Dialogues at the End of the World

        “I’m a dead man,” he said softly.  Unlike earlier, there was no pain in his voice, no groan, no words spat through gritted teeth, instead it was just a soft quiet sound, almost like a whisper, barely louder than the sound of his blood beginning to pool on the wooden floor.  It was almost resigned at first, or at least could be confused for resignation, but really there was a slight lilt at the end, almost like a grim acceptance.

        “We all are,” the other man commiserated, looking out the window at a world gone mad.

        The first man pushed his chair out, the leg pulling a square line of blood with it, and he hoisted himself, using the scarred table to steady his weak legs.  He made his way slowly to the bar, leaving a trail of red splotches behind him, and he grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and a glass, motioning to the other man.

The other man shook his head and turned back to the window, “You know, she’d kill you if she saw you serving yourself like that.”

“Well then, maybe it’s a good fucking thing she isn’t here,” the bleeding man replied, pouring himself a double and setting down the bottle hard, almost too hard, almost like his shaking hand had dropped it, but if that were the case, he covered it well.

His words caused the other man to wince slightly, his eyes going distant, far beyond whatever could’ve been visible through the window.  The other man noticed the reaction as he was raising his drink, so he held it, his trembles causing the amber liquid to lap over the rim, “You—you really cared about her didn’t you?  You cared about the devil herself.”

The other man shrugged, “I guess I may have, not that it matters anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, staring into his drink.  “Nothing matters anymore.”  Then without hesitation he tilted his head back and threw the whiskey down.  He wiped his mouth and set the glass down, already beginning to create his second drink.  “That said, it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No, no it doesn’t,” the other man says, finally turning his attentions away from the window.  “Make me one of those, would you?”

The bleeding man nodded and grabbed a second glass, “You know, she’d kill you too if she saw this happening, never mind that you’re her favorite.”  The man smiled tersely but refused to offer up another reply, so the bleeding man continued, “You know, you’re not the only one who lost something in all this—earlier today, in the—the little skirmish that gave me this,” he pointed to the torn hole in his shirt, where red fluid fell freely, “I think I may have lost him—you know, for real this time.”

“Mark?  But how?  I mean, I thought—”

“I thought so too, but you weren’t there, you didn’t see what happened to him—I think he’s gone for good this time,” the bleeding man replied, finishing off the last drink.  “You know, through all this—all my tough guy acts, I really liked the kid—I think when it comes right down to it, he was my only real friend.”

“I thought we were friends,” the other man replied, the terse smile gone from his lips, the gallows humor said with a featureless slate of expression.  

“You ought to know better than that,” the bleeding man replied, lifting both glasses and beginning his shaky walk across the bar.  

“I guess you’re right.  But we’re not enemies last I checked,” the man replied, his cold blue eyes locking on the eyes of the other.

“No, you’re right about that, we’re not,” the bleeding man stopped before the other, and held out one of the glasses, which the other took gratefully.  “And I guess at this point that’s the best thing I’ve got.”

“Sorry about M—your friend,” the other said, his words faltering on the name, just like his gaze faltered and fell to his drink.  He raised it and tilted it slightly, “To lost friends.”

The other man nodded and raised his glass slightly as well, “I’ll drink to that.”

Together the two men drank their drinks, unlike the bleeding man’s first glass, it wasn’t quick this time, it was slow and steady and constant, both of them savoring the flavor until it ran out.  The bleeding man set his glass down on the other’s table, and the bottle of whiskey beside it, “You mind if I sit here?”

The other man shrugged, “Sure.  Blood doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Yeah, I think everyone in this fucking town has gotten desensitized to it,” he said, settling in to the chair, wincing a little as the movements made him bleed a little more.  The other man turned back to the window, staring out almost as though he was waiting for someone to happen by.

“You think maybe this is the actual bottom line of the Contracts?” he asked, his eyes still focused on things outside the bar, the way he said “contracts” in a way that held a tangible weight.  

“What, the end of the world?  I figured we all already had the answer to that.”

The other shook his head, “No, not that.  I meant about the people around us, about watching them—well, die.  Think about it, since you signed your Contract, has anyone you care about died peacefully?”

The bleeding man was quiet for some time, the only sound in the room being the ticking of the massive clock that hung above the bar, and the rhythm of blood drops slapping the ground.  When he spoke, his words had a softness to them, a comfort that was unbecoming of such a large man with such scarred hands, “She might be okay, you know.”

“Just like everything might be okay,” the other spat bitterly.  “Don’t be patronizing.”

“You didn’t used to be so cynical,” the man said, shifting in his seat, and seeming to notice, perhaps not for the first time, but for the first time in a long time, just how bad his wound had become.  His eyes were locked on the pool of red on the ground and how it rippled.  

“And the world used to have a future.  Things change.”

The bleeding man seemed to have a retort prepared but before he could say anything, the door of the bar was forced open, a young woman with a semi-conscious blonde man burst in like a whirlwind.  The other’s eyes lit up for a moment, excitement bleeding through the icy blue for just a moment before recognition set in and it washed away completely.

“Surprised to see you two here,” the woman said, trying to create some sort of normalcy as she trudged over to a nearby table, trailing ash, the blonde man a heavy burden on her back.  Gently, she began to ease him off her shoulder and into a chair.  The man looked like he was mere steps from death, although there were no visible wounds on him.

“Get him out of here,” the blue eyed man snarled, a bite, a true hatred wrapped around his words.

The woman stared at him, her eyes hard, “It’s fucking hell out there and he’s the only reason I’m alive.  He just needs some rest and then we’ll—I don’t know, but we’ll figure something out and—”

“I don’t give a shit what he needs, he’s a—” the blue eyed man started, but he was silenced by the bleeding man’s bloody and callused hand resting on his arm.

