We Are Getting to the End

The sun was dying in the sky, spilling that golden ooze across the universe and the water. It was positively Papal, a blinding cacophony of something I didn't quite believe in. Maybe I kept staring at the sky instead of staring down into the beach. It should be white soft sand and kids running about and teenagers kissing and getting drunk. But I refused to look down. Nobody looked down. It should be warm, it's the California (God, remember when there was a California?) coastline for Christ sake. And with all the ovens too...no, not going to think about that. What was that little woof's name again? Brendon. He said that he had managed to survive so long because of positive thinking.

Positive thinking sure as hell sounds like a load of hippie bullshit to me but when everything else has pissed on your chips, hippie bullshit suddenly seems a lot more palatable.

The bus had broken down. A couple of woofs were looking at the clapped out piece of shit. That thing is meant to be Noah's Ark but I don't have that much hope. Hope...what is hope, anyway? Hope doesn't exist if you're a plain old straight normal white Christian bastard. We don't fit that category. I can understand why they might fear me or the other woofs or the spooks or whatever, but it's the other guys with us. It's funny how accepting people get of the supernatural when in a life or death situation.

I remember that the Catholic black woman Rita tried to kill me when she found out what I was. The lesbian couple blanched when they were able to talk to the spooks. But life goes on. Thirteen runaways, banded together in universal disgrace.

Still beats the inside of an oven. Still beats going through the door.

That's what the humans do. You know, the normal ones. They make undesirables go through their door early into The Other Side. We're all destined for death's door and to meet our Fate once inside it. Unless you're like me and you've been infected with a one way ticket to Hell.

I was infected by a little girl. Doesn't seem right somehow. You spend a sultry summer evening in a fashionable part of town, busking with the beat-up guitar that you bought for a couple of bucks at a garage sale and then some little snot-nosed kid called Hattie talks to you and then kills you. Somewhat, anyway.

By the way, mortuary tables are uncomfortable as hell. I woke up from the nightmare and had an aching back for a week.

But hey, that was nearly fifty years ago.

Brendon asked me that when we first met. Some of the old vamps like having dog fights with some of the woofs and maybe toss in a human to watch the carnage. It's not my scene, if I'm honest, but when I heard that they were bringing in the pretty werewolf who killed three vampires, it got my attention.

Everyone had gone. The vamps had pissed off for whatever they do when I don't see them, eating people or watching gay porn, I don't fucking know. The two hookers we'd got off the street to fight him were decorating the cage in a shade that could only be described as "adulterous intestines" and he was bloody, muddy and bruised. And naked. Can't forget that detail. There was a couple of cloth fragments here and there but he was naked as the day God spat in his eye.

"Come on, Blue's Clues. Get up," I said, clinging onto the cage. He stared up at me, those liquid eyes seemed to be a calligraphic mistake. Hurt, shame, guilt. I felt those at first but then you get into the swing of things. "I have some clothes for you. At least you'll be able to get home without getting arrested."

He stood up, covering his privates with a hand and pulled the clothes through. "Thanks." he muttered and pulled the pants on.

"You know, you have quite a weedy body for being a woof." I grinned, watching him.

"You have quite happy eyes for a cold-hearted mass murderer."

"I'm not the one covered in blood."

"Physically at least," he turned around, his face contorted a little with a grin that didn't quite fit, like it had been ripped off a larger face and stapled to his own. "You are splattered in the blood of countless men. And you know what? God's gonna cut you down."

"Doubt it. This is America - God's Holy Sim Game. This is the safest place in the world. Safer than other places." I stood triumphant in my argument and he laughed. He laughed.

"My my my, how short-sighted are we? Everybody knows the world is changing and your time of hiding in the supernatural closet is ending."

"Better than in the UK. Whole groups are being destroyed there."

"Ah, but by who? I've been looking into it. It's a project ran by two nutter Bible-thumpers. And you think you'll be saved here? You must be killing too many people on meth."

And look who's prediction came true.

It came out. The whole vampire thing. And the werewolf and the ghost and the zombies and everything else that shouldn't exist but does. And the humans reacted the only way they knew. And their reaction grew to everything. It's why when I look into the mainland, I see the church and a cross ten feet tall. And when I look at the sea...

"Ryan, come on. The bus is ready. We outta go." the spook said before disappearing again to tell tales on me. And sure enough, a firm if furry hand placed itself on my shoulder.

"Brendon, I don't want to hear it."

"The bus is ready and this place isn't..."

"Safe?"

He held onto my hand then. It was sticky and although I probably guess it's my prejudices but I felt the hairs stab into my hand. I look one final look out into the bay and saw the coral reef again. The intricate vertebrate and skulls of millions. And according to those preachers, they're prettier dead than living.