The End, for Real This Time, or Is It?

How many times can someone tell you the world’s going to end before you stop believing them? Ally takes a drink from her glass, swills the ice, gives it a good long think. Twice. Someone could tell her the world was ending twice before she’d start giving it a second thought. Everyone could make one mistake, especially when it came to doomsday predictions. A comet could be off by a few days; The second time, she’d still be heading down to the bunker. That was just common sense. But the third time? The third time she was going to sip a drink in the shade and watch as a great nothing rolled over the world. That was the plan for the afternoon.

           The news – an old enemy – had been wrong about the end of the world more times than Ally could count. Whether it was the threat of nuclear war, catastrophic hurricanes that never made landfall, or poison in sweetener, there was always something bringing death. She laughed, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the newly emptied pub. It seemed the rest of the world was taking it seriously enough.

           Ben was still tending bar, but that didn’t mean much. What else did Ben have to do? The Copper Hog wasn’t making enough money to buy him his own doomsday shelter, or even access to someone else’s. No, Ben was incentivized to bet that the end of the world wasn’t coming, because either way, he was going to continue having a shit time of it. All the same, he was standing at the corner of the bar, watching a small screen where a news reporter talked above a red flashing banner.

           Ally finished her drink and poured another glass from the bottle. Ben had forgone typical limits due to special circumstances. She had to pay for it, of course, but the ‘end of the world discount’ had been enough to justify the purchase. Sucker. “What are they saying now?” Couldn’t hurt to listen.

           “Looting, violence, end of the world shit.”

           End of the world shit indeed. “And the flare?”

           “On schedule. Should be cooked in about ten minutes or so.” Ben said it with the casual tone of announcing the bar had run out of olives. On second thought, he might have been more concerned with the olives.

“Going to be painful?” she asked. Life had always been plenty painful, but it hurt less if you braced for impact.

           “Newswoman says it should be near instantaneous.”

           The newswoman had also said that eggs were responsible for heart disease. So, it was a tossup. Luckily, she was replaced by a scientist with a white coat and everything. He probably didn’t need the garb, but he needed the respect. Scientists had called doomsday more times than most and could be trusted even less in Ally’s estimation than the newspeople.  “Alright, turn it up then.” She stood up from her stool and slid her glass down the bar.

           Ben increased the volume.

           “We can’t stress this enough. Anyone on the streets needs to get themselves to a solar shelter immediately. If you do not have access to a private—”

           Ally scoffed. “Who do they think we are?”

           Ben shrugged. “Rich I suppose. You still think it’s bullshit?”

           It was Ally’s turn to shrug. “Remember the missile?”

           “Last week?”

           Ally nodded. “Last week.”

           “North Korea?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Didn’t amount to much.”

“Didn’t amount to much. They’ve got to be cautious, that’s all. Age of lawsuits and everything. You know how it goes.” She finished another glass, the tips of her fingers tingling with the beginnings of a pleasant numbness. “Discount us another bottle would ya? End of the world and all.”

           Ben looked at Ally’s glass and back at the liquor shelf. “Really should cut you off. Especially if it’s all bullshit in the end.”

           Ally rolled her eyes, knowing that one way or another she would be getting that drink.

           “Fine.” Ben reached up toward the top shelf, pulled down another bottle, and a second glass. “We can split it.”

           Ally raised an eyebrow. “Drinking on the job? Not like you.” He really believes this crap.

           “End of the world, right?” Ben grinned, but it wasn’t enough to cover the shaking in his hand as he poured.

           Lucky man. He gets to wake up tomorrow changed. There was nothing that reset the psyche better than finding out the world wasn’t ending. The shine had worn off for Ally, but she never forgot her first. A sliver of fear pierced her calm, but only for a moment. Fool me once, she reminded herself. Many people had tried to fool Ally, it was practically a pastime. Men, women, parental figures; it might have worked at one point, but not anymore.

           “Ally?” Ben was holding a glass of clear liquid out to her.

           She took a measured breath and grabbed the glass. “Thanks, Ben. Cheers.”

           “Cheers.”

           They clinked their glasses, drank, and sat in silence.

           Ally briefly wondered if the silence would lead to a quick fling in the back room but thought better of it. If it had been the first doomsday call, maybe. Ben was good-looking in a morose, working man sort of way, but she came to the Copper Hog enough that it would be more than a little awkward. Looking at his eyes, she could see that Ben was having similar thoughts. Best to nip these things in the bud. “Solar flares probably look nice before they cook you, right?”

           Ben snapped from his fantasy. “I’d imagine so. It’s the sun, right?”

           Ally nodded. “Hot bastard, the sun, but beautiful. Maybe we should watch it from the porch?”

           Ben looked at the door. Red sunlight was glinting through the wooden shutters, casting angry lines on the dusty floor.

           The fear on his face was plain. It was a bit early for sunset, wasn’t it? Ally checked her watch. Just after six. When had that happened? “Come on, Ben, it’s going to be fine.”

           “Alright.” He grabbed the bottle and stepped out from behind the bar.

           Ally took her glass and walked over to the door. The farther she got from the bar’s single air conditioning unit, the more she was reminded that the dead of summer was upon them. When she reached the door, it was sweltering. Ben ran a decent dive bar, but he was a cheapskate. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the setting sun.

           The porch was blazing and cast in hot amber light. Abandoned cars lined the street, some stopped in the middle of an intersection. Traffic lights clicked from red to green, unaware that there was no traffic to direct. A siren wailed in the distance. It certainly looked like the end of the world.

           Ally moved to one of the reclining chairs on the porch and set her glass down.

           Ben barely left the doorway. His eyes were directed firmly toward the sky, sweat beading on his brow.

Ally felt her own heart beating louder with each passing second. It’s the alcohol. “You going to come sit, Ben?”

“Yeah, sure.” He finished his glass. “You seeing this?”

“Come on, Ben.”

“I can’t tell if I’m seeing things or not.”

“Fine.” With some trepidation, Ally raised her eyes to the sky and looked toward the setting sun. “Well, there it is.”