Four Unholy Fellas go to Ramreta Resort
1 : One
The Ministry’s newly appointed cardinal finally had his first assignment. He’d been instructed to pack enough belongings for a fortnight, and was expected to keep an unholy relic on his person at all times. Imperator’s demands were straight forward enough but other than informing him that he had to be present in the Ministry’s parking lot for seven-thirty that night, she’d told him nothing else.
Copia – who was still stuck in his perpetually preoccupied state at the age of thirty-four – was incapable of sticking to the specified time because he’d spent two hours panicking over whether he’d packed the bare minimum that he required to function. Once he was somewhat content with the contents of his luggage, he’d fled his room to rush towards the Ministry’s entrance lobby. After passing through the large, arched doorway, he scurried down the stairs outside with the rope-strap of a tatty brown suitcase tucked into his left glove. His right clutched at his black biretta, which was precariously balanced on his head of uncombed chestnut hair. The bottom of his black cassock swished side to side when he began to jog across the gravel of the parking lot, and sweat started to bead at his temples when he realized there was only one vehicle present in the vast expanse of parking spaces.
It was a black SUV with tinted windows. Its headlights cut through the murky shadows of dusk and its scarlet tail-lights flickered ominously like its driver was purposely flexing their foot on the brakes to taunt the approaching cardinal. He was too out of breath and too concerned about who was going to accompany him once he got inside the car to notice. When he finally reached the rear of the vehicle, it revved viciously and he physically flinched backwards when the bumper reversed an inch closer to him, exhaust fumes jetting up into his face. He let out a nervous yelp before coughing and spluttering, unaware that his startled reaction had conjured a handful of chuckles from the inside of the car… until the chuckling became boisterous laughter.
Relieved his minor coughing fit had passed – and ignoring the pink embarrassment that coloured his smooth cheeks – he cautiously approached the right side of the SUV, and once he glanced into the first window he came across – where there was a vacant back-seat – he reluctantly alleviated his hand from holding onto his biretta by lowering it so that he could hurriedly let himself inside. The excitable laughter died down as soon as he clumsily shuffled into a cushioned spot that was behind the passenger seat. He dumped his battered case onto his lap and awkwardly reached over the top of it to pull the door closed.
The engine hummed beneath his shiny winkle-pickers and the men in the front seats simply squinted at him in disapproval through the rear-view mirror. The sharp, mismatched gazes of the eldest Emeritus brothers coldly sliced into him with sufficient enough spite to ensure his silence. Copia felt that their stern stares were uncalled for: he hadn’t left them waiting much longer than ten minutes, which was impressive for him because he often found himself hours late to some events due to his indecisiveness.
“Gah. Which one of you invited the rodent?” Secondo asked in a deflated tone, his leather gloves tightening around the steering wheel. Copia responded by glaring at the rear-view mirror, astounded to see the stern, scary anti-pope without his paint and casually sporting a grey waistcoat and white dress-shirt that had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Secondo had always belittled Copia in front of his brothers, and it was only customary that the cardinal’s lateness had spawned an extra helping of spite from him.
“He wasn’t invited. Imperator insisted we had a chaperone for the fortnight. I guess she doesn’t trust us. We can all hold our fucking liquor, we’re not just gonna disclose all the Ministry’s fucking secrets just ‘cause of a tiny ‘lil but of tequila. I mean, really, who the fuck thinks about work when they’re getting shit-faced on vacation?!”
Terzo’s outburst came from the seat beside Copia. He was dressed in his comfortable, uniform jacket, but he’d loosened some of the buttons in an effort to relax. He took up three-quarters of the backseats because he’d casually sprawled his legs over the cushioning closest to the left door, which unfortunately forced Copia’s right side to press against the fuzzy interior at the opposite end. Unlike his older brothers, Terzo was still adorning his face-paint and very much revelling in the fact he didn’t have to work for the next two weeks, a smug smile tugging at his painted lips.
“Anywho… if all we have to do is have this motherfucker cart around our luggage for the whole of our vacation, I say that’s a double win for us. We don’t break our backs and we keep Imperator sweet… until we get back, anyways.” he chattered, tucking his hands behind his head so that he could comfortably lounge backwards.
“Well said, Terzo.” Primo distantly murmured from the passenger seat, flicking over a page of his novel like he was rather indifferent about the young cardinal’s presence. “And so long as we don’t have to babysit Copia, I see no reason to dispute him coming along.”
Secondo gruffly sighed in defeat, reluctantly lowering his foot onto the accelerator.
“You better have your own plane ticket or – ”
“I arranged everything.” Copia nervously blurted out like he was desperate to defend himself. “I-I am… in charge of the… the treasury these days. So I have to sometimes… authorize some of your purchases, you know? So I had to make sure all of your tickets and such were… were all in order, heh.”
Unsettled with the cardinal’s confession, the brothers went completely silent, until Secondo huffed in irritation and firmly added pressure to the accelerator to set the vehicle into motion. Terzo and Copia fell back into their seats, and Primo calmly drew his seat-belt across himself without glancing up from his hardback book.
“You two better put your seat-belts on too. We don’t have time for any traffic stops. We only have an hour to reach the airport.” Secondo sternly boomed, his shoulder tensing when Terzo let out a dramatic, grating groan before he nonchalantly obliged him.
“Airport? Where we headed? Somewhere hot, I hope?” Copia questioned, stretching out the flexible strap of his seat-belt so that it would account for the inconvenient, chunky suitcase that was still perched over his lap.
“Somewhere caliente. Muy, muuuy caliente.” Terzo eagerly responded, his smug smile returning when he folded his arms behind his head again. “Secondo can’t withstand the cold, and the hot weather gives him the perfect excuse to take his shirt off.”
“I’ll have an excuse to take it off before we get there if you don’t shut up.” Secondo snapped, firmly increasing the car’s speed now he was a little irritated. “I thought Copia was the one that was going to ruin this vacation, but now I see that you are the one most likely to fuck things for us.”
“That was the intention, fratello. If we don’t fuck around while we’re on holiday, what kind of Satanists would we be?” Terzo politely supposed, closing his eyes like he was already contemplating such a thing.
“Testa di cazzo.” Secondo muttered beneath his breath, too annoyed to continue the discussion, which prompted Primo to wear a small smile though he never shifted his eyes to the driver’s seat.
Smirking victoriously having bothered Secondo into silence, Terzo leaned towards Copia, which caused his shoulders to scrunch inwards. It was clear he wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but he kept quiet, not wishing to draw attention to himself again.
“You got other clothes with you, right?” Terzo asked, cupping a white glove around his mouth.
“Ehhh… yes. Yes, of course, your Dark Excellenc - ”
“Clothes that aren’t cassocks or clerical collars?”
“Yes, of course. I am… prepared for any eventualities. Heh.”
“Good, gooood. I have a feeling this going to be a vacation to remember, little brother. It is a pleasure to have you with us.” Terzo softly said with a warm smile, reaching his white glove up to gently pat the top of Copia’s biretta. He’d been careful about keeping his voice quiet, it seemed like he hadn’t wanted his older brothers to hear him. Copia furrowed his brow in bewilderment.
“Brother? What do you – ?”
“Give it time, Copia. You and I… we have many things to discuss.”
Terzo nodded his head like he understood the confusion on the cardinal’s face, firmly patted his biretta again and backed away to lounge in the seat beside him. Copia unleashed a deep breath, relieved that the smug anti-pope had withdrawn to free him from his cramped surroundings, and then trailed his mismatched eyes between all three Emeritus brothers like Terzo’s words were still weighing on his mind.
“Where did you say we were going again?” he asked in a small voice, narrowing his eyes when the man beside him expelled an amused breath.
“I didn’t. We’re going to the Ramreta Resort, where golden sands meet sinful, sunny skies and where the only things guaranteed are delectable creampies, my friend. Hope you brought sun lotion in that shitty suitcase of yours. You’re gonna need it.”
2 : Two
“You gotta be kidding me.” Secondo grumbled.
After an arduous fifteen hour flight sat next to his younger brother – who had been unable to keep still for the majority of that time – where he’d also been surrounded by scores of loud-mouth, inebriated British party-seekers, the sight of their rental car upon arriving in the Ramreta Resort was the irritating icing on Secondo’s already flattened cake.
It was a five-door nineties hatchback that had barely enough room for two people, let alone three popes and a cardinal. Its wind-shield was faintly scratched, dried mud outlined the wheels and its pale red paint-job probably hadn’t been patched up since it was first sold. The only small thing that redeemed it was the fact it was an Italian make, so none of the Papas could be completely unhappy about it.
“Chillax, fratello, there’s no way this heap of junk is our rental. There must’ve been some kinda… unfortunate mistake.” Terzo assumed, gesturing a white glove to the hatchback that was waiting patiently in the parking bay before them.
“I don’t know what you two are complaining about. I had one of these babies back in the nineties.” Primo calmly disagreed, unravelling the scarf he’d had draped around his neck like the island’s tropical climate was already getting to him after an hour. “It served me well, and I’m sure this will be the ideal pussy wagon for us during this visit of ours. You two boys act up to your titles too much. We’re not at the Ministry now, stop being such unbearable, prudish snobs and live a little.”
The three brothers stood side by side by the edge of the parking space, the younger ones eyeing the Fiat Tipo’s shape in disdain while Primo draped his scarf over his shoulders, raised an arm to shield his sensitive scalp from the sun and wore a humble smile like he was suddenly reminiscing.
“You really think there’s room for all of us in there, Primo?” Secondo reluctantly muttered, shaking his head in disapproval and ignoring the shuffle of footsteps that was nearing the back of them. Copia was struggling to keep hold of the precarious pile that was their luggage. He unleashed strained grunts of effort and expelled involuntary deep breaths. He hadn’t a clue what the Papas had packed but their cases were unbelievably heavy.
“Put your back into it, Cardinal. We need to get outta here. Pronto.” Terzo playfully reminded him, slyly glancing at the younger man over his shoulder.
“If you’re all seriously expecting me to drive this thing… sei proprio fuori strada!” Secondo continued to complain.
The three brothers momentarily shifted their gazes to Copia now that he’d passed them without paying attention to their discussion. His reddened cheeks puffed outwards as he waddled around to the back of the hatchback. He cautiously lowered down to set the luggage on the floor, and once he stood up straight, he centred the biretta on top of his head and slipped the vehicle’s keys out of his cassock’s internal pockets, where he’d been snugly keeping them safe.
He remained silent and gritted his teeth. He’d been waiting on the brothers hand and foot ever since they’d landed. Naturally, he was already growing tired of their expectations and attitude towards him. He unlocked the tailgate and tossed it above his head, irritated that he was being left to load up the trunk with luggage while the Papas simply watched from the front of the car with narrow, speculative eyes.
“If you three have bugs up your asses about taking the wheel, so be it. I will do it.” Copia confidently – and bitterly – murmured before sinking down with a strained grunt. He snatched up the first piece of luggage and slung it into the back of the car, ignoring the concern of the anti-popes.
“You haven’t visited before so you got no idea where we’re headed.” Terzo reasoned, determined to dispute Copia’s offer.
“You expect me to do everything else for you, yet you aren’t feeling so… comfortable about me being your chauffeur? You guys must be some whole other kind of, eh… how you say... control freaks.” Copia casually chattered in a flippant manner, oblivious to the offended expressions he’d caused. “Sit your ass in the front, you’ll be my navigator, seeing as you seem to know where we’re going, your Dark Excellency. There’s plenty of room for your brothers in the back.”
The Papas had anticipated the timid, placid cardinal they’d originally set off with, so this determined, no-nonsense demeanour of his that had seemingly come out of nowhere shocked them. Despite their disapproval, they decided to allow whatever Copia had planned - mostly out of curiosity – and reluctantly wandered to each side of the vehicle. Terzo was the first to enter and gracefully took the passenger seat – which appeared to have the most leg-room – while his brothers squeezed into the backseats. Primo and Secondo were the tallest of the four so when the doors closed their knees folded into their middles and their shins were crushed against the backs of the front seats, much to Terzo’s obliviousness.
When Copia eventually finished loading the trunk – the luggage was stacked into a tall pile that obscured most of the rear window – he closed the tailgate in a firm slam like it was minor form of venting his frustration. Trying to ignore the unpleasant, damp armpits of his black cassock, he strolled around to the driver’s side. They’d been in the resort about an hour and he was already sick of the clingy, clammy heat.
Throwing open the driver’s side door, he slung himself into the seat and tried his best to keep his expression indifferent, but it was brazenly clear that he was still slightly miffed. When he fired up the hatchback’s engine, the three Papas exchanged quizzical glances like they were really regretting having Copia drive. He yanked his door closed while the brothers belted up and just managed to hover his long-tipped shoes over the pedals.
He took the opportunity of their expectant silence and flexed the accelerator, which caused the small car to expel a whiny, whirring rev. He persisted to press the accelerator even though the handbrake had them pinned in place. When Terzo cautiously reached out to gesture towards the handbrake to tell him what was wrong, the back tires began to shriek and smoulder, white fumes rising into a thick, concerning cloud.
Before any of the brothers could scold him for his careless actions, he confidently released the handbrake and reversed out of the parking bay with one leathery hand, oblivious to the traffic that was already on the road around them. The tires squealed again when he swerved side to side in order to tuck the vehicle into a gap that only just fit the faded, cardinal-red hatchback.
“It’ll be a miracle if we reach our destination alive.” Secondo muttered, resting his face in his palms.
“It’s not so bad. At least the Sunday Driver is in the passenger seat... where he belongs.” Primo calmly joked like he was simply stating a fact, but his small amused smile gave away his amusement.
