Dan and Frankie and the End of Everything

by Richard Langridge

  ‘Okay,’ said Frankie, now on his feet and pacing back and forth in front of him. He still had the battle-axe, which he now held cradled in his arms like a newborn. He was growing pretty attached to that thing. ‘You want to tell us why it is you and your eyebrow-less compadres keep attacking me and my buddy Dan, here? You some kind of a dick, or something?’

  ‘You do not understand,’ said Albino Man. ‘The Naoggrath—it has to be stopped. It cannot be allowed to feed, do you hear me? If it feeds, this world—all the worlds—are doomed.’

  I frowned. ‘You mean the monkey?’ It hadn’t struck me as the destroyer of worlds-type. Weird, sure—but not dangerous.

  Not that dangerous, anyway…

  ‘To you, perhaps, it is a monkey. Others, an octopus, or a bird. Truthfully, it has no real form. It only appears to you as such because that is the closest your puny human brains can compare it to without being driven completely insane.’

  ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘I mean, specifically.’

  He sighed. ‘The Naoggrath—or Novamites, as they are also known—were among the first of the Old Ones’ creations. Fierce. Relentless. Imbued with incredible power, power to rival that of the very gods themselves. They almost brought the universe to an end. There... was a war. The Old Ones knew they had to do something. So they imprisoned them in capsules—like the one the two of you stole—and scattered them across the universe, where it was hoped nobody could ever find them again. That was the last anyone had ever heard. We had thought they were all extinct.’ He paused. ‘That was, until a week ago.’

  My head almost exploded.

  Novamites? Old Ones? Man, just when I was beginning to think things couldn’t possibly get any dumber. Touche, universe. Touche.

  ‘And you? What’s your part in all this?’

  ‘We are the First Men. The Keepers of Man. Charged by the Old Ones to watch over mankind, ensure they do not destroy themselves, like so many others before them. Since the time when this planet was nothing but rock and ocean, we have been here. Watching from the shadows, constantly saving you from yourselves. When the Cuban Missile Crisis happened, we were there. When it looked like Hitler was going to bring humanity to a screeching halt, we were there.’

  Did he just say they killed Hitler? Holy fuck.

  ‘But—wait,’ said Frankie suddenly from beside me. ‘That still doesn’t explain you going around exploding everybody. I thought you wanted to protect us. Exactly how is blowing us into a gazillion pieces supposed to achieve that?’

  Albino Man looked away. I saw something pass over his face. It was only there for a second, but I thought it looked suspiciously like regret. ‘Sometimes saving humanity requires sacrifice. In order to make an omelet, you have to be willing to break a few eggs.’

  ‘These weren’t eggs, you ass. They were people—kids.’

  ‘What would you have us do? Let them go tell all their friends about the extra-terrestrial they found? Can you imagine if the world were to find out about the things that scurry about in the darkness? About the things lurking right beneath their very noses—even now, as we speak? It would be chaos. Anarchy—believe me, I have seen it.’

  I had to admit, he had a point. Not everybody was as well equipped to deal with this sort of thing as Frankie and I were—emotionally speaking, that was.

  Albino Man continued. ‘Listen to me. Both of you. You cannot allow the Naoggrath to feed. If it feeds, it is all over.’ He turned his head suddenly to look at me. ‘We have heard great stories about you, Dan Pratt. You have done humanity a great service—but your journey has only just begun. There is a war coming. Everyone will be seeking the Naoggrath, now. Those who control the Naoggrath, hold the power. The O’tsaris are a barbaric bunch, but at least they kept the other undesirables at bay. You defeated their leader—their king. The balance in the food chain has been disrupted. Now, it will be a free-for-all.’

  He looked me hard in the eye, so hard it made me feel almost naked.

  ‘And I am sure I do not need to tell you what would happen if the O’tsaris were to ever gain possession of the Naoggrath...’

  He didn’t. It would be the end of everything. They’d take over the planet, turn all our bodies into jungle gyms for their bastard offspring to play around in. Tentacles would enter orifices by the thousands—hell, millions—and not in that cool, hentai-way. It would be a nightmare.

