THE BATTLE OF the doom mongers went on apace amid the busy hustle that marked Cherryball Flats as one of the most progressive cities on the Face of the World, like a very red spot on the point of bursting. It was as if, apart from a tiny fraction of serial worriers, the whole of Frangea continued to live a not exactly care free existence, but a sort of stolid get on with it in the Frangea way lifestyle choice and damn all the rest of it.
As the weeks passed and the sun shone, bathers bathed, hustlers hustled and beachcombers came up with next to nothing, so prosperity for the Enders seemed hard to come by. 'Cash-Then-Crash' garnered their trickle of subscribers, Lemon Curl managed to get a little funding from several breweries in Sicksplash Alley to tide her over and a certain woeful gentleman found himself obliged to pay off some of his late fees at the district library. He managed this by selling scandalous poetry about politicians in high places, with the names cunningly concealed in hilariously suggested anagrams provided by a certain lady who might be his wife.
With the onset of autumn a whole new dynamic seized upon the land. The end of the Summer Pause was to some the end of the world indeed for they had to return to work or to school or to some activity that did not involve sunbathing and lazing around outside beachfront bars. The sun kept rising and setting with annoying regularity, keeping days and nights going with a determination that suggested the world was not yet ready to put an end to itself. Such a disastrous turn of events led to inevitable consequences.
'What went wrong?' Mully Craftit said plaintively, shaking her mineral necklace with worry as income dried up. It seemed like the end of the world, sort of. Some animal screamed as it was slaughtered in the butchery below in a poignant moment of relevance.
'World's still here,' Share suggested sagely.
'But the sense of doom's still here too.'
'And Lemon Curl. You know what she's gone and done?'
'No. Tell me.'
'Opened a bloody supermarket with an allnight drinking hall attached. Holds autumn fall over parties with slogans about how a great winter freeze is being predicted by certain weather boffins that'll wipe us all out. Where she got that from, I've no idea.' There was a tone to her voice that suggested envy and respect rolled into barely concealed outrage.
Mully pondered this a moment as she looked at a slightly crumpled black-bordered flyer. She flipped it over and read advertisements from the various retail sponsors.
'Seems to me,' she said, 'really thick coats, big hats and super-warm boots might be a trending thing in the coming months perhaps.'
'I'll get right on it,' Share said, leaping up with such energy it was a terrifying thing to behold. Then she paused. 'I wonder how that book selling chappie will adapt to this shifting doom thing?'
'A really large bonfire, probably,' Mully said, 'you know, to keep him and that woman who might be his wife warm in the deadly freeze that's most definitely on its way.'
The two women who had staked their livelihood on a future that was no future stopped then and stared at each other as another creature on the floor below gasped out its life in noisy protest.
'No,' Share said quietly, looking around at the sparse office where no expense had been expended. 'That can't be right. We can't be having any, you know, wotsits.'
'Survivors?'
'Them's the ones.'
Share sat down heavily in her chair again, which she usually did even when in a light-hearted mood.
Here was a dilemma. Adapt and die was the rule by which she had shaped her current occupation. Adapt and survive was just simply not acceptable in the current climate of total annihilation.
'Bloody Lemon Curl. I could wring her scrawny neck,' Share said and laughed with philosophical humour.
'She is indeed a step ahead of us on this one.'
'Step ahead? Got it!' and Share jumped up again. 'What say we arrange for hiking trips into the hills?'
'Why, by all that's doomed to end?' Mully said, eyes wide and necklace glinting with tremblings of puzzlement.
'I read about it in an awful book I swiped from that doomstaller the other day, called
From Log Jam to Traffic Snarl
, or some such.'
Share struck up a pose as ideas seized her mind in tight grips that made her eyes go funny.
'Picture this,' and she swept plump hands out before her dramatically. 'A last view of the beautiful land of Frangea before the great snows come sweeping in from whatever direction they're supposed to, covering everything in a freezing blanket of death.' Then she smiled pleasantly. 'No survivors.'
'Ooh, I get it. We can arrange hikes periodically. People can view some trees and hills and things and wait a bit for a possible world ending blizzard. When it doesn't come we can give them a free pass for later.'
'A discounted ticket,' Share corrected, thinking of profit margins.
'Of course. Silly me. Got carried away there a minute.' Mully gathered up the remaining scattered flyers. 'Is Pollit still working for us?'
'Think so. She was a volunteer helper from our early summer student sweep so can't really dismiss her.'
'Then dispose of these things and ask her to get some maps of Mount Syzywyg and environs, and a good list of outdoor retailers. We need a new set of sponsors for this one. Roll on doomsday.'
'Roll on doomsday,' Share repeated the battle cry with a skip in her step as she took the no longer needed flyers out to be trashed.