Oh, goddamnit.
Before I could give myself time to reconsider, I leapt up from my hiding place, grabbed her by the shoulders, and quickly pulled her down with us.
‘Hey!’ she slurred, more upset that I’d spilled her beer than anything.
I turned back to Frankie. ‘What’s happening now?’
‘There’re more of them,’ he said, peeking up over the Ford’s hood. ‘Six, by my count—no, make that seven. I think they’re searching for something.’
There was another flash. Another deafening bang.
Frankie thought for a moment. ‘Make that eight...’
I ran my hands through my hair.
It’s happening again. I can’t believe it. Oh, man, how can the same shit happen to the same guy twice? Who am I, fucking John McClane?
‘This is bad,’ I said, my sanity draining swiftly out of me like piss down my leg. ‘We need to call someone.’
‘No, we don’t. We can handle this. Besides, we fought off slugs from another world attempting to take over the president’s brain. Trust me—we got this.’
From behind us, Drunk Girl let out a groan. ‘Ooh, my stomach. I think my period just came...’
Frankie turned back to me, his face serious. ‘We’re out of our depth here, Dan. We need help. Stat.’
I reached for my phone.
Nothing. Not even a bar of signal.
I groaned.
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
I could hear more pops coming from the other side of the burned-out Ford now. More anguished squeals. More pleas for mercy.
It was a goddamn bloodbath out there.
I flinched as Frankie suddenly grabbed my arm. ‘Okay—I think I may have an idea,’ he said. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back in a sec.’
‘What? What do you mean you’ll be—’
He took off running for the treeline.
‘Hey!’
Bastard.
I turned my attention back to Drunk Girl, who I noted was now busy dribbling all over herself. Christ, what a mess. ‘Don’t worry—it’ll be fine. He, uh... he knows what he’s doing.’
She blinked. ‘Who are you again?’
OH GODDAMNIT.
I’m not sure exactly how long we waited there for. Enough for me to begin to wonder whether or not he was coming back, put it that way.
‘All right,’ I said, an indeterminate amount of time later. ‘Looks like we’re going to have to make a run for it. If we’re quick, we should be able to get to my car without any of those assholes spotting us. Do you think you can run?’
Drunk Girl’s shoulders jerked as a fierce hiccup rocked her entire body, almost spilling her over. ‘I kissed my cousin once... we were only kids...’
I groaned.
Fuck it. Good enough.
I took her by the hand and pulled her clumsily to her feet. She swayed, tried to sit down. I pulled at her again.
After several minutes of this, we ran.
Well, I say “ran”. To be honest, there was far too much falling down to have considered what we were currently doing running. But we were moving. Slowly, sure—so very, very slowly. But moving all the same.
One of her arms flung limply over my shoulder, I dragged her over to an old, abandoned trailer half-buried in the snow to our right.
I peeked around the side.
I could just see my Accord, now; its snow-covered hood, maybe fifty or so yards away from where we were standing—within running-distance, in other words.
I leaned back around the side of the trailer. ‘All right. Almost there. Just a little further—’
What happened next was like something out of a bad dream.
It emerged suddenly around the side of the dilapidated trailer in a flash of fabric and pasty-white skin. Another albino dude—this one taller, with a large, hooked-nose like a beak.
It all happened so fast. I don’t think his legs even moved—like he’d just glided there on invisible rollerblades. I know how that sounds, but I swear, it’s the truth.
‘Get down!’ I cried as Albino Boy suddenly raised the truncheon-of-fiery-death in the direction of Drunk Girl’s face.
I pushed her to the ground, tried to backpedal out of Albino Boy’s reach—
Blue fire enveloped my world as the truncheon struck me directly between the shoulder blades.
I’d never been electrocuted before, but I imagined this was probably how it felt.
Every muscle tensed beyond my control as I began to shake like an epileptic in the grip of a particularly violent seizure. Limbs strained and cramped. I thought I could smell hair burning, then looked down at my arms and saw that, sure enough, the hair there was indeed gone, burned away to nothing.
It only went on for a second or two, but felt like much longer.
Then, just as I was sure I was about to become but another red stain on the snow—
The electrocuting stopped.
I collapsed onto the snow, gasping and moaning, dimly aware of a spreading warmth in my crotch.
Oh, look at that. Peed my pants, too.
There was the crunching of boots on snow.
Albino Boy loomed over me.
‘You...’ it said, its voice all hollow and tinny, like radio-static. ‘I know who you are. You’re—’
Before it could finish, its head went suddenly flying up into the air like the lid on a party-popper.
I screamed; a deep, manly—not-at-all ladylike—scream, as Albino Boy’s headless body collapsed onto the snow less than a foot from my face, arms still desperately trying to fend off its unknown attacker.
I looked back to the place he’d been standing.
I groaned.
‘YE-AH!’ cried Frankie, flailing his arms like one of those kids at Disneyland they’re always letting on the rides before you. ‘Take that, you pasty fuck! TASTE MY COLD STEEL.’
I looked down at the item in his hand.
I blinked. ‘Is that a—?’