  As I contemplated this, Albino Man suddenly pulled free his remaining hand—with very little effort, I noted—and reached into his coat.

  When he pulled it out again, there was another of those truncheon-things in it. Blue flames sparked around the tip like lightning flashes during the world’s smallest electrical storm. I could feel the vibration even from as far away as I stood—a kind of heavy feeling, deep in the gut, like right before that first big drop on a rollercoaster. The taste of battery acid filled the air, tangy and bitter and awful.

  He nodded. ‘So long, Dan Pratt. And good luck—you’re going to need it.’

  He put the truncheon-thing to his neck.

  You’ve probably never seen a man explode before. Ordinarily, it’s about as messy as you’d expect. All that blood, that gore. Really, it’s not that bad. Surprisingly, Hollywood has prepared us quite well with regards to how to cope in the event one of our fellow citizens decides to up and pop right next to us.

  Unfortunately for us, however, this was no ordinary suicide-by-kaboom.

  Instead of showering us in his gore, we were instead enveloped in a cloud of what could only be described as “albino dust”. If this sounds like a better deal to you than a bucketload of blood and flesh, that’s only because you couldn’t smell it. Jesus, Cloud Albino Man stank. Like egg and shit and sewage and death, all rolled up inside one horrendous dog-fart. And it was everywhere. Over our clothes, our faces—in our mouths. I’d have a taken a blood showering over that stench any day.

  ‘What the dick?!’ cried Frankie, once the dust had settled. He waved a hand in front of his face, coughing. ‘What the hell just happened?!’

  ‘I think he exploded himself,’ I said.

  ‘Jesus, another one? Seriously, I’m starting to think it’s us, Dan.’

  I didn’t answer.

  It was happening again. The retardation. I could feel it closing in around me, smothering me like an overzealous child’s hand around a frightened mouse. Despite my best efforts, the God of Retarded Things had found me, and now his slow ruination of me would resume, and would keep resuming, until I was nothing but a bloodied, beaten bundle of man on the sidewalk. Songs would be sung of my tragic, retarded life for centuries to come, and they would all be too loud and off-key, in registers not even dogs would be able to tolerate.

  This... this was my destiny.

  ‘Why’d you think he did it?’ said Frankie.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, he won’t be causing anybody any grief now.’ He thought about it. ‘I guess you could say he’s harmless...’

  We observed the couch a while.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ said Frankie. ‘I mean, if this thing really is as dangerous to all humanity as Mr Explodey over here says it is, we need to start looking for it, Dan. Like, right now.’

  I shook my head. Not because he was wrong, of course, but because if what the late Albino Man had said was true, that would mean this whole thing was way bigger than us. We were in over our heads—which was not exactly an unfamiliar position for us, true, but that still didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. But more than that, I just really, really didn’t want to get involved anymore than we already were.

  Because I wasn’t a hero—hell, I wasn’t even a sidekick. I was the innocent bystander, watching the superheroes duke it out from the sidelines, but who somehow still manages to get fucking decapitated or whatever because of, you know, “reasons”. Even at my very best, I was collateral damage. And I was fine with it. Every war has casualties. The most someone in my position c
an hope for nowadays is a quick death.

  I blinked as sudden inspiration struck. ‘Wait—let’s call Kinsey!’

  ‘The president?’

  ‘Sure—why not? Isn’t this sort of thing his problem now, anyway?’

  He thought it over. ‘You know what, Dan? You might be onto something there.’

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. A second later, he raised it to his ear.

  I frowned. ‘You have the president on speed dial?’

  ‘Sure—don’t you?’

  ‘Of course...’

  I did not.

  I paced whilst Frankie did his thing. ‘Well?’ I said, a couple minutes later. ‘What did he say?’

  Maybe he’d send the army, or something. Surely the military would be better at finding extra-terrestrials than we were. Didn’t they have a division for that, or something?

  Frankie shook his head. ‘That was his secretary. She, uh... said she’d have me arrested if I didn’t stop, and I quote, “being weird”.’

  Balls.

  ‘Well... what about Chuck?’

