Dan and Frankie and the End of Everything

by Richard Langridge

  I stood there, frozen on the snow, unable to do anything but watch in horrid fascination as everything suddenly went to hell around me. Soldiers opened fire on Phonies as Phonies whipped their mouth-tentacles at other creatures, who in turn then clawed/stabbed/bit at the soldiers. It was a cyclical sort of affair, really.

  A creature with long, spindly legs like a spider, only made out of what looked like bone, pounced on a soldier a few feet away from me, bone-legs punching holes in him with the frantic energy of a pneumatic drill.

  I locked eyes with another creature through the chaos; this one tall, dressed in a black, tattered robe, with what looked to be—I shit you not—two faces on its head. Then it got closer and I saw that it was indeed two faces, though neither of which looked like his. They were like masks. Poor, shoddy masks, still pouring with blood. Seriously, I don’t know who he thought he was fooling, but it wasn’t very convincing.

  He charged me.

  I’d like to tell you this is the part where I suddenly snapped out of my paralysis, where I summoned all my gusto and performed some tasty-ass kung fu and kicked his dick off or whatever—but I didn’t. I just stood there instead, completely motionless, snow collecting in my hair like dandruff.

  The shaggy-looking face-burglar bore down on me, dagger-fingers raised high in the air, screaming like a man having just caught his testicles in a car door. Oh yeah, he had dagger-fingers too—did I mention that? Go figure.

  He drew back his hands, now only feet away, still shrieking that god-awful sound—

  VROOM.

  There was a sudden flash of something hard and glowing right in front of my eyes.

  Face-burglar stopped charging me.

  He looked down at the ground instead.

  I followed his gaze, turning just in time to witness Face-burglar’s hands flop to the deck, dagger-fingers still extended and reaching for my neck.

  For some reason I found this very confusing.

  I blinked.

  What the—?

  ‘HA-HA! YOU LIKE THAT, HMM?’ cried a voice from directly beside me.

  I turned.

  Frankie.

  He spun the futuristic battle-axe, the blade whish-whooshing in the air directly in front of him and nearly cutting his own goddamn head off. ‘CONSIDER YOUSELF HANDICAPPED, BITCH!’

  I grabbed his arm. ‘Come on!’

  I dragged him over behind another stack of copper tubing and bent low.

  I peeked over the top.

  It was fucking pandemonium out there. God, all those severed limbs. Like an explosion at a mannequin factory. All the while, creatures both big and small—and in increasingly disgusting variety—continued to pour out of the Not-Stargate by the dozen.

  I leaned back around. ‘We have to turn that machine off!’

  Frankie nodded. ‘I hear you. Let me just go clear you a path—’

  I grabbed his arm again.

  ‘Would you quit with the Rambo shit already? This is serious. How the hell are we going to get over there?’

  He thought it over a moment. ‘You’re right, Dan. We’re gonna need help on this one.’ Before I knew what he was doing, he suddenly jumped to his feet. ‘YO, G-MAN! SPARE A SECOND?’

  I looked over to where he was shouting, saw Mr G battling with a multi-legged creature comprised of what looked to be human feet. Seriously, just feet everywhere.

  ‘I’M A LITTLE BUSY RIGHT NOW!’ he cried.

  Frankie turned back to me. ‘He says he’s busy.’ He thought about it. ‘Also, that he hates you. I think it's a race-thing.’

  I looked through the crowd for Espinosa. I couldn’t see her. I wondered if she was dead—also, if anybody would notice if Frankie and I suddenly just went home, if we simply said no thanks to all this crazy bullshit and got our pale yet perfectly formed asses the hell out of there. Because that’s what I felt like doing.

  But then, if we left now, Boot and her gang would bring Nidreth or Yithyla or whatever the hell her name was through. Then Earth—and everybody on it—would be destroyed.

  Whether I liked it or not, now might be our one and only chance to stop that from happening.

  Fuck it.

  ‘Cover me!’

  I leapt up from the behind the stack of tubing, not really sure what I was doing but doing it anyway.

