“If you really want to volunteer, I’ll see if Mrs Atkins can have Honey. She lives above the shop next door.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Hell no, I think you’re brave as hell. I just worry Honey will get too comfortable with the fresh chicken breast that Mrs Atkins bribes her with. It’s like The Ritz for dogs when she stays there. She whines whenever I have to take her back.”

“Mrs Atkins or Honey?”

“Both.”

Cris giggled and sneakily slipped a sliver of meat to the pooch. Honey had this way of watching you without watching you that only made it more obvious that she was watching you. If that made any sense. It came with a bolt upright seated position as if she was canine royalty. She would then give me the side-eye until I gave in. My diet really was mostly chicken and rice, with rare cheat days. The dog loved the bland fare even more than the “choice cuts” of indeterminate origin that came in her gravy cans. If I had more money, her meals would be the finest steaks from the hand reared beef of a Russian oligarch’s favourite daughter’s personal livestock farm. Ok, that was a bit out of left field. I’m not even sure oligarch’s daughters kept livestock. They were probably invested heavily in agriculture as a means of profit. Anyway, where was I going with that? Oh yeah, Honey liked the finer things.

“This is gonna sound really weird, but do you think they let people pick who they fight with?”

“I have no idea.” I knew what she was getting at, and I’d had exactly the same thought when she broached the topic of going in. I’d prefer to go to war with a friend than a stranger, no matter how brief the relationship had been.

I added another thought to the request to volunteer. Don’t wipe out our entire planet. Please. There are species worthy of the stewardship of earth. Dogs and cats would from the yin and yang of balance. The former would lead in the fields of butt sniffing and fetch, while the latter would rule with an iron paw, knocking off anything from the counter that displeased them. And some stuff that didn’t do anything other than just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The haughty felines would likely get ideas above their station and trigger an endless war between the cats and dogs that would see millions die on the battlefield. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. Sloths, on the other hand…

“I really think I have to do this,” she added.

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Cris. I’d have you on my team in a heartbeat.”

“Really?”

“You’ve probably got a charisma in the double digits. You had me won over in seconds.”

She beamed. “Do you think it’ll be like that? D&D? Twenty rolls and all that stuff?”

“Knowing my luck it’ll be fucking Dark Souls and I’ll have the broken straight sword and fat roll.”

“What’s the problem? You can beat the games with it.”

I held up a hand to argue. “Correction, some people can beat the games with it. And at level zero to boot. I still get killed when I’m massively over levelled. I have a knack of panic rolling straight into an attack.”

She rubbed her chin speculatively. “I’m beginning to wonder if I want you on my team after all.”

“I could be the loveable mascot?”

“I’d rather take Honey. She’s cuter and furrier.”

“You haven’t seen me naked. They don’t call me sasquatch for nothing you know.”

“Remind me to add wax kits to our wedding gift list.”

I chuckled and headed for the stairs, as content as I’d been in at least three years. How messed up does a life have to be that facing death with a relative stranger is considered a high point in the timeline?

“I’ll be right back.”

Mrs Atkins was an absolute treasure and within two minutes of knocking her door she was following me back to my flat. I figured it was the best idea all round. It occurred to me as I was gathering the septuagenarian that the games might just require the mind, like a virtual reality game, which would mean myself and Cris could just lay down on my bed and do our thing. It would be helpful to have a steward to watch over our vacant bodies while we battled the creatures, though. She might be as old as time and smell faintly of wee, but at that age, I’m sure I’d care less about hygiene. All that mattered was Mrs Atkins was solid and dependable. I’d seen her barge through a group of youths who were blocking her entrance as she tried to get to bingo. Their weak attempt to intimidate her was met with a barrage of expletives and finger wagging that resulted in one of the youth running off threatening to tell his parents. She called after him and mentioned them by name. The threat wasn’t carried out. Put it this way; Mrs Atkins was not to be trifled with.

She sat on the sofa, a living cliché with her knitting needles. Her hands moved as fast as her mouth. While bonnets, jumpers, and all manner of knitted wear appeared at her fingertips, her mouth created worlds out of time. Most of them revolving around her late husband and their foreign exploits together. She was probably the most well-travelled lady I knew.

“So, as I was saying, Frank was certain we were on the right track but wouldn’t you know, he was wrong. The bloody lion came out of nowhere and just stared at us from down the trail. I swear he soiled himself there and then. It certainly smelled like it. Anyway, I just told him to hold still and it wouldn’t bother us if we didn’t bother it. If the lion was hungry, he’d have been on us before we even knew he was there. Sure enough, the thing wandered back into the brush and I led the way back to the camp. Silly fool had taken us straight past the warning signs on the fence and out into the wilds. Besides, it’s the rhinos you need to watch out for. Those pointy nosed bastards are the devil’s work. They’ll charge you down and trample you just for the fun of it. Crusty skinned wankers.”

Cris looked to me for help and I ignored her, trying to hold back my laugh. Honey had already curled up at Mrs Atkin’s feet. The dog wasn’t allowed on the furniture when she was in charge, not even in my own home. Honey didn’t seem to mind in the least as long as Mrs Atkin’s right foot continued to scratch at her side.

The news was empty of anything useful. Most of the discussions revolved around the twin disasters and the narrowly averted final disaster that would have finished us off completely. Word was leaking that nukes had already been in the air when the warning came. A few sheepishly applied abort codes had blown them from the sky and nothing more was said. Some of the more abstract guests started to theorize what this contact, however poorly it was going, meant for humanity going forward. The question of not only are we alone in the universe had been answered, but the fact that other realities existed too. The next guest built on this with talk of Heaven being just another realm that we could all aspire to. I’d been a fervent door slammer when it came to unsolicited religious advice, but even I admit I was open to new suggestions.

I checked the bed, and then the alarm clock. We were down to three minutes. I felt each tick as a gong in my head that brought me closer to the end.

“Are you ok?”

I turned to see Cris in the doorway.

“As ok as I can be. I’ve got the bed ready.”

“Shall we give Honey a quick fussing and then lay down?”

At that moment, all I wanted was to fuss the Labrador forever and forget all about the Sword of Damocles that was poised above eight and however many billion people’s heads.

Two minutes thirty.

I got my arse moving and found the pooch sleeping fitfully. I gathered her into my arms and held her tight. There was none of the normal annoyed wriggling that usually accompanied being dragged unceremoniously from sleep. It was as if she could sense I needed to do this and she should just acquiesce to the emotionally fragile human. Cris took over and I planted a kiss on Mrs Atkins’ forehead. “Thank you.”

One minute.

“You go and play your games, dearie. I’ll be waiting right here for when you get back.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Cris.

Mrs Atkins waved her away cheerfully. “You kids have fun. I’ll knit you both a scarf.”

I didn’t want to explain it was the start of summer and the thing would go in my drawer for six months before it would see the light of day. She just wanted to be useful.

“Ready?” Cris offered her hand to me.

I took it. Mine was shaking and sweaty. Hers was cool and steady. I liked to think she was drawing on my strength, but as the clock ticked down past fifteen seconds, I knew it was the opposite. I wanted to survive and find out everything I could about her. Her favourite colour, her favourite drink, her favourite movie, her favourite spot to be kissed. I realised we’d kept the conversation vaguely flirty and mundane in an attempt to not form too close of a bond.

Too bad.

Bond formed.

Ten seconds.

I laid down.

She lay beside me.

We laid our arms flat, the sides of our hands touching.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Showtime!