Two
There were a great many people on the street as Tintin made his way home. His feet propelled him forward mechanically: his brain was too busy trying to understand what the Professor had told him to care what direction he was going in.
The world would end at 8:12am. Tomorrow morning.
When the Professor's colleague, Doctor Lewethwaite, had finished his calculations, that was the time he had come up with. That was when the meteor would strike the earth. Taking into account the movement of the earth – both on its natural axis and it's orbit around the sun – and the projected speed and downward angle of the meteor, the scientist had been able to pinpoint the time and rough area the meteor would collide with the earth: 8:12am in the arctic ocean, off the northern coast of Greenland.
Professor Phostle had said more – mainly about what to expect once the collision occurred – but the computer simulation had been graphic enough. Everything that wasn't wiped out within the first minute and a half would be engulfed by the major tsunami that would follow. Every land mass would be swallowed and the enormous temperature shift in the water would melt the arctic shelf quite quickly. Every country and continent, from the lowest valley to the highest mountain, would be underwater for at least a century. Probably five centuries, Phostle had added. There would be no escape.
It was the end of the world.
Five words ran through his head, over and over again. The end of the world. The end of the world. The end of the world!
He couldn't stop himself from thinking it. He was quite surprised at how calm he was, though. He'd always assumed he'd be distraught at the end of all living things, but so far he was just numb. The idea hadn't really sunk in yet, he supposed. Or perhaps it had, but it was so big and overwhelming he just didn't know what to do with it, or how he was supposed to act.
Snowy shot passed him, running full-tilt away. "Snowy?" he called. "Hey! Get back here!" That was all he needed: his dog running out into the road and getting hit by a car just before the world ended. That would really make his day. Snowy ignored the call anyway, and ran around the corner out of sight. Frowning, Tintin whistled and glanced over his shoulder to see what had scared the dog – and almost had a heart attack.
A solid, moving mass of rats were running straight towards him.
"Holy cow!" he exclaimed. He took a running jump at a nearby lamp-post and hung on, feet braced against the iron column that skirted the pole. A second later, they reached him, surging around anything that was in their way that was too tall to climb over. For a few minutes they obscured the road and pavement completely, the only sound their high-pitched, frantic chittering and the sound of their claws click-clacking as they scurried along, but there was an end to them at last. They were panic-stricken; drawn out of the sewers by something. Exactly what had driven them out was anyone's guess, but Tintin supposed it had something to do with the extreme heat. It was now as hot as a summer's day, and getting hotter with every passing minute.
He jumped down from his perch when the rats disappeared and walked on, calling for Snowy. Two loud bangs, like gunshots, made him jump, but it was just the tyres on a nearby car exploding with the heat. He walked on, still numbed to what was happening around him, and when he turned the corner he fund Snowy. The dog was standing in the middle of the road, whining loudly. "Here, Snowy!" he called, but Snowy made no move to obey. Instead, the dog put his ears back and his tail down, and looked very woebegone indeed.
Something's wrong with him! Oh, my poor Snowy! Tintin rushed forward, wondering what could have caused Snowy's sudden paralysis, but as soon as he stepped into the road he realised the truth of the matter. The heat had melted the tar. When he was younger, Tintin had spent hours pushing pennies and stones into soft tarmac on long, hot summer days, but this was different. Now, the tarmac was practically liquid. When he lifted his foot it clung to the soles of his shoe, and it was a bit of an effort to keep moving without slipping or getting stuck. Snowy, who was much smaller and less strong, was simply stuck.
Tintin reached him, cursing the heat of the meteor, and picked him up. He cradled the dog in his arms and hurried home.
x
People were everywhere. Even here, in a residential area – townhouses turned into dinky, fashionable flats – they stood out in the street, although none of them were dressed for going out. Most were in dressing gowns and pyjamas while others were in comfortable clothes, torn away from their night-time TV programs to come and look at the real spectacle that was taking place on their doorsteps. They stood about in small groups – nobody was alone – talking and wondering and spreading gossip like wildfire. As he made his way through the knots of people he found he was approaching a curious group.
A familiar-looking old man stood in the middle of a large throng. It was a varied crowd, and a worried one too, and as he got closer Tintin could see that a lot of them were praying. He stared at the man in the centre, who was wearing a strange, toga-like robe while he preached his fire and brimstone, and realised it was the same old man he'd met inside the observatory.
"And yea," the man was saying, "God is punishing us. He have strayed from His laws and turned our backs on His love" –
"Tintin!" a voice called. He looked and saw Katarina hurrying over to him. When she reached him she grabbed his arm. "Is it true what they're saying?" she asked urgently. "Is it going to hit us?"
"Come on," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder, "let me walk you back to your dorm."