  I ran. Frankie at my side, swinging the battle-axe that may or may not have been from the future in a fashion that would have been irresponsible had we not been hoping to cause as much bodily harm as possible. Random muzzle-flashes punctuated the night, bright and dazzling, even under the glare from the floodlights. Men screaming. Creatures hissing and shrieking and, in some cases, cursing.

  We dodged thrashing limbs and tentacles and made a beeline for the generator, Frankie screaming gallantly as he swung the battle-axe around, drawing more attention than anything else.

  I went to jump over a torso—

  I slipped on the bloody sludge and went down face-first, burying my head straight up a dead soldier’s ass.

  I frantically pushed myself up—

  A naked, cackling man ran past my field of vision, flaccid penis slapping furiously against his thighs.

  Christ, war is hell.

  ‘Dan!’

  I shot a look back over my shoulder, saw Frankie wrestling with one of the Gimp-beasts, which had bitten onto the battle-axe’s handle and was subsequently refusing to let go—and in general just being a total dick.

  I made to go to them, but Frankie shook his head.

  ‘No! Just turn it off! We’re running out of time!’

  ‘But—what about you?’ I cried.

  ‘I’ll be fine! Just go! Hurry!’ He turned his attention back to the Gimp-beast. ‘All right, dick-bag—prepare to learn what your own junk tastes like!’

  I decided he would be fine.

  Spinning on the spot, I continued on towards the generator, more gunfire popping all around me.

  I finally reached it, yanked the lever—

  Nothing.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  I tried again.

  Still nothing. It was like it had fused in place, or something.

  Sudden noise from my right caused me to turn around.

  Two Faceless Men, sprinting towards my position, faces, still, like poorly forged Picasso paintings.

  I froze, remembering suddenly how vulnerable and exposed I was—even more so since Frankie had become indisposed. Hell, I didn’t even have a weapon—which, looking back now, just seemed like one hell of an oversight.

  Are you sure you don’t have a weapon, Dan? Think hard now.

  I blinked as the obvious occurred to me.

  Hands pawing at my jacket, I pulled out Mr G’s faux pistol.

  I pointed it at one of the men and squeezed my finger in the place where the trigger would have been, not really expecting it to work—

  And it didn’t.

  So that was fucking disappointing.

  Then I remembered.

  The magic words! You didn’t say the magic words, asshole!

  I raised it again.

  ‘Pew?’

  The man on the left immediately hit the dirt, gripping his balls and wailing.

  Huh.

  I turned on the other faceless fuck-bag.

  ‘Pew-pew-pew!’

  He flopped face-first onto the snow.

  I stared down at the little pistol in my hand, amazed.

  Well I’ll be a sonofabitch…

  ‘Dan!’ cried Frankie.

  Oh—right.

  I turned back to the console, wondering if I should try shooting at it instead—

  Something small and hard suddenly crashed into me, taking me off my feet and spilling me over onto the snow. The “gun” in my hand went flying up into the air.

  Winded, I looked up.

  I groaned.

  It was Boot.

  ‘This is all your fault!’ she cried, her words barely audible through all the tentacles fighting for space in h
er mouth.

  I blinked. ‘What? My fault?’

  That just felt a little unfair.

  ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen!’ she went on, hands at my throat, nails digging at my Adam’s apple like she wanted to tear the fucking thing clean off—which she probably did. ‘SHE was meant to come through!’

  I gasped as I was suddenly lifted off the snow.

  ‘THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, KINGSLAYER!’

  She began to carry me backwards, my shoes brushing the frozen ground as I fought to breathe.

  Lights appeared in my vision, like a thousand exploding suns. It occurred to me I was about to pass out.

  Then I realised where it was she was taking me, and—

  Reality snapped suddenly back into view.

  I stiffened.

  The Not-Stargate! She’s taking you towards the Not-Stargate, Dan!

  I tried to speak, to plead. I didn’t want to go through the Not-Stargate—for reasons I should not have to elaborate on at this point, and not just because that was where all the monsters came from.

  She dragged me towards the wall of blackness.

