End of the World Cafe

By Fippy

[ Teen 13 Rating: Contains language and some sexual references :) ]

Only Jigger noticed the sign scrawled on the bridge in fading nuglow.

Garston drove with one hand loosely on the wheel, the other holding a can. His left foot tapped out a rhythm to accompany the beat throbbing from his headset. To Jigger's other side, Barter lay slumped against the door, oblivious to its shaking as the roadster tonned along the uneven highway. Tab-ends lay strewn at his feet, and he silently mouthed the dreams flooding into his acid-sodden head. In the back, Logger strummed a meaningless tune on his twelve-string. Jigger knew that beside him, Janey and Queg would be screwing. Although they made it in unnatural silence, Jigger knew when they were at it. When Janey wasn't whining about anything and everything, she was screwing with Queg.

So only Jigger saw the sign on the bridge.

He flicked off Garston's phones and yelled in his ear. "Stop the frigging car!"

Stunned, Garston let go of the can, which rolled under the seat, spewing beer in all directions. Ignoring his beer-soaked jeans, he grabbed the wheel with both hands and stamped on the brake pedal. The roadster screeched along the highway, sometimes braking and sometimes skidding wildly, as the dodgy ABS kicked in and out. The stench of burning tires filled the car, choking even Barter awake. Jigger ignored the cries of complaint as he concentrated upon helping Garston spot obstacles in their path, which the latter avoided by violently yanking the wheel, this way and that.

At last the car came to a stop, facing almost in the opposite direction. Garston let the engine stall and leaned back into his seat. He gave a yell of nervous excitement and slapped the wheel with both hands. Only then did he salvage the can that had stuck below the clutch pedal. Finding it empty, he threw it from the open window and offered everyone a manic grin.

Janey was irate. "What the hell was that all about?" she moaned, leaning forward between Garston and Jigger. She didn't bother to conceal her nakedness; they had all seen her body as much as Queg had. She had never been discrete as far as sex went. Even so, Jigger's upbringing prevented him from staring, or watching as the other perverts often did.

"Drive back to that last bridge." Jigger insisted.

Garston swept his mane of hair from his eyes and snorted his disgust. "You made me skid all the way from one-sixty just to see a frigging bridge?"

"Do it. It's important."

"I figured it might be!" he replied sarcastically as he restarted the engine. It roared into life with a deep growl, but underneath was a faint knocking noise; causing Jigger some concern about what may have broken in that last, crazy maneuver.

"I didn't realize you were going to slam on the anchors so madly!" he defended.

"What do you expect when you surprise me like that?" Garston snapped, and rammed the stick into first. The gearbox complained but the roadster began to gather speed. "I thought the frigging road had come to an end or something."

Jigger knew that the big mechanic was right, so he fell silent and looked out at the enormous skid mark they had left, right down the center of the road. From behind him, Logger had begun a ponderous rendition of "Bridge over Troubled Water". Jigger saw the funny side and grinned from ear to ear.

"What's so frigging funny?" growled Garston. He negotiated a couple of burnt-out trucks and turned in a tight circle across the freeway to come to a stop just before the bridge, close to where Jigger had shouted out.

"That!" said Jigger and pointed through the grimy windscreen up at the bridge. He began a wild laughter of excitement.

Garston followed the finger and read the scrawled graffiti aloud, slowly.

"End of the World Cafe - hundred klicks to go."

"Way to go!" screamed Janey in Jigger's ear, and punched the air victoriously. They all turned to face her and got a face full of sweaty tit. She smiled apologetically and crawled back to Queg, who remained unexcited by the turn of events.

Garston was staring at the bridge with a stupid ear-to-ear grin. Jigger elbowed him back to reality. "What are we waiting for, man?" Garston turned his grin on Jigger, stamped on the accelerator and snapped open the clutch. After a moment's resistance, the roadster picked up speed, pausing only as Garston coaxed the tiring engine through the gears. Soon the poisoned scrubland was flashing past the window once more, and the warm air rushing in through the open windows.

Jigger was in high spirits. "Let's have some more beers up here. Janey?" There was no answer and when he peeped over his shoulder she was hidden under Queg's heaving, tattooed body. Beside them, Logger stopped fiddling with his guitar amp long enough to grab a couple of cans from the cooler and toss them forward. Jigger pulled the tabs and handed one to Garston, then took a long swallow, ignoring the liquid dribbling down his front. Barter was comatose again and slumped over more of the front seat, but he refused to budge when Jigger shoved him.

