The End: Stories

The Apocalypse. The End Times. Armageddon. Whether it's from a virus or a meteor, the end is always coming. How will you deal with it?

Coup dreamed: of angry, orange sunlight and piano music and road markings which disappeared beneath the Mustang's dirty hood; of driving alone along State Route 87—which vanished in the distance like a Möbius Strip undone and laid flat—and the sun sinking below a dark horizon. Nor did the dream remain static but promptly moved on, as Henry Becker had moved on, as the world had moved on, for a hitchhiker had appeared at the side of the road: one who was not Tess, as had been the case in real life, but rather a kind of zombie; an animate corpse; a thing who's head had borne a horrific wound and who's intestines were being held in by its free hand (for its other was busy thumbing a ride).

A thing which gave up its enigma as Coup pulled alongside and opened the passenger door; for it was none other than Henry Becker himself—alone, mortally wounded, but appearing oddly chipper, oddly spry, as he opened the hatch and climbed in—swinging it shut behind him, holding in his guts.

"Hey," he said, as his entrails shifted and squelched, threatening to squeeze out between his fingers, threatening to fill the car with 28-feet of membrane.

"Hey," said Coup. He reached into the cooler in back, twisting in his seat, and handed him a can of soda. "Since I'm obviously dreaming … you must be dehydrated. Diet Pepsi?"

"No, thanks." He reached up and pulled down the sun visor, examining himself in the mirror. "It didn't exactly swallow me whole, did it? Jesus. Look at these teeth marks."

"Look, Henry,"

"No. I do the talking. I've got things to tell you." He paused, fingering the hole in his head, which was about three inches in diameter. "This one, right here," He swished his finger around the cavity. "That hurt."

"Dammit, Henry …"

"I told you …" He came up with a piece of brain tissue and paused to examine it, then rolled it—like a booger—between his thumb and forefinger. "One of its canines—it got my eye." He discarded it out the window. "I guess they're all canines in the mouth of a T. Rex, eh?" Blood gurgled from the corners of his mouth. "Amirite?"