The end of the world in a few hours

The phone rings. It’s simple, white; she painted daisies over it a couple of years ago, the cord wrapped around a pair of sunglasses. The alarm clock next to it switches to 17:00.

‘Hello?’

‘Lola?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, Joanie. I’m coming to get you, pack a bag.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’ll explain once I get there. But it’s real bad, Lola. Sirens are going off at the office, everyone has left to get their loved ones. The alarm hasn’t sounded for everyone else, just us officials know about it. I’m almost there.’

And minutes later she’s jumping into Joanie’s car before it’s even come to a full stop. Joanie wears neon green eyeliner, a black and white checkered top, a purple skirt. You’d think she worked as an intern at some fancy boutique, not…there.

‘Where are we headed?’

‘There’s a place not too far, a vault. We can stay there until the worst it over.’

‘How long will that be?’

‘I don’t know. But we’ll be fine, I’ll make sure of it.’

‘Will they let me in?’

‘They have to, you’re with me, and I’ve got an ID.’

She nods, turning to face the road. A sunny day, peaceful, people going on about their day, they don’t know what’s coming. A tube of cherry lip gloss hangs from the rear-view mirror.

‘Even considering…?’

Joanie’s grip on the wheel tightens. ‘I’m telling you, Lola, if they dare try not to let us in because of our “unconventional” or whatever other bullshit they say, relationship, I’m taking them down with us.’

And maybe they would have denied them access if they had ever made it to the vault entrance. Or maybe not, too preoccupied by other things.

A siren in the distance goes off, Joanie speeds up. They have about ten minutes until every car and minivan in the neighbourhood starts pouring onto the streets. They inevitably get stuck in traffic. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then thirty.

‘Let’s get our stuff, we’re walking.’

‘How far is it?’

‘Not too far.’

‘Maybe they’ll spare us for today, even if they hit a nearby city, we should be fine for a while, we can make it.’

Joanie doesn’t correct her.

Serpentine through a sea of cars, a siren rings again, louder. She turns around, Joanie pressing on, the sky turns the colour of clementines.

Thumbs up, she has seen it in a film. The cloud is smaller than her finger, just about; she doesn’t remember if that’s good or bad.

So they run.

A cliff, a river beneath, the air gets infinitely hotter, it roars in their ears.

‘Joanie, grab my hand.’

‘What?’

‘We won’t make it; we need to jump.’

‘If we jump, we definitely won’t make it.’

But she grabs her hand, anyway, pulls her to the edge.

‘Lola!’

They jump, and her blue skirt balloons around her.