“It doesn’t matter,” the bleeding man said quietly.  “It’s over, it’s all over, remember?  Let it go.”

The other let out a harsh sigh, and yanked his arm away from the bleeding man’s grasp, “Fine.  He can stay.  But if he—”

“He won’t,” the woman replied quickly, standing straight, now that the blonde man didn’t need her aid.  The blonde man’s eyes were heavy and fell closed, his mouth breathed out a word but no one in the bar was able to hear it.  The woman’s eyes finally fell on the bleeding man, and widened with shock, “Tom!  What the hell happened to you?”

The bleeding man, Tom, shrugged which caused him to close one eye in a wince, that he tried to play off as a wink, “Probably something similar to what happened to your friend there.”

Without even waiting for a response, the woman was already moving around the bar, quickly searching for something she could use to staunch the blood flow, “Why the hell haven’t you done something about it yet?  A wound like that needs serious medical attention.”

“It doesn’t matter.  It’s over.  For me.  For all of us,” he replied, his spirit seeming to fall farther with each sentence.  His eyes traced around the bar until they fell on the window and he gazed through it, at the darkness beyond.

Behind the bar, she had come across a first aid kit, and she had grabbed it, bringing it to their table and slamming it down next to the whiskey bottle.  “Don’t say that, don’t ever say that.”

Tom shrugged, “It’s true.”

She opened the first aid kit and rummaged through it, pulling out a roll of gauze and some triangle bandages, and with quick deft movements, she set to work, trying to patch up the hole in Tom.  He winced as her deft hands pressed a little too hard, but tried to keep his composure, although beads of sweat were beginning to break out on his forehead, “I didn’t take you as the sentimental type.”

“Just because I decided that I didn’t want to fuck you, doesn’t mean I’m going to just watch you bleed out,” she replied, taking a pair of scissors to the gauze.  The other man raised an eyebrow and stared at the two, but neither offered up any more information, so eventually he turned his gaze back to the window.

As she finished the bandage and began tying it up, Tom quietly asked, “What brought you here tonight?  I mean, why in the world would you come to this shitty bar of all places?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied, as she began cleaning up the various wrappers and other medical implements that were strewn across the table.

Tom pointed at the reddish orb that was beginning to soak through the bandage, “I got this just a few blocks away from here.  Figured I needed to find somewhere to crash for a minute, get my bearings, and maybe have a drink or two, and frankly, Lucy’s place seemed like the best option, or at least the place where the least amount of questions would be asked.”

She nodded and snapped the tin lid of the first aid kit shut, “Makes sense.  What did happen to you out there?”
        He shook his head, a grizzled smile forming on his face, “Nope, you owe me an answer since I gave you one.  Why’d you come here?”  The other turned his head slightly, watching their conversation out of the corner of his eye, clearly interested, but afraid to show any such interest.

“I—I don’t know exactly,” she replied.  “The world’s, well, you were out there, you know how crazy it’s gone, and I don’t know, I thought that maybe if I came here, I could get some answers or something.  Maybe figure out a plan to—I don’t know, survive the night I guess.”

Tom’s smile fell, disappearing as his eyes hardened.  “I don’t have any answers, but then again, I suppose no one really does, besides maybe Lucy herself, and well—she’s—“ he glanced over at the other man before continuing, “We don’t know what’s she’s up to, or when she’ll be coming back.”
        “If she’ll be coming back,” the other corrected quietly.

As if on cue, there was a shriek of some sort outside, pained, bestial, and almost certainly belonging to something other than human.  Everyone in the bar tensed themselves, and cautiously waited, trying to see if there would be any follow up, but after a few extended seconds, there was nothing.

The woman sighed, a sound that was equal parts exhausted and relieved, and she opened her mouth to speak but before she could, the other man interrupted, his voice cold, hard, “You said you’ve got questions, well, I may have a few answers.”

She nodded and cleared her throat, “Well, how did, how did all of this start?”

“Apathy.  Ignorance.  You know, the usual things that cause the downfall of everyone somehow or another,” Tom interjected, in a way that was a bit more poetic than what usually came from him.  

The other waited to see if he had any more to add, and then asked, “You mean the war in general, or do you mean what’s happening tonight?  The former has been going for longer than written history.  The latter, well, that’s a bit more complicated of an answer.”
        “Well try.”

He shrugged, “Tom there is going to disagree with when exactly it started, but I’d say that all the pieces were in place about two years ago.  He’ll say that it started back around, what, five years ago?”

Tom nodded, “Yeah, it was five.”  As he said that, his eyes grew some distance away, and he shakily poured himself another drink.  

“And I guess that five years ago there were a series of events that worked like a catalyst to get us to here, but two years ago is when I really stepped into it.  Honestly, if I’m not mistaken Madeline, that was about the time you started getting involved with all of this, what with your first case?”

She shook her head, “Third case.”
        “Right, right, but really, it was the first one that mattered in all this.  Two years ago was when the Gate was found, and after that well, that’s when everything started moving quickly towards now—now, before I keep going, how much do you really want to know?  Do you just want a quick synopsis of what happened, or do you want the full story?  Because if you want the full story, well you’re in for a long night.”

Tom chuckled, a sound that quickly changed into a wheeze of pain, “We’re in for a long night regardless.  Might as well tell it all, it’ll take our minds off those screams outside.”  As he said that, the group looked out the window, and although none would’ve admitted, all three of them felt suddenly, incredibly isolated.

Next Chapter: Chapter One