Dan and Frankie and the End of Everything

by Richard Langridge

  I stared.

  How the fuck is he even holding that thing? Do bunny rabbits even have opposable thumbs?

  ‘NOW!’

  We stepped forward, hands still raised high, my stomach cramping against the crippling retardation now coursing through it like wildfire.

  The heavily armed talking bunny rabbit looked over our shoulders at the chair. ‘Charlize? Did they hurt you, baby?’

  Nothing from the doll. Just the stiff crackle-pop of the fire.

  He turned back to us. ‘I swear, if you’ve hurt her—’

  Frankie held out his hands. ‘Wait—no. You’ve got it all wrong. We’re not your enemy. Your friend sent us. You’re A’doy, right?’

  The bunny rabbit frowned—which is a hell of a thing to see a bunny rabbit do, by the way.

  ‘How do you know that name?’ he said.

  ‘Your friend—the burrito guy? He sent us.’

  A look of confusion from Mr Rabbit.

  I said, ‘Uh... trench coat? Looks kind of like a young MacGyver, only not really?’

  He blinked. ‘Mr G?’

  Mr G?

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine. He’s in the trunk.’ I heard how it sounded. ‘I mean, sure, he did get shot, but—’

  The talking bunny rabbit stared back and forth between us. ‘Who are you?’

  Before I could stop him, Frankie said, ‘Well, on a biological level, I guess you could say we’re mostly just carbon, though I should probably mention—’

  I cut him off. ‘Look, my name’s Dan. This is Frankie. We’re not actually as big a pair of dumbasses as you’re probably thinking right now.’

  Oh, that’s right, Dan. Lie to the guy. Way to start a relationship.

  Rabbit Dude’s face changed. The revolver he’d been pointing steadily at our crotch regions fell suddenly to the floor with a heavy clunk.

  ‘You’re Dan Pratt?’ he said.

  There was no mistaking the awe in his voice.

  ‘Um...’

  He raised a paw to the air. ‘It’s okay, everyone—you can come out now.’

  Before I could ask exactly who it was he was talking to, bodies began to emerge from out of the shadows around us. Big bodies, little bodies. Fat and thin bodies. Bodies wearing clothes, others, unfortunately, not so much. I’d like to tell you they were all human, but really that would have been a lie.

  I gawped at one standing by the wood burner, a trunk-like appendage hanging from his chin like a length of taffy.

  Jesus, is that a tentacle, or—?

  I stiffened.

  OH GOD.

  A’doy gestured with his furry little rabbit’s paw. ‘Come. We have much to talk about, and very little time.’ He jumped up onto the shoulder of a guy with a nut-sack-looking appendage for a nose. ‘Come.’

  They walked towards the front door, the rag-tag gaggle of non-humans following quickly behind them.

  Frankie and I looked at each other.

  Oh god. The retardation. I can hardly move. Is this really happening?

  We followed.

  ***

  Forty minutes later, and I was sitting back on the Impala’s front seat, thinking about lemmings.

  Remember that old myth about how lemmings will occasionally get together to perform mass suicide by one-by-one leaping to their deaths?

  Well, turns out that’s only half true. Rather than an urgent desire to off themselves, recent studies have determined it’s actually part of some deep-seated migratory behaviour. Supposedly they have these “strong biological urges”, urges that are apparently so strong that not even the prospect of a nasty death-by-kersplat is enough to stop them.

  And that was how I felt then, sitting in the driver’s seat of a car that was not my own—like a small animal led by forces it does not understand, into a situation that simply cannot end well for it.

  The universe is a cruel, cruel place.

  We stepped out of the Impala and onto the sidewalk, a fierce wind kicking up around us and making our clothes dance.

  We had followed A’doy and his band of not-so-merry men back into town, to a large building I had missed during my initial reconnaissance of the town that I would have sworn was a church, had it not looked so desperately unlike any church I had ever seen before. It was all brick, for one thing, white and flat and glaring like bleached bone, and there wasn’t a sliver of stained glass anywhere I could immediately see—mainly because it had no windows. Also, not that many doors—which had to be a fire hazard, when you really think about it.

