Pending Apocalypse with Accompanying Paperwork
By Tara Cameron
She could smell him the moment he walked through the door, a dusty smell of old rot with just a hint of sulfur. Something moldy this way comes, Trine thought with a small smile as she sat staring at the tiny paper umbrella, a blue one with little red flowers, spinning lazily in the brightly-coloured concoction Barney, owner and operator of Barney’s Barnacle, had placed on the bar in front of her little more than half an hour before. The immensely tall completely bald stranger walked up to the bar, expensive grey pinstripe and genuine leather from head to toe and motioned for Barney’s attention. Trine continued watching the slowly revolving paper umbrella without pause as the suit ordered and found himself a seat at her back.
She knew what he was immediately, could scent it as he passed by on his way to the empty two-seater, Syndicate. An imperceptible tense of Trine’s shoulders was the only outward acknowledgement of his presence as she waited for him to make a move that she only half-heartedly expected and never materialized. She hadn’t truly believed he was there for her, but doubted it was just coincidence that brought them both to the same dingy roadhouse in the middle of nowhere. With nothing but dusty nothing in either direction for miles, no one came to Barney’s rundown little outhouse for the ambience. Trine smiled as the umbrella finally came to a halt in the nearly empty glass, their plan was indeed in motion, and from the appearance of the Syndicate, going better than they could have hoped.
Just as Barney came shuffling toward her from the other side of the bar, asking if she wanted a refill by way of pointing one gnarled finger at the empty glass and then her, the tiny bell rang again indicating another new customer. With no umbrella to watch, Trine turned to see Sara come striding toward her, the buckles of her big black boots clinking as the thick soles made a small sticking sound every time they lifted off the filthy floor.
“You drag me to the nicest shitholes, Trinnie dear. Can’t wait to see where we go for our anniversary. I mean is there a dumpster anywhere on this shit-covered little rock that could top the rat-infested roadkill’s asshole that is Barney’s Barnacle?”
Trine smiled at her partner’s colourful vernacular as Barney set the new umbrella down in place of the old one, this one red with tiny yellow flowers, before abruptly turning to leave without taking Sara’s order. Trine watched him shuffle off toward the far end of the dull patchwork bar, a deep scowl on his weathered face, before turning her attention back to the dark leather-clad beauty that was taking the stool next to her.
“I think you may have offended the poor man, sweetheart. I fear it may be awhile before you see your thirst quenched.”
Trine grinned as Sara winked at her and reached for the fresh umbrella, pinching it between her thumb and finger, flicking it toward Barney’s hunched back before throwing him the bird for good measure.
“I don’t really see that being an issue, my love.”
“You know his third eye saw that right?”
Sara gave her another wink before downing the disgusting fruity beverage in just a few gulps and replacing the empty glass. Outwardly it was their usual banter, telepathically it was a different story. Sara, always the professional, got right down to the business at hand.
So, any word?
Last sighting was two days ago. Not far from here. You?
Trail of bodies, no more than a day old.
Where?
Barney returned, scowl still firmly in place and set down another replacement, sans umbrella. He made a point of emphatically glaring at Sara before turning in a huff and leaving, still without taking her order. Sara smirked at his retreating hunchback before making a grab for the bright pink umbrella-less mixture, although Trine noticed her partner refrained from anymore obscene gestures.
‘Bout fifty miles out. When did the suit arrive?
Not long before you.
How many does that make?
A handful, at least. The three in the back, playing pool, and the couple in the corner are unknowns. The suit is Syndicate, probably here for the same reason we are. The one next to you and the one in the both by the couple, hunters of some description. The one next to me as well, I think? All in all, better turnout than we expected.
Sara nodded as she finished the last of Trine’s drink and set it down, taking the moment to give a glance around the dimly lit bar. With a keen eye and low profile, she took stock of the ragtag assortment of patrons gathered at the Barnacle, paying close attention to the young couple snuggled in a booth in the far corner and the trio of rather burly men brandishing pool cues gathered near the back.
Trine waited patiently for Sara to finish scanning the minds in the room, a skill her raven-haired partner was much more adept at. Meanwhile Trine attempted to flag down the obstinate, and obviously still miffed, bartender.
You really do need to practice, my darling dear.
Trine stopped, newly refilled glass halfway to her lips, and raised an eyebrow at the smirk on her partner’s face.
The three beefcakes playing pool are from the local ruling faction, the guy by the door and the dominatrix next to the couple are bounty all the way, the suit is from the Syndicate and he isn’t alone. While he was coming through the front, another suit came through the back wall by the john. And the one on your side is bloody Ministry, Trine.
