The Bright Side.

Peter Smith has just found out he has a month left to live due to a lethal brain tumour.
He has also just found out that in less than a month, the human race will become extinct and that he has been chosen to be one of six humans to survive the approaching apocalypse. And who has saved him? E.I.P.F, the Earth Inhabitant Protection Front, a group of intergalactic environmentalists who want to save just one species.
And so, whilst also keeping his deadly secret from the aliens, Peter embarks on a quest to rally the chosen survivors, whilst avoiding Government Agents, the secret services, Satanists, Velociraptors, and a manic depressive Tyrannosaurus .


11. Chapter 11

 The snow and the wind had made a contented agreement, after hours of bitter negotiating, they had finally agreed on a contract they were both satisfied with. The winds howled across the bleak landscape, buffeting the blizzard along with it, painting the land pure white. The wind went left and right, forwards and backwards, whilst the snow persistently fell downwards, occasionally going horizontally, just to spice things up. It was the sort of storm that drove the wolves back into the trees, the sort of storm that froze even the thoughts of going out side. It was a storm to be remembered. Sergi watched it from his ramshackle hut and tightened his coat and smiled, it was another beautiful night in mother Russia. He turned to his comrade, asleep in his chair. He was leaning back against the door to the only other room in the hut, and the slumbering weight was keeping the sole occupant securely locked in. Sergi glanced at his watch and shook his head, he lifted up a thin twig, and threw it into the wilting fire. There was a sudden series of knocks from outside, the Russian smiled. He had almost given up hope, he straightened up, adjusted his holster, just making it slightly visible from his coat, then threw open the door, revealing the full ferocity of the blizzard. “Welcome comrades!” he boomed, barely audible over the roar of the wind. Two figures stepped inside the shack, squeezing past the vast Russian. Sergi could barely make out the figure's features, they both wore what looked like entire bears over their shoulders, small crystals of ice still clinging to the fur. “It is being very cold, da?”

Da? What does da mean?

I don't know, I haven't come across it yet, maybe he is referring to his paternal parent?

“We were almost givink up on you, da?” Sergi said, drawing up a second chair and a bottle of clear liquid. “You drink?” he asked, displaying four fresh glasses.

“Well actually -” one fur figure started. Sergi shook his head and started pouring out the liquid.

“Now you be being listenink, da?” Sergi said, handing a glass to the figure who took it reluctantly. “We be findink this spy in our main base. This not be beink good, da?”

“Da?” the second figure repeated bemusedly.

“Your comrade is most unhelpful, he tell us nothing, he a credit to your service.”

“If it's all the same to you -” the first figure attempted again.

“We be bringink you your comrade, you be beink payink us large ransom, da?”

“Da?” the second figure said again. The first turned to him irritably.

Will you please stop saying da? It obviously means yes in this country!

I'm sorry, it's just so catchy!

Sergi ignored this muttered duologue, and turned to his seated comrade, who had been awoken by the roaring blizzard. “You be Bringink the spy in, da?”


See? It means yes you spratzkoic!

The comrade, slowly stood up and moved the chair aside, he opened the door and reached inside the darkened room. He dragged out a small, thin man. His brown hair was matted with blood and his rat-like face was bruised and purple, his shirt was torn and his trousers caked with mud. His hands were tied behind his back and he groaned weakly as he was dragged towards the fire, the two mounds of fur watched on politely as the Russians kicked the spy a couple of times for good measure. “He be beink good for taking the kickinks, da?”


What did I say?

What? What? That time I wanted to say yes!

“Now, we be beink havink the ransom.” Sergi said, holding his gloved hand out expectantly. The beaten spy looked up pleadingly, the comrade watched on leisurely, his hands stuffed into his thick coat pockets. “Actually,” the first fur figure said awkwardly, “we're not here for him.”


“We're actually looking for,” the second figure rooted through his pockets, then withdrew a piece of paper, he unfolded it, then glanced at the smudged writing, “A Vladimir Stroganoff.”

Sergi turned to his comrade in shock, “You?” he exclaimed, “There's no ransom for you is there?”

The comrade shrugged. The fur wearing figures pushed past Sergi and the prisoner and approached Vladimir, “We're here to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“Da?” Stroganoff said warily.

The two fur wearing figures glanced at one another, “Da.” the pair rested a hand on each of Vladimir's shoulders, then, without over dramatizing the point, the pair vanished. There was nothing extravagant about the affair, one moment they were standing in the middle of the shack, their coats dripping melting ice on the floor, and the next, they were gone. Only two puddles displayed them ever having been there. Sergi stared at the patch, then glanced at the spy. Then, at the nearly full bottle of clear liquid. He picked it up, then proffered it to the prisoner. “Vodka?”

“I'm going to need it.” the spy said eagerly, Sergi stared out of the window to the white washed landscape, “Da.” he said simply.


Mr Edward Potter stared at the computer screens in dismay, then turned to Professor James English who was also wearing his own dismayed look. “It's true then?” he asked anxiously. The scientist nodded, shutting the laptop hurriedly. “I'm afraid so Mr Prime minister,” he said, “the solar storm could hit us in about two weeks.”

“Oh dear.” Potter said, he removed a spotted handkerchief from his blazer pocket, and dabbed at his brow. To think, he was the first prime minister in the history of Great Britain, to face the apocalypse. Finally a chance to make his father proud. “And the aliens?” he asked, “Is there a ship in our atmosphere?”

“Well, we believe so sir, if we are to believe your sources, but we haven't actually been able to find it.”

“Why not?” Potter exclaimed, “This is an emergency!”

“Ah yes, but if you'll remember sir,” English said diplomatically, “You cut our emergency situation budget last year.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you said there was no suitable emergency for it to be used for, it quite threw us back, we had become quite dependant on that income.”

“What did you use it for?”

“Tea and biscuits. We got quite fond of Mcvities.”

“I need to speak with the UN, this needs sorting, immediately!” the prime minister hurried the scientist from his office, then contacted the most important and powerful argument on the planet. After three hours of impatiently pacing up and down his office and devouring a plate of chocolate Bourbons, Potter was finally put through to several members of the UN. He stared at their irritated expressions. “What is the meaning of this interruption?” the French president asked haughtily.

“Yeah Potter, what you doing calling us all like this?” The US president asked.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the little Englishman said anxiously, “it has come to my attention, that the earth is in serious danger. A solar flare is about to hit the planet and cause the extinction of all mankind!” he stepped back dramatically, ready to bask in their shocked reactions. Instead, the various world leaders glanced at one another awkwardly from their television screens, “Err, about that.” the Chinese premier said nervously.

Potter frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose, “What?” he asked.

“We've been meaning to talk to you about that.” the Russian president said.

“You knew?” the prime minister exclaimed in indignation. “You knew about the end of the world, and you didn't even tell me?”

“Well, you know what it's like Potter, we've all been really busy!” the US President said quietly.

“A phone call! A simple phone call would have sufficed.” Edward wailed.

“Sorry.” the Chinese premier said wretchedly.

“Well, what have you been doing about it?” Potter asked, folding his arms.

“Don't worry,” the American said, “we've got it all under control.”

“And the aliens?”

“Aliens?” the Frenchman exclaimed, “No one mentioned aliens!”

“Ha.” Potter said smugly.

“We also have that under control.” The US President said loudly, glowering at the prime minister, “I have my best men on the job. Trust me, there's nothing to worry about.”

“Apart from the extinction of humanity.” the Chinese premier stated.

“Apart from the extinction of humanity,” the president conceded, “There is nothing to worry about.”

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