  We followed A’doy and his gang up the concrete steps towards the building, Frankie and I sharing more than the occasional nervous glance between us.

  Inside was more like a museum than a church.

  There was shit everywhere. Weird shit—what you might call artefacts, only, again, not like any artefacts you’d have ever probably seen before. Also, actual shit; a great, coiled mound of it, thankfully fossilised (or at least, I hoped it was). Suits of strange-looking armour and machines and trinkets and little round objects—what I could have sworn were actually just Magic 8 balls—filled the space, spread out generously from one side to the other.

  Frankie and I stared around the cavernous room, our mouths open.

  ‘Jesus, would you look at all this stuff, Dan?’ said Frankie. He gave a low whistle. ‘I mean, shit, there’s got to be a bazillion things in here.’

  I thought that was an exaggeration, but whatever.

  ‘Look at that thing!’ he said, pointing to an object hanging on the wall across the room from us—what may or may not have been some kind of extra-terrestrial battle-axe. ‘I bet you could do some serious damage with that thing, am I right?’

  Oh Jesus.

  ‘And are those Pokémon cards?’

  I looked to where it was he was pointing.

  Huh. Look at that. They even have a Charizard.

  Frankie shook his head, his eyes wide and glistening like a kid’s on Christmas morning, only sadder, because this was an adult. ‘What is this magical place, Dan?’

  We followed the posse of weird-looking alien dudes across the vast space, footsteps echoing loudly, taking in more bizarre and obviously alien objects as we walked. Eventually we reached the back of the room, and we stopped.

  I looked around.

  We were in a small alcove, a plinth just inside it, around which a half a dozen or so wooden benches sat. Upon the plinth sat a little black book, not unlike a Bible, but that I had the sneaking suspicion was not.

  A’doy gestured for us to take a seat, and, after a moment’s pause, we did.

  ‘What is this place?’ I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity any longer.

  ‘This—’ said A’doy, hopping down from Nut-sack Face’s shoulder and settling himself into what—I swear—was a La-Z-Boy, ‘—is the Library of Knowledge. The place where we, The Council, seek to remember and honour those who’ve passed.’

  I looked around at the cluster of fucked-up-looking dudes standing around us.

  They didn’t look much like librarians...

  ‘And this place?’ I said, gesturing around. ‘Two Crests? Is everybody here all...’ I tried to think of a polite way to say it, ‘...not from around here?’

  He chuckled. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes—although not in the way you’re probably thinking. Two Crests is in a lot of ways a refuge—a sanctuary, if you will, for any Outerling seeking escape.’ He held his paws to the side and smiled. ‘Despite what you might think, you humans are not the only ones the O’tsaris wish to eliminate.’

  ‘So Two Crests is a, what... a safe house?’ said Frankie.

  A’doy nodded. ‘Indeed. In fact, many of the men and women you see standing around you now came here for just that very purpose—take Craig, for example.’ He gestured at a pretty ordinary-looking dude hovering near the back of the group. Well, I say “ordinary”. He was pretty fat. ‘Step forward, my son. Don’t be shy.’

/>   The walking wall of man known as “Craig” slowly waddled forward, head lowered, multiple chins jiggling.

  ‘The O’tsaris came for you, didn’t they, Craig? Tell our guests,’ said A’doy.

  Craig nodded and rubbed a hand over his neck. ‘We were asleep at the time. Larnie and I—my wife. We had a farm back in those days. Ninety acres. Just cows and sheep, mostly. They must have found out we were there, surrounded us one night. I barely managed to get away.’ He hesitated. ‘Larnie, she, uh...’

  He trailed off a moment as he relived his tragic backstory.

  ‘How did you get away?’ I heard myself ask. I mean, not to be a dick or anything, but I just couldn’t see this guy evading anybody. And not just because of how overly conspicuous he was.

  What he said next surprised me.

  ‘Oh—that was easy. I shot fire out my ass and used the distraction to get away.’ He must have seen the look on my face, because he frowned. ‘It’s a defence mechanism? You know, like how when an octopus...’

  I’m sure he said more, but I’d stopped listening.

  I looked around at Frankie, who I noted now had the biggest, smuggest smile on his face.