“Hey! I’m no Sunday driver.” Terzo shot back, twisting around his seat to point at them in accusation. “It’s called... cruising. You boring bozos should try it sometime. It’s about taking in the sights and sou – ”
Terzo trailed off to let out a choked wheeze. Everyone braced themselves as they were forcefully thrown forwards and Copia unleashed a huff of annoyance when their backs landed against the cushioning of their seats.
“Fucking local. He didn’t even put his blinker on. Motherfucker.” Cardinal murmured, casually flipping his leathery middle finger in the direction of his side-mirror.
Primo and Secondo regarded Copia with silent, unimpressed eyes while Terzo let out a relieved breath now that the altercation seemed to be over.
“It’s getting kinda close in here. We could use some AC.” he nervously said like he was determined to distract himself from the fact that Copia appeared to be an enormous liability on the road. He leaned out of his seat so that his white fingertips could mess with the dashboard’s vents and much to his surprise, he must’ve knocked a couple of random buttons in the process because the radio began to sizzle and snap. And then after a few seconds of suspenseful static, raw, muffled punk rattled through the crackling speakers. All four of them jumped due to its loud, obnoxious volume and fast pace.
“Per l'amor di Sathanas. Turn it off, Terzo!” Secondo bellowed, pressing his hands to his ears.
“I-I’m trying, fratello! Really, I am!”
Aside from the initial shock of the loud music, Copia remained somewhat focused on driving and the blaring soundtrack of unfiltered punk accompanied his manoeuvres, which made his driving far more daring.
“Be careful, Copia! Watch where you’re driving!” Primo scolded when he sharply swerved to overtake a handful of mundane, limit-abiding vehicles.
“Yeeesh. Relaaax, old man. I got this. I’ve been behind the wheel of a car ever since I been out of diapers, so chill out, ok? We good here.” Copia flippantly reassured.
“So… you’ve only been driving for a couple months?” Terzo teased in a raised voice, determined to stay amused while he was desperately trying to turn off the radio.
“Why is this garbage still going on?! Turn it off already!” Secondo yelled. For some reason the music was amplified for those sitting in the back so his irritation was completely understandable.
“I can’t! I-I… I tried all the buttons, fratello! None of it… none of it is working! I think it’s stuck or something!” Terzo explained, his voice straining.
Primo huffed in subdued exasperation and casually shielded his eyes with a hand, Secondo drilled his mismatched eyes into the back of Terzo’s headrest like it was somehow going to change the situation, and Copia tried to keep his face completely stern… but the corner of his mouth began to curl into a scheming smirk.
If they expected him to wait on them for the next two weeks, they should’ve been expecting some consequences.
3 : Three
The Papas – and their cardinal chauffeur – dramatically arrived by the beach by the time it was late afternoon. Copia’s erratic driving didn’t give the anti-popes time to take in their surroundings because the scenery merged into elongated blurs through the hatchback’s windows.
The Fiat Tipo had started to heat up to an unbearable temperature by the time it sped along the sedate stretch of the resort’s palm-tree lined bay. The older brothers gritted their teeth and clawed at the interior for support whenever Copia decided to make an overly sharp turn, and Terzo shouted short, snappy directions over the blaring music… music that had already been around in a loop twice, much to everyone’s dismay.
After five more minutes of Copia disregarding the other road users around them, the pale red hatchback shrieking over the cracked tarmac, Terzo’s cheeks eventually reddened so much that it scorched through the thick white of his face-paint. It was clear the cardinal hadn’t been listening to a word he’d been saying, but they were somehow nearing their destination anyway. Copia took a sharp right and the wheels mounted the curb, which caused the whole car to rattle and sputter. The tires screamed as the hatchback crossed the tiled promenade that lined the sand, and they left rubbery trails behind them. Much to everyone else’s confusion, Copia appeared to know exactly where he was going, even though he’d never visited the resort before. Terzo considered asking him about it, but the loud, chugging guitars and clatter of drums deterred him from saying anything at all, so he simply pursed his painted lips together in an unimpressed pout.
Everyone was tossed side to side in their seats now that the car was going off-road, and when it followed a sloping bank down towards the flat sand of the bay, the centre of the bonnet hit a stray sand-dune. It loosened immediately and a spray of sand was tossed up into the air. Copia carried on driving forwards, regardless of the large cloudy trail they were leaving behind them. The hatchback sped across the wide strip of beach, its driver oblivious to the yelping, half-naked sunbathers that scrambled across the sand to ensure their safety.
The Papas were desperate to scold his actions, but they knew their efforts would be wasted because their voices wouldn’t be heard over the roaring music, so they opted to keep quiet… for now. The ride became a little bumpier when the Tipo cut across an abandoned plot of beach towels and plastic parasols – presumably their owners had seen the reckless car coming – and after its tires had mowed through them, it finally returned to the soft, smooth surface of the sand. It swiftly moved across the bay and another wall of sand was propelled into the air when it swerved towards the back of the beach… much to the relief of everyone outside of the vehicle.
Another lot of sand jetted into the air when Copia finally slammed the brakes and the anti-popes gripped onto the car’s fuzzy interior for dear life, their mismatched eyes glaring at the row of beach huts that were getting closer and closer through the wind-shield ahead of them. The car stopped short of colliding with the wooden huts, sand spewing out either side of it, and despite the mess the tires had caused outside, the brothers unleashed relieved breaths.
Realizing they were a little closer to the small cluster of huts than he’d intended, the cardinal’s glove creaked loudly as he roughly set the gear-lever into reverse… but Terzo snapped off his seat-belt, darted across the width of the car and snatched the keys from the ignition. The engine spluttered before cutting off, and when the music did too, it was replaced with an icy silence. The ambience of the island outside started to seep in: the patchy turquoise sea calmly rolled in the distance, distant pop music flowed from the food shacks that surrounded the sides of the bay, and horrified beach-goers were still kicking up sand as they fled from the vicinity of the stationary hatchback that was seemingly controlled by a clumsy madman.
“Finally. Some real peace and quiet.” Secondo muttered before throwing off his seat-belt and snapping open the nearest door. Primo – who had been unnervingly silent for the last forty minutes – and Terzo swiftly followed suit, like they were concerned that there was a chance that Copia would turn the engine back on without the keys, and the younger of the two approached the rear of the car. Terzo threw the trunk open and began to unload their luggage in a hurried manner.
“Why you brought us here, Copia? Where’s the hotel?” Secondo asked, shielding his vision with a hand while he slowly spun on the spot to survey his surroundings.
“This is the hotel, brother. A refreshing change to copy-paste interiors and sterile linen, don’t you think?” Primo reasoned, admiring the huts in front of them with a thoughtful expression.
“Yeeeah. Look on the bright-side, there’s no rules or regulations, it’s down to our jurisdiction, and we get a more… cultured experience, heh.” Copia swiftly defended, finally climbing out from the car.
“You telling me that shitting in a mound of sand is a cultured experience, Cardinal? How am I supposed to plough anyone in a hut that is barely fit to be a public restroom?!” Secondo persisted to complain in a subdued, irritated tone.
“Chill out, fratello. There will be plenty of room for that. And just think… it could be worse, a hostel would’ve been very inconvenient for what you have in mind, yes?” Terzo playfully said, swiping the first suitcase from the pile in the back of the trunk, which Secondo then snatched when he realized it was his.
“I’m taking the first hut, the one there on the left. Primo, you are welcome to have the second.” he grumbled, turning around to nod towards the significantly larger buildings out of the three huts, before glancing at his younger brother over his shoulder. “You two can share the summer-camp squat at the end there. I’m sure you’ll get on in there fine, like a house on fire, being the pre-teen pests that you are.”
He began to wander towards the hut he’d desired out of the three before anyone could reply to him, eager to wait away from the car. Even though he’d have to wait for one of the others to unlock it, he didn’t care, he just needed a bit of space away from the chattering clever-mouth that was Terzo.
“Who organized this accommodation?” Primo questioned, calmly taking his immaculate, leather-bound trunk from his youngest brother without taking his eyes away from the row of neatly painted beach huts.
“Ehhh… that, eh… that would be me, your Dark Excellency.” Copia timidly admitted, slowly walking towards the rear of the hatchback now that he’d closed his door. “It wasn’t the initial plan, but it was an option I ended up having to go with. The hotels here are waaaay out of your holiday budget. I tried taking it up with Nihil – I really tried getting you a little extra mula so you could be comfortable – but considering Papa didn’t seem so… happy about you guys having a little break at the same time, he was determined to make sure you stuck to your strict spending limit. So that’s why we’ve been downgraded to… this.”
Copia shrugged and gestured his leather-clad hands towards the huts in front them like it couldn’t be helped, and the brothers nodded in subdued understanding.
“It’s snug, and it has it’s charm. I’m sure it will suffice for the fortnight. Thank you for your efforts, Cardinal.” Primo softly said, turning to briefly send a grateful nod Copia’s way before he slowly strolled towards the second hut, his sticker-clad trunk swinging by his right side as he went.
“Guess I’m bunking up with you, buddy.” Terzo remarked, thrusting Copia’s battered suitcase into his chest. “You better not snore.”
“Only… only on weekends. Heh heh.”
4 : Four
“You’re not seriously going out wearing this, are you, little brother?”
Terzo’s protest echoed around the cozy confines of the hut, which caused Copia to peer down at his front in confusion. He was standing between two hammocks that were fashioned out of wicker and hessian, and he adorned a sunset-orange and magenta tie-dye Hawaiian shirt that had gentlemanly skulls layered over the top. To accompany his summer shirt, the cardinal was wearing tight denim pants that were fraying and folded up to his knees, and to top it all off, he was sporting a comfy, compact pair of bright red flip-flops.
“Ehhh… why? Is there… something wrong with this?” he quietly asked, seemingly happy with his comfortable choice of outfit.
“You really think you’re gonna get laid looking like this? You look like you’re vacationing on an island where all the saggy pornstars go to die, fratello.” Terzo commented, smoothing back his black hair out of his freshly painted face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“What makes you think I wanna get laid? I’m… quite comfortable all by myself, you know?” Copia firmly assured.
“You’re talking out of your ass right now. Everyone on this island is here to fuck, my friend. Whether they’re happy to admit it or not. Everyone is looking to find that sweet, sweet release. Why should you be any different? I bet you’re horny for a little action after all the ceremonial paperwork you had to fill out recently. It’s about time you celebrated your promotion in a pool of mamacitas.”
“You ever tried being a motivational speaker? I think you’d be pretty good at instilling some confidence into other people.” Copia murmured, narrowing his mismatched eyes in contemplation.
“Sure! I do that on Sundays, when I’m not busy with the marriage counselling sessions or sisterly sermons. But back to the point, you’re literally going to go ignored unless you… change something about your outfit. You gotta look cool and calculated, mysterious... and sexy.” Terzo chattered, one of his bare hands clutching at his chin as he narrowed his eyes in consideration.
“Okaaay. And why should I take advice from the guy who is dressed like an over-priced potato sack?” Copia casually poked, which caused Terzo to raise his eyebrows in playful offense.
“These loose clothes always ensure the laying, Copia.” the anti-pope went on, determined to convince the young cardinal he was right. “I look at home with myself – my identity, my body – and that is one thing people are really attracted to. Tonight, the sex is the only thing guaranteed for me.”
He dramatically gestured his hands down so that the cardinal took another look at his clothes. He was wearing an airy, earthy outfit that reminded Copia of something worn by a new-age cult. His sand-coloured shirt had long, shapely sleeves that hung from the base of his shoulders, its arcing hems following the defined shape of his collarbone. His pants were a shade closer to white and decorated with thin, pale peach stripes, they flared out until they ended above his ankles, where his dainty feet were covered by pristine white boat shoes. Even with the paint on his face, Copia couldn’t deny that the outfit made him seem far younger than the forty-something that he was.
“Loosen some buttons, free yourself, give people a little glimpse of what you got going on.” Terzo suggested, gesturing towards the cardinal’s obnoxious summer shirt like he was still repulsed by it. “You may not have all the muscles, but the confidence always looks attractive, even if you don’t really have it.”
Copia huffed in defeat, rolled his eyes and popped out the first few buttons at the top of his shirt.
“How’s this?”
“More. Undo more, fratello. Let your belly breathe.”
“Yeesh. Alright, alright.” Copia muttered, trying his best to mask his discomfort. He loosened the rest of the buttons until his shirt fell in two, and it slackly hung by his sides. Terzo thoughtfully nodded his head now that a snippet of Copia’s fuzzy chest and tummy trail had been revealed, and then raised a thumb in approval.
“There’s the sexual charisma, little brother! I always knew you had it in you!” the anti-pope exclaimed, skipping a few steps forwards to proudly lay a hand over one of the cardinal’s shoulders. “But… it’s probably best that you lose the gloves, they kinda make you look like you’re a hitman-for-hire.”
Before Copia disputed his advice, Terzo leaned away with a warm smile and then turned, strutting his way out of the hut like his curiosity was driving his actions. Copia let out a relieved breath once the anti-pope passed through the door – which clattered shut when he stepped out onto the sand outside – and now he was certain of his solitude, Copia angled his chin into his chest and one of his gloved hands clutched around a silver chain around his neck. When he felt the familiar weight of its Grucifix pendant, he unleashed another sigh, but it was due to comfort this time.
The unholy relic was still safe and sound, snugly hanging from his neck, and was thankfully something Terzo hadn’t decided to point out… after all, it wasn’t something uncommon for a clergyman to wear. Copia decided that he would keep the amendments the anti-pope had made to his outfit, but if there was any more guidance that came his way, Terzo would have to suffer the silent insurrection of a leathery middle finger.