"No!" she cried, pulling away. "I don't want to go back there. Please, let's just go back to yours."
"Behold!" the preacher roared. Tintin and Katarina jumped at the loudness of his shout. Unbeknownst to them, the preacher had pushed through his crowd of listeners and was standing beside them. "Behold!" he shouted again, pointing at them. Tintin instinctively stood in front of Katarina, shielding her from the old man's vehemence. "Two more sinners," the preacher continued, "turning from God! Lead her back to your den of iniquity, young sinner! Turn from God, and ravish her in the name of Satan!"
"I beg your pardon?" Tintin asked, slightly offended. He'd never ravished anyone in his life.
"God is sending a judgement on us! Oh yes!" The preacher smacked his lips with relish, thoroughly enjoying himself. "And it's people like you, the youth of today, who He's punishing. With your loud devil music, and your dancing, and your immorality! Drugs and bad language! Gay sex! Oh yes!"
"How dare you!" Tintin exclaimed.
"Come on," Katarina hissed, tugging at his arm. "Let's just go."
"Yes!" the preacher howled, capering like a mad man. "Not only your gay sex – on the street! On the television! – but gay marriage! This is how the youth of today show their love to God! By taking a sacred religious act between a man and a woman" –
"No," Tintin said loudly and firmly. "You're completely wrong. Marriage predates Christianity. In fact, it predates all known organized religions, so there's no evidence that it was started for religious purposes. Further more, sir, there are some prehistoric examples of same sex unions so" –
"What's next!" the preacher roared, drowning out Tintin's facts. He threw his hands in to the air with mock exasperation. "Men marrying dogs?" He pointed at Snowy, who whimpered and cocked his head to the side. "Men marrying children?" the preacher continued.
"Don't be foolish," Tintin snapped. "You can't equate gay relationships to bestiality and paedophilia. Gay marriage takes place between two consenting adults. That's not the same as" –
"Tintin please!" Katarina begged as she tried to pull him away.
"But he's talking complete rubbish!" Tintin said indignantly.
"I know, but he's also got a lot of followers that look like they'd happily sacrifice you to God if it means stopping the end of the world! Now come on!"
He allowed her to drag him away, but it didn't do any good. The preacher simply followed them, shouting more insults at the top of his voice.
"Yes, go! Go! Return to Satan, your master! Take heed, you other sinners, and repent while you still have a chance. Or join the servant of Satan who – even in the face of God's Holy Wrath – defends the evils of his Master!"
Tintin turned, ready to deliver a furious tirade, but Katarina pulled him on. "Leave it," she warned. "He's not worth it."
"He's getting on my bloody nerves," Tintin snapped.
"I know, I know," she said soothingly, "but small-minded idiots like him aren't worth the effort. Jesus didn't stutter when He said; ' judge not lest you be judged', and people like that are going to learn the error of their ways pretty damned soon."
"I suppose you're right," he said, still angry at the insults flying his way. "Anyway, we're here now. Look." They turned the corner and were on Labrador Road at last.
A great many of his neighbours were out. He recognised most of the people from the street. They were familiar faces he saw almost every day. There were the Rothburgs, the young couple that lived two buildings away. Their two year old son, Théo, was asleep in his father's arms, and Mrs Rothburg was on the phone speaking to her mother in rapid German. Mr Rothburg was standing with the Gustavs, an older couple who lived above Tintin with their thirty four year old 'bachelor' son, Thierry. Thierry was standing with a group of men and women, talking worriedly. Even the old woman who smelt like cats and lived alone in a basement flat at the end of the road was out, and she never went out if she could help it.
Tintin hurried Katarina through the crowd and pulled her into his building before the preacher could see where they had gone.
x
Upstairs, Katarina perched on the edge of the sofa, watching the news while Tintin made them some coffee. On the television, regular programming had been suspended and every channel had mustered up a newsman and a panel of experts who sat around debating and discussing the upcoming disaster (except for the TV channel Dave, which was just showing old repeats of TopGear). They were all working off Professor Phostles calculations, and scientists and mathematicians all over the world had rushed to verify it: the meteor would collide with the earth at 8:12am. Some were still hoping it would break up before impact, while others hoped it would burn up in the atmosphere, but there was just no way of knowing until it was too late.
Things, Tintin thought, look bleak. He carried the coffee through to the sitting room and placed it on the coffee table.
"Thanks," Katarina said without looking away from the television. "Do you mind if I ring my parents?"
"No," he replied, "go ahead. I need to call someone too." But first, he thought, I should fill Snowy's water bowl. He's parched. "Come on, big man," he said to the dog. Snowy, lying flat on the floor under the opened window, looked over. He was panting hard in the heat. His ears cocked as Tintin poured half of a bottle of water into his bowl, and he jumped up and trotted over, drinking deeply, when Tintin moved to the window. That plant hasn't been watered in days. I should do it now, poor thing. It made no sense, he knew: in a few hours the plant would no longer exist, but it still didn't feel right not to water it now. Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. Mind you, it doesn't look like there'll be a tomorrow.