  So close, now. So close I could feel the pull of it, the bad gravity, attempting to suck me in and gobble me up whole like some hungry giant.

  ‘Wait—!’

  Sudden darkness enveloped me as my head was shoved suddenly through the doorway.

  And then I saw... things. Awful, indescribable things, things I still dream about to this very day, the things that fuel my nightmares.

  It was only for a second, but felt like much longer.

  Then before I knew it I was being pulled back through the Not-Stargate, squinting against sudden, dazzling light in my face.

  I blinked. I was very confused.

  Then I heard a scream, and turned, realising the second my eyes fell on them why I was no longer being fed headfirst into Hell.

  The Not-bear reared back on its hind legs, still with a clump of Boot’s arm in its mouth. Seriously, I could see digits and everything.

  The bear! The bear saved you!

  Whether or not this was the case, I wasn’t sure. I still wasn’t going to be friends with it, though.

  From the snow a few yards away, Boot glared furiously. ‘You dick! You’re supposed to kill him!’

  The bear turned to look at me.

  The two of us locked eyes.

  And then something passed between us. Some knowledge, of mutual respect and appreciation. The acknowledgement of one majestic beast towards another—or, you know, so I was guessing.

  Ordinarily this is the part where it would descend upon me like fat kid on a Tootsie Roll, tear my body to ribbons like Hulk Hogan with a telephone book before shoving me hard and deep into its gullet.

  Instead, it gave a subtle nod, before quickly turning and waddling off in the opposite direction, furry ass wagging in the snow.

  I didn’t wait around.

  Seizing the opportunity, I sprinted over to where Boot lay spread-eagled on the snow and kicked her directly in the crotch.

  Look, I’m not proud of it, okay? It’s not like I wanted to kick her in the vagina or anything. But if we ever want true equality, these are the sorts of sacrifices that are going to have to be made. And besides, she may have just ended the world. She kind of deserved it.

  Boot cried, ‘OOF!’ and rolled over on the snow, pawing at her lady parts with her one remaining arm.

  She glared round at me. ‘SERIOUSLY?!’

  I grabbed her foot.

  ‘Wait—what are you doing?’

  I began to drag her towards the Not-Stargate. ‘You want to meet your queen so bad?’

  Her eyes quit glowing as it suddenly dawned on her exactly what it was I was about to do.

  She thrashed.

  ‘No—you can’t! You mustn’t! I am the King—!’

  I snatched her up by the hood of her Korn hoodie, pulling her to her feet.

  I spun her around.

  ‘THEN GO BE WITH HER!’

  I pushed her through the doorway.

  Boot screamed, tentacles flying out to whip at me, but it was too late. She reached out with her one remaining arm, trying to grab something, anything, to keep from going through.

  Then the darkness swallowed her, her scream cutting off instantly like a stereo after a power-cut.

  Not waiting for a moment, I turned back to the crowd—who I noticed had all now stopped fighting and were staring at me, open-mouthed (or its equivalent), at the unthinkable thing I had just done to their kin—and, as in many cases, their leader.

  ‘Frankie!’

  But he was already on the move.

  With a cry far more dramatic than was realistically necessary, he raised the battle-axe up high.

  And then, as everybody standing atop Devil’s Spire watched, he brought it down on the console upon which the lever resided.

  There was a flash of light and shriek of metal as the futuristic battle-axe sunk through it, sparks flying fucking everywhere and reminding me, for some reason, of fireworks.

  The hieroglyphs on the Not-Stargate went suddenly dark.

  The high-pitched whirring from whichever machine currently powering it quickly faded.

  I turned my attention back towards the black hole.

  In the short few seconds before the thing blinked out of existence, I thought I saw rippling across its surface—like someone trying desperately to get through from the other side. An impression of hands—or, should I say, a hand—pawing at it, frantically trying to break back through.

  Then, with a snap like a rubber band breaking—

  The black hole vanished.

  I turned back to the crowd.

  Almost immediately, the remaining creatures began to disperse—Phonies and abominations alike—fleeing into the snowstorm. I didn’t go after them. I know I probably should have. But what do you want me to say? I was exhausted.