5 : Five
By the time Copia decided to emerge from the hut, the Papas appeared to have finally come to terms with their surroundings, despite their underlying disapproval. The sun was finally setting and they took full advantage of the vacant beach. Primo – much like Copia and Terzo – had changed into something a lot cooler: a desert-coloured kaftan covered most of his form, Crocs adorning chains and pentagrams cushioned his bare feet, and his head was shaded with a wide-brim straw hat and a pair of black Ray-Bans. Secondo was the only one that refused to dress for the weather, choosing to keep up his appearance of rich, middle-aged bachelor instead.
While his brothers had been busy changing outfits, he’d spent some time collecting rocks and driftwood to start a small fire, which was now blazing away a short distance from the huts. When the comfortably dressed clergymen approached him, he was busy cooking up some tuna steaks on a griddle he’d found. Secondo was always stern and irritable but he was endlessly resourceful, and the rest of his company seemed thankful for that when they considered their grumbling bellies.
Primo hadn’t spent much time deliberating over his clothes because he’d spent the last half an hour strolling the beach, and he was returning to his younger brothers with a cold six-pack of beer beneath one of his arms. There wasn’t a shack nearby, so he must’ve persuaded someone to hand the drinks to him. It was hardly surprising, Primo was the most quiet and intimidating out of his brothers, but there was also a humble charm about him that always seemed to go down well with female company.
When he finally reached the vicinity of the smouldering fire, Secondo was violently shooing Terzo away from him seeing as the younger anti-pope was keen on peering over his shoulder to monitor his actions. Copia had calmly slouched across the sand a few metres away, he was determined not to get involved because he was mesmerized by the pink hues of the sunset. Unlike his brothers, Primo sensed something melancholic about the cardinal’s gaze.
Although the Papas weren’t complete strangers to him, Copia couldn’t say he could count them as friends, especially after how they’d treated him so far. Sensing his underlying distress through his thoughtful expression, Primo came to a calm stop beside him and pulled one of the bottles from his pack. He carefully leaned down to stretch out his arm in front of Copia’s line of sight, hoping that the beer would be a suffice distraction for the distant, brooding cardinal.
“They mean nothing by their thick-headed arrogance and extravagant expectations.” Primo stated with a disappointed sigh, leaning back to a more comfortable stature when Copia took the bottle of beer. “It’s just how they are… how they’ve been allowed to be.”
Copia popped the bottle’s cap with his teeth and tossed it onto the sand beside him, then he peered up at the older man, unsure how he was supposed to respond.
“It isn’t often that you and I have crossed paths – without Satan getting in the way – so… let’s talk.” Primo politely insisted, lowering himself onto the sand beside Copia with a surprising amount of ease for a gentleman of his age.
“Eh… yeeeah. Heh. Yeah, I can’t say I’ve seen you around the Ministry all that much, your Dark Excellency.” Copia nervously agreed, bashfully combing his gloved fingers through his messy chestnut hair before he took a long swig of his beer. Primo planted the pack of beer on his lap and selected one of the bottles for himself, his other hand angling the brim of his hat so that it would shade his inquisitive eyes.
“That is because… I walk the gardens for most of the day. I try to keep my work to the night-time. I’m much more productive in the dark.” the anti-pope explained, popping off the bottle cap with one of his thumbs.
“Ehhhh… riiiight, right. Heh!” Copia awkwardly responded like he was suddenly unsure how he was supposed to talk to such an esteemed, unholy pope when they were the only participants in the conversation.
“Unlike my brothers, I don’t react to large crowds of people so well. I like the Ministry when it’s quiet, I like the rituals when they’re refined and intimate. Unfortunately, Nihil has the stubborn aim to make our church bigger in number – ah. I apologize for raising my concerns, Copia. I never intended to – ”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s cool, man. Sometimes… a pope’s gotta vent. The church is a lot of work, I get it.” the cardinal reassured, playfully nudging his elbow into Primo’s side, which inadvertently caused some of his beer to slosh from the bottle he was holding onto. The spillage landed on the sleeve of Primo’s kaftan and once he felt the dampness seeping into the skin of his arm, the anti-pope stared down at the splodge of beer with indifference.
“You didn’t want your new position, did you, Cardinal?” he calmly asked before taking a cautious sip of his own beer, ensuring he was careful so that he wasn’t adding to Copia’s spill.
“I did. But then, eh… that was before all the paperwork. Things were way simpler before, I had time to... do shit, shit that I wanted to do. Now… I’m not so free to do that. If that makes sense?” Copia confessed, leaning back slightly so that he could admire the horizon again.
“The higher your position, the less freedom you have. Half of your life is yours, the rest belongs to Satan.” Primo confirmed, staring straight at the sunset while he nodded in solemn contentment.
“Shiiiiit. That’s a lot of devotion. Like… a lot.”
“No kidding.” Primo agreed, holding out his beer expectantly in front of Copia’s line of sight. The young cardinal obliged him and they tapped their bottles together like they were toasting the fact they seemed to be on the same page.
“If you aren’t settling into your new role, I can give you some pointers. My brothers were cardinals much longer than I was, but they aren’t the hospitable, considerate kind that want to assist you with their… seemingly helpful advice.” the wise anti-pope stated, gesturing a hand towards Copia’s state of dress. The cardinal glared like he was shocked that Primo knew he’d taken Terzo’s fashion advice, and then swiftly looked away to squint at the younger brothers with heightened suspicion.
“We should talk again soon. Perhaps tomorrow, over dinner and drinks.” Primo calmly continued, oblivious to the fact the cardinal was well and truly distracted by his thoughts again. “I never understood what Nihil saw in you before, but you have more promise than I thought. You’re confident, Copia. That goes a long way. Let’s meet tomorrow, and see what other... talents you can bring to the table.”
6 : Six
Copia was the last to wake the next day. He’d found his hammock unusually comfy, unlike two of his superiors, who had woken up with sore, aching backs and an abundance of cracking joints. Terzo hadn’t returned after he’d scoffed down Secondo’s pan-fried tuna steak, but the cardinal had thought nothing of it… other than the irritating fact that the anti-pope had probably been getting laid when he’d been sleeping.
He winced in dismay and rolled out of his hammock with ease, and the slight crack beneath the door of the hut provided enough dim light for him to find his clothes. He scooped them up from the floor and shook them to rid them of sand, and when he began to pull on his clothes, he considered Terzo’s hammock. The anti-pope must’ve have visited sometime during the night because there was a neat pile of towels and toiletries sitting in the middle of it. Tempted by the satisfying thought of a cool shower, he helped himself to a towel, a deodorant and a bar of lavender soap, and after making sure his clothes successfully covered most of his body, he wrapped the items in the towel, tucked it under his arm and headed for the door.
It was bright, blazing sun outside and he raised his free hand up to shield his eyes, his towel snugly tucked beneath his left arm. The beach was thriving with all kinds of life: young, scantily-clad couples skidded over the sand as they played volleyball, the more mischievous tourists were lobbing water balloons at unsuspecting strangers and the rest of the beach were lying flat on their backs in an attempt to crisp in the sun.
Seeing as he’d just woken, everything seemed a bit much for Copia. He used his free hand to rub his eyes – which were still outlined in smudged, smoky black paint – and before he had time to take the rest of the beach in, something cold and rectangular pressed against the back of his neck.
“Ahoow! Ohmygod!” he squeaked, flinching into an instinctive cringe that forced him to roll his shoulders back. His high-pitched reaction caused Terzo to cackle in amusement, and the anti-pope shifted the cold object so that it was right in front of his eyes. It was a pair of tightly wrapped ice-cream sandwiches.
“Where… where are the others?” Copia swiftly questioned, desperate to move on and forget about the fact Terzo had managed to shock him.
“Secondo hit the casino as soon as it opened, he’ll probably be there for like… the rest of the day. He’s there for the chicks, not so much the cash. Unless he’s trying to get us enough money for a hotel.” the anti-pope chattered, shoving one of the cold snacks into Copia’s free hand so that he could strip off his sand-coloured top. “As for Primo… I’m not so sure what that old bastard gets up to these days. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went inland to check out the botanical gardens. Kind of a snooze-fest.”
He dumped his shirt on the ground – figuring no one was going to steal it when it blended in so well with the sand – and then gestured for them to move away from the hut, unravelling his ice-cream sandwich enthusiastically so that he could stuff it into his mouth. Copia followed him and they traipsed the toasty sand, eagerly tucking into their frozen snacks.
“So... mmmmf!” Terzo attempted to begin, wiping away away a trail of chocolate that was dribbling down his chin. “So what are your plans today, little brother? You taking a swim? A spot of skinny dipping? Or you planning on getting shit-faced so you don’t have to wipe our asses?”
“Ehhh… it would take too much booze for that.” Copia casually confessed, nibbling at the wafer corners of his ice-cream. “I was planning on hitting the showers then… I don’t know. I’m supposed to be keeping a good eye on you but… that isn’t really possible when – ”
“When we’re scattered all around this resort, si!” Terzo excitedly exclaimed.
“Shit. I better call the Ministry, just to let everyone know we arrived safe and sound.”
“There’s a payphone behind the showers. You can’t miss it, there’s plenty of shade from the trees. Then once you’re done being a boring motherfucker, meet me back at the huts. I got… a little challenge for you.”
“What, eh… what kind of challenge?”
“You better have good balance, Copia. You’re gonna need it.”
After contemplating Terzo’s challenge – which ruined the majority of his otherwise relaxing shower – Copia pulled his clothes back on, wrapped his items up in his damp towel and hunted for the payphone Terzo had briefly mentioned. It was exactly where he’d said it would be, and after timidly scrounging a couple of coins from a group of busty, bikini-clad women that had been loitering nearby – with the help of his shiny, pleading mismatched eyes – he barged into the payphone booth and slammed the door shut behind himself, ensuring everyone knew that he desired privacy.
The young women hung around by the booth and kept giggling like Copia amused them somehow. They gossiped amongst themselves like they found the Hawaiian shirt-wearing cardinal endearing, which he found a little off-putting… it just felt like another inconvenience to deal with. He rested his rolled towel on the floor before his feet and then snatched hold of the receiver to hold it to his left ear, his leathery right hand chipping in each digit of the Ministry’s phone number at a careful pace to ensure that his damsel-related distractions didn’t force him to mess up.
When the line began to ring, he quickly turned away from the payphone to briefly consider the chattering women again. He half-smiled to subtly show his gratitude, hoping that it would be a polite enough action to persuade them to go away… but the women giggled even more, eagerly waving their hands at him with bright, blushing cheeks.
“Oh my God, he’s sooooo cute, look at his tiny little moustache and tiny wittle flip-flops!” one of them excitedly shrieked. “He looks so lonely, someone should go take him home!”
“Awh, look at his chubby little cheeks! You made him blush, Cori!” one of the others shrieked, which made the others burst into another series of giggles.
Embarrassment evident on his pink face, the call finally patched through and Copia smoothly turned away, relieved he had an excuse to face away from the excitable young women.
“A-Ah! Hello! It’s… it’s me. The real… the real C, you know. Ehhh… just calling in to – oh. Shiiii – sure! Sure, patch me across. Thank you so much.”
Copia patiently waited for his call to transfer through the Ministry’s reception desk, and while he waited, he could still hear the group of women cooing over him, and he turned around in the booth again, but to casually wave a hand this time, hoping they would move away from the area. Unfortunately, his gestures only encouraged their fascination for him.
“He even wears gloves on the beach! They don’t even match his outfit! What a kooky little guy! I wanna squidge his little face!”
The women giggled again and before he could cleanly wipe off his embarrassment by shouting something insulting at them – apparently it hurt his ego to be cooed over like that – the call went through to Imperator.
“Imperator speaking.” her unimpressed voice rasped out of the phone.
“Ah… hello, eh… Sister. It’s… it’s me. Cardinal Copia, just checking in to say… we arrived alive and well. The weather’s really… really something out, eh… out here.”
“You’ve arrived. Good. Then it’s time for the next step of your assignment.” Sister remarked, sighing out deeply like she was somewhat disappointed.
“Huh? You mean… there is more to this than keeping my eyes on the Papas?” Copia exclaimed, his eyes widening with concern.
“Yes. Much more than that. Do you still have your unholy relic with you?” she asked, ignoring his worried tone.
“Yes! Yes, of course, Sister! I have it with me at all times, just like you instructed.” he reassured.
“Excellent. Then we’ll proceed. It’s in the Ministry’s best interest that… a certain individual… disappears.”
“What?! Who? What… what are you talking about?”
“It’s better that you don’t know the details, or you’ll become too invested… then you won’t be able to complete your task.” Sister replied in empty disinterest.
“Excuuuuse me?! How… how am I supposed to do that anyways? I don’t even know who the fuck I’m looking for!” Copia exclaimed, bouncing a clenched, leathery fist off of the payphone machine in frustration.
“Take a walk on the pier around two a.m, you’ll find them there. They need to vanish. And the quicker you make them vanish, the better. Though, of course, discretion is of utmost importance, C. You’ve been doing well so far. Don’t let your church down now. Call back as soon as you’re done.”
“Wait! Don’t go! At least… at least give me a descrip - ”
Sister hung up, which caused him to growl in frustration.
“Che cazzo dici?” he snapped, throwing the phone forwards to hook it up more firmly than necessary. He sharply glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had witnessed his angry reaction, and to his relief, the gossiping women had already moved on from him to pester some other unsuspecting bystander.
“If you want them to disappear, Sister…” Copia murmured beneath his breath, narrowing his eyes at the dormant payphone in front of him. “… I’ll get rid of them, and make sure they never come back.”
7 : Seven
Terzo’s challenge was more nightmarish than Copia could’ve imagined. By the time he’d returned to the huts – just as the anti-pope had instructed – Terzo was lounging by their snuffed bonfire with two long surfboards. Its surface was distinctly flesh-coloured, a glaring, pornographic display against the backdrop of sand. Copia’s eyes widened with concern when he noticed that each one was covered in an array of lewd close-ups – which would be noticeable even from the opposite end of the bay – and he darted straight towards their hut like he’d never seen the anti-pope and his pair of pornographic surfboards at all.
