“You’re an expert Gary, can’t you think of something?” Marcy licked her lips, her fear was a puckering, ugly reality on her beautiful face.
“Think, Gary!”
He looked at her in consternation, clearly perturbed, but rudderless; there was no way out.
“Can’t you see that I’m trying, Marcy? I’m trying, girl!” The days of strain had grown into weeks, months. He hadn’t had a decent meal in days. He hadn’t had a damn cigarette in a week. Everything was scarce; the war taking its toll on ordinary lives.
Explosions echoed in the night like portents:
‘Get out, they screamed, get away, take your backpack and go. Find a life over the border in a safe haven; find safety for Marcy. Find something better for yourself.’
He switched on his computer, trying to look capable and brave. He needed to login to weapons control, but the light flickered on the screen for a moment, and then it died.
“Damn!” He cried, smacking the hardboard for all he was worth. It didn’t budge, making him feel even worse.
“It’s your birthday, Gary. I’m so sorry about all the shit, I’m sorry about everything, I’m sorry about me…” Tears welled in Marcy’s eyes, he dropped his anger to throw his arms around her. He hugged her close; her earthy perfume stirring his mind. She made him feel real, alive.
“God, what would I do without you?”
“You wouldn’t be able to do…zip.” She replied without thinking, offering him her ageworn response.
“Our defence and response mechanisms are down. You know what that means, don’t you?”
She sighed, losing the moment. The realities of their gray world weighed heavily.
“A present came for you today. I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but you know how weird this day has been?” She smoothed her auburn hair back with one hand and reached around to find the parcel. She presented it to him with a flourish.
“Rip it open, Gary. Let’s see…” He laughed at her obvious delight and accommodated.
“A coffee machine. Wow! Where the hell am I going to get beans for this baby, in this country, right now?”
“It’s the thought that counts, Gary. There’s a card on the packaging, you missed it in your haste.”
The paper crinkled in his hands as he turned it over to see who his benefactor was.
‘From E.M, with hope’ That’s all.
“I wonder who E.M is, very cryptic.” He acknowledged.
“Well, try it out.” She urged, “just see how it would work if you had coffee beans to feed it.”
Gary turned the shiny machine around on his countertop.
“It has three settings: Classic, Rich and Speciality.”
“That’s so fun.” She actually giggled for the first time in months.
“Click its buttons. Go on.”
Gary clicked on “Classic.”
A sharp steel rod with a periscope rose from the machine. A green enhanced screen showed a bunch of scrolling texts. Marcy squealed, and he, trying to calm her nerves, took a peek at the screen.
‘Geolocation : longitude - 37.618423, latitude - 55.751244. Cruise missile on target. Press to engage.’
A clandestine missile machine, sent by the clandestine E.M.
“Who do you think E.M is?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “the only person I know of with those initials is Elon Musk. But he wouldn’t send us a ‘present’, would he?”
He switched between settings, getting images of classic traitors, rich oligarchs, and then the ‘Speciality Setting’; ‘on target click for launch’, displayed on his screen.
An image of the man who was trying to destroy his world…and the world in general.
“Marcy,” he said, “I don’t think it’s going to be long until we taste coffee again!”