  Suppressing a groan, I turned back to A’doy. In all my procrastinating over the Phonies and their evil ways, it had never once occurred to me there might be other people out there somewhere, also casualties of their agenda—not that that made things any easier to swallow, of course, or that these were people. But it was very surprising. I wondered what more I didn’t know, if I would ever get a chance to find out, considering the world was now about to end or whatever.

  I began to ask A’doy this, when—

  There was the sound of doors crashing open from behind us.

  More of A’doy’s group. They were carrying something between them. Some beige shape, one that looked vaguely familiar...

  I blinked.

  Oh, hey, look! It’s Burrito Guy! Burrito Guy’s joined the party!

  They carried him quickly past us, feet dragging on lush carpeting, through a small red door I hadn’t even noticed yet.

  When they were gone, I turned back to A’doy. ‘What will you do with him? Mr G?’

  A’doy shook his head, looking suddenly troubled. ‘We are a community of peace, Dan Pratt. We survive because we remain hidden. Our job is not to intervene in the affairs of Man, but merely to observe.’ He shook his little rabbit head again. ‘Mr G broke the cardinal rule. We will heal him—he is one of our own, after all. But then I’m afraid he will be... excommunicated.’

  I stared. ‘Wait—you’re banishing him?’

  That just seemed overly harsh.

  ‘The matter is out of my hands. He knew what the consequences of his actions would be. He was only supposed to observe and report. The rules must be enforced, Dan Pratt, lest everything collapse into chaos—this is how we have survived through the ages. Not through renegade acts of violence.’

  I stared at the door through which Mr G had vanished. Even if the guy was a Phony, I had to admit, I felt kind of bad for him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t about to break down and cry or anything. But it was still a tough break.

  ‘But why?’ I said. ‘Why do you care what happens to us? What’s it to you?’

  A’doy nodded over our shoulders at the men and women standing behind us. Almost immediately, they began to disperse, disappearing off to do whatever it was they all did here—fucking probe each other, or whatever.

  When they were all gone, the large wood door booming shut behind them, he said, ‘Walk with me.’

  We followed him over to the plinth, where he quickly scaled it, little paws scrambling up it like a squirrel up a tree.

  He flipped open the cover.

  ‘Many years ago, there was a man. Rao’ Tarth, his name was,’ he said, beginning now to flip through pages. ‘He was a great warrior—but also very wise. Some say he could even see the future, though this has never been fully substantiated.’ He shrugged, as if to say—what you gonna do? ‘Either way, it was he who prophesied that the reign of the O’tsaris would one day be ended, not by an Outerling—but by a Human. A Man. That this man would first kill the King of the O’tsaris, before going on to eventually free the rest of the galaxy from their evil clutches.’

  He flipped another page and placed his paw on it.

  I looked down.

  It was the picture of a man, positioned in your typical hero’s pose, shirt ripped, heavily muscled torso just visible between the tears. Like the cover for an ’80s action flick—one nobody would ever want to watch, by the looks of it.

  A’doy turned to look up at me, little black eyes gleaming.

  I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.

  With the dramatic delivery of a seasoned theatre actor (albeit a very short one), he said, ‘We believe that man is you, Dan Pratt.’

  I burst out laughing.

  I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. We were guests, after all. And they had technically saved our lives—whether directly or indirectly. But still—come on.

  That shit was just too funny.

  I laughed for a very long time—much longer than it was funny, anyway. I wondered if I’d finally lost my mind. That would be all I fucking needed.

  ‘Me?’ I said, when the fever had abated.

  ‘You defeated Amonamanon, did you not?’

  Actually, that was more of a group effort...

  ‘But... I’m just a data key entry operator for an insurance firm. What makes you think I’m qualified to—’

  He placed a little paw on my shoulder, stopping me. ‘Listen to me. Over the centuries, do you know how many people have ever stood up to the O’tsaris and survived?’ He waited for me to answer, like I had it fucking written down somewhere or something. He shook his head. ‘None, Dan Pratt. The answer is none. Not a single one. And yet, not only did you stand up to them—you beat them.’ He held my gaze, little black eyes unblinking. ‘I’d say you’re uniquely qualified.’

  I gave a reluctant nod.

  I was very brave...