A rough chord reverberated around the cabin at ear-shattering volume. Barter moaned and licked his cracked lips. In a moment of generosity, Jigger dribbled some beer into his mouth, holding his nose to force him to swallow. The second chord was in tune and followed by an unrehearsed ditty. The last note decayed into fuzz as Logger hit the chorus and distortion.

"Nothing to loooose." drawled Garston with a mouth full of beer. Jigger nodded and took up his sticks from the top of the dash, sweeping tab packets and candy wrappers to the floor. Nestling his can between his knees, he gave two experimental taps on the dash, and counted down from four. The thunderous drone of Logger's twelve-string drowned the sound of the laboring engine as he strummed the opening riffs. Jigger took up on the off-beat with sticks on the battered dash and boots on the metal floor. Only Garston's excuse for singing ruined the jam session, but he soon gave up when Jigger showed him how it was done.

"...Nothing to lose. Don't wanna be like any other, when everything is just too much bother. I don't care what anyone says, I'm gonna do it anyway..." Logger joined in the chorus and so they continued, careering down the deserted highway, singing and screaming. Logger's guitar solo was the cue for Garston to throw his half-finished can from the window and take to bashing the steering wheel with both hands. The roadster lurched at every beat, swerving from central verge to inner white line in long, lazy curves.

Half an hour later they came across the first real sign, suspended low from a metal gantry across all carriageways, and lit with arc lamps despite the proximity of noon. By then, they were all peering out of the dirty windscreen, though Barter looked as though he was seeing a totally different reality to the others. Queg and Janey were dressed and crowding over Jigger's shoulder with Logger, who saw the sign first.

"End of the World, 2 klicks." it read. Beside it, some joker had hung a red "Reduce Speed Now" sign.

They also came across the first cars for several days. Two aging Fronteras drove side by side in the nearside lanes, inches apart as the occupants leant out to converse. The roadster came up on them as though they were parked, and with a grunt of satisfaction, Garston swung over to cut them up. They disappeared in the plume of smoke and dust trailing the roadster.

Jigger crushed another empty can, and in an attempt to throw it through the window, missed and spilled the dregs over Garston's yellowed shirt. "Ah, man!" he complained and belted Jigger in the arm, hard enough to numb it.

"Watch the frigging road, you two." Janey complained, just in time for Garston to yank the wheel, slewing the roadster away from a pile of masonry beneath another bridge. Hot rubber burned their nostrils.

"The fog obscures the end," murmured Barter and his eyes snapped open when they turned to face him. Following his gaze out of the windscreen, they saw that there was indeed a bank of fog across the entire highway and stretching as far as they could see across the flat wilderness.

Another sign flashed past. "End of the World imminent." and in huge painted letters, "Brake or die!"

Remembering their breakneck speed, Garston stamped on the brake and for the second time that morning, the roadster slid down the highway in a cloud of dust that filled the interior until none of them could see or breathe. They choked and hacked until the dust settled, then realized that the roadster had come to a stop amongst the dead bushes at the side of the road. It was impossible to see through the film of dust on the windscreen, and wiping it only made it worse as it smeared in the sticky beer. "We walk." Garston announced.

From the outside they stared in wonder along the highway. Less than one hundred meters ahead all carriageways were blocked by a makeshift wall of barbed wire, masonry and nuglow painted arrows pointing off to the left. A well-used dirt track led off between two mounds towards a small building, its slated roof shining fiercely in the overhead sun. Despite the heat and ocean blue sky, the fog bank enshrouded everything barely a kilometer beyond the barricade. It made no attempt to move, but hung there, oppressive and menacing. Jigger shuddered involuntarily. From where he sat at their feet, Barter uttered another surreal insight. "It hung over them at the end, nor light nor purity could disperse it."

"Yeah, right." mocked Janey and kicked the sand. They turned to watch as the Fronteras headed up the dirt track, reggae blaring and mocking laughter from within.

Jigger spotted a small nuglow sign directing them to the Cafe. "Let's go." he said simply. Somehow his excitement bubble had burst now that they had arrived. "I need a drink," he added without conviction.

Jigger didn't really know what he had expected but the Cafe was nothing like he had imagined. A vast panoramic window let the sun flood in to the single, spacious room. Its photo-reflective paint was visibly peeling and blistered and gave an uneven lighting effect. Of the dozen tables, only two were occupied by a handful of people who said nothing to each other. The silence was oppressive; no music or even a discbox as far as he could see, no chattering coinops or pinball tables, no clatter of pool balls. His friends seemed equally disheartened and together they huddled at the door with no will to move. It seemed to him that they shared the deflation he felt at arriving after three months on the road.