“Little brother… you scurry for the shade like a vampiric hermit avoiding the sun. You better not be… avoiding my challenge. Unless… you’re too chicken?” the anti-pope playfully teased, lifting a hand from one of the boards to casually gesture it towards the cardinal.
“No. No no no. I’m just… dropping my things.” Copia swiftly defended, like he was determined to prove the older man wrong.
“You can surf, right?” Terzo softly asked, his mismatched eyes narrowing in consideration.
“Sure! Yep! Of course! Absolutely.” the cardinal replied shortly, his drive for victory had suddenly awakened like the anti-pope had managed to subtly pester him into showing his competitive streak. “I don’t know, man… this might not be so good for you, you know? ‘Cause I’m going to wipe the fucking floor with you… you… motherfucker!”
“Tch. Motherfucker? Really? This does not insult me at all, fratello.” Terzo playfully chided. “I wear this insult like a badge of honour. You use feeble insults, you can hit me harder than that. I expected more from a newly appointed cardinal in Satan’s favorite clergy.”
“You, eh… you know how to surf?” Copia asked in a disinterested tone, determined to ignore the anti-pope’s put-downs.
“Of course, Copia. My very own babbo taught me. And he taught me well. Nihil is no pushover when it comes to the surf.” Terzo proudly gloated, combing back his shiny black hair out of his face, sand sprinkling from the top half of his outfit.
“You’re going to… surf like this? You’re not going to change into some trunks or something?” the cardinal questioned, sharply gesturing a leather glove towards him.
“Please. You are in no shape to criticize my wardrobe, Copia. You dress like Hunter S Thompson decided to do a little bit of the cat-burgling during the middle of the day.” Terzo teased, patting his palms against each of the flat surfboards.
“Pff. Your outfit’s no better. By the time you get out on the water, you’ll be no better than a flagpole, fluttering in the wind. Watch out, you might just blow away.” Copia snapped, unable to hold back his irritation.
“Sh, sh! I’m more than prepared for the surf, Cardinal. I got a bikini under these clothes, I bet you didn’t think that far ahead.”
He lowered the collar of his airy, sand-coloured long-sleeve – which he must’ve salvaged from the sand in front of the hut – and snapped the strap of a black bikini top that snugly resided beneath.
“Is that… is that yours?”
“Mm-hmmm. It is now. Some kind lady gave it to me. I guess it was her token of… affection for me or something.” Terzo mused, tilting his head while he gazed at his fingertips innocently.
“Ehhh… okaaaay.”
“Enough of this stalling, Copia. Dump your shit, let’s head out already!”
“Yeeeeesh. Alright, alright! Keep your stringy bikini on.”
“Boobs or baloney?”
Copia snatched one of the surfboards from Terzo’s grasp without a word, his cheeks blazing pink when he tried his best to ignore the bare, busty babes that were printed over its surface. He began to storm towards the shoreline, leaving Terzo with the other board, which was littered in bulbous, veiny, phalluses. The anti-pope smoothly wandered after him with a small smug smile, his board tucked proudly beneath his arm. It was clear that the cardinal found the trek towards the sea an ordeal because his board was drawing the attention of half of the beach, but Terzo clutched his like it was a proud statement.
It was apparent by the time both men sloshed through the glimmering, turquoise shallows that neither of them could surf at all. Terzo had neglected to mention that Nihil was a notoriously terrible surfer, but he’d certainly been one of the most entertaining to witness.
Copia was the first to reach the warm water and he clutched his board close to his front with a grimace – only just realizing he was about to be pressed against a spread of printed women in various stages of arousal – before launching himself forwards. The board slapped against the water and he splatted straight into the water beside it.
Terzo shortly followed him, oblivious to the younger, far more experienced surfers that were squinting at the two satanic clergymen from the shoreline. He waded through the water until his board was gently floating out of the shallows and then eased his front onto it, his painted features grazing against the obscene, bulbous surface.
“Hitting the showers must seem kinda pointless now, huh, little brother?” the anti-pope joked before a breathy chuckle escaped him.
Copia emerged from the sea in a flood of foamy droplets with dark, sodden hair that he quickly pushed out of his face. He tossed his form side to side to shake off the spray of droplets that had accompanied such an action, his damp chestnut locks whipping at his temples. His outfit was completely soaked as he scrambled out of the water to finally lie on his surfboard, which was precariously bobbing side to side.
“Hey! Come further out, Copia! We’ll try catch some decent waves, yes?” Terzo excitedly called, raising a hand to beckon him closer.
“Go further out? Into the depths? You’re a fucking masochist.” Copia exclaimed, clinging onto his board with a fierce, leathery grip.
“Masochist as a matter of opinion. Come, come further out. I want to discuss something with you.” the anti-pope pressed, overlapping his arms over his board so they served as a comfortable chin-rest.
The cardinal huffed and reluctantly wafted his gloved hands through the water by his sides. The sea was calm enough for their boards to peacefully float in unison once he eventually neared Terzo, and he retracted his hands to relax his arms by his sides, his chin grazing the top edge of his board. He continued to lie on his tummy but sharply angled his head so that he could inspect the lewd images that surrounded his chin, and Terzo managed to cautiously pull himself up into a cool, casual crouch, his mismatched gaze admiring the shimmer of the horizon.
“My brothers don’t know about you. Not like I do.” he confessed in a distant, unusually sad tone. “With every new addition to the clergy, I try to find out as much as I can about them. And when I did a little digging on you… I finally found something that I… that I never thought I’d see. I know it might seem… controlling or paranoid to do something like that, but I feel much more comfortable knowing who I am brushing shoulders with.”
Copia leaned on his left side to face the anti-pope, who was still floating at the same nonchalant pace as him and peering off into the distance like he was deep in thought.
“What did you find?” the cardinal muttered before unleashing a heavy sigh, already assuming the man was referring to something dark and dreary from his past.
“You were separated from us. Forbidden from being one of us. Why?” Terzo questioned, slowly turning his head to consider Copia with a disappointed wince.
Copia remained silent but he wore a deep, pensive frown.
“There was no reason for you to grow up so lonely and confused, little brother.” Terzo sincerely continued. “We’ve missed out on many vacations, vacations just like this one. At least we can make up for some lost time now, si? Me and my brothers… we aren’t getting any younger and… unlike me, they have no clue that you are another one of us. I don’t think they’d believe me if I told them now that all these years have passed. Even if I showed them all the evidence in the world… they’re stubborn, set in their ways. They wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Then don’t show them anything.” Copia emptily replied, unsure how he was currently feeling. “Like you said, they’ve got their own shit going on, who knows how long those old fucks have got left. The last thing I want is to… intrude on whatever you… unholy dudes have got going on.”
“But that doesn’t make you any less of a brother to me. I will still treat you as a brother, no matter what the others think. I feel like I got more in common with you than them… we’re on the same page.”
“Ehhhh… I meeean… I guess. I definitely would’ve… gone for the porno-boards too. So, I guess… I guess you’re right about that.” Copia agreed in a straining, high-pitched voice that displayed brazen reluctance.
Terzo let out a breathy chuckle and cautiously reached over to playfully nudge his board and it caused its front to rotate around so that Copia could acknowledge him more directly.
“So… does this mean Nihil’s my… daddy?” the cardinal cynically muttered with narrow, scheming eyes. “Does he know? He’s never mentioned anything to me.”
“No. I can’t be certain that anyone else knows.” Terzo replied with a deflated shrug. He hated being unhelpful.
“Right. And my mother? You know who she is?”
The anti-pope sighed, unable to mask his wince now that the youngest Emeritus brother was staring at him with undiluted hope. Hope that he couldn’t entirely fulfil.
“I have some records... paperwork from your orphanage, things like that, but I couldn’t say who she is for certain. There are crumbs but nothing substantial. Imperator signed off on your release papers, that was the first sign you had anything to do with the Ministry or… us. Everything I managed to find after that was irrelevant, and anything useful was... too hard to come by.”
“You don’t say… heh.”
8 : Eight
Copia never thought he’d be looking forward to two in the morning coming around, but after a day of revelations weighing on his mind - which had been occasionally broken up by Terzo’s mischievous, brotherly antics – he was ready for a serious distraction.
As per Imperator’s instructions, he arrived at the resort’s pier. It was at the west side of the bay which was a short walk from the beach huts. It was quiet and vacant, most of the party seekers had taken to lingering around the bars further inland, or they’d already passed out long before they’d seen midnight.
The pier was pleasant to explore when it was empty. The fairground near the end was still lit in a dazzling display of pulsing neon lights, the vending stalls were covered with vibrant shutters and littered with strings of glowing lightbulbs. Despite the suspicious, ominous circumstances of him being present there, Copia admired his surroundings while he ascended a wooden staircase that led to the level of the pier.
The waves calmly lapped at the sides of the structure while he began to stroll its thick boards, occasional, overhead street-lights casting their warms rays over the back of him, his mismatched eyes slashing through the murky, nocturnal haze. Although he calmly walked like he hadn’t a care in the world, his gaze was hunting the shadows around him. He was looking for the person that shouldn’t have been there, searching for the shadow that didn’t quite fit in. With so little to go on, he was on high alert. But considering the place was deserted, he knew he’d have to find them eventually.
Despite his casual, beach-bum state of dress, the cardinal had an aura of danger about him. His strides were slow but calculated, his ears were tuned into every little noise and his mismatched eyes were scanning for any fluctuation in the environment.
He continued to walk, even when he found the evidence of someone else’s existence. A black Rolls Royce Phantom with tinted windows smoothly rolled into the pier, its frame bumping up and down with every ridge of the boardwalk’s wooden walkways. It passed – easily ignored – Copia and kept going until it eventually slowed, carefully pulled in by the right side of the main walkway, and then started to prowl through the pier’s sprawl of snack shacks and ice-cream parlours.
The cardinal’s pace became cautious when the driver door swung open, the rays that sprayed out from the street-lights falling over the backs of the driver’s shoulders. The person seemed out of the place. They adorned a sleek taupe suit and a long, beige trench-coat, which wasn’t the kind of outfit that was suited to the hot island climate. The mysterious stranger wandered towards the wide expanse of wooden planks in front of them, oblivious to the fact they’d left their vehicle’s door wide open.
Copia’s strides became a brisk jog, and by the time the stranger was delving into the pier’s luminous surroundings, the cardinal had dumped himself into the front seat of their car. He winced and let out an involuntary cough due to a strong herbal smell that dominated its airways. Then once he was sure the engine was humming beneath his bright red flip-flops, he pulled the handbrake up – resisting the urge to pull the door closed – and shifted his legs to slam a foot onto the accelerator.
He wrestled with the steering wheel, only just swinging the car around enough to miss hitting the fencing, and then once he had a straight run of the pier, he increased the car’s speed. He went up the gears like the blazing speed was second nature, its headlights illuminating the bumpy, wood-lined surface ahead, where the stranger finally turned now that they could hear the straining snarl of the Phantom’s engine.
The stranger just had time to widen their eyes and gasp… the bonnet struck them off their feet, their body crunching against the flaking paintwork. Their tensed arms clung onto the car’s frame, their face a crooked mess of bloodied openings and off-set features. Copia continued to step on the gas, his mismatched eyes brimming with regretful tears as he threw the steering wheel from left to right to try and shimmy the stranger off of the crinkled hood of the car.
Whoever the cardinal’s victim was, they were determined to cling on, even though their bottom half was crumpled, their ribs slowing caving in to a rupture of crimson cascades. Copia wasn’t remotely concerned about their welfare – it seemed like his emotional response had been conjured by the damaged Rolls – and he simply aimed the vehicle forwards and continued to accelerate. He peered past the dying stranger in the wind-shield to focus on the conclusion of his cruel plan.
It wasn’t long before the pier was nearing its end and the cardinal ensured the Phantom was flat-out before he steered it towards the fence that marked its endpoint. As soon as it was hurtling towards the edge – the crumpled stranger still lodged across the hood – his leather-clad hands released the steering wheel, he squeezed his eyes shut and he tossed himself out of the driver’s side door, which had been left open the entire time. He winced and clenched his eyes shut harder when his left side hit the planked walkway, scuffs and scrapes cracking across his skin. He continued to roll across the boards, the fading rev of the Phantom’s engine only confirming that it was still speeding towards its fateful destination.
Its bonnet rammed through the wooden fencing and it descended into the swaying sea below, waves crashing all around it as it plunged into the murky, treacherous depths.
Unbeknown to Copia, his actions had more consequences than he realized. The surface of the water finally stilled, but it gently began to bubble and froth, liquid lime green tendrils seeping out to disperse and then dissolve into the stable body of water…
Copia groaned – and once he made note of his new aches and pains, his legs bruised, the left side of his jaw scuffed and scratched – he pressed his leathery palms to the floor and pushed until he was stood on his feet. He glanced towards the end of the boardwalk, relieved to see the shattered, splintering fencing, and then swiftly turned away to briskly stroll from the scene.
His pace quickened when an explosive jet of water thrust up into the air from the car’s point of entry. Thankfully it died down by the time
Copia hurried down the steps towards the beach, which left him to casually walk the bay… like nothing untoward had ever happened.
9 : Nine
Copia rushed towards the payphone as soon as he caught sight of the shower block ahead of him. He hurried over the sandy path and shot straight into the payphone booth when he reached it. Unlike that morning, he’d thought ahead. His shaky, gloved hands scrambled in one of the pockets in his denim shorts and he ripped a couple of coins out to slot them into the payphone in a desperate fashion. He chipped in the Ministry’s phone number as quickly as his leathery fingertips would allow. To his relief, it only rang for a few seconds before someone picked up.
