Grand Opening

“It’s just the weather,” John said as he affixed the ‘Grand Opening’ sign to the storefront glass. “Give it time. It’s a great location.” Thomas wiped a thin layer of morning dew off the patio chair and sat down, surveying the area. The cafe sat nestled within a strip of salons and restaurants and trendy clothes outlets, flanking the wide downtown streets. The area was normally busy but today the streets sat empty, only a few cars parked along the street corners, fenders busted and tires blown out, as if they had been abandoned. Several windows were boarded up and all the other shops had chains and padlocks on their doors, large signs hung haphazardly - ‘Closed Until Further Notice.’ 

John emerged from the cafe with two mugs of coffee and a tray of sugar and set them down on the patio table. Thomas took a mug in both hands and blew gently across the rim, the steam curling and twisting like a distressed smoke signal, as John fussed about with the rest of the furniture. “You aren’t worried?” Thomas asked.

“Worried?” John laughed. “You know I never bought into all that nonsense. They’re always raising the alarm about something or another.” Satisfied with the patio area, John sat down across from Thomas and took his own mug in hand. “So how have you been?” John smiled and it was just like when they were kids again. John, confident and carefree. Thomas, willing to follow him anywhere. The two men sat, sipping their coffee and getting reacquainted. It had been years - lives got busy, responsibilities added up, and it became harder and harder to find time for old friends. But Thomas was pleasantly surprised when John invited him out for the grand opening of the cafe.

“It’s a beautiful little spot, don’t you think?” John said. “I got a great deal on the lease.”

Thomas looked inside and admired the wood-paneled bar outfitted with a drop-in griddle, stainless steel espresso stations, and shelves of pewter flatware and cutlery. Old-timey street lamps cast a dim yellow glow across the mahogany tables and cozy lounge chairs. “It’s nice,” Thomas said. “Quaint. Like an old speakeasy.”

“Good, good,” John said, satisfied. “Cheers to good coffee then. And good friends.” As John raised his mug, a dull roar resounded in the distance, like a giant piece of machinery coming to life. A tremor reverberated through the streets. The cafe windows rattled against their frames and a mug fell and bounced on the floor inside. The patio table shook and Thomas instinctively reached out in alarm to steady it. 

“What was that?” Thomas asked.

“Not sure,” John said, fidgeting with a sugar packet, “maybe a small earthquake.”

“Are there earthquakes here?” Thomas asked. 

John averted his eyes. “There’s apparently a fault line nearby. It’s all included in my insurance policy. Standard stuff.” John finally ripped open the packet of sugar and quickly dumped it in his coffee. “Are you hungry?” he asked, and before Thomas had a chance to respond, John was out of his chair, disappearing inside. Thomas glanced down at his watch and surveyed the streets. 8 o’clock and they were still empty. It didn’t necessarily surprise him; transportation downtown had been a mess this morning. The trains stopped abruptly at the Helmdale station - all stations south of that were closed without explanation - and the few cabbies loitering about refused to take him any further. He ended up walking a dozen or more blocks.

John popped back out of the door with a plate full of baked goods - croissants and scones piled atop muffins and tartlets, the aroma warm and sticky. “We’re of course planning a full brunch menu. If you call it brunch you can charge twice as much and nobody bats an eye. Hopefully these should do for now.” Thomas picked up a croissant, but before he had a chance to bring it to his mouth, a series of sharp staccato blasts erupted in the distance, echoing down the empty street.

“Was that…?” 

“A car backfiring,” John said quickly, a pinched expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” But immediately the sound repeated, another series of blasts in quick succession, this time closer and louder. Thomas’s whole body flinched and he bolted up out of his chair, staring down the street. The sound was unmistakable.

John remained seated. “You know what it is,” he said, his tone flat and jaw clenched. “They’re filming a movie in the vacant lot down the street. The landlord mentioned it the other day.”

Thomas turned and looked at John skeptically. “A movie? It sounds like gunfire.” 