  Chuck Norris. As in the Chuck Norris. Like with the president, we’d met during the whole Belmont Grove-thing. We’d actually become pretty close. Yeah, we have cool friends.

  Frankie shook his head. ‘No good. He’s in Bermuda, shooting a movie. Something about mermaids, if I recall.’

  I looked down at the floor.

  We were on our own.

  Frankie shot me a glance. ‘We could always call—well, you know...’

  I shook my head. ‘Uh-uh. No way. Absolutely not.’

  ‘She is a lot braver than us, Dan. And smarter.’ He thought it over. ‘And tougher.’

  ‘We’re not calling Abby, Frankie. I’ve spent too much time getting her away from all that crap, only to pull her back into it again. The answer’s no.’

  And besides, she’s got her own problems to deal with right now.

  ‘So what are you saying? You want to go look for this thing, after all?’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I’ll admit, I had my reservations in the beginning. But you’ve really talked me around, Dan. When do we start?’

  I noted the gleeful look in his eye again.

  Balls.

  SIX

  WE TOOK A MOMENT to go over provisions before heading out in pursuit of the alien monkey-thing. I say “provisions”. Really, they were just things Frankie had put aside in the event something terrible and ridiculous happened again—à la now.

  Salt. Beer. One of those portable, hand-held vacuum cleaners, for some reason. Eleven dollars in change, wrapped up in a dirty Hello Kitty sock—and that was just the normal stuff.

  ‘Check this out,’ he’d told me, before dragging me into his bedroom.

  They’d been in a little wooden trunk, sitting at the foot of his bed.

  Swords. Battle-axes. Maces. What may or may not have been one of those toy lightsabers you can pick up off Amazon for like twenty bucks—you know, with the lights?

  Somebody had evidently been preparing themselves for just such an occasion.

  Then, just as we were piling out the door, my cell beeped.

  I groaned.

  Oh, man, not now.

  ‘Who is it?’ said Frankie.

  ‘The guy. You know—the blackmailer dude.’

  ‘Chang?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I stared down at the screen in dismay. With all the stuff that had happened recently, I’d completely forgotten about him.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ said Frankie.

  ‘He wants to meet.’

  ‘Right now?’

  I shrugged. ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  It was a good question. Acquiring the monkey-thing was clearly the priority here, what with the fate of the world hanging in the balance and all. But if I didn’t go meet with Chang, he’d go tell the cops about the whole Mr Stewart thing. Then I’d go to prison. Forever. And I was far too androgynous-looking to go to prison. Jesus, I’d be like one of Jennifer Lawrence’s nude pics, passed around from man to man, faster than a goddamn STI. They’d rip me to pieces.

  Can a man drown from ingesting too much semen? What would you even call that?

  I shook my head.

  Either way, I was still screwed.

  I sighed. ‘Fuck it. Split up. I’ll meet up with you once I’ve dealt with Chang.’

  ‘You sure?’ said Frankie, frowning. ‘I mean, not to be a dick about it or anything, but the fate of humanity is kind of hanging in the balance, here.’

  Spermicide? No, that’s already a thing. Rapeicide...?

  I shuddered. ‘I’m sure. Besides, I’ll be quick. I won’t be long.’

  He sighed. ‘Well, all right—but don’t come crying to me if I’ve got this whole thing wrapped up by the time you finish blowing this guy or whatever.’

  I sensed overconfidence on Frankie’s part.

  He thrust out a hand. ‘Okay—put her in.’

  I stared at his hand like there was a dick and balls hanging from it. ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Come on, Dan! Where’s your team spirit? Besides, we both might die tonight; we may never have another opportunity.’ Before I could object any further, he suddenly grabbed my hand, placed it over his. ‘Ready? On three. One, two, three—GOOOOOOOOO DUCKS!’

  I squinted at him. ‘You worry me—you know that, don’t you?’

  He grinned. ‘Yeah.’

  And so we split up, Frankie setting off after the alien monkey-thing, whilst I set off to my long-overdue meeting with the one and only Wesley Chang.

  Things only got worse from there.

  ***

  So I drove. Across town. In the snow. In a car that would have struggled on a clear, sunny day, never mind the middle of winter.