“Imperator speaking. State your business.”
Copia hadn’t anticipated hearing Sister so soon. He was shocked that she was working so late – let alone answering calls at the reception – and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond.
“I, eh… it’s… it’s done.” he managed to confirm, dipping his head down to make sure the receiver was the only recipient of his words. “They’re vanished, vanished for good.”
“For good?” Imperator asked in a hesitant, uncertain tone. “What does that mean, C?”
“Ehhh… they’re gone. They’re not coming back.” he confidently said, twiddling the phone’s wire between his leathery fingers.
“I see.”
“Who, eh… who were they anyways? They seemed kinda fancy with their suit and… and whatnot.” Copia murmured, his brow furrowing in contemplation.
“That is something you don’t need to concern yourself with.” she sternly scolded, before she calmly cleared her throat like his question had never bothered her at all. “Did you manage to confiscate their items?”
“Huh? Wha – confiscate what?”
“You did go through their pockets, didn’t you?” she questioned, before unleashing a heavy exasperated sigh.
“Ehhhhhh… no… no, I’m afraid I didn’t. You never specified for me to do that, Sister.”
“Blasted cardinal.” Imperator muttered before covering her insult with a stuttering cough. “You must return to the body, they have something I require. It should be in their coat pockets.”
“Yeeeah. That’s not really… possible, Sister.” Copia nervously confessed, bashfully scratching the back of his head while his other hand clenched the phone to his ear. “They’re not retrievable. You asked me to make them disappear. So… I did. Not even I can get to them now.”
“You will get me that tincture, Copia. I’ve been working on acquiring it for months, I will not have you jeopardize my plans now.” she snapped.
“Wow… okaaay.” he flippantly responded, a little peeved now that she was trying to guilt-trip him into doing the rest of her bidding. “If that’s the case, Sister… you’re welcome to come fly over, to try acquiring this thingy for yourself, but you’re gonna need a loooot of diving equipment, and maybe even an extractor or some shit, this guy’s probably lodged in the seabed by now.”
“Don’t you dare mock me, Co - ”
“What are you doing out here so late, Cardinal?” Secondo bellowed, his muffled, booming voice shaking the glass in the payphone booth’s door.
Copia let out a panicked gasp and firmly hooked the receiver up, his expression horrified when he swiftly twisted around, his mismatched eyes resting on the stern, suspicious Papa, who was standing a few feet away from the door in his usual smart, casual outfit with a pair of black aviators obscuring his eyes. He had his arms draped around two women, who were clad in thin, lilac summer dresses, and decorated in gold jewellery and matching glitter paint.
“Who were you calling?” Secondo pressed in a suspicious tone, regardless of the cardinal’s silence.
“I, uhhh-ehhhh… I was... updating the Ministry on how we were getting on. I thought I’d wait until now because... because of the time difference. The chick on reception seemed kinda new so it was a little difficult to get a message across, you know?” Copia hurriedly lied, his eyebrows meeting in an apprehensive wince as he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Ah, yes. That must’ve been Sister May. She isn’t new to reception, she’s just… easily distracted.” Secondo sternly assumed, briefly glancing at the attractive women by his sides before he backed away from the payphone’s door and gently pulled them along with him. Copia hurriedly took advantage of the anti-pope’s actions by bursting out of the booth, oblivious to the fact the women were trailing their eyes over him in brazen curiosity.
“What’s with your face?” Secondo questioned, nodding towards the fresh scuffs and scratches on the cardinal’s features when he turned around to look at them, pink searing across his cheeks.
“Oh. Ehhh… I… tripped. Had a little accident, heh. You, eh… you are wearing sunglasses?” he nervously diverted.
“We’re out for a walk while the beach is quiet. We came from the club on the seafront. There were too many lights and lasers. They mess with my eyes.” Secondo grumbled, tipping his head back so that one of the women could nuzzle their face into his neck.
“Ahhh… riiiight, riight.” Copia murmured, suddenly finding the encounter far more awkward now that there wasn’t a glass door separating him from the scene in front of him.
“We’re heading back to their hotel room.” Secondo continued, staring directly at the cardinal even though the women were desperately seeking his attention by pouting and fluttering their eyelashes. “You should come along, get some late-night cardio in while my shit-stain little brother is too tired to pester you.”
The anti-pope finally lowered his head to consider the women beside him and they giggled excitedly as they pressed kisses to his neck and chin.
“Ohhhhh… ehhh… no. No, I’m… I’m cool, heh heh. I was just… planning on heading back to the hut, to hit the hay, you know?” the cardinal anxiously insisted, waving his gloved hands in dismissal.
“Hmph. You really are a loser, Copia.” Secondo snidely remarked, tilting his head so that the women could snuggle into him more successfully. “I thought sucking up to Nihil was all for show, executing all those tasks like you were his little errand boy. But no, you really are a pathetic, no-fun ass-kisser with no get-up and go. We’re on vacation, and you’re still working.”
“Get-up and go?! What the fuck you mean?! I got plenty of that shit! I... literally just kil - ”
“Andiamo, fanciulle. Let’s leave this little errand boy, we have much to explore together.” Secondo confidently announced, pecking each of the women on their blushing cheeks before they casually strolled off, headed towards the neon-lit promenade that separated the sea-front from the sandy beach. Copia sighed as he watched them wander further and further away from him. He knew they were planning on partaking in the most delightful, obscene pleasures that the bachelor anti-pope could provide, and it made him die a little inside.
Deciding to leave the vicinity of the payphone before he started to regret rejecting Secondo’s offer, he started to lightly jog towards their beach huts. His strides slowed slightly when the sand became thicker and he paid no attention to his surroundings by the time he arrived by the hut he shared with Terzo. He barged into the door, but to his surprise, it had swung open for him, which cased him to hurtle into the hut’s confines in one clumsy stagger.
Terzo – who was now dressed in a baggy grey tank-top and roomy designer boxers, his black hair a stringy mess that draped by the sides of his face, which was painted in a faded array of black smudges – let out a disappointed sigh and calmly closed the door when Copia finally stumbled towards his hammock… which he ended up collapsing into. Terzo observed with tired, bloodshot eyes as the hammock swung side to side in a violent motion and the cardinal simply glared at his unkempt, noticeably exhausted older brother.
“And there I was thinking you got lucky tonight, fratello.” Terzo stated in a soft, distant tone. Another sigh left him before he padded away from the door to slump into the hammock directly opposite Copia, his hands reaching up to massage his temples while he wore an irritated wince.
“What you been getting up to? And… what happened to your face?” he asked.
“I was clumsy… had a little tumble, you know? I’ll clean up next time I shower. I was out for a midnight stroll. Needed to… clear my head. I’ve had a lot to think about since our… challenge earlier.” Copia swiftly responded, huffing out in relief when the hammock finally slowed to a more tolerant rhythm.
“Ah, ok. That sounds like a good idea right now.” the anti-pope murmured, gritting his teeth together when the right wall of their hut began to shudder back and forth for the hundredth time that night, a series of loud, satisfied moans seeping out from the neighbouring hut. “Unfortunately, there will be no chance of keeping your head clear tonight. We have no chance of sleeping with all the disturbance going on.”
“I thought you said everyone was here to fuck. Why are you so surprised?” Copia questioned in a louder voice, grimacing when the gratified, effeminate groans became obnoxious, grating wails, the wall to their right clattering more violently.
“I’m… trying to sleep, Copia.” Terzo complained, trying to dampen the noise by cupping his hands over his ears, “There are still manners to abide by, even when you’re fucking. I need to catch up on some sleep after all the surfing action, and of course, all the pelvic action that came long before that. Secondo knows this perfectly well, there’s no need for him to disrupt my beauty sleep with his… bone-daddying.”
“Secondo? But… that’s not… that’s not possible. It can’t be him doing this. I saw him out on the sand just now. He’s heading to a hotel with a couple… mamacitas, you know?”
Terzo sharply sat up, and it sent his hammock rocking side to side.
“You’re saying… that’s Primo next door?! Primo, my strict, silent brother that only desires to fulfil Satan’s will?!” he cried, gawping at Copia in disbelief.
“I meeean… he is on vacation. He’s not exactly fulfilling, but he is… full-filling, you know?” Copia attempted to joke with a flippant shrug, hoping it would lighten the anti-pope’s mood.
Terzo paled like shock had finally set in, because his eldest brother had been keeping the action going for the last three and a half hours. He shot out of his hammock and launched himself towards the door.
“Whoa! Whoooa! Wait! Where are you going?!” Copia exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in distaste now that the woman’s cries from next-door became rasping, relieved breaths.
“To the nearest infirmary.” Terzo explained in a raised voice, sharply glancing over his shoulder with wide, traumatized eyes. “We’re gonna need a medic on standby.”
10 : Ten
Terzo and Copia didn’t wake until one the next afternoon. Their first port of call – after they’d hit the showers – was a tiki bar with bamboo stools and a thatched-roof that was located at the west side of the beach, which meant that it was conveniently shaded by the pier above.
Copia had been reluctant to go anywhere near the boardwalk – considering what had transpired in the small hours – but Terzo had insisted, especially when he’d peered up and noticed that the length of the pier was sealed off with fluttering crime-scene tape and swarming with official-looking individuals in pristine polythene suits.
“What do you think happened up there?” Terzo questioned, adjusting the aviators on his nose to ensure they were covering the thick grey bags of insomnia that surrounded his mismatched eyes. “Someone must’ve died for all this effort, no?”
There was a brief pause, the cocktail shack’s tinny surf-rock filling the gap in the conversation while the cardinal leaned forwards to rest his elbows on the bar, the legs of his stool wobbling precariously.
“Maybe.” Copia muttered, trying his best to seem disinterested by considering the shelves of alcohol that were tucked away behind the bar tender. He narrowed his eyes and carefully reached for the mojito in front of him. Once his leather glove clasped around the base of its glass, he dipped his head and took a casual sip from its pink bendy straw.
“It’s best not to speculate.” he eventually added, sighing out in satisfaction. “Hopefully… no one got hurt, you know?”
“Mm… I’m not so sure. You said you were around here last night, you... seeing anything?” Terzo casually inquired, tipping the rim of his cocktail glass to his painted lips while his other hand combed his black hair out of his face.
“I couldn’t see much. It was the middle of the night.” Copia sternly responded, unable to mask his sarcasm.
“A shame.” the anti-pope thoughtfully replied, setting his drink on the bar to swing back on his stool. It was a searing hot afternoon so he’d chosen to ditch his shirt, and when he stretched his arms out behind him, his toned form was drawing quite a bit of attention from curious bystanders that happened to be passing by.
“I wonder if Secondo saw anything. You said he was around last night, yes?” he continued, before tilting his head side to side to ease the tension in his neck.
“I don’t recall.” Copia lied in a distant murmur before taking another sip of his drink. Terzo didn’t appear to notice the cardinal’s unusual demeanour because he glanced over his shoulder to consider the beach, his hand shading over his vision even though he was already wearing sunglasses.
“Ah. Primo has… finally risen.” the anti-pope announced disappointedly. “I’m shocked he has the energy to walk.”
Copia reluctantly followed Terzo’s line of sight and spotted the eldest Emeritus brother wearing his airy kaftan and wide-brim hat as he paddled through the waves that lapped at the shore. He looked rather innocent and humble for an anti-pope that had spent the night pleasuring a woman like he was a spry, sultry twenty-something.
“How long was he at it, in the end?” Copia asked, suddenly regretting asking such a question.
“Around five hours.” Terzo said with a grimace before he slurped down a larger sip of his drink. “I crashed while all the sounds were still going, so it could be more. Potentially. I don’t know how you managed to sleep through it, fratello. You can’t just close your ears to something like that.”
“I’m still pretty jet-lagged, heh.” Copia softly defended when his brother playfully slapped him on the back.
“But you’re still up for the party later on, si?”
“Hm? Party?”
“The big beach bash is tonight. You’re not thinking of getting an early night, right?” Terzo teased, leaning closer to stare at the cardinal with expectant, mischievous eyes.
“No! Nooo, heh heh! Of… of course not! I’ll be there. Fo sho… bro. Heh. And maybe… it would be best if we… warned all of the ladies to stay away from your… eldest brother.” Copia suggested in a strained tone, his mouth curving into a cautious smile.
“That’s the spirit, Copia!” Terzo exclaimed, a couple of chuckles leaving him before he slapped the cardinal on the back again. He casually gestured a thumb over his shoulder, pointing out a large stall that was shaded over with palm leaves. It was still being assembled in the centre of the beach by a small crew of maintenance workers.
“Meet me at the DIY bar at eight.” the anti-pope stated with an excitable grin. “And make sure you wear your sexiest fit. If anything were to… happen to you, it would most definitely be… tonight.”
11 : Eleven
The beach party was far more rowdy than Copia had envisioned. Beer kegs erupted with frothy foam like it was an oversized fraternity party, and hands batted volleyballs back and forth to the bouncy beat of summery synthpop, which was blasting out of speakers that were surrounding the self-service drinks stall. Most guests were adorning tight swimming trunks and skimpy bikinis, their bodies jumping and swaying to the music, sand flying up into dusty clouds by their knees.
The cardinal emerged from his hut later than he’d agreed with Terzo, for no particular reason other than him favouring a little extra sleep before he got stuck into the party. He’d brazenly ignored the anti-pope’s suggestion of wearing something sexy, he was still wearing the same Hawaiian shirt and denim shorts combo from the day prior… he wasn’t going to lower his comfort level for the sake of placating Terzo.