Janey pointed out a door to one side of the long, wooden bar top. It bore the logo of a death's head and the words "To the End of the World" in fake dripping blood. When nobody moved or gave any reaction to her discovery, she gave a tug on Queg's arm. "It's what we're here for, isn't it?"

"Let's drink first," said Garston, already heading for the bar. After a moment, Jigger followed.

"Come on guys. You've been drinking all morning." Janey argued. "Let's go and check it out." She started for the door.

"It's only the end of the world again," muttered Barter from the door, where he stood propped against the frame, eyes wide and bloodshot.

"Later." Garston waved them all away and dug into his pocket for change. The barwoman looked up from her magazine and flicked greasy, copper hair from her face. She shot them a distrustful glance and waited for Garston to order.

Janey let out a cry of frustration and stamped her boots on the wooden floor. "If you guys sit down now, you'll not budge all frigging day. I for one didn't come this far to drink cheap beer." From eye-corner she caught the baleful glare of the barwoman but chose to ignore it, and the stares of the other drinkers.

"She's right, Gars." said Queg in his quiet but authoritative voice.

Jigger looked from one to the other and offered a solution. "We'll buy beers and take them out with us, okay?" He turned to the barwoman for her approval, which she gave grudgingly.

Armed with mugs of lukewarm beer, except Logger who helped Barter to walk, they left by the painted door and emerged back into the scorching sun. The soil was sandy, blowing around them in tiny eddies and whirlwinds. Across it, the path snaked through stunted bushes and into the looming fog bank. They set off with a new sense of urgency now that they were so close. As they neared its hazy edge, the fog swirled to release two figures, cloaks pulled high as protection against the wind-blown sand. Their expressions hinted at the wonders they had seen, and the taller one clutched a videocam as if it were the most precious thing on the planet.

"Stay on the path friends." he advised as they passed. "The fog is thinner than it appears. You ain't seen nothing like it." The two dusty figures hurried past before any questions could be asked.

Then the world disappeared as the fog swallowed them. It was like a fog they had never experienced - damp yet warm, and not at all clammy. The air was strangely motionless and gave them a chance to clear their eyes and noses of sand. Scores of boot prints defined the path, but an irrational fear of the unknown kept them grouped together, their heads lowered to watch where they trod. After a few moments, the fog began to thin and they strained forward for their first glimpse of the end of the world. At first the fog clung to them, unwilling to release them from its grip, and then the hot wind returned and the air was suddenly clear.

The vertigo was stomach churning. Barter, who obviously understood more of what was going on around him than they credited, collapsed to the sand. Janey gave a long whistle of incredulity and took a step backwards; her hand clasping Queg's tighter than ever. Logger and Queg stood silent in awe, leaving Garston and Jigger to simultaneously speak the minds of them all. "Frigging hell!" Jigger's beer mug slipped from his grasp, smashed on a rock and the wind blew its contents all over them.

They stood alone, perched on a rock promontory stretching away from the cliff edge behind them, out into space. Twenty paces ahead of where they huddled, the world gave way to nothing but sky as far as the horizon. The ground was two kilometers or more below them - a heat-blasted, ragged, lunar-like landscape. The scale was overwhelming, and Jigger felt his knees weaken.

An incessant, dry wind flowed up from the depths before them. Jigger knew little about meteorology, but had heard it explained that the wind generated from below was hotter even than the surface - he regarded where they stood as the surface of the planet - and where it met the cooler air it condensed into fog. It seemed unlikely to him, but no more so than the incredible crater before them. He visualized an enormous space worm taking a gargantuan bite from an entire hemisphere of the planet - two kilometers deep, two thousand kilometers wide and five thousand kilometers long. He wished he knew what had really happened to their world before he had even been born.

To either side, the cliff ran as far as they could see; a narrow tract of land sandwiched between the fog and empty space. Far to their right, another spur of land jutted out from the cliff. It did not extend to the ground below, but was merely a huge overhang. Jigger shuddered, thinking of the insubstantiality of where they stood.

"It's like," began Queg in a quiet voice, almost lost against the constant wind. "Like, someone pulled the plug on an entire ocean and it drained away." Jigger nodded. Queg's observation was less sinister than his own space worm theory.

"The end of the road." said Barter suddenly from where he lay in the sand. He pointed unsteadily to where the highway emerged from the fog and ran to the edge of the cliff.

Garston gave a short laugh. Crunching the fragments of Jigger's mug under foot, he picked his way between the loose rocks to the side of the Tarmac and stood in the middle of the nearside carriageway, looking straight out into space. As the others watched, he bent down to recover a twisted metal plate. A grin spread across his face as he held it up for the others to read.

"Warning. Deep hole in road."

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