  It was a treacherous drive. The Accord’s wheels slipped and caught constantly on the icy sludge, every once in a while causing the back end to slide out and damn near giving me a heart attack. Wipers worked frantically to clear the snow accumulating on the windshield, like a fisherman desperately tossing water from his quickly sinking boat. It’s a miracle there weren’t many other cars out on the road tonight, as somebody could have gotten seriously hurt—namely me. Every corner was a near death experience, my life flashing before my eyes so many times I could have walked you through it frame by frame.

  As I drove, I took in all the whiteness. Like a white sheet had been thrown over the city. I couldn’t remember the last time it had snowed this hard. True, it wasn’t quite the white-out the fear-mongering weather broadcasters had promised (at least, not yet), but it was still enough to make my butthole quiver—not that that took a lot, exactly. But you know what I mean.

  I thought about what Albino Man had told us. About this “Naoggrath”, or Novamite, or whatever the hell it was called. About the First Men, and these supposed “Old Ones”—whose existence I couldn’t even begin to contemplate. And of course, about those “other things” supposedly out there somewhere, who would no doubt be looking for this alien monkey-bastard right at this very moment.

  Mostly, though, I thought about Abby, how she was doing. I’ve never been what you might call an “overly sentimental” guy, but now, with humanity once more hanging in the balance, I couldn’t help but miss her—her, and her kung fu.

  It was a little after 10:00pm when the Accord’s headlights finally flashed over Chang’s place.

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, Chang’s residence was a shady-looking trailer park across town, in what could have been considered one of Amerstow’s “poorer” neighbourhoods.

  It was pretty much exactly what you’d expect. Trailers. Trucks. Mean-looking dogs with saliva conditions, tied up outside the front of people’s properties on too-thin ropes. People arguing. Babies crying. Trash fucking everywhere.

  Now, I’m not saying for certain this was where all of Amerstow’s meth and heroin was manufactured, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  I pulled
up outside the number Chang had given me and immediately switched off the engine.

  I stared through the windshield at it.

  Chang’s trailer was like a time machine from the future. All tin, raised up off the ground on what looked like stacked cinder-blocks. Somewhere close-by I could hear what sounded like the thrum of working generators, though I couldn’t see any.

  Pulling the collar of my jacket tighter around myself, I dragged my feet up the steps and gently rapped on the door.

  Chang answered on the fourth knock.

  ‘Mr Pratt! What a surprise! Please, come in! Come in!’

  He looked even greasier than last time I’d seen him. Like he’d just taken a bath in the stuff. I noticed he was still wearing the same clothes from our meeting the other day. Same cargo pants. Same stained Ramones T-shirt. True, he could have just washed them and put them on again. I didn’t think that was the case, however.

  I followed him inside into a trailer covered head-to-toe with a vast collection of what looked to be anti-establishment paraphernalia—and not just your average anti-establishment paraphernalia, either. Your fucking Che Guevara poster, or whatever. I’m talking hardcore paraphernalia here. Posters with declarations like DEATH TO CAPITALISM! and KILL THE PIGS!, with pictures of various world leaders below, their heads replaced with those of pigs.

  Well somebody had a happy childhood...

  He led me over to a table positioned at the trailer’s front. It wasn’t your ordinary dinner table, I noted, but rather a desk, like something you’d have in a study. Loose sheets of paper lay spread all along its length in untidy piles, boasting more anti-government propaganda. I registered the position of the chairs—mine on one side, his on the other.

  I almost laughed.

  He’s turned the place into his very own office.

  ‘Please—won’t you have a seat?’ he said, gesturing at the chair in front of me.

  I should also mention the place was almost unnaturally dirty. Like it was so dirty, it broke some kind of natural law, or something. Empty fast-food boxes, plates with old, rotting food still on them—a whole bunch of empty Diet Coke bottles for some reason, all stacked together in the corner like a kind of poor man’s bowling-pin set. It was startling. I didn’t know how a person could live in such a place without contracting some kind of fatal disease—not that my apartment was exactly spotless, of course, but at least mine wasn’t going to kill you.