He nodded. ‘Yup. Broadsword. Pretty cool, huh?’ He held it up to the light and turned it around. ‘Of course, it’s no battle-axe, but...’
‘Where the hell did you get a broadsword?’
He sighed. ‘You really don’t go into your trunk that often, do you, Dan?’
I thought about asking him to elaborate on that, then shook my head instead. ‘Whatever. We need to get out of here. Quick—before more of them come.’
He reached down and helped me to my feet. Together, we bent and scooped Drunk Girl from the snow, who I was unsurprised to find had now completely fallen asleep.
Figures.
We booked it for the car.
‘Okay, you drive,’ I said, once we’d finally reached the door.
From beside me, Frankie frowned. ‘What? Why should I be the one to drive? It’s your car.’
‘You drove us here!’
‘I CAN’T WIELD A BROADSWORD AND DRIVE A CAR, DAN!’
I had to admit, he had a point.
I groaned. ‘Give me the keys!’
He tossed them to me, then jogged round to the passenger side, simultaneously leaving me to cope with the burden that was Drunk Girl all by myself.
I propped her up against the Accord’s side, went to open the door—
Thud.
I turned back.
Drunk Girl. Lying facedown in the snow.
I stiffened. ‘Shit! I’m so sorry!’
‘What’s taking so long?’ shouted Frankie from the passenger seat. ‘Broadswords aren’t exactly light, you know.’
‘But—’
He sighed. ‘Seriously, Dan, it’s like you’ve never manhandled an unconscious woman before.’
After a mammoth effort, I finally shoved Drunk Girl into the backseat.
I turned for my door, breathing heavily—
And that was when I saw them.
They came from between the cluster of cars and trailers parked along the bank before us. Black coats and hats. Perhaps a dozen of them, may
be more. All staring in the Accord’s direction with faces each as pale as a mannequin’s.
I didn’t wait around.
I jumped into the front seat, hands fumbling at the ignition like a kid receiving his first touch of boob.
Click-click-click.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Frankie.
I turned the key again. And again.
Nothing.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know—it’s not starting.’
‘Try it again.’
‘What the fuck do you think I’m doing?’
‘They’re almost here, Dan!’
‘The engine must have gotten too cold, or something. It won’t start!’
Faces grew in the windshield, the side windows. A ring of black coats and hats. Closing in fast.
Click-click-click...
‘Dan!’
‘What the hell do you want me to do, Frankie? It won’t—!’
Suddenly, the Pale Men stopped advancing. They tilted their heads and looked past my Accord at the road behind us instead.
It was then that I heard it; a whining sound, far off at the moment, but growing louder by the second.
I almost burst out laughing.
Sirens.
The cops! The cops are here! Holy crap, and right on time, too!
The Pale Men looked at each other. I sensed something passing between them, some decision being made.
Then they were receding back into the trees from whence they came, gliding slowly, not hurrying but hurrying all the same.
When they had all gone, Frankie and I turned to each other.
Frankie let out a breath.
‘We have a strange life, don’t we, Dan?’ he said.
I sighed.
FOUR
JOE’S WAS A TAVERN along the less busy part of downtown, and if we’re being totally honest here, a complete shithole. It smelled like how I imagined homeless people to smell—like pee and sweat and crushed dreams—and the surface of everything was always sticky with beer, regardless of what time you got there. Not even the rats would come to Joe’s—that’s how bad it was. And you know a place is filthy when not even the rats are willing to go there.
Still, the beer was cheap.
So that was good.
The owner’s name, despite expectations, was Mearl. Mearl liked guns. Big ones, little ones. Those ones you see in movies sometimes, pebble-dashed with so many diamantes it’d put Kim Kardashian’s vagina to shame. He was a short man with a wide neck and the kind of flushed face you only get when you’re either wind-chaffed or a seasoned alcoholic. Legend had it he’d once shot and killed a man who’d refused to pay-up on his tab, though I get the feeling Mearl might have started that rumour himself to deter potential flakers.
‘So...’ said Frankie suddenly from across the table from me.
It was later that evening. We had spent the past couple hours answering questions from the local authorities. The woman in charge—a young detective with caramel skin and shoulder-length black hair—had made us sit on the snow like naughty children whilst she rattled off question after question, all the while my poor butt-cheeks cramped with a combination of wet and cold. Questions like who we were, what we were doing there—which, to be fair, we’d been able to mostly answer, though explaining the broadsword had admittedly taken some doing. That kind of thing almost always does.
Then something strange had happened—well, stranger, anyway.
Right in the middle of our interrogation, the National Guard had shown up (or at least, what I presumed was the National Guard). More of those trucks and personnel carriers, like the ones I had witnessed yesterday whilst on route to my meeting with the ever-charming Wesley Chang.
There had been shouting. A lot of finger-wagging and cursing. I got the impression the detective lady really didn’t appreciate the National Guard just swooping in and taking over her investigation like that—mostly because she’d said so: I really don’t appreciate you swooping in and taking over my investigation like this. Like that.
Then she’d left, and we’d been forced to answer a whole other bunch of questions, questions I really didn’t think were pertinent to our current situation, but that seemed important all the same.
