Spoiler! :
The morning they headed to the vineyard by Pencarrow Head, Cero imagined a developed village with three or four factories, a cosy villa for them to stay and a pub to escape Francesca's bacon obsession. So when he saw a discarded piece of land, no wider than a kilometre. Cero imagined of strangling that drunken guy followed by chucking all of Francesca's bacon to the bin. That would make her cry.
All hope of finding Rheal seemed to fade. This was a piece of dump. It wasn't a village. Do four buildings make up a village? Two were wine factories while another was the wine shop that Francesca had talked about. The fourth building was not even a building. The thought of staying at a villa watching the sun set, was replaced by the facade of an abandoned fishing house.
It was some distance away from the Pencarrow lighthouse. The second floor was on the verge of toppling down, the toilets unplugged, sink rusted and the living room dominated by dust bunnies. The only thing that made this piece of cow manure better was a set of fish trophies. There were forty of them in total ranging from a sardine to the head of a great white. Francesca definitely fell in love with them. She even wanted to bring some back home, but that was a big no.
Four days on, the trophies were gone. Cero stood on top of a small hill overlooking Lake Kohangapiripiri. He placed both hands on his pockets, as he exhaled gazing at the moon as it rose above the cordillera. He tapped his suit, feeling the money bag on his palm.
The past three days spent on the vineyard was like a mini-version of the first three weeks of their mission. They found little. They were supposed to do some interviews but with no messengers around, the only left were zombies and interviewing them meant sitting for three hours waiting for a single word. So that was out and the only option left was to do some searching in the long grasses. That drongo had said that they witnessed a messenger around here but trusting a drunken guy was never a good thing, especially if the one who was being told was Francesca.
“Why was she my partner, again? This mission could have worked well if I was partnered if I was partnered with someone else.” He planted his palm on his face remembering how many times she whined whenever her clothes got damaged. “Anyway, I need to head back home. I bet she's whining again without me.”
He pressed the cigarette on the sole of his leather boots, spreading his fleshy wings by his back. He ran through the long grass. His wings flapped. His feet rose, seconds later. He took flight. The lake got smaller, as he soared higher over a sea of greenery. South Wairarapa lay behind it. A large province composed of small communities. There were neither zombies nor factories there. There were not under the direct control of Cancibrana. They were unproductive. Yet, they were still part of the Ruins. A backward region, he thought, landing before the fishing house. He folded the wings to his body, arching his back before pulling the door.
It was locked.
Cero raised a brow, moving back. There was no illumination from inside. He went around. Francesca's room was at the right end of the house. It was the same. The time was one in the morning. That was funny. Francesca should have been back. She was never the type to stay up this late. During their searching, he had found her sleeping in the long grass or, walking blankly among the bushes, half asleep.
“Cero!” He stiffened, looking back. Francesca waved at him, standing beside the facade of the fishing house.
“What are you doing there, Francesca?” he exclaimed, turning around.
“Come quick here, Cero! Let's celebrate! I found something!”
Cero trotted towards her, before she disappeared behind a large boulder. He paused. So Francesca found something? He placed both hands in his pockets, walking slowly towards the rock. He gazed down at the channel, behind the thick bushes. There was a warm orange glow by the coast. He took another smoke from his pocket. He covered his neck with his large purple scarf, after a southerly brushed his hair.
He found Francesca dancing beside the bonfire, holding her headphone against her ears, as if it weren't loud enough- he could hear tunes of Lady Gaga from within. She twirled around three to four times, moving her head side to side. Each twirl lifted her green skirt to the air revealing her legs that dance away in the sands. Her wings were spread out behind her back enclosing her as if Francesca was a caterpillar and the wings were the cocoon enclosing her for the final transformation. She was like a little child in a birthday party wearing a purple sleeveless vest over a red blouse. She didn't realize yet the reality of being a messenger.
“If you're this crazy, Francesca, I can't imagine how loony you were, before you became a messenger.” He chuckled as he watched her, almost blushing.
Francesca paused. She placed the headphones by her neck. “Cero, what took you so long?”
“Taken a smoke,” he grinned. “Anyway, what is all this celebration for? Usually, you would cook bacon, and now you're dancing. This must be big.”
“It is.” Francesca smiled. “Wait here for a moment while I grab it.”
“Just make sure that it's not lost again!” he shouted. Francesca jogged towards the wood drift behind her. Cero walked to the fire, rubbing his hands from the cold. He looked up watching the gathering clouds. It would rain soon, he predicted but it was no surprise. They were leaving near the coast so the weather was always unpredictable. Just this morning, his bedroom window cracked from the sheer pressure of the winds. There had been storms, hails, clear skies just within their four-day stay. If they have the television, he would have turned it off when the weather man began to predict tomorrow's weather.