He passed the pale red, rented hatchback – which was parked at a jaunty angle a short distance from the huts – and casually strolled into the party’s bustling crowd, which swarmed the golden sand. They basked in the warm, peach hues of the sunset, oblivious to the satanic cardinal that was cutting through their masses. He was heading straight towards the first cluster of young women he’d noticed, and it didn’t take them long to glare at him in concern.
His skewed, uncombed chestnut hair, smudged black paint around his eyes and scruffy, loose outfit caused them to assume he’d already had one too many drinks – but of course, he’d not long stirred from his slumber – and they turned away with unnerved grimaces when he managed to slide into a patch of sand in front of them, the other guests nudging his shoulders as they passed him.
“Ehhhh… hello… ladies. You don’t know me – it’s… it’s best you don’t, heh – but I just - ”
Copia trailed off to unleash a low, elongated belch. He widened his eyes as soon as he realized what had happened and clapped a gloved hand over his mouth, his gaze averting to the red flip-flops on his feet while the blush seared his cheeks.
“Shit. Sorry… sorry about, eh… that. Anyways, as I was saying, I just wanted to make sure you ladies stay safe tonight.” he continued, lowering his hand from his face so that he could point towards the foamy shoreline. “That man over there… avoid him at all costs. Don’t speak to him, don’t, eh… dance with him. Don’t even look at him, alright? He’s… poison. Very poisonous. Now, go. Spread the word to your sexy peoples, we can’t allow the old motherfucker to have his way with you all.”
The women’s gazes slowly followed the direction he was pointing in and when they noticed Primo calmly paddling in the shallows with his kaftan folded up to his shins, one of his hands calmly clutching a red cup filled with cold beer while his other gently clutched at the brim of his straw hat… the women couldn’t take Copia’s warning seriously at all.
Taking their silent, squinting reactions to mean that they were deeply considering his words, the cardinal wore a relieved smile and turned away from them to slide through the rest of the party. He walked on his tip-toes – which was an impressive feat to pull off in flat flip-flips – and craned his neck over the heads that surrounded him. He scanned the beach for Terzo, and sure enough, he spotted him by the drinks stall at the very centre. He was clad in his papal skull-paint, blacked-out aviators and a thin white suit that reminded Copia of a fraudulent, holy, preacher.
Terzo seemed far more animated than the exhausted, grumbling mess he’d been at the tiki bar that morning. The party – and its beautiful, scantily-clad guests – seemed to fuel him, a large gathering of fascinated people surrounding him. He was patting backs, posing for pictures while the holidaymakers scrambled for their disposable cameras, shaking hands and chatting away to every single stranger like he knew them personally.
Suddenly, Copia didn’t feel like approaching the anti-pope was a good idea. He felt like he’d kill the vibe and tarnish Terzo’s coolness with his clumsy words, scruffy appearance and lackluster confidence, so he lowered his head and decided to find a roomy spot to dance instead.
He couldn’t stay stationary for long and began to bob his head to the snappy beat of the music while he strutted through the rest of the crowd. A small smile clutched at his lips… until he brushed shoulders with someone quite a bit taller than him. His smile dropped entirely when he acknowledged them, but he persisted to bob his head like what he was seeing didn’t bother him at all.
Secondo returned his apprehensive stare with stubborn indifference but his skull-paint made him all the more intimidating. Even though the tropical heat was reigning supreme, he’d taken to adorning his silky black robes, their shiny emerald embellishments glimmering, his wide mitre sitting mightily on top of his head. Needless to say, he wasn’t impressed by the sight of Copia, let alone amused by the inexperienced cardinal’s pitiful attempt at dancing.
“What are you dancing like that for?” the anti-pope boomed, his scolding tone causing a large, spacious circle to spread around them.
“Ehh… there’s a party going on right now.” the cardinal slyly teased in a patronizing tone. “You should… loosen up a little, there’s no need for such formal clothes when you’re partying, you know? Move your body to the music, your Dark Excellency. Live a little!”
“Music? What music is this?” Secondo snapped.
“You know… the music that’s…” Copia trailed off when he noticed that there was an absence of synthpop and slowed his swaying until he stopped moving altogether. “… that’s playing right… right now.”
“Testa di cazzo.” Secondo grumbled, shaking his head when he gracefully turned away from the cardinal to face the sea, his head tipping back so that he could peer over the rest of the crowd. “What’s going on over there?”
“Pool party. But your older brother’s having his own personal paddle party.” Copia joked, relieved that the anti-pope wasn’t continuing with the insults.
“Puking party would be a more suffice term.” Secondo remarked with a scoff, pointing a leather-clad finger towards a huddle of young men – who were wearing vibrant boardshorts and beaded necklaces – that were coughing up until they vomited profusely, their stiff hands dropping their surfboards so that they could claw at their abdomens. Copia and Secondo simply watched when another group of swimmers left the shallows. Half of them were choking and falling to their knees once they finally reached the sand, the other half were wailing in pain and pressing their palms to spontaneous, oozing wounds that had miraculously manifested on their faces.
“What’s happening out there?” Copia murmured, glaring his eyes in uncomfortable astonishment.
“I don’t know.” Secondo confessed, finally lowering his arm. “But I do know that this is exactly why I’ll be catching a ride back to the casino.”
12 : Twelve
Aside from the handful of strange, sickly incidents at sunset, the rest of the party was a success. The guests danced the night away, made out beneath the pier while eighties ballads played in the distance, and cleared the self-service bar out of booze a short-while before midnight. Most of the attendees were determined to party until they dropped, but none of the Papas – or their tag-along cardinal – had the energy or attention span to withstand an all-night celebration.
Secondo was the first to ditch the beach for the resort’s casino – still stubbornly wearing his unholy robes as a silent, miserable reminder that the beach bash had been a let down – Primo had left twenty minutes after his brother by stealthily returning to his respective beach hut, which left Terzo and Copia to trail back to the huts about an hour or so later.
Having dismissed his excitable entourage, Terzo proudly strolled beside his cardinal brother, his white suit jacket loosely draped over each of his shoulders, his aviators still coolly shading his eyes. He looked remarkably neat and tidy compared to Copia, who looked rough and ready, especially now that a splatter of beer had stained his sunset-coloured summer shirt, some had even trickled into his belly button which made up the gap in between each side of the shirt.
“You had fun tonight, little brother?” Terzo asked, managing an amused chuckle when he leaned closer to the cardinal in order to heartily pat his back.
“Heh, ehhh… sure! Other than… everyone drinking until they threw up their insides. Heh.”
“Mm, yes. I must admit… that alarmed me too. But it’s good you didn’t succumb to the pressure of doing the same. You can be a funny little guy sometimes, fratello… but you got your head screwed on.” Terzo mused, draping his arm around his brother’s shoulders with a crumpled smile.
“Funny? What you mean by funny?” Copia anxiously questioned, his eyebrows meeting in a concerned wince.
“You’re very amusing. I saw you busting your moves out there tonight, you let loose no matter how you looked. I didn’t expect that kinda confidence from you.” the anti-pope remarked, raising his arm from Copia’s shoulders to playfully scruff up his chestnut hair with his fingers.
“Ahhh, heh… well, you know.” the cardinal began, flinching away from Terzo before he could display his brotherly affection further. “When it comes to the music… I find it hard to stop myself. If I’m feeling it, I just go, you know?”
“Have you ever thought of making your own music? That would be a powerful thing for you to dance to, no? A big statement.” the anti-pope suggested, swinging his arms by his sides now that the cardinal was focused on striding back to their hut.
“I may have… done a couple demos. It was amateur mixtape-type shit, late eighties garbage. Nothing, eh… nothing too impressive or… or refined, heh.” Copia nervously confessed.
“I see. What genre of music?”
“Italo disco. It was… it was all Italo disco. Very… cheesy garbage, heh. I have no idea where the tapes got to these days. Ah well.” he hurriedly responded, despite knowing exactly where his old demo tapes were located.
“Well, if you ever find them… I’d be interested in listening. You have the potential to entertain, Copia, but that doesn’t mean you have to be serious while doing it.” Terzo reassured with a warm smile. The simple fact that these words were coming from a popular, made-man – who also happened to be his brother – comforted Copia and he nodded in gratitude.
After their short, strangely pleasant wander, they arrived at the beach huts. By the time they entered theirs, it was apparent that the effort Copia had put into warning all of the women at the beach party had not paid off. As soon as the door closed behind them, they could hear the distinct, choked grunts of someone next door.
“Are you fucking kidding me? What happened to his paddle party?!” the cardinal cried in protest, dramatically throwing up his gloved hands.
“I guess we may as head back out. Come, let’s find somewhere else to sleep tonight, fratello.”
Just as they turned to leave, there was a shattering sound that split through Primo’s hut and echoed through to theirs. It was followed by something bounding about, until finally, the – usually silent – anti-pope let out a strained groan of effort while his partner’s struggling rasps faded to a definite end. Something heavy slumped to the floor and the huts shook, which caused Terzo and Copia to exchange deeply unsettled glances.
“I’m in need of your assistance, fratello.” Primo’s raised, grating voice emerged, the cardinal and the anti-pope’s eyes widening in horror. “This body won’t move itself.”
13 : Thirteen
Primo waited by the trunk of the pale red Fiat Tipo, wearing a white bathrobe and his comfortable Crocs. He watched in silent interest as the younger clergymen carried the body – which had been tightly wrapped in thick, overlapping beach towels – through the open doorway of his hut. They hadn’t asked any questions, they’d simply assisted him without a word.
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Copia, but he tried his best to look uncomfortable. Terzo, on the other hand, was completely out of his depth. As they escorted the body out towards the hatchback, he started to panic.
“I-I don’t think I can do this, little brother. What if… what if someone catches us?!” he fiercely whispered, hoisting up his end of the body so it rested against his chest.
“They won’t if we keep moving. We just have to get to the car, ok? Then we’re all good.” Copia reassured, narrowing his eyes at the rented vehicle behind Terzo.
“A-Alright.”
Seeing as the body wasn’t too heavy, it didn’t take them long to reach the rear of the car. Copia had opened the tailgate long before they’d entered Primo’s hut, so they carefully lowered the towel-wrapped corpse and slid it into its cramped confines.
Terzo retreated from Copia’s side as soon as the body was inside, but the cardinal shoved it into a folded position so that he could close the trunk’s lid, which conjured a cringe out of the anti-pope. The cardinal made sure he was wearing a concerned expression even though he didn’t really find the situation strange or uncomfortable at all… he’d secretly disposed of bodies on a regular basis for quite some time.
“What… what are we going to do with her?” Terzo nervously whispered, his hands reaching up to clutch at clumps of his black hair in frustration. “We should… bury her, no?”
“I… don’t know. I guess we could.” Copia quietly replied with a shrug, still playing the worried and oblivious cardinal. “You seem to know this island more than I do. Where should we dump it?”
“I-I… I don’t know!” Terzo exclaimed, shielding his aviators with a dramatic, swiping hand.
“Secondo will know what to do.” Primo piped up, already throwing one of the car’s back doors open to climb inside. “Take us to the casino, Copia. There’s no time to lose.”
“Sure, sure! You got it, your Dark Excellency!” Copia obediently chirped, hurrying over to the driver’s side, which left Terzo standing awkwardly by the rear of the vehicle, the sleeves of his white jacket – which was still casually draped over his shoulders – lightly swaying in the night-time breeze.
“Get in, brother.” Primo called before slamming his door shut, which left no chance for Terzo to dispute what was happening. The younger anti-pope sighed and reluctantly advanced towards the passenger side, and once he opened the door, he slung himself inside.
“I’ve never had to do that before.” Primo confessed with a disappointed sigh as he pulled his seat-belt across his front. “It wasn’t my intention to get you two involved, but you heard it happen.”
“But did you really have to kill, fratello?!” Terzo cried, violently securing his seat-belt.
“Yes.” Primo sternly declared. “She tried to kill me. She went for me at my most vulnerable. She used my trust in her against me. I will not tolerate an attempt on my life. Or an attempt on any of yours either, for that matter. Violence should not be taken lightly.”
Terzo glared at his eldest brother through the side-mirror like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Copia shrugged and fired up the engine, the blaring punk music returning as soon as the dashboard lit up.
“Alrighty! You’re gonna have to navigate me to the casino!” the cardinal yelled, throwing the hatchback into reverse, sand spitting into the murky, nocturnal air. He backed them towards the middle of the beach, where the party had now dispersed, hundreds of panicked guests screaming as they fled the bay.
“Yeeesh! What the fuck is everyone’s problem tonight?!” Copia shouted, shaking his head at the fleeing individuals.
“They know you’re behind the wheel!” Terzo loudly snapped, eager to vent his frustration through argumentative means. “I hope we fucking crash. La bella signora in the back deserves better than this.”
“Quiet down, brother. If we had driftwood to spare, I would’ve made her a pyre on the beach.” Primo remarked, draping his arms over the tops of the backseats.
“You really are another level of stronzo, Primo. I am disgusted with you!” Terzo scorched, elbowing the passenger door in frustration.
“So you expected me not to retaliate?” the elder anti-pope questioned in a calm, sincere tone. “One moment, the woman was fine, then in the next, she was feral. She went for my throat. She was thrashing, snarling like an untamed beast. I had to put her down. Who knows what she would’ve tried next?”
The car’s engine whirred while tires skidded across the sand, and as it sped further and further towards the wide seafront promenade, more and more groups of sprinting party guests filled the beach. Some were panicked, others looked frenzied, hunched and bloodied as they chased the rest of the alert crowd with empty, faded irises.
“You said… the chick was… feral, yes?” Terzo yelled in a curious tone when he considered the scenes through the passenger window with alarm, the vehicle shuddering as it cut across the smoothly tiled promenade.
