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Somewhere, on an sparse patch of mountain in Peru, a llama glows. It doesn’t realise it’s glowing of course, because llamas have a placid kind of constitution that makes them excellent friends. Needless to say, despite the eerie blue light emanating from its tufts of curly wool, the llama continues bending it’s neck to reach the next sprig of long grass, and with a faint whoosh and a pop, it disappears into thin air.
Another llama turns around, momentarily confused, before deciding it must be seeing things, and trotting briskly away to another inviting looking plant. Its silhouette disappears against the dark night sky.
Dirk has brought sandwiches. Todd's not entirely sure where he produced them from, but he’s sitting, quite happily, on the bench at the top of the hill, eating something slightly squished and smelling like an inedible combination of egg and pickle.
Todd sighs. He does that a lot.
‘Look Dirk … I was an absolute scumbag, an ass, a real prick.’ He pauses, waiting for a response. He’s tuned out in favour of the sandwich. ‘But that … that doesn’t give you an excuse to trigger the apocalypse.’
He turns, exasperated, to face the city. There’s an awful lot of fire, rising up into billowing towers of thick black smoke. A siren wails in the distance. Dirk fishes down his sleeve and draws out a bag of crackers. The packet crinkles loud against the silence of the park.
‘I’ve said sorry. Like a million times. I didn’t know the llama wasn’t important! I … I wouldn’t have run it over if I did!’ He’s loud. Behind him something scurries through a bush, as if to get away. Todd concedes defeat and slouches over to the warped wood, collapsing on to it with another sigh. He hopes they’re not addictive.
Dirk offers him the other half of the sandwich. It looks even worse up close. The bread is stained yellow. He wrinkles his nose and watches an offended hand retract hastily. The fires are getting worse.
‘I didn’t do … all this.’ A long hand flashes briefly over the city in front of them, gesturing expansively. His words are piercing. ‘You did. You ran the llama over.’ There’s a long pause, and Todd hear Dirk’s voice catch in his throat. ‘He had friends, you know.’
‘I know. I’m … I’m sorry.’ He’s more sorry for whoever finds the slightly crushed corpse of a llama on the roadside the next day.
It’s peaceful in a way, watching the fire spread. It glows brighter than the city lights, a fierce orange against dull white windows. Surreal.
‘There has to be some way to fix the universe? Put it right?’ A frown is fixed on him and he turns to look at bright eyes with a helpless expression. He can see the skyline reflected in Dirk’s pupils.
‘Well we can’t just bring him back, can we? He’s gone. Without anyone to care. He didn’t even get a proper burial. You left him by the roadside, Todd.’
Amanda’s down there. Todd knows intuitively she’ll be with the Rowdy 3, taking opportunity of the chaos to cause a little bit more havoc. Martin had bought her a baseball bat for her birthday. It lasted 3 weeks before it splintered.
Dirk’s sullen, lips turned down in an unfairly adorable pout. He’s like a child.
Todd sighs. Again.
‘Look what if … what if we stop off on the way back and get ice cream? Will you help me fix all this then?’ Dirk’s head raises minutely, his curiosity caught by a finely hanging thread.
‘Can I get chocolate? With rainbow coloured sprinkles?’ His voice is small and tentative.
‘Yes Dirk.’ Only if you work out where the fires keep coming from, he doesn’t say. The other man is grinning again, broadly, all mourning forgotten. He stands up, tugging impatiently at Todd’s sleeve, until he stops, a shadow of doubt crossing his face.
‘Todd ... Do you remember where I parked the car?’
In Peru, another, equally important llama notices something blue and faintly shiny poking out from behind the next weather worn rock. It trots up cautiously and sniffs at the cold metal. It can see itself reflected in the glass windshield. It doesn’t smell good, and that blue was something it would have never picked out for its own personal tastes, far too garish.
Llamas know a lot about colour theory.
It prods cautiously at the rubber wheel for a moment with a gentle hoof, before deciding it clearly can't eat this, and deciding to move on.
In the desolate wastes of the Sechura Desert, the Corvette lay silent and cold, slowly eroded by stinging sand.