He looked out of the window at the night sky. The meteor was still there, burning merrily in the dark. He was glad it was dark though: it meant that the meteor was still too far away to light the sky. When it lit the sky, that meant that the end was really fucking nigh.
"There he is! The servant of Satan! I, Philipous the Prophet, condemn you, foul wretch! Devil's advocate! Son of Satan!"
Oi, thought Tintin with a sigh, not this guy again!
"Tool of Beelzebub! Defender of hell! Return to your Master, the Prince of Darkness!"
Tintin looked down. The mad preacher was standing under the window. Around him, Tintin's neighbours stared in confusion. "Oh, piss off!" Tintin snapped. He dumped the rest of the water onto the man's head and closed the window.
"Maybe now he'll leave me in peace." He looked over to Katarina but she had her phone clamped to her ear. "I won't be long," she mouthed before returning to her conversation. "Yes, mum, I love you too. Honestly. Yes, and daddy too. … What? … You read my diary!"
Tintin slipped out of the room and pulled out his mobile phone. He quickly scrolled through his contacts until he found the person he wanted to talk to most. He put the phone to his ear and chewed at a fingernail absently while he listened to the phone ringing. It was answered almost straight away.
"Unbelievable!" Chang exclaimed happily. "You won't believe this, but I was just standing here with my phone in my hand, about to ring you!"
"Ha! Great minds think alike!" Tintin went to his bedroom and lay down on the bed. He was on his back, staring at the ceiling. I meant to paint that.
"Did you see the news?" Chang asked.
"Yep. That's why I'm calling. I somehow don't think I'll have to pay my next phone bill."
"You're going to be screwed if this isn't the end of the world."
"Better hope it is then."
Chang's voice changed to a more serious tone. "So what can we do?" he asked.
"I don't think there's anything we can do," Tintin admitted. "I guess we just… wait it out. Or wait for it to happen."
"Oh."
They were silent for a moment before Chang continued; "Got any plans for your last day on earth?"
"It's night here. I don't know. I'm pretty tired."
"You're going to spend your last night alive sleeping?"
"I was up early this morning!" Tintin protested. "I didn't know this was my last full day alive. I would have planned it better if I'd known."
"Well, I'm going bungee jumping," Chang declared. "It's all set up: a bunch of us are going." Since the People's Republic of China had declared the Sons of the Dragon to be an enemy of the state, Mr Wang had fled with his family to Singapore. They lived in the wealthy part of the island, near the huge hotels and holiday resorts that offered everything to vacationers, from relaxing massages to extreme sports.
"Good for you!" Tintin said, impressed. "You might as well try it. After all, even if it goes wrong what's the worst that could happen?"
"Exactly. What about you? Anything you really want to do before you're dead? Now's your chance."
"Yeah, there is actually," Tintin said thoughtfully. "I'm going to have to go, Chang. I have a beautiful ballerina in my sitting room."
"Good man! Go for it!"
"Er, before I go…" Tintin chewed his lip nervously. "Look, I just wanted to say… Thanks. You've been the bestest friend I could have asked for. You're brilliant."
"Thanks," Chang replied soberly. "You know I feel the same way, right? You've done so much for me, when you really didn't have to. You… I love you, man."
"I love you too, dude."
"Cool. Well. Goodbye, Tintin. Have a good one and… Well, I guess I'll chat to you soon, huh?"
"Yup. I'll see you in the afterlife, or on Facebook later. And if it's in the afterlife, whoever gets there first has to get a good cloud for us. I'm not spending all eternity at the back of heaven."
"We'll be right next to the heavenly host," Chang agreed. "Try and bag us a couple of hot angels or what have you."
"I'll be your wingman in heaven," Tintin promised. "Take care, ok?"
"I will. You too."
He hung up then, and just lay there, blinking sudden tears out of his eyes. He missed Chang. They talked all the time through Facebook, but it wasn't the same. He closed his eyes and sighed. He really was tired, but he couldn't fall asleep just yet. Not while he had Katarina waiting in his sitting room. He wasn't seriously thinking of making a play for her though. It didn't seem fair. She was upset: he would just be taking advantage of her emotions. No, it was best to go and offer comfort. And right now, he felt like he could use some comfort himself.
DONNNNGGGGGGG!
The sudden metallic clash made him sit up in fright. His heart almost stopped dead, however, when he realised that the mad preacher, Philipous the Prophet, was standing at the end of the bed. He still wore his strange, toga-like robes, but now he was also carrying a gong.