“Yeah. It’s an action movie. They shoot guns in action movies.” John shook his head and his tone became harsh. “It’s not a big deal. Come on, sit down.” John made a show of digging out a blueberry muffin from the stack of pastries. Thomas could tell he was annoyed - he always spoke in sharped clipped phrases when he was annoyed -  and felt somehow guilty. Thomas began to slowly sit down when he saw a figure appear in the distance.

“There’s someone running this way,” he said. John sighed and slowly put down the muffin. He leaned over in his chair, his body rigid. His eyes narrowed as he saw the distant silhouette of a figure in motion. Clouds of dust billowed behind him, as if he was a phantom emerging from another world. He was running towards them through the empty streets. 

“It’s a customer,” John said, forcing a hollow laugh. “It’s about time.” He tapped his mug nervously, watching the man approach. Thomas stood frozen, waiting for John’s reaction. Another round of gunfire erupted in the distance followed by the roar of an explosion. “Let’s head inside,” John said suddenly, scooping up the plate of pastries and tray of sugar. Performing a careful balancing act, he kicked open the door and ushered Thomas inside. The two coffee mugs were abandoned on the patio table.

John deposited the food on the bar and rushed back over to the door, locking it just as the phantom man appeared across from the storefront. The man stopped and turned towards the cafe and Thomas instinctively took a step backward. From close-up certain details became clearer - his face and arms covered in soot, his clothes tattered. Splashes of red flecked his jeans. The man approached and pulled at the locked door. “Go away!” John yelled. The man pushed and pulled again as if testing the door for weakness. John beat his fist against the inside of the glass. “Go away,” he barked again, “Paying customers only!” 

The man stepped backward and nearly tripped over the patio table, sending the mugs clattering to the ground, the remaining coffee splattering the sidewalk. He reclaimed his balance just as another explosion erupted followed by the crack of gunfire. The man took off, bolting down the street and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. John stood at the door, his back to Thomas, his head shaking slowly and his muscles tight. “The homeless here are a real problem,” he said quietly under his breath, and Thomas couldn’t tell who exactly he was talking to. “I’m a taxpayer.” He beat his palm once more against the door, undid the lock, and slowly pushed it open, peering down the street to make sure the man was gone. “I don’t deserve this harassment.” 

Just as John said these words, a small canister appeared, bouncing and skidding down the sidewalk. As it passed the half-open doorway, it ignited, a geyser of thick gray smoke shooting out of it like a jet of water from a garden hose. The burst of smoke hit John square in the face, stray fumes shooting past him into the cafe. John fell backward, clawing at his throat, immediately coughing and gagging. A second later, Thomas felt the secondhand effects - a burning in his throat and lungs as he breathed in the noxious air. 

“The hood,” John growled, as he fell and thrashed on the floor. Thomas turned to the bartop and saw the exhaust hood suspended above the flattop griddle, a red button labeled ‘Emergency Purge’ affixed to the side.  Thomas whipped around the bar, coughing and gagging the fire out of his lungs, and mashed down on the button. He ducked and covered his mouth as the kitchen fan roared to life, the remnants of gray smoke billowing over him, flowing up into the hood and exhausting out, slowly clearing the room. For the next few minutes both men fought their separate battles - John writhing on the floor, Thomas crouched behind the bar - their eyes watering, skin burning, and their lungs screaming for air. Finally, John pulled himself off the floor, his cough lingering and then slowly dying down. 

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked, emerging from behind the bar, his own symptoms slowly receding.

“I’m fine,” John said, his voice cold.

“We need to get out of here.”

“No,” John said, slamming his fist down on the bartop, taking Thomas by surprise. He turned and his face was red with anger. “The building next door was scheduled for fumigation. That’s all that was.” 

“John, that wasn’t fumigation,” Thomas protested.  

“They didn’t realize we were here. It was just a mistake.”

“Are you serious?” Thomas asked, mystified.

“You were always so scared,” John said, his eyes flashing at Thomas with rage. “Always so quick to believe the worst.”

“John, what are you talking about?” 

“Everything is an outrage. Everything is a panic.”

“John…” Thomas started, as a shadow fell across the room.

“You’re just like the rest of them. Everything is the end of the world with you.”

“John…” Thomas said as the tables and chairs began to shake.

