The Final Party | Chris Wheatley

A CEO, a banker, a senator and a scientist get into a car…


The Final Party

Chris Wheatley

The Oktober-Fast Award


They were half-way into the middle of nowhere when the luxury anti-grav hover-car broke for good.

“Jesus, Mike,” said Phillipa, “I thought this thing was top-of-the-line.”

“It is top of the line,” said Frank, “but our pilot’s drunk.”

“I’m dnot drank,” said Mike, “damn.”

“It’s okay,” said Beverley, “we can walk the rest of the way.”

“In these shoes?” said Laura.

“Where is this party, anyway, little sis?” said Frank.

“You’ll see,” said Beverley, “it’s not far.”

“Hooray,” said Mike.

“In these shoes?” said Laura again.

The night was dark. The landscape inky outlines of fields and trees and hedges.

“Can you believe,” said Phillipa, “that in this day and age there are still some places where you cannot connect to the net?”

“Have a drink,” said Mike, passing round the bottle.

“Urgh,” said Phillipa, “even the sat-nav is out.”

“Have a pill,” said Mike, passing round the pills.

“What are you laughing at?” said Laura.

“A CEO,” said Frank, “a banker, a Senator and a scientist and here we are lost in a field. Useless.”

“This way,” said Beverley, “over there.”

“It’s like one of those horrible news stories,” said Laura, “where respectable people get lured into the middle of nowhere and killed by socialist luddites.”

“Hands behind your heads,” said Frank, adopting a voice he imagined a socialist luddite would employ, “on your knees.”

“That’s not funny,” said Phillipa, “that’s not funny at all.”

“Who’re these guys?” said Mike, as a dozen oddly-dressed characters appeared from the shadows.

“Are they going to the party too?” said Laura, “can they give us a ride?”

“I know that man,” said Phillipa, “don’t I?”

Frank wasn’t laughing any more. “Jesus,” he said, “that’s Lester Lukes.”

“The terrorist?” said Phillipa, “the anarchist? But didn’t we kill him in that drone strike?”

“I think we should go,” said Laura.

“Too late,” said Beverley, taking out her pistol, “put your hands behind your heads.”

“Is this a joke?” said Phillipa.

“On your knees,” said Beverley.

“Can’t we all just have a pill,” said Mike, “and calm down?”

Their deaths made the morning news, and the world went on very much as before.

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