“I’m struggling to hear you over the music, Terzo. You’ll have to speak up.”
“The woman. In the back. She was feral?!” the anti-pope roared to his older brother.
“What?!”
“Fanculo! Non importa. Turn right here, Copia! Then keep going until you see a huge fucking billboard, alright?”Terzo ordered before sharply leaning out of his seat to lay his frustrated fists into the stereo. “This piece of shit’s still way too fucking loud!”
“Whooooa! Whoa! Heeey! Hey! What the fuck you think you’re doing?! You’re going to – ”
Copia’s protest was interrupted by the speakers fizzing and when Terzo’s punches became more violent, firmer strikes, the stereo’s lights faded and the speakers cut off, the sound of tires rolling over the road and the straining whine of the Fiat’s engine replacing the punchy percussion of the music.
“Gli artigli di Lucifero, they’re eating each other.” Primo emptily murmured, peering through the closest window as he slid a thick, bloodied book from the inside of his bathrobe to clutch it closely to his chest.
“Finally. I can fucking hear myself think!” Terzo exclaimed with a relieved sigh, slumping back in his seat, his eyes closing once he’d adjusted his aviators to a neater position.
“Not a punk kinda guy, huh?” Copia playfully commented, an amused smile managing to tug at his lips. The anti-pope slowly turned his head to face the cardinal and shook it with a confused frown… he didn’t understand how Copia could stay his usual, flippant-self when mayhem was breaking out while they had a dead body in the trunk.
“No. I’m more of a… post-punk, new wave kinda guy.” he eventually replied in a tired, defeated tone.
“Ahhh, I see, I see. Heh heh.” Copia murmured, his smile dropping when he casually considered his rear-view mirror. He kept accelerating even though his gaze was now fixed to it. He was stunned to see a car approaching them at a swift pace. It was an imposing black sedan with tinted windows that eerily reminded him of the Rolls Royce he’d sent off the pier the night prior … only this particular car behind them was driven with far more purpose, its menacing, jet-black presence causing him to stare in astonishment.
“Watch your steering, Copia!” Primo scolded, but his warning went ignored. The cardinal was apprehensively fixed to the reflection of the speeding sedan, and completely missed the fact there was a gathering of groaning, vomiting jet-setters stumbling around the middle of the road, thin threads of bleeding flesh trickling down their chins. The Fiat’s bonnet struck them and their bodies scattered across the tarmac like they were brittle, bloody bowling pins.
Copia reluctantly shifted his gaze to the wind-shield after the force of the collision, and the Papas gripped onto the interior fiercely when he threw the car to the right in order to avoid hitting another lot of staggering, incoherent holidaymakers… some of which were tucking into severed limbs or juicy, freshly harvested organs.
“See! I told you they were eating each other!” Primo bellowed.
“Satan spare us all.” Terzo muttered, staring out at the macabre scenes outside. “Hey, you guys hearing music? It’s not coming from the radio so where - ?”
“Of course it’s not coming from the radio. You broke it!” Primo snapped, seemingly irritated with his younger brother.
“Sh! Sh sh sh! Please! Some … some quiet! I … I need to focus right now.” Copia insisted, firmly throwing the steering wheel from one side to the other.
“Tch. Like you need to focus , you’ll only end up running over these unfortunate souls anyways. If they’re eating each other, I say do it. And don’t fucking miss.” Terzo challenged in a mischievous, pestering tone.
“Wow. You changed your tune, brother.” Primo quietly muttered, his brow furrowing as he squeezed his book tighter to his chest.
“Very funny, Primo. Very funny.” Terzo emptily murmured.
The road was growing more cluttered with vast, bumbling crowds of flesh-hungry vacationers and its confines were closing in.
“This is the way to the casino, right?” Copia suddenly asked, uncertainty wobbling in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah. Just keep going, it’s straight ahead. Follow the purple road signs.” Terzo softly responded, relaxing in his seat with a defeated huff. “Hey … the music … it’s back again. You hear it?”
“No.” Primo snapped.
“Pff. You don’t hear much these days anyway.” his brother retorted.
“It kinda sounds like... Frank Zappa? No.The Stooges? Iggy Pop?” Copia murmured in confused contemplation, trying his best to focus on the distant bass-line while he checked his rear-view mirror again. “What’s the name of that fucking song… the… Dirt. It’s Dirt. And it’s very, veeery fucking loud.”
The black sedan was finally gaining on them, he’d managed to lose it a few blocks back, but now the horde of zombified tourists invaded the sprawl of streets in full force, the small hatchback couldn’t achieve its top speed. Copia was constantly slamming the brakes and revving the engine in order to swerve around the mindless masses, and the black sedan finally caught up to him in one growling thrust.
Sweat started to drip from Copia’s temples, his eyes wide, his shoulders tensed as a loud, consistent beep overlapped the muffled rock music. The driver was hammering their fist against the horn to ensure that the cardinal knew he’d frustrated them and he frowned in confusion, unsure why they were suddenly in a fit of road rage.
“What’s the problem, motherfucker?! Can’t you see there’s a mini-apocalypse going on right now?! There’s too many fucking bodies in the way! I can’t go any faster!” Copia shouted, which caused the two anti-popes to tilt their heads inquisitively.
The horn-blaring stopped and the sedan burbled brashly as it swerved to the left – a couple of stray, unfortunate souls bouncing off of its glossy black bonnet – so that it could jet ahead, until the driver’s side door of the pale red Fiat was level with its passenger window. When its tinted window lowered, Copia sharply turned his head to face the open window-frame. He was greeted with the loud rock music and a pale, extended middle-finger.
The Fiat clumsily wavered side to side when the cardinal dropped a hand from the steering wheel to wind down his own window and partake in some polite road rage.
The driver was sat in the seat furthest from the open windows but he could plainly see them. They were in thin polythene overalls that were loose around their chest. He could see a white, formal work-shirt and black neck-tie lurking underneath and it accompanied the black, vented gas mask that obscured their face rather well. Their hair was a deep shade of maroon, shiny, short and slicked back to the middle of their nape.
“What, eh… what seems to be the issue here, fella?” Copia firmly inquired, tipping his chin towards them in an arrogant manner. “There is all of the space, just pass by, ah?”
“Jesus. That’s real fuckin’ easy for you to say, you braindead fuck-wit. Can’t you see there’s a load of dead fucks in the road?!” a snarky, muffled cockney accent fired back, the masked driver persisting to extend their middle finger whilst they drove beside the whining hatchback. “Stop swerving so fuckin’ much. Just run into them, they’re dead already. It’s quicker that way.”
“Ah shush! Just pass me already!” Copia cried, tossing his hand out of the window in a dismissive manner.
“Fuck that. You’re the liability here. You need your eyes testing, the undead aren’t the problem. If I suddenly overtake, you’ll be behind me. And I do not trust any blithering idiot to drive behind me.” the masked woman snapped.
“Ehhhh… well, I don’t trust you to be behind me either! You’ve been tailing us for fucking ages now! That is no way to treat a car with a dead body in the back!”
“Chiudi la bocca. Chiudi la bocca. Chiudi la bocca.” Terzo and Primo chanted in scolding unison.
“Bleedin’ hell. Just the one body? Is that all? I’ve got at least four-and-a-half chopped up, along with half a dozen propane bottles in the back there. Wouldn’t want all that going off, would we?” the driver emptily remarked.
Copia’s eyes widened further.
“I-I-I-I don’t… I don’t know what your fucking deal is, but … if you’re spoiling for a fight – I will fuck you up, alright?!” he nervously yelled.
“Aw, bless your cotton shirt… no. I’m not interested in that. I’ve got supplies and samples to collect, so if you could just… drive in a straight fuckin’ line for a few minutes to clear the way, it would be much appreciated.”
“Oh. Shit. Eh, okaaay. Sure. I will… I can do that. Sure.” Copia calmly agreed, wincing with regret.
“Fussy twat.” the masked woman casually snapped before sliding up her window and slowing her speed to drop behind the hatchback.
“Who was that?” Terzo questioned, unable to refrain from smirking after seeing Copia’s discomfort.
“I don’t know. But I’m guessing they’re heading to the casino too. They said something about getting supplies, or some shit.” the cardinal muttered.
“I liked their moxie. Very bold and gutsy. Unlike the pair of you.” Primo remarked with a small amused smile, craning his neck to peer at the black sedan through the back window. “I’ve never seen that model in black before, very cool paintjob.”
“Tch. I’m surrounded by idiots… and to think it might be a mini-apocalypse, the worst time to be surrounded by fucking idiots.” Terzo complained, pressing his palms to his face in embarrassment.
“Ehhh… I don’t know, could be worse.” Copia said.
“Really? Worse how?”
“Nihil could be here.”
14 : Fourteen
The hatchback traversed the parking lot, its tires screeching now that it had a straight, zombie-less run. It shot towards the tall, blocky, neon-lit casino, the ominous black sedan hot on its tail. Copia pulled the handbrake and the Fiat’s end kicked out, and it skidded up a short, flat staircase that led up to the casino’s entrance.
The sedan didn’t slow, instead, it overtook the shrieking, smoking hatchback to snarl up the stairs. Its rock music seemed to get louder when it forced its way through wide window-panes that were next to the double doors of the entrance, a rain of shattered glass showering over its glossy black roof as it thrust into the spacious, gambling establishment.
“What are they thinking? Ramming into a place like that...” Primo calmly commented, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Well, this is Ram-reta Resort, brother. And most of the resort is dead by now, I don’t think the casino is of any use any more… it wasn’t anyways.” Terzo flippantly chattered, gesturing a hand along with his words.
When the rental car finally stopped, its wheels overlapping the centre of the steps, they released their seat-belts and exited the vehicle, cautiously scanning their surroundings to make sure there wasn’t any hungry holiday-makers looking to jump them.
“It’s kinda… quiet ‘round here, don’t you think?” Copia quietly remarked, slowly following Primo and Terzo up the rest of the stairs.
They silently entered the casino by hopping through the shattered window-panes the sedan had conveniently left behind. Inside, the wide entrance lobby – which was filled with rows of malfunctioning arcade machines, crooked air-hockey tables and plush armchairs and sofas – was also vacant, aside from the burbling black sedan. It was thrown into a handbrake turn before it reached the back of the vast space, tire-smoke rising from the shiny, tiled floor.
It parked at a cool, jaunty angle in the middle of the lobby and when the three clergymen cautiously trailed further into the casino, the driver shut off the engine and stepped out onto the vibrant tiles in their polythene-covered black oxfords, the neon-lit surroundings reflecting in the glassy eye-sockets of their gas mask.
“We should thank them for letting us in.” Terzo joked, wearing a mischievous smirk when he considered the cardinal’s nervous, hesitant expression.
“Naa, there’s… there’s no need for that. Probably best to… leave them to do whatever the fuck they’re doing. They seem kinda pressed for time, you know? Heh.” Copia politely disagreed without displaying too much discomfort.
“Let’s head for the elevators. Secondo will be on the fifth floor.” Primo declared, paying no attention to the younger men’s discussion.
“How do you know that, Primo? This casino’s huge. He could be anywhere, doing anyone.” Terzo reasoned, his mischievous expression lingering as he trailed after the other two, who had already amended their direction in order to head for the lobby’s elevators.
“Because he spends most of his time on the fifth floor. He does the same thing every year. He knows he won’t be able to pick up anyone sitting at a gambling table. There’s too much chance of losing.” Primo explained.
While they continued to stroll towards the elevators, the mysterious, masked driver of the black sedan unloaded a selection of items from their trunk. A tatty, tethered rope formed out of salvaged picnic blankets and beach towels was draped over their right shoulder, a large, circular propane tank was tucked beneath their left arm – which was rather alarming because the driver was rather slight in stature but they carried it with ease nonetheless – and a sharp fire-axe that was snugly settled in their right hand. After elbowing the tailgate to close the trunk, they spun on their heels and headed for the elevators, where the clergymen were patiently waiting for their lift to arrive.
When a satisfying chime sounded, the metallic doors of the middle elevator opened and the clergymen hurried inside, leaving the masked driver to casually slip in after them. Primo towered over the slight individual, but Terzo and Copia brushed shoulders with them, their concern evident when they peered at the mysterious, sedan-driving stranger from the corners of their mismatched eyes.
“Which floor are you needing?” Primo bellowed, ensuring he grabbed their attention now that he was the closest to the elevator’s navigation panel.
“Eighth floor.” the woman’s muffled voice emptily replied, her pale, black-nailed fingers clenching around the axe a little bit tighter. Primo punched in their numbers until the buttons illuminated and then calmly rested his back against the wall of the confined compartment, knowing their journey was going to take a little while. The casino’s elevators were renowned for being rather idle. The doors smoothly met and the whole room hummed, the ground beneath their feet shaking profusely.
“Was, eh… was that Iggy Pop you were… you were playing back there?” Copia anxiously blurted out, unable to stand the awkward silence.
“Mm-hm. The Stooges.” the mysterious, masked woman simply replied, tipping her head back so she could focus on staring at the ceiling.
“Cool, cool! Cool, eh… cool choice, heh.” he nervously complimented, subtly swaying side to side like he was already bored of how slow the elevator was.
“You lot have got weapons with you, haven’t you?” she suddenly asked in a deadpan tone.
“I can’t speak for my… accident-prone peers, but I have come prepared, yes.” Primo confidently confirmed, tapping a flat palm against his chest, which drew attention to his white bathrobe.
“Prepared and dressed for comfort. Nice.” the woman murmured, nodding her head in approval, her mask following her movements. “What about you two? Do you require anything to defend yourself? Or have you got that covered?”
“Ahhh… no. No, there is no need for any weaponry, signorina. Satan will watch over me.” Terzo confidently bragged, adjusting the white suit jacket that was still draped over his shoulders.
