Crater

El Restaurante del Cráter is at the center of the largest crater in Mexico. The state of Guerrero, like the entirety of the globe is in ruins, desolation, and ash. The fires that have engulfed the vegetation of the world have mostly burnt out. The old refineries and destroyed pipelines still spit out their fuel like dying dragons across charred landscapes. The sky is black, the sun, blotted into a red orb is a symbol of what has become. The human population, decimated and delivered into the state of a previous era when the hunter gatherer ruled the world.

What was once the city of Taxco, in the state of Guerrero has been laid waste by war. The green mountains have become barren hills made ugly by bombs and old fire. The silver mines and ancient caves served as shelter during the worst of the destruction. 

“Well isn’t this lovely,” A man by the name of Hoover holds up a dirty glass with brown liquid sloshing in it. He is seated at a long makeshift table of blackened boards held together piecemeal. Next to him is his wife Ninny, her blonde hair is ratty and her pale skin is rippled and torn from an old severe burn. Twenty feet away is a small shack that houses the kitchen to El Restaurante del Cráter, and consists of a fire pit and dusty shelves with strange glass orbs that hold various mixtures of a severely toxic nature. In the back of the shack is a shallow pit where a strange smelling sludge bubbles with fermentation.

“What are we drinking today, Juan?” Hoover asks the waiter, a short man wearing nothing but a tie held by a rusty nail in his chest and a pair of brown pants. His head is small and misshapen, and where his eyes should be, there are only moist sockets. He bends at the waist, “es una mezcla de..”

“Wait--wait! I want to guess...” Ninny cries.

  “Is it Pinot noir?” 

“No...,” Juan says, still bent at the waist. 

Hoover swirls the liquid allowing the dull sun to meekly pierce its color. The brown liquid swirls, leaving no legs against the glass, nor does it hold any viscosity. 

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Hoover smiles with what teeth remain in his badly corroded mouth. He drinks and with great rigor swishes it like mouthwash. His eyes bulge and strain. He then sets to gurgling, the brown liquid spattering the side of Juan’s face. He swallows, his chin digs deeply into his chest. 

“Well?” Ninny asks. 

“It tastes like utter shit!” He announces. 

“Tu vives...” Juan says, resuming his previous posture. 

“¿Qué te gustaría comer? Or shall we wait for your amigos?” 

“Please, let us wait,” Hoover says. “But do bring me another glass, and Ninny… Are you sure you aren’t drinking today?” He looks lovingly at his wife. 

“Well, I am parched,” she says. “Juan, fetch me a glass of whatever that was… What is it anyway?” 

“Una mezcla, señorita. La mezcla es radiactiva. Pero todo es… no te preocupes mi amor, it is well fermented. It will do the trick.” 

Juan turns about face and marches blindly forward. 

“What a glorious day,” Hoover says, looking up into the ashen sky.

The crater is a mile wide and inside of it, around its edges are small hovels created from scrap metal and charred wood. Decrepit figures in the distance move about aimlessly. The town of Crater was founded a year after the “great disaster” of 2051. The climatic shifts led to mass migrations of refugees who were no longer able to live in their home countries. Sea level rise, wildfires, hurricanes, sleet and unimaginable winters; floods that drove people from their homes. On top of the natural disasters there were decades of disease which led to a series of pandemics that strangled the global economy. Then came xenophobia, genocide, war, horror, and endless violence. 

“Well, look who finally arrived!” Hoover jumps up from his chair and extends his hand to an ashen man named Carter.

“Hoover, Hoover, Hoover... “ Carter says before turning to Ninny. 

“Ninny, Ninny, Ninny…”

“Oh Carter, you are looking handsome.” 

Carter smiles, taking the hand of the woman he has in tow, extending it for her into the hand of Ninny.

“And Flower, you look amazing!”

Flower, a youngish woman with twitching eyes seems to rattle in her skin and she says nothing. Carter sits and Flower stands there shaking until Carter rises again and pushes down her shoulders. She sits and her eyes waver in their sockets unsure if they should stay open and roll around like a macabre dance or shut tightly against an internal pain that broils within.