“And now you want to pull me down with you. You want me to fail!” John beat his fist once more on the bar top, the wood cracking under the blow.

“John!” Thomas yelled wildly, raising his arm and pointing past him out the window, his hand shaking in fear. His outburst finally broke through, and John stopped, turning to follow Thomas’s gaze. A procession of men and armored vehicles were streaming down the street, the men dressed in riot gear and gas masks, automatic weapons hung at their sides. There were hundreds of them, with humvees and armored trucks rumbling in formation beside them. Their bodies cut through the lingering gas, clinging to the street like a cloud. 

“What the hell?” John said in shock as Thomas remained silent, trying to process what he was seeing. There was no identification on the men or the vehicles, and he couldn’t tell if they were police or military or something else entirely. The two men stood, frozen in place, watching the parade of men. And then John started laughing. He turned his head back towards Thomas and smiled. “Customers,” he said and before Thomas had a chance to stop him, he threw open the door, yelling out, “Coffee! Best coffee in town!” 

“What are you doing!?” Thomas screamed from the back of the cafe, and as he did so, a group of four men stopped suddenly and peeled out of formation, sprinting towards the cafe with their guns raised. Thomas watched as the men overtook John, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him out of the doorway, shoving him violently down onto his knees. He cowered and raised his hands in the air, gun barrels digging into his side and back. “I’m a business owner,” he mumbled under his breath as if this would offer some kind of protection. Two of the men sprinted past John into the cafe and took hold of Thomas, pulling the same maneuver - dragging him outside and forcing him to the ground next to John. One of the men pulled two industrial-strength zip ties off his belt and bound their hands, violently contorting them into position behind their backs. 

Thomas was too shocked and terrified to resist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John’s body shaking beside him - whether in anger or fear, he couldn’t tell. One of the men unclipped a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and casually tossed it over Thomas’s head into the cafe. As he did so, a black unmarked van skidded to a stop in front of them. The van door slid open and two more men jumped out. Thomas felt their arms grabbing at him, lifting and pulling him off the ground, then shoving him up in the air. His body took flight - for a second he felt like he was floating weightlessly, suspended in the air like a cloud. He felt a blast of heat behind him followed by a deafening explosion. Shards of glass shot past like bullets, twinkling in the morning sun. His body fell and smashed down on the corrugated metal floor of the vehicle, and just as the door slammed shut behind him, he looked out and saw the cafe engulfed in flames.

It all happened so quickly, so smoothly, without a single word spoken between the men. Thomas lay prostrate on the floor of the vehicle, stunned and disoriented. John lay beside him with his head turned away, his back rising and falling with each labored breath. Thomas felt the van accelerating beneath them. “John,” he whispered, and John moaned softly. “John, are you okay?” but there was no reply. Thomas could only hear John’s heavy breathing, sharp gasps of air followed by a snivelling whine. And then quietly, almost imperceptible at first, he heard John crying. His cries grew louder and deeper, contorting and shifting in tone, until he was no longer crying but laughing - a deep, hysterical laugh that shook his whole body and filled up the van. Thomas could barely believe it. “John?” Thomas said and John suddenly went quiet.

“You know what this is?” John whispered softly, his voice full of mirth. Thomas was too shocked to answer. “This is hazing. Like we used to do in college. Welcome to the neighborhood.” John laughed wildly and just as quickly his laughter collapsed into a whimper. “It’s nothing,” he sobbed quietly to himself. “It’s fine.”

The van came to an abrupt stop and everything flowed in reverse. The door sliding open, the arms grabbing at Thomas and John, this time lifting them out of the van and depositing them back down on their knees. Only now there was dirt and grass beneath them instead of sidewalk and street. “It’s fine,” John repeated to himself, frantically alternating between laughter and tears, crying then sobbing then wailing in despair. 

“John,” Thomas whispered as the men lined up behind them. “It was a nice cafe, it truly was.” John looked over at Thomas and smiled through his tears. 

“Did you like the coffee?” he asked, his voice cracking and barely audible. His question was answered by two loud pops and the thud of two bodies hitting the ground.