Oh. Great.
"How did you get in?" Tintin asked, astonished.
"We prophets can come and go as we please," Philipous declared. "We also get to ride the bus for free."
"I don't know how the hell you got in here," Tintin said angrily as he got up, "but I damned well know how you're getting out!"
"Sit down, you!" Philipous smacked him hard in the head with the gong's small mallet, and Tintin collapsed back onto the bed, holding his head. "God has sent his judgement," Philipous continued, striking his gong over and over. "Yeah, behold his judgement."
Behind Philipous, the bedroom door shuddered as something large struck it. The handle rattled once or twice before clicking open. The door swung forward a few inches.
"God looked down on you, servant of Satan, and saw that He needs to punish you. And He did send the Morning Star to deliver His judgement."
A vast, spindly spider's leg came through the narrow opening of the ajar door. It was thick with sinewy muscle and covered in thick, bristly black hairs.
"And the Morning Star sent his agent, and God was pleased," Philipous intoned heavily. "Behold, the agent of God's wrath!"
The door burst open and a huge spider scuttled in. It was easily six feet tall, its pincers tasting the air with delight as they dripped poison onto the floor. The poison splattered wetly and smoked when it fell, like acid. It reared up for a moment, waving its forelegs hypnotically. Then, it struck.
x
"Oh! God no!" Tintin sat up with a start, his breath tearing at his throat. Panting, he looked around. Katarina was sitting on the old armchair in the corner – ostensibly Snowy's bed, but he only used it when it was too warm to sleep with Tintin. Her eyes were wide and she was frozen, staring at him, a half-empty bottle of beer almost at her lips.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I, uh, I had a dream."
"I drank your beer," she blurted out. He looked down and saw three other empty bottles on the floor next to the chair. "Sorry," she added, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm not allowed to drink it usually – because it makes me bloated, you know? – but I thought… Y'know… Fuck it."
He laughed in spite of the situation. "I guess if you can't have a beer now, when can you?"
"Exactly." She sat forward eagerly. "And that made me think. Of everything. Absolutely everything I wanted to do. All the things I was afraid to do."
"My friend went bungee jumping," Tintin said wistfully. He leaned over and held out his hand, and she passed him the last of the beer.
"Good for him!" she said. "That's exactly what I mean. We have to seize this moment. It could be our last."
"Hey, what time is it?"
"What? Who the hell cares what time it is! It's our time! It's the only time we have left." She stood up and went to him, clambering onto the bed so that she was straddling him, kneeling so that she was facing him, her butt hovering over his lap and her hands on his shoulders. She stared at him, her eyes fierce. "I want to be with you," she said.
"Uuuuhhh," he said. He was thinking furiously. She's drunk; you'll be taking advantage of her it's the end of the world and she's upset, so you'll be taking double advantage it's the END of the WORLD she doesn't really want this; she just needs to be close to someone anyone IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD!
On the other hand… it was the end of the world.
"I need you," she said. She shifted her body so that her butt bumped against his crotch. His cheeks lost their flush as all his blood rushed south. On the bedside table his radio alarm clock burst into life.
"Riots continue all across the city, while a large crowd have massed in La Grande Place and have joined hands to sing" –
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "I just wish I had a lifetime to spend with you."
"And here's an R.E.M. song that sums up how we feel. So long, ladies and gentlemen, and thanks for all the fish. And can I just add that I've been shagging the weathergirl for the last six months, and the guy that does the news is a complete dick."
That's great it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane; Lenny Bruce is not afraid
He picked her up by her hips and flipped her onto her back. She landed amongst the pillows with a soft cry of desire
Eye of a hurricane! Listen to yourself churn! World serves it's own needs, dummy serve your own needs
and he was on her at once, stretched over her, grinding together as his mouth claimed hers.
Feed it off an aux speak, grunt, no, strength, The ladder starts to clatter with fear fight down height.
He shifted so that his legs were on either side of hers. He broke their kiss to lean back – to watch the grace of her body; of her long, dancer's limbs as his hand drifted up her thigh, grazing her skin as softly as a ghost's touch, as he pushed the skirt of her short black dress up.
Wire in a fire, representing seven games, a government for hire and a combat of west and coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck.
Hang on, he thought to himself. My clock is ten minutes slow. It's set to go off at 8am, but it really goes off at –
"Oh! Shi" –
Author's Note: Chang has changed country because I couldn't see any way that the People's Republic of China would allow such a subversive political group to remain in the country once they had rid China of the Western drugs' gangs. A group such as the Sons of the Dragon would probably have held a lot of local support in Beijing and would represent a threat to the communist party. In all likelihood, the Sons of the Dragons would have fled into exile or be under house arrest/dead.