t run the Church from federal lockup. That invokes the incapacity clause in Decree Four and makes you Apostle under Decree Five. Then you can make Mr. Shoenherr Elder. Nothing but win, win, win.” “And if I turn left?” “In the name of God, Elder Warner, don’t drive down that road. It takes you and your buddy to the electric chair so fast you’ll never even find out how the war ends.” Warner started driving again and turned left, away from the FBI trailer, despite Remiel’s warning. “This isn’t about what I want, it’s about what Almighty God wants.” Six miles northwest of Havilah the corners of two states come together against the border of a third in a little fenced-off area like a corral, maybe one quarter acre in size.
FW: Warner missed it. Remiel said, “Back up, Elder Warner. Alfred Shoenherr is waiting for you over on your left.” “How do you know that?” “Your squirrel with the knife? I saw his truck back there.” Warner threw his own truck into reverse. “Who told you about a knife?” “Oh, it’s common knowledge a few days from now. You think you’re the only one who knows about the tunnels under the Temple? I’ll give you some credit though, you 𝘢𝘳𝘦 the only one to use them for a murder alibi. Who thinks like that?” When Warner was sufficiently in reverse he found the intersecting track and drove three hundred feet west to reach the tri-state marker. Shoenherr was waiting there with a white blade in his hand. “One and a half men to take out a jan. Great plan! Lucky for you my orders from Hope say no resistance. “Orders from Hope? What?” “The avatar of Davar himself. Who else outranks an Apostle?” “I do, now. Take your boots off and get out of my truck.” “Hope said let you kill me but she never said make it easy for you.”
FX: Remiel entered a self-induced coma like she did at Heart Mountain, and sagged forward in the seat. Shoenherr opened the door of Warner’s truck and tilted her head back. “Pull her out.” “Is she dead?” “She’s only playing dead.” Alfred dragged her out of the truck and let her drop to the snow. As Warner watched, the tip of Alfred’s weapon pointed toward him and seemed to disappear, that’s how thin it was. Warner went around the front of his truck and bent over Remiel’s feet. “You start working her over. I’m gonna pull off her boots so she can’t run away. I think it’s a trick.” But when Remiel was barefoot Alfred still delayed plunging his knife into her. “Do it now, Alfred! God knows you got the right tool for the job.” The first slash cut through her coat and her ribs as easily as it opened her heart. A fountain of blood splashed on Alfred with every beat. Warner avoided the pulsing stream but he had fresh clothes ready just in case. “Oh God the blood!” “Do it again!” The second slash completed an X.
FY: The rhythmic spurts from Remiel’s chest slowed to a stirring in a dark pool that stopped altogether even as they watched. Shoenherr was stunned by the moment of what he had just done. “I’m going to Hell!” “Shut up, Alfred. You would only go to Hell if you 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 do it.” They circled the area to make damn sure they dropped nothing. Their footprints and tire tracks covered the snow and Remy’s blood limned her body but otherwise the scene was immaculate. “Why do you still have the knife, Alfred? Wipe it clean on her.” Shoenherr made it white again. He said, “Let’s hide it in the box and get rid of it with the rest.” “Alfred, don’t change the plan. I can explain a box of shoes and even a bloody shirt but we don’t want to be anywhere near that knife. Toss it.” Alfred hurled the blade off to the snowy waste of one of the other states, he didn’t even know which. It disappeared from view, white on white. In the summer when the snow was gone it would be a white shard lying in 93,000 acres of colored natural glass.
FZ: “Help me lift her up on this.” It was a struggle. Remiel was not slender by any means. Alfred was already covered in blood and he got bloodier still. There was a short post and a sign about chest high that marked the spot where the three states came together. This sign was canted at a forty-five degree angle. They draped Remiel’s body across the sign, letting her head and arms bend backwards and her legs droop down. The stubs on her back held her in place. The scene looked positively New Testament. “How are you going to get rid of the box?” “Trust me, nothing will remain to tie this back to us. But you need to get rid of the set that blade came from.” “I’ll tell Ruth the Academy took it.” “Cheer up, Alfred! I’m the Apostle now. You’ll be the Elder as soon as we get back. We just saved God’s Church, you and I. If this girl had any kids it would have meant the end of the White Wing. There wouldn’t be any more wings, just one unholy hodge-podge of mud people growing like a cancer until they ate everything.”

F

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