Eyes widening at the last mention on the list, Trine gave a sideways once-over to the tie and trousers sitting at the far end of the bar sipping one of Barney’s homebrews out of a plain brown bottle, a jacket of almost the same shade of shit-brown sitting on the stool next to him.
Great, that’s a ton of paperwork. And let me guess, the couple are actually Guild.
A smile spread across Sara’s dark angular features and she gave a small but audible laugh.
You won’t believe this. Human, all the way. They’re on their honeymoon. Don’t ask me how, but they saw the sign for Barney’s and stopped for lunch.
Sara gave another small giggle and waggled her slim dark eyebrows at Trine with her usual mischievous look, the silver flecks in her green eyes glowing. Trine knew that look all too well, it meant trouble.
You worry too much, Trinnie dear. The humans are the Ministry’s problem, or the Syndicate’s, all depending. Either way, not ours. The plan is still the same, nothing has changed. And from the looks of the turnout, everything will go exactly the way we wanted.
Trine hadn’t been keen on the plan from the start, she’d wanted something less flashy, having both the Syndicate and the Ministry looking over their shoulders just made it even less appealing than before. She said nothing, instead opting to keep her misgivings to herself and took a long swig from the nearly empty glass. The opportunity to argue had long since passed, if Trine’s calculations were correct, the problem assigned to them would be arriving momentarily.
Just as Barney began shuffling back down the bar toward them, presumably to refill the empty glass, two things occurred simultaneously that caused the hair on the back of Trine’s neck to stand at attention. The first was the sound of the front door crashing into the thin wall of the bar giving off a loud crack, followed immediately by the temperature in the room dropping a good thirty degrees if the gooseflesh already appearing on Trine’s arm was any indication. Their problem had arrived, and right on time as far as she could see of the grimy clock affixed to the wall above the bar, Mickey’s second hand was a bit hard to see through the grit.
How about we admire your exceptional mathematical skill later? I believe our date has arrived.
The screaming began as a high-pitched keening, bouncing off the inside of Trine’s skull, before any audible sound was made in the bar. Then all at once the dance began, the previously subdued room filling with noise and movement. The most popular dance card at the ball, the cold stranger standing in silhouette in the open doorway.
The first to bow and offer their hand, the bounty hunter sitting closest to the door, just a few stools down from Sara. Giving the wooden stool a good heave off the rickety bar with the steel-tipped toe of his dusty boot, causing a shudder to run its length, the cowboy hat and floor-length duster pulled out a pair of sleek silver oversized handguns of a make Trine was unfamiliar with.
Those are some beautiful pieces. Silver inlay, I think. Maybe even white gold.
Beautiful craftsmanship. Looks like Orion’s work. I have been meaning to drop in on him, what with your birthday coming up.
Trine took a sip of her new drink, finally sporting a new green umbrella with little purple flowers, as the shots froze feet from their target and fell to the tacky barroom floor. The next to meet a pasty end was the owner of the gleaming toys, freezing in place just as the barstool ceased spinning a few feet away. The sound of him shattering as he hit the floor was much louder than the two tiny bullets. Barney appeared, clearing away her empty glass and wiping the dew off the scarred counter before leaving to fetch another.
Next on the crowded dance card, before the shattering sound had subsided, both the dominatrix and the trio from the local faction were on their feet and moving. The Syndicate suit still hadn’t shifted so much as an inch, nor had his companion shown up yet, and Trine was feeling nervous.
I told you baby, you worry too much. Just be patient.
Barney finally relented and brought Sara a short cloudy glass full of amber liquid just as the dominatrix drew a bull whip from under her trendy motorcycle jacket. The twitching movement of the whip matched the twitching of her forked tail as she advanced on the tall black silhouette still standing in the doorway, a forked tongue darting between her full ruby-red lips. Sara nodded her thanks for the drink and took a long gulp as the faction mutts put on their fur faces and lunged.
How is it they can smell perfectly normal right up until the Change, then it’s wet dog all the way.
Now Sara, that’s not fair. Simon smells perfectly fine after the Change.
He does not, he smells like a German Shepard that took a swim in Four Horsemen swamp and then rolled in Papa Dominoes’ magical dung heap. You’re just used to it.
Trine shot Sara a disapproving look and a shake of the head before taking another sip, careful to avoid the umbrella and the smile playing at the edges of her thin lips, as the newcomer ripped the dominatrix to shreds. In a matter of moments there was nothing left of the statuesque harridan but tattered pieces of cloth and chunks of green meat, and her still twitching tail.
