From the Top

“Hey a coffee for two.”

May stepped into the Meteorics Coffee Shop. Someone threw a chair into the window. Looters from the seething crowds split off and stumbled in, cutting themselves on glass shards. They started smashing more glass so they could loot the pastries.

She waited patiently for the Barista. When she appeared she asked, “May I take your order?”

May replied, “Yeah see I’m gonna need the strongest thing you have.”

The Barista did a double take. She leaned in and whispered, “You don’t mean-?”

Outside the opposing sides exchanged gifts of tear gas, Molotov cocktails, clubbing, and pistols at dawn. A bullet pierced another window, shattering one of the Barista’s bottles.

May nodded. “Oh yeah. I’m talking a pair of Death Wishes.”

People battered the door down with a mailbox. Masked marauders flooded the coffee shop and proceeded to beat up the looters and each other for what pastries, treats, and beverages remained. One small masked child scampered away with a tub of chocolates in her hands.

The Barista grabbed May by the shoulders and ushered her to the back. “Come with me.”

She took May out back. Past the counter, into a backroom, and down a dimly lit flight of stairs.

“You understand… taking this makes you a target for everyone.”

May replied, “It’s a price I am willing to pay.”

The Barista nodded. She pulled out a cup and inserted it into a coffee grinder. The grinder sat on an unassuming wooden table. With a rattle and then a hiss of steam, the sacred coffee vault began to roll open. Interlocked bolts and chains peeled away.

The Barista said, “Hidden behind more armor than a bank vault lies only the holiest of brews. I present to you…”

At the ding the door swung open. She bowed and swept her hands in the direction of the most sacred of brews.

“Behold the last two packets of the Death Wish!”

The door opened revealing a trio of coffee cup headed bandits. They loomed over the last two packets, eyeing it greedily. Behind them was a roughly torn open hole, peeled away by great lengths of chain. If they were surprised their faces were obscured by their cup helmets.

May exclaimed, “The Beverage Baron. I should have known.”

“Only I may have the last most precious commodity left in the world. Get her boys,” shouted the Baron. He scooped the stuff in his arms and hustled out.

May swept a covered cup from her purse. She popped the top off the cup and drank. She inhaled those invigorating fumes, felt her pulse pound, accelerating and boosting her awareness of the world. She could see the city in flames, the world sundered, and the bombers closing in on their targets.

These things mattered not. Only sweet libation and release from all sense of danger or doubt.

The Baron’s men drew their weapons in slow motion. Their pistols were mere pea shooters, or in the case of the sad sap on the right, a squirt gun.

She sped through their onslaught of projectiles and water streams.

May swung, leaving a resounding clang off the face of the pistoleer. Then she delivered a gut punch to the other man pumping his super soaker. She wasted no time (and imbibing a second cup for courage) she stormed through the hole left by the Baron.

Peering from behind the open door the Barista shouted, “Hey your tab please.”

May tossed out whatever random rubbish was in her purse. These clattered onto the floor, a miserable and despondent haul.

“Come back here Baron.”

Baron made his getaway on the back of a grey Toyota Tundra. He sat on a great throne of cups and wheeled the trunk mounted mini gun her direction.

He exclaimed, “You’ll never take me alive.”

He depressed the trigger unleashing a hail storm of ball bearings.

From left to right May maneuvered through the maddened masses in the streets. They were choked with smoke they were, with fuming cars, rambling war machines, and the press of bodies. A brown haze colored the air of the anarchic assembly.

As she ran to keep pace with the Baron who else but General Bombard appeared to roll alongside her from his tank. It was bedecked in the flags of all denominations of nations. They were trophies from his previous conquests.

He vowed, “You will not be claiming that brew alive May. The Bombard Army shall requisition it.”

“Step off,” May countered. “Those Death Wishes are mine.” She popped the lid off another steaming cup. One hundred and thirty seven degrees of trimethylxanthine coursed through her veins. With a jump leaving only a crater behind, she left Bombard looking stunned.