What high school did you attend?
Do you enjoy your job?
What are your parents’ names?
What’s your stance on cattle mutilation?
Have you or anyone you know ever been subject to an alien abduction?
He had been your typical military-type. Tall guy. Buzz-cut. Strong jaw. Immaculately groomed, with small, piercing eyes, and an air about him like he was constantly battling against the clock. It’s very time-consuming being a soldier. His nametag had read HAVISHAM. Although I couldn’t see a ranking on his uniform anywhere, I got the feeling he was somebody pretty important.
Then, after an hour of this, had come the clincher:
Do you know of anyone who might currently be harboring knowledge of the whereabouts of any extraterrestrial life-forms?
I got the feeling Frankie and I weren’t the only ones crapping in our pants right about now.
‘So,’ I said.
‘What do you think those guys were? The pasty ones, I mean. Because, clearly, they weren’t Phonies, Dan. You see that one guy? He didn’t melt—not even a little bit.’
I’d been wondering that very thing myself. What with the discovery of that “thing of which we do not speak” a few weeks ago, I’d come to accept the fact (albeit reluctantly) that the Phonies were not the only things out there. Yet even with this knowledge, I couldn’t deny that the discovery of yet another group of alien douchebags bothered the shit out of me. Because it meant more danger, sure. But mostly cause it was all just so dumb.
‘I have no idea.’
‘And those army dudes—you saw them, right?’ he went on. ‘The ones in the black suits? Those were no ordinary military fatigues, Dan. They must be special ops, or something.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And of course there were those guys in the hazmat suits sealing off everything, too. You bring in that many white-suits for a simple murder scene? Seriously? Tell me that’s normal, Dan.’
‘I really don’t care, Frankie.’
‘They must have been looking for this—’
Before I could inquire as to his meaning, Frankie suddenly lifted his jacket.
He didn’t. Oh, God, please tell me he didn’t...
But he had.
With a grunt, he dropped the rock-thing from the late-Beaner’s truck onto the table, making the glasses there rattle and clink.
I stared at him, slack-jawed. ‘Dude!’
So right here you’re probably wondering exactly how it was he managed to get the rock-thing into the restaurant without myself or anyone else noticing. And that’s a very good question—one I’ve been asking myself ever since, in fact. But, just as with my manager, Steve, there are certain things about Frankie that defy explanation. I don’t know how or why Frankie does the things he does. All I know is that he does them, and that they make me very sad.
‘What?’ he said.
‘You stole it?!’
‘Yeah—so?’
‘So you can’t just—get that thing the hell out of here before somebody sees!’
‘Like who, Dan? Look around—nobody cares. Here, I’ll prove it.’
Before I could stop him, he suddenly got to his feet and lifted the rock above his head. ‘Hey, everyone! Look! Alien rock-thing over here! Yoo-hoo! Everybody!’
Nothing. Not so much as a single glance in our direction.
I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into his seat. ‘Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. Ass—but that still doesn’t change the fact that we really shouldn’t have this thing. I mean if you’re right, and everyone and their mothers really is looking for it—hell, are even willing to kill for it—do we really want to be the ones standing in their way?’
‘I’m sensing hesitation, Dan.’
/>
‘Get serious. That thing is bad news. We need to get rid of it.’
‘You’re right.’ He thought it over a moment. ‘Or...’
‘Or nothing! It’s dangerous!’
‘Come on, Dan! Something strange is going on here. You know it as well as I do. And whatever it is, I’m betting it has something to do with this rock.’
‘All the more reason to get rid of it, then.’
He sighed. ‘Oh, please, Dan! Let me keep it. Just this once? Let me keep it and I promise I’ll never drag you out on another adventure with me ever again.’
‘YOU KIDNAPPED ME.’
‘Please, Dan? Just this once? Pretty-please?’
He shot me with those big puppy-dog eyes of his. Yeah—like that was going to work...
‘All right,’ I said.
Balls.
‘Yes!’
‘But just this once. And only if you promise you won’t go looking into matters any further. I mean it, Frankie. This shit stops here. We don’t need to go getting ourselves any more involved than we already are.’
He placed a hand over his heart. ‘You have my word, Dan. I will not go looking into things any further.’
Even as he said it, though, I could read the lie in his eyes.
I groaned.
Goddamnit.
PART 2
SMALL FUCKING WORM, BIG FUCKING HOOK
Excerpt from the Amerstow Chronicle, dated December 9th, 2015, from the article ‘Strange lights in sky cause major pile-up’:
...however Mayor O’Brian thanked emergency services for their speedy response.
As to the cause of the pile-up, the origin of the lightshow is still currently unknown, with locals claiming everything from space debris to meteorites, to, you guessed it, UFOs.
Whilst an official reason for the lights has yet to be disclosed by local police, in an attempt to quell the number of incoming calls, they have issued a statement stringently denying anything of an “extra-terrestrial” nature.
Expect more updates in the days and weeks to come.
End of excerpt.
Dan and Frankie and the End of Everything Page 5