Pity. That was an excellent outfit.
Sara! Pink leather? You cannot be serious.
The gnashing and snarling of the tri-coloured mutts was cut off only moments later, as hunks of fur and more flesh began flying through the air. The second suit finally appeared from the shadows at the back of the bar, taking corporeal form next to his friend just in time to get hit full in the face with a fluffy pink chunk of mutt. Trine gave a soft chuckle at the horrified look of disgust on the suit’s face as he retrieved a snow-white lace handkerchief from the pocket of his own three-piece pinstripe in black and attempted to remove the trail of blood dribbling down his sallow features. The three mutts took less time for the stranger to dispose of than either bounty hunter.
Trine spun the tiny umbrella in her empty glass as the last of the fur floated down, settling on the damp surface of the bar. The first suit stood, joining his recently solidified partner as they began to advance in the direction of the front door. Trine didn’t need to turn to see the grin on Sara’s face, she could feel it in her head.
Love it when the Syndicate gets a whooping’ and I love it even more when I’m here to watch.
Careful Sara darling, you’ll get drool on your new coat.
Barney motioned to the empty glass and Trine shook her head, knowing their turn on the dance floor was coming up. Their target appeared to be tiring, the Syndicate suits appeared more prepared than the rest, as the last tango before their own began. Trine had to admit, the Syndicate trained their people thoroughly, and appeared to send them in armed with plenty of accurate background information as well. Both the suits were fairing far better than any that came before them, already surpassing anyone else’s time on the dance floor.
That counter-spell was impressive.
The shadow’s footwork is no slouch. Is that a Sumerian ritual funeral dagger?
Naw, can’t be. It must be one of those knock-offs, probably one of Sly Syl’s from the Market of Found Lost Items. Either way, doesn’t matter, their strategy won’t work. Decent effort, but ultimately, small time and small minds. Syndicate is all business, no finesse, no ability to think outside the box.
Just as Sara finished her pronouncement, the flesh and blood suit vaporized into a pink mist, closely resembling the shade of the dominatrix’s jacket. His partner not long behind him, the pink mist was quickly followed by the shadow’s disintegration into a black particle cloud, a swirling storm of shadow for a moment spread throughout half the bar before dissipating.
Wonder how long it will take humpty dumpty to put his corporeal form back together?
All the king’s horses and all that.
Taking their long-awaited cue, Sara and Trine rose from their stools in unison, last on their target’s dance card. Positioning themselves a few feet apart and directly in front of the broken door, only half of one hinge still attached to the wall, they began to chant in a long-forgotten language that had yet to be rediscovered.
Their voices rose as a gale kicked up inside the bar, a glowing golden ring appearing around the silhouette in the doorway, the heat emanating from it enough to bring the temperature up a few degrees in the chilly room. As their chanting intensified, flames began licking upwards from the ring. In a blinding flash of white light, a golden birdcage enclosed the deranged madman, a tiny balding misshapen creature that resembled very little of the quiet well-mannered banker it had once been.
The chanting morphed into a primal scream that seemed to go on for an eternity, the golden cage shimmering one last time as it folded in on itself until only a small gilded box sat in its place, the creature’s howls diminishing with the box. The wind and chant suddenly ceased with the appearance of the ornate box, the only sound left in the destruction, the mindless scream of the woman under the table in the corner booth.
“I don’t suppose now that all the hard work is done, you could take care of that?”
Sara was staring, hands on hips, in the direction of the tie and jacket that had taken refuge under his stool at the bar. Trine tried not to laugh at the tall man’s gangly limbs as he extracted himself from the spindly stool legs. Finally standing at his full height, straightening his tie and shirt as best he could, he surveyed the scene while removing a piece of bounty hunter from inside his collar.
“Well isn’t this a mighty fine mess. This isn’t how the Ministry prefers things to be done.”
Sara laughed a full-throated gale that had just a bit of edge to it.
“Every one of them, with the exception of the Syndicate fellows, have paperwork on them. The Syndicate doesn’t do paperwork but I’m sure there’s a file somewhere on the organization as a whole. All of them on the job or proud owners of standing capture or kill orders. Seems our methods might just be a bit more efficient than the Ministry.”
The pencil neck took another look around at the devastation with wide disbelieving eyes. Taking out a small handheld device, he began flipping through something on the screen as the woman in the corner booth continued to alternate between whimpering and shrieking uncontrollably. Her companion was too busy hugging his knees, rocking back and forth mumbling to himself to provide any sort of comfort or help.