Likewise the Baron gawked then restored his composure. He fired up into the air, his fire aided by a blast from General Bombard’s cannon.

At the right second of time May wrapped her arms around the solid cannonball. Gravity pulled her down with it. Pushing off from the cannonball in midflight she now hurtled like an avenging angel fist first towards the Baron’s face.

He had no time to scream. His cup helmet shattered on impact. Only dust and debris remained from the violent impact.

Bombard’s tank rolled up. He shouted to his crew, “Ready the cannon. All eyes open.” He awaited any sign of movement. Precious seconds counted as he anticipated an incoming attack.

And then… “Fire!”

The tank gun roared, sending its lethal payload speeding through the smoke. The smoke was parted. And from the smoke May dashed through. She slammed the first cannonball into Bombard’s cannon, spun off it, and flipped up and over his awed face. May winked.

He slammed his hands on his cupola and shook his fist. “Curse you May.”

The tank cannon burst. A catastrophic chain reaction sent the tank smoking from the vents and hatches. Bombard leapt from the tank just before it burst into flames.

May patted her purse. The Death Wish was secured.

Mere moments later she was ascending a flight of stairs. Her friend Gregory was hosting a rooftop party. The fireworks were about to start.

Up top Gregory’s friends and neighbors crowded the roof. They chatted, drank and ate of the banquet on offer. It was whatever people could scrounge from the warzone below, like chicken wings, chips, French fries, soda, and pizza. Someone even managed to bring a dead pig, roasted it, and served it.

The sun was setting. May asked, “Hey Greg do you know where Mills is?”

Gregory sat surrounded by his friends and his girlfriend Meg. He waved, “Hey May. Listen your boy Mills is over there, watching the horizon. He’s been worried sick for you.”

Meg said, “Look at the life of the party, two Death Wishes. Did you bring enough for the whole class?”

“Not even for you Meg. Thanks Greg.”

May walked around four people playing volleyball. Balloons dotted the party. At one corner a mother and father were letting their son cut the balloons free. The wafted into the air where an easterly wind carried them away. Music played, trying (in vain) to drown out the war raging around them.

May found Mills sitting on the edge. He faced the sun, enough to see it without burning his eyes. She gently nudged him with her elbow.

“Hey nerd. Happy New Year.”

Mills turned and smiled. “May you’re here. I was thinking you were not going to come.”

“Like I would miss this. To be with you, my best friend,” May replied. She sat down beside him. They dangled their legs over the edge.

Mills eyed the smoking drinks in May’s hands. “I see you brought some special drinks.”

“What these skull faced things? Only the best for my best friend.” She offered him a cup. “Death Wish, yours to enjoy.”

Mills took it. He blushed but looked down. “Ah May I love it. But… you remember I’m allergic to Arabica right?”

May’s mouth went agape. She stuttered, “Ah… uhm… well…”

Mills put a finger to her lips. He shushed her and said, “It is okay May. Don’t worry about it. I love it. I love that you went through hell to get it.”

May looked out. Everywhere the city burned. While she was buzzed she could see that the whole world did. It had been burning for some time.

“It’s been hell,” she said.

Mills nodded.

From behind someone shouted, “Oh hey look they are about to drop the balls!”

The crowd soon began to migrate over to them. People pointed, took pictures, and started blasting poppers.

May and Mills looked up. Soaring through the air bombers clouded the skies. In formation they started off as tiny blips. They grew in size as they drew nearer.

Gregory said, “Alright everyone, let’s welcome the New Year.”

Meg added, “From the top everyone.”

“Five.”

The bombers shone amidst the burning city and blazing sun. They were closing the distance on their targets.

“Four.”

Across the city explosions erupted here and there. Rockets soared through the air, leaving white trails behind them.

“Three.”

“Thank you for being here May. I appreciate it.”

“Two.”

May replied, “I couldn’t let you be alone. Not before the end.”

“One.”

Mills grabbed her hand. “Be strong. For me May. I love you Babe.”

Happy New Year.