  I stepped back over to the others.

  ‘Well,’ I said, brushing down my jacket with my hands. ‘Guess that’s over.’

  Mr G nodded. He looked like hell. There were blood-flecks all over his trench coat, and his hair was a mess. He also had what looked like footprints on his face for some reason. So that was weird.

  ‘We did it. We won—you won, Kingslayer.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. I rocked.

  From somewhere behind us, a woman’s voice suddenly shouted, ‘Umm—a little help here, please?’

  I stiffened.

  Espinosa. Shit.

  We hurried over to where she lay on the snow, pinned beneath one of the Gimp-beasts and looking very, very unhappy about it. Like Mr G, she was also covered in blood.

  We freed her and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Mr G.

  She shot him a look like that was about the most stupid thing she’d ever heard, then sighed. ‘Guess I’ll live.’ She turned towards me. ‘Is it over? Did we win?’

  I nodded.

  She scoffed. ‘Well—I’ll be damned.’ She looked around at all the dead bodies littering the ground. ‘Not sure how I’m going to explain this to my superiors, though...’

  I frowned as a thought occurred to me.

  ‘Hey, where’s Frankie?’

  It was then I heard it—a scratching, like metal on metal, coming from somewhere back over by the Not-Stargate.

  I turned that way.

  Frankie. At the iron lung-thing.

  Gizmo!

  Feet dancing over sprawled bodies and limbs, we hurried over to where he was standing, fingers pawing frantically at the lid.

  ‘Help me!’ he cried.

  I grabbed the other end and heaved, but it was no good. My fingers were frozen, and the thing was locked down tight. No way we were getting it open.

  From beside me, Mr G said, ‘Get out of the way!’ and gripped the lid in both hands.

  The steel coffin-lid came away with an ungodly shriek, flying up into the air and vanishing into the wind.

&
nbsp; Immediately, Frankie reached into the coffin, began pulling at plugs and bits of wiring as he fought desperately to free the little guy from his restraints.

  He took Gizmo in his arms, cradling him like a baby, using his jacket to shield him from the wind and snow.

  The little guy looked awful. Face all waxy and pale. He could barely keep his eyes open.

  Frankie frowned. ‘He’s so cold.’

  Mr G nodded. ‘He’s been drained of his life force. His essence. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.’

  ‘So what do we do? How do we save him?’

  Mr G hesitated.

  I knew what he was thinking. Even though it wasn’t his fault, Gizmo was a liability. As long as he was alive, there would be people trying to seek him out, to gain his power. And as long as that was the case, the people of Earth would never be safe. A wildcard if ever there was one.

  Frankie shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. No way. We’re not just letting him die. The fuck’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr G. ‘I wish there was some other way.’

  I looked up suddenly as a thought occurred to me.

  ‘Actually, guys... I think I might have an idea.’

  FIFTEEN

  They met us at the turn-off, a good few hours later—a couple dozen of them, all dressed in matching fur coats and bobble-hats.

  It was still snowing pretty hard by this point, though not nearly as hard as it had been—which was a good thing really, as we probably wouldn’t have been able to make the journey at all, had the opposite been true.

  We stepped out of the Impala and into the raging wind, Frankie still cradling Gizmo in his arms like a baby, having refused to let anybody else hold him the entire car journey. I’m not sure whether he thought we might suddenly throw him out the car window or something, or if he was simply savouring what little time he had left with the guy. Either way, he was not letting that little dude go for anything.

  As we approached, one of the men stepped forward from the crowd. It was Nut-sack Face. On his shoulder sat a windswept A’doy, looking, unfortunately, the exact same amount of rabbit as the last time I’d seen him.

  It had taken a lot of talking-around before he’d finally agreed to take Gizmo off of our hands. Mostly, I knew, because of their whole hands-off approach with regards to anything even slightly mankind-related. But after I had made the point that, had we failed, him and his little town would have been destroyed too, he had eventually come around to the opinion that he at the very least owed me one—a debt I was collecting now.