He narrowed his eyes, facing the channel, watching the shadowy silhouette of the South Island. It was quite far away but distance didn't mattered. His wings felt cramped for the last few days, and a soar over the channel was an excellent idea. Too bad that it's outside the region. The parasite won't survive outside of Cancabrina's control but that doesn't meant he's out of options. Casually thinking remote beachers within the region, he prepared for a nice flight.
“Here it is.” Cero shook his head. Francesca stood before him, holding a blue cap with two square stitches at the front. “I found this dangling on a branch. So what do you think of it? It's important right? During our four days, we found nothing, so this cap is a momentum.”
Cero paused. He took out the smoke from his mouth, and dropped it to the sand.
“That's Rheal's cap.” he informed her.
“So it is -”
“Give it to me,” he called out. “Let me see it!”
Francesca blinked before she offered it to him. Cero fiercely grabbed the cap with both hands. He brought the cap before his face. He tightened his grip, as he stared at the two stitches. He gulped. Cero lowered the cap. Francesca tilted her head towards him.
“And to think that all you do is whine and eat. Guess you have your uses too, Francesca. Congratulations. We're heading back to the Ruins.”
“What,” Francesca exclaimed. “But we got the hat. She must have dropped it near here which means that she's still nearby. We can catch her if we hurry.”
“And what?” He retorted. Francesca moved back. “Kill her? Rheal is much more cunning than what you think. Finding this hat does not give us an advantage.”
“What are you saying?”
“It could be a trap. She wants us to follow her, and ambush us on the way! Can't you see it, you loony! Our mission may be to hunt and kill her but we can't take any chances! Things are different now, Francesca. Finding this hat means that she got the advantage.”
Francesca bit her lip. Cero grunted to himself, pressing his palm against his face.
“Let me explain. Rheal and I became partners three weeks after the Ruins were officially declared a city by the Wellington city council. To be honest, we were an odd pair. She belongs to the first generation of messengers that spawned from aborted foetuses. I, on the other hand, was an Adaptive, the second generation. We didn't come from foetuses but from actual people. I was recruited by an Aborted. At that time, the Aborted were no longer used as messengers but rather, they were hunters. I was hunted down by one and gave me its parasite that enabled Cancabrina to control me.
Anyway, our partnership was unusual but we did alright for an odd pair. Rheal was a little mature, though a bit of a pessimist. That is despite having the body of a thirteen year old. We got along, became friends and succeeded in a few missions. The only backdrop was her underdeveloped body. Because she stemmed from an aborted foetus, her organs were a little abnormal. We had to visit the hospital daily in case any of her organs are acting funny. I can't remember how many times, she suffered from heart attacks.”
Cero looked at Francesca. “Bottom line is,” he continued. “She faked her death, betrayed me and became the scapegoat of the Ruins. She had murdered a general messenger, and took the parasites from countless zombies. Now, she’s matured. Thanks to her collection, it seemed that she now has the body of a healthy twenty year old. This hat proves that her body is no longer underdeveloped. She used to hold unto it like an addiction. Now you found it. Doesn't make our job easy, is it?”
Francesca paused. She inhaled slowly, brushing her nose. Cero sighed. He walked towards her, and brushed her hair.
“Don't cry.” he looked at her eyes. “I apologize if I screamed. We'll head back to the Hutt tomorrow, and report this finding. We can't do anything but wait for her next move.”
“So what do we do now?” She looked up at him. Cero took his hand away from her.
Cero gazed at her. “Now that you got the cap, why don’t we celebrate in the beach? I can grab the wine by the fishing house, while you prepare the music. After four days of hard work, we need a break.”
“Can you bring the bacon? I want to have toasted bacon for the night.”
“Why not?” He spread out his wings, after a moment pause.
“Can I also play some Glee music?”
“Why don't we reserve it for another day? We don't want to waste our energy dancing, do we? Try having Jazz or even some Alternative. ”
Francesca clasped her hands. “That's a good idea. Resting in a cool night like this.It's wonderful! You do have good ideas, Cero!”
She trotted towards the wood drift, unplugging the headphones from her ipod. Cero chuckled as the music began to fill the cold Saturday night. He sighed, looking at the cap by his hands. Whatever you're trying to plan, Rheal. He exhaled. Don't put me... or Francesca...in a funny situation.
He placed Rheal's cap underneath his coat. He rolled his eyes, watching Francesca dancing beside the bonfire. He began running by the coast, taking flight
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