Hoover, who is still standing, is all smiles. “And last but certainly not least!” He shouts. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up Hoover!” says the lumbering man. There is no hair on his head and his scalp is full of moist scabs. 

“Always cheery, Krum!” 

“I want to fucking kill myself,” Krum grasps Hoover’s hand tightly and shakes it. 

“Well that’s nothing new, now is it Krum?” Hoover says. 

“Fucking hate this shit,” Krum says. His partner Stevie, a skin and bone middle aged woman with only one ear waves to the others and says, “What are we drinking?” 

“Something lovely, don’t worry darling!” Ninny says. “Hoover,” She hisses. “We should have ordered a round for the whole table!” 

“How inconsiderate of me.” 

Hoover turns and shouts toward the shack. “Oh, Juan! Please be a doll and bring us all a round of whatever the shit that was! Por favor! And rápido!” 

“I want to go back to how it was,” Krum says. 

“Always living in the past,” Hoover says. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP HOOVER!” Krum slams his fist against the table and one of the legs falls off. The table becomes unstable and the others brace it against a fall. It steadies enough to only wobble slightly thereafter.

“So angry today,” Hoover mocks. 

“Ignore him,” Stevie says. “He’s not able to see the good in things. I’ve been trying to get him to do some yoga with me.” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP STEVIE WITH THE YOGA! I WILL NOT FUCKING YOGA!”

Everyone at the table watches as Krum hyperventilates. The sores on his head puss and bubble like miniature calderas. He begins to calm down, the silence around them is interrupted when Juan, delicately stepping with a tray of six drinks shuffles to the table. His waist bumps the edge and he stops. He stands silently for a long time before finally asking, ¿Hola? alguien aquí?

“Si, mi niño!” Hoover shouts. Juan, startled, nearly falls backwards, the drinks on the tray slide and clank against each other. 

“Mis disculpas... I thought you all left, señor.”

“No, no, we wouldn't leave without paying the bill! At least not before draining the swamp!” 

“Me puedes hacer un favor and take the tray, por favor?” Juan says. “I’m afraid I have ojos de murciélago.”

“You don’t say!” Hoover says. 

“Honey, he has no eyes...” Ninny whispers.  

“No shit! You never did tell us what happened, Juan. Would you mind sharing?” 

“Un pájaro,” Juan makes his hand into the shape of a flapping bird. “It turned out I wasn’t dead.” 

Juan stands before them like a disfigured monument. A frozen corpse. 

“Of course my boy, of course. Gracias, Juan,” Hoover says.

“¿Puedo tomar su orden?” Juan asks. 

“Food, food, food” Carter mumbles. 

“Mujeres primero,” Hoover says. “Ninny, what are you going to have my dear?”

“I’m dying for a lobster tail. I want extra, extra butter, por favor. And can I also have a Caesar salad with extra croutons,” Ninny’s eyes bulge from her head and saliva pools at the edges of her mouth.

Juan doesn’t move from his place, the sockets in his skull stare out unblinking. The cool air dries them into slightly shivering beds of barren wasteland. 

Steavie clears her throat and says, “I also want a salad but the house is fine. I’m feeling like some salmon. Baked salmon, por favor--with the little capers on top...” Her face looks dreamy. 

“Flower, Flower, Flower,” Carter begins. “She’ll have a cheese burger with fries, fries, fries. I want a steak, bloody as hell.” 

Hoover sighs, “there are so many wonderful options, Juan. How is a man to choose?” 

“Hoover,” Krum growls from across the table. 

“I could go for a giant pizza,” Hoover continues. … “or a taco… oh, how I miss tacos. What is today's special?” 

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! YOU BLOODY WELL KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS ON THE MENU! THE SAME THING THAT'S ALWAYS ON THE MENU! I CAN’T STAND THIS ANYMORE. I CAN’T DO IT. I CAN’T!” Krum falls back in his chair and disappears from the table. 

“Lo siento mucho, Juan. You’ll have to excuse our friend. We’ll both take the special.” 

 Stevie looks down at her husband on the ground, “Honey, don’t be silly. Why don’t you come back up to the table?”

“I won’t. I want this all to end…. I want to die…” Krum begins to sob.  