“Wow, get you. I haven’t heard that one before. Unfortunately for you, divine intervention isn’t going to be much help in here.” she emptily stated, like what she was saying was simply a fact.
“I’ll just find whatever I can then.” the anti-pope said, crossing his arms over in front of his chest while he stuck his chin up in the air with a stubborn pout.
“Right. Good luck with that then.” the woman responded in disinterest, before sharply turning her head to face the quirky cardinal beside her. “And what about you, shagged, road rage Randy? You’re not a religious nutter relying on miracles as well, are you?”
“Uhhhh-ehhhh… no!” Copia nervously reassured, patting the pockets of his denim shorts before he started to brag, blush coating his cheeks. “No, I’m not relying on miracles, heh! I got my… seven-inch stiletto knife, three zippos, flammable pepper spray – that was really fucking hard to get hold of – and, ehh… oh yes! Some… some – ahem – some razor… razor wire. Heh.”
The other three went completely silent and slowly shifted their heads to glare at him in bewilderment. It was clear they were suddenly uncomfortable being in such close proximity to him.
“You just… casually have all of this shit on you?” Terzo asked in a small, suspicious voice.
“At least the bloke’s prepared. You’ve got nothing to defend yourself – other than your designer jacket – so I’d keep your mouth shut, if I were you.” the masked stranger snidely snapped. “But don’t worry, I’m sure these two will take good care of you.”
“I’m… I’m sorry, but… what are you doing here?” Copia interrupted in a curious, high-pitched tone. “You said you were here to… pick up supplies?”
“Fuck’s sake. Right. Yeah, I was sort of... lying about that.” the stranger confessed with a deflated sigh. “I’m torching the place. I’ve been tasked with building a funeral pyre. This infection can’t leave this island, so all of the infecteds have to be cremated.”
“The… infecteds?!” Terzo gasped in horror.
“Yes. The infecteds. A sickness has spread through this resort in the last… I don’t know, twenty, twenty-one hours, something like that. And I’m the only member of the fuckin’ clean-up crew – yet again – while every other bugger is either trying to pluck up the courage to survive, escape or find what’s caused this fuckin’ shambles.” the stranger passionately ranted, gripping onto the axe and propane tank with much more force.
“What?! What if… what if we’re infected?! H-How do we know if… if we have it?!” Terzo shrieked, panic grating through his voice.
“You’d be the living dead, bumbling around and vomiting without much brain function.” the masked woman reassured, shaking her head like she was amused somehow. “I’m surprised you lot haven’t turned to be honest, you seem inept, and you’re freely breathing in the atmosphere… hm. Maybe Satan is looking out for all of you.”
The elevator smoothly arrived at the fifth floor and its chime sounded out again, its doors rolling open.
“Good luck, fellas. Go and break some skulls, yeah?” the stranger said, nodding her head like she was politely bidding the clergymen farewell. “Just… keep your distance when they’re all packed in together… and for fuck’s sake, whatever you do… do not get fuckin’ bitten.”
15 : Fifteen
The clergymen rushed out of the elevator and once its doors slid shut behind them to whir off to the eighth floor, they were suddenly faced with an uncomfortable, deadly dilemma.
Swarms of loud, groaning tourists and casino workers lurked amongst the murky shadows. Severed wires swung from the tall ceiling, sprays of sparks descending onto the hordes below. The floor wasn’t card tables or roulette wheels like Copia had anticipated, it was lined with fast food chains, plentiful dining tables, tactically placed grabber-machines, and a merged laser-tag and mini-golf course.
It would’ve been pleasant, were it not for the mass of zombies.
The power had malfunctioned for most of the floor, but the mini-golf course must’ve had its own generator, because it flickered like a hopeful, magenta lantern at the end of the food hall.
“Ah yes. That’s where we’re headed. Errol Egdrud’s sixty-six hole mini-golf course.” Primo proudly announced, peering past the hunched herd of living, flesh-hungry corpses, which were squashed together and idle while they simply suffered their existence.
“What?! You’re telling me Secondo’s playing mini-golf?!” Terzo cried, throwing up his hands in dramatic disbelief. “And you think he’ll still be there now? Even with all this shit going on?! Merda! It’s like we’re in a fucking Romero movie right now!”
“He’ll be there, Terzo. Trust me.” Primo insisted, staring at his brother with sincere, solemn eyes.
“Alriiiiight, so… if we’re heading over there, how, eh… how are we planning on passing these dead fucks?” Copia asked, grasping his chin thoughtfully.
“We’ll take a buggy.” Primo suggested, gesturing a hand to a small station of abandoned golf carts that was directly beside the elevators. “It will be faster than walking. Safer too.”
“But there is only room for two of us, fratello. Where will the other of us sit? We would need another cart, no?” Terzo worriedly reasoned, glancing at the idly roaming zombies ahead of them with brazen concern.
“Nonsense. One of you can hitch at ride on the back. You’re both slight, and probably about the weight of a decent set of clubs.” the older anti-pope calmly reassured.
“Ah! Si! Good idea! I will dri – ”
“No. You will not.” Primo interrupted before his younger brother could carry on, calmly wandering towards the nearest golf cart. “Copia will drive. We need an aggressive driver with a backbone. You can hop on behind us, we need someone to watch our backs.”
“Fiiine.” Terzo whined while the other two slung themselves into the buggy’s seats. “Do I get something to defend myself? Or do you just expect me to hang off the back and act as… some sort of bait?”
“I will be defending us.” his older brother told him, the golf cart lightly bouncing as he climbed onto the platform at the back. “Retaliation is nothing either of you two have to worry about. Now get us out of here, unless you want us to be mincemeat.”
Copia’s features scrunched into a nervous wince and the cart began to accelerate through the lobby. The mysterious, masked stranger’s words were weighing on the cardinal’s mind. They’d seemed concerned that the clergymen hadn’t turned… and he could only assume that it had something to do with the subtle, unassuming Grucifix that was hanging from his neck. He didn’t fully understand how it was protecting them, but it must’ve been throwing out some unholy aura, or it was cursed with something potent that caused the infecteds to go out of their way to avoid it.
The golf buggy smoothly rolled over the blood-stained tiles, and Terzo clutched the rear railings, gracefully balancing on the back platform with an uncertain expression. His black aviators slid away from his face when he glanced down at the blurry floor either side of the cart, and he scoffed back the urge to wretch. Crushed organs, chewed limbs and sinewy bones were strewn over its surface, which didn’t fill Terzo with an awful lot of hope.
“We’re fucked.” he darkly muttered, unaware that his older brother was casually unsheathing a chunky book from the inside of his bathrobe. Primo had been keeping it pressed to his chest for safe-keeping. The book was old and a similar weight to the original Old Testament. Its covers were formed out of thick, ox-blood leather and its corners were stained with fresh crimson stains.
It was Primo’s unholy grimoire. He normally had it on his person for a bit of light, meditative reading, but tonight was a night where it would be put to good use. He separated its pages in two and firmly pressed a fingertip to the centre of its spine, his mismatched eyes narrowing at its Latin-lined contents in a callous, expectant manner.
“Satanas duce nos. Tenebras ejiciam cum luce. Ure terram, Spiritus Impius. Cleanse these floors so we may reach our brother!” Primo proclaimed before raising his finger from the grimoire’s pages.
Copia’s eyes widened when the experienced anti-pope struck an arm out directly in front of him, a crack of sizzling lightning spawning where his fingertip pointed.
“Ah shit! Fuck! What the – don’t cast that shit so close, your Dark Excellency! I am… I am very fond of my moustache… in fact… all of my facial hair, alright? It’s very precious to me, it took a whole decade to get this shit right.”
“I will cast wherever I see fit. Be quiet and drive.” the anti-pope ominously responded, his intense, mismatched eyes glued to the undead huddles around them.
Copia swallowed nervously and obliged him, managing to squeeze a little more speed out of the buggy’s engine out of the fear the eldest anti-pope had caused. His actions caused Terzo to brashly topple forwards and his chest collided with the back of the front seats.
“Owwahh! Watch what you’re doing, asshole! Remember who you got on the back here!” he scolded.
Primo cast another lightning bolt, pointing a long finger at the squished sprawl of zombies that were slowly advancing towards them from all angles. The clumsy creatures in the vicinity of the cart fried as soon as the bolt struck, a vibrant flash illuminating the entire level.
Terzo and Copia were silently amazed of Primo’s capabilities. He wasn’t an amateur conjurer… he was confident, accurate and refined, and dispatched the mobs of undead with disturbing ease. They wondered how and why he’d kept his talents a secret, but they supposed he’d never had a reason to defend himself quite like this before.
The buggy took the most vacant path ahead, which had been cleared and scorched, courtesy of Papa I. It weaved between trickling clusters of zombies that had strayed from the horde, arms desperately reaching out to grapple onto the back of the buggy… but Terzo reacted by sharply striking out his leg to kick them away.
“We’re almost there!” Copia announced over the crackling lightning and miserable, incoherent groans of the hordes. “We… we almost made it!”
Primo persisted to confidently deliver his unholy incantations and Terzo batted away limbs while Copia steered them clear of the dark, densely populated fast food court. They shot towards the end of the hall after two minutes or so, their surroundings becoming luminous landmarks and animatronic animals that stiffly waved from their artificial environments. The mini-golf course was flooded with vibrant, fluorescent light that would’ve been better suited to an eighties strip-club, and the surface of each hole was animated with vibrant, animations.
When they pulled up at its ticket booth, they hopped from the cart and headed straight for the course. Terzo and Copia vaulted the entrance turnstiles, while Primo – who was wearing a deadpan expression and clutching his open grimoire in one hand – simply levitated until he was at few inches clear of them, the hems of his bathrobe fluttering, before he gracefully landed on the other side, the rubber soles of his Crocs creaking. Naturally, the younger men were utterly gobsmacked.
“Be on your guard. Secondo will be around here somewhere.” the antipope stated, oblivious to his stunned peers.
Terzo and Copia reluctantly nodded, the cardinal unsheathing his immaculate stiletto knife from his denim shorts so that he could hold it out before him. The three of them walked across the first dozen holes together, avoiding the animatronic obstacles and precarious props along the way. By the time they approached the nineteenth hole, sensual eighties disco started to sweep through the course’s tinny speakers.
There, putting at the twenty-first hole, was Secondo. He was a gothic void amongst the bright, colourful scenery, his black papal robes glistening from the neon rays. He was still wearing his aviators – much like his younger brother – to shield his gaze from the bright lights.
“Fratello!” Terzo yelled, frantically waving like he couldn’t believe his brother was alive. “We’re here! We’ve come to rescue you! We’re going to get out of this forsaken shit-hole!”
Secondo - who was slightly hunched and in the middle of lining up his shot - briefly lifted his head to acknowledge the approaching clergymen, and he shook his head in solemn disapproval.
“Hmph. Like I need rescuing.” he muttered, before his gaze returned to the small pink golf ball on the ground in front of him. “Couldn’t you killjoys keep away? I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”
“The apocalypse has come to us, brother… and you are still playing mini-golf?” Primo sternly questioned, unamused by Secondo’s stubborn behaviour.
“Of course, Primo. You’d be a fool to find this situation unfortunate or miserable. It’s an opportunity.” Secondo continued. “With everyone dead or dying, there’s no need for payment. Therefore, this course has infinite re-playability. Just like the rest of this casino. Hell, you could loot out the bars if you wanted.”
By the time the three clergymen reached him, he successfully putted the ball and he turned to face them with an irritated scowl, holding his club in a threatening manner in front of him.
“You don’t intend to leave, do you?” Copia quietly asked.
“Of course not, Cardinal. We have another twelve days of vacation. I am not letting anything interfere with it.” Secondo firmly declared.
“We may have the whole casino to ourselves, but it won’t be here for long. This place will be torched pretty soon.” Terzo explained, hoping that his brother would see reason. “Come, fratello. Let’s get out of here. Let’s get to somewhere safe, away from this… mess.”
“At least let me finish the rest of the holes.” Secondo snapped.
“You come here every year, brother. You’ve completed this course plenty of times. Now… come along, before this place becomes a funeral pyre.” Terzo firmly responded, growing tired of his stubborn brother.
Secondo huffed.
“Alright.” he reluctantly grumbled, gesturing up his golf club in defiance. “But I’m keeping this.”
Terzo raised his hands in surrender and they spun around to stroll back towards the entrance of the course.
“How are you planning on escaping? The dead walk every floor.” Secondo boomed, clutching his golf club to his chest.
“We’ll take the elevator to the helipad. We’ll figure things out from there.” Primo calmly replied.
“Why on Earth are you wearing a dressing gown?” Secondo questioned in brazen distaste.
“It’s… a veeeery, very, long story, heh.” Copia chimed in before either of the Papas decided to begin a long-winded explanation. “Let’s just get to this… helipad for now. Whereabouts is it?”
“The eighth floor.” the brothers responded in unison.
The eighth floor was already scattered with charred bodies and flaming carcasses by the time they left the elevator. The mysterious, masked stranger had cleared it out a while ago, and if the clergymen were honest, they were grateful for it.
A chopper was already parked on the pad and ready to go, miraculously untouched by the explosions and smouldering ashes. They rushed towards it with their weapons still snugly in their grasp, and hesitated in unison now they were beside the small aircraft. Their heads lifted to the sky, the underlying fiery glow hinting that the other floors were likely being purged by the flames of the mysterious, masked stranger.
“Can… any of you guys… fly?” Copia asked in a small voice.
“Mm-hm! Yep! Me!” Terzo excitedly cried, rubbing his palms together. “I got my pilot’s license last month!”
Primo and Secondo shared a skeptical, unimpressed glance.
“Satan save us all.”
Amen.
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