Trine could see Sara was about to lose her patience and moved to intervene before they ended up with a pile of extra paperwork on their hands. Walking over to the couple, she placed a gentle hand on the woman’s tear stained face and muttered a few words in the same ancient language. As Trine’s hand took on a faint glimmer, the woman’s eyes went wide as saucers and her face went slack, her mewling ceased.
“What did you do?”
Trine turned back toward the pencil neck with disdain written all over her face.
“What you should have done from the start, she’s fine, she’s tranced is all.”
Narrowing his eyes for a moment, he shrugged and went back to scrolling through his tiny black handheld, the humans obviously not his top priority.
“You realize the mountain of paperwork this will require?”
Sara rolled her eyes at the Ministry’s paper-pusher as Trine gave a soft chuckle.
“Yes, we are fully aware of the paperwork you have ahead of you. We will be by in the morning to sign in all the right places and give you our statements, along with Chester here. Once we get our check, that is. You hand us the check, we hand you our statements and Crazy Chester. Overnight should be enough time for you, shouldn’t it darling?”
Trine couldn’t help but take some amount of pleasure from the confusion and dread chasing themselves across the poor pencil-neck’s face as she went to retrieve the tiny golden box from the doorway. As she was tucking it inside the black tactical bag stashed under her own stool, Barney finally popped up from behind the bar with a dirty wet rag in his hand and a matching dirty look on his face as he surveyed what was left of his pride and joy. Removing what looked to be one of the claws left behind by a mutt that managed to embed itself in the bar, he shot Trine a poisonous look.
“I’m going to start charging an extra fee for this. I’ve told you two before, stop using my place for business.”
Trine gave him the sweetest look of innocence she could muster, it lasted mere seconds before a grin burst through.
“Sorry, Uncle B.”
“Yeah, sorry, Uncle B.”
Barney turned his glare toward Sara’s voice just as she finished gathering the last of their supplies. Trine took the moment to reach behind the bar and grab a handful of the umbrellas from their hiding spot and stuff them in next to the box.
“I’m sure the nice Ministry man can get you a reimbursement.”
Trine took the near-visible steam coming from Barney’s ears at Sara’s cheeky suggestion as their exit cue and grabbed the bag and her partner, heading for the door. She paused, her hand in mid-air, and turned back toward the Ministry’s lap puppy.
“This is the third one so far this month…”
“We are fully aware of it. Nothing that concerns the likes of you. I will be awaiting your signatures and the prisoner for processing first thing tomorrow morning. Your services, so to speak, are no longer needed at this moment.”
Barney continued shining the gore-covered bar as he watched the exchange, his eyes narrowing as the Ministry observer callously dismissed his niece. Bowing his head at the two women headed out the door without another word, Barney turned his full attention toward the Ministry’s shiny new recruit.
“I have some forms here, if you fill them out, there should be some form of reimburse…”
Barney cut the nasal whine off by reaching underneath the bar and pulling out a stack of papers, identical to the ones he was being handed, more than an inch thick. Dropping the stack on top of the bar, Barney folded his arms across his narrow chest.
“I’ve been at this a long time, sonny.”
Picking his way through the splintered wood and hunks of slippery meat, the young kid collected the babbling shell-shocked couple and guided them toward a clear spot just in front of the bar.
“I hope you Ministry boys are as ‘in the know ‘as you seem to think you all are. With what’s coming, for all our sakes, you better be.”
“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, sir.”
The kid opened a temporary transpo-portal, a shimmering oily doorway to the local Ministry office, in the space where the Syndicate fellows table had been a short time before. He gave the couple a gentle push through it. Turning back toward Barney, he gave a tip of an imaginary hat.
“The Ministry has everything… Wait, what’s coming?”
Barney stopped cleaning and gave the kid a long hard look.
“The end, boy. The end is coming.”
The young Ministry field observer gave Barney a skeptical look and headed through the portal.
“Yeah, old-timer? The end of what?”
“Well, the end of everything, boy. It’s the end of bloody everything.”
Just before the portal closed, Barney could see the look of flippant dismissal dissolve from the kid’s arrogant face, replaced with pure terror at his words. Barney gave his head of scraggly grey hair a sad shake as he picked the dirty rag back up and went back to cleaning the viscera off the bar.
“They don’t know nothing ‘bout what’s coming. Don’t know nothing ‘bout nothing. Gatekeepers, hah! Left that gate wide open, that’s what they did. Bunch a bureaucrats waving forms and blue pens. Paper-pushers in charge of saving the world. Doomed, we are absolutely doomed.”
The Creative Odd Duck 
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