  But that didn’t change the fact I simply didn’t want to get any more involved than I already was. Some people, they spend their entire lives waiting for that dare-to-be-great situation to swing by and imbue their lives with sudden meaning. Me? I could care less about being a hero. Because seriously, do you have any idea of the kind of life expectancy of somebody like that? Sure, they might seem all badass now, with all their utility belts and gadgets and fucking skin-tight leotards or whatever, but let’s be real, not one of them is ever going to make it into old age—and those are the ones who are actually good at the whole superhero-thing. Hell, even Superman died in the end. And now, what—I was supposed to be everyone’s saviour? Are you fucking kidding me?

  I shook my head.

  Fuck this. This wasn’t my destiny. No way.

  If this was my destiny, I wanted a refund.

  ‘But even if I wanted to stop them,’ I went on, hearing the whining quality to my voice, but unable to stop it. ‘How could I? Boot and her cronies already have the Novamite. Even if we did know what they were planning to do with it—which we don’t—we have no idea where to find them.’

  What he said next caught me off guard.

  ‘We already know what it is Boot and her companions are planning,’ he said. ‘It’s the same thing they’re always planning, of course.’ He waited for me to fill in the blanks again. When I didn’t, he frowned. ‘Open a doorway into the Neverwas? To bring Her through?’ He caught the look on my face. ‘You really don’t know anything, do you?’

  That’s what I’ve been saying! Why doesn’t anybody ever listen to me?!

  He hopped down.

  ‘She goes by many names. Nidreth. Khavhu. Yithyla. An evil so vast, so very... evil, not even the Old Ones were willing to stand up to Her. So instead they banished Her to the Neverwas—what you might know as the Deep Dark—where it was hoped all memory of Her would fade from existence.’ He shook his little
rabbit head. ‘Only, as would turn out, evil of that calibre does not simply “vanish”. Evil bleeds through. Whenever a mother drowns her infant child in the bath, that is Her will. Whenever a man kills another man out of passion, that is Her. Her influence seeping through. Black blood spreading through a clear body of water, darkening every inch it claims.’

  I blinked as the obvious finally dawned. ‘ “Her”? Wait—are you talking about the Queen?’

  In case I haven’t mentioned it already, the Phonies have a hierarchy similar to that of bees. See, you have your drones—which are pretty much your normal, everyday Phonies. On top of that, each region also has a “King”, whose job it is—from what I understand—to coordinate the Phonies’ efforts in the Queen’s stead. Then of course, there’s the Queen herself, who is harder to find than a fart in a hurricane. I was pretty sure she was just a myth at this point.

  From beside me, Frankie said, ‘So, wait—you’re saying the Phonies aren’t alien, after all?’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, man, what a twist. And after all this time, too. I’m just so surprised, Dan. Seriously, I am numb with shock right now.’

  Well, at least that explains why nobody’s ever been able to find Her—She’s in another goddamn dimension.

  ‘So the Phonies that are here now, already, they’re like, what—the advance party?’ I said. ‘Making the necessary preparations in order for them to bring their queen through?’

  He nodded. ‘That is their MO, yes. Infiltrate the population, acquire the leading positions of authority. Only then would they ever risk bringing Her through.’

  ‘And what happens then?’

  ‘Let’s just say there is a reason She is known as “The Eater of Worlds”.’

  Oh.

  He quit pacing and turned to me. ‘Boot and her companions must be stopped. If a doorway to the Neverwas were ever to be opened, it would mean not only the end of this universe, but all universes. Do you understand? We’re talking the end of all existence. Like a brisk hand, sweeping all the chess pieces off the board in a single swipe.’

  Frankie gasped. ‘A touchdown...’

  I decided not to comment.

  We reached the huge front doors and stepped out once again into the blistering cold where the rest of A’doy’s gang now stood waiting—though there were others standing with them now too, I noticed. People from the diner, their human disguises now all shed, exposing how they all really looked—which, to be honest, wasn’t that great. Among them I spotted the waitress who had attempted to serve us earlier before disappearing off to go cry in a backroom or whatever, saw she had cat’s eyes and what looked like an extra arm protruding out from her belly button. Not gonna lie, it was pretty gross.