“Should we toast?” Stevie asks uneasily. She holds up her drink. 

“I think that would be lovely,” Ninny says. “What should we toast too?” 

“Food, food, food.” 

“How about this wonderful company,” Hoover says, holding up his glass. “To all of you beautiful people.”

“Wonderful idea, honey.” 

“To all of you! To all of us!” Hoover says. 

They each take a drink and begin to cough and squint against the strong flavor. Flower grabs at her throat and begins to gag. 

“Oh Flower, honey!” Ninny says, concerned. 

Carter watches her. He reaches out and touches her leg. She is shaking violently now, brown liquid spraying out of her mouth. Her eyes begin to roll and she slumps into Carter’s lap. 

“Tengo tanta hambre,” Hoover says. 

“Comida, comida, comida” 

“Is she breathing?” 

Carter begins groping her body. Ninny pulls at Flower’s dirty clothing and they all help at undressing her. Carter falls onto her and licks her dry cracked skin. Flower is rattling and her eyes dance until they disappear into her head. Inside of her mind she is on the beach at Acapulco and she feels the full force of the sun, something she has missed for such a long time. 

 “Juan. We have dinner.” 

Juan’s nose sniffs the air and a subtle smile gleans his shriveled skull. 

“Si, si. Muy bien.” 

“This is terrible!” Krum says, emerging from the ground.. 

“You can’t do this Hoover! It's inhumane. It's vile!” 

“Oh, shut up! This is reality! Start living or die already.” 

“Comer! Comer! Comer!” 

Juan drags Flower toward the shack. In collective memory they imagine the world of their youth. A place that was safe from horror. A place of stability and love. What happened? 

“We can’t do this…” Krum says, visibly shaken. 

“Its already done, Krum… We must survive. Its the only thing left to do.”

“But it isn’t.” 

“What then?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You either live or you die. We are a team. That is why those damn meandering fools are our food,” Hoover points to the hovels of metal and wood along the crater’s furthest reaches. 

“There are others, too. In the caves and mines. We can survive.”  

The smell of strange meat rises in the air. Juan brings more drinks. 

“I’m leaving.” Krum says. 

“Where to? And what will you do without us?” 

“I’m going to the sea. Back to Acapulco. There might be fish. There might be something to eat other than dead and dying people. I can’t do it anymore.” 

No one says anything. Juan emerges from the shack with the chef who is holding Flower’s transformation. 

“That's a long walk, my friend.”

“Anything is better than this. Stevie… are you coming with me?” 

Stevie looks toward the shack. “I don’t know. We have resources here, Krum…”

“You mean people to eat… that's what you mean, Steavie! What are we doing?” 

“Surviving…” 

“There’s other ways. We just need to find them.” 

“Hope is something that has left the world. There is nothing left. We need to buy ourselves time. Then hope… then hope.” 

Before Juan and the chef return to place Flower onto the center of the table Krum turns and walks away. He walks toward the rim. Its sometime before he is able to find a place to climb out of the crater for the first time. He feels delirious. He feels lost. Distracted by hunger and a desire to die. Once out of the Crater he walks southwest for a long time before coming across another crater. He stops to rest. 

“Oh, Krum!” Hoover shouts. 

“Why did he have to go?” Steavie asks. 

“He couldn’t have gone far. He’s a fool. 

“What’s for desert?” asks Ninny. 

“I’m full,” Hoover says. 

Stevie begins to sob silently to herself. 

Juan is chewing, his face is covered in grease. His shriveled head is motionless, only his jaw moves in slow grinding motion, crunching bone and crispy flesh against his tongue. He stands in what may be deep thought or else a stillness absent of any other reason than blindness. In the small craters in his face like red crusted bowls there crawl small insects along the deeper and smoother surface. Their tiny mandibles chew at the softness for sustenance. And sitting on the edge of the crater that was once his right eye sits Krum. His feet dangle like he was at the edge of an empty pool.

The ash in the sky will not go away. Not for a long time. The days will continue to grow cold and the ground will freeze. What is left are only fragmented memories of a time that can’t seem to exist. And so they don’t.