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 .


12. Chapter 12

 Hank Seamus glowered at the pin-stripe suited man sitting in front of him. The man seemed oblivious to the smouldering looks he was receiving. “You understand, Mr Seamus, do you not, of the presidents concerns?” Mr Valentine asked in a precise manner.

“I do sir.” Seamus spat, crunching down on his toothpick.

“These 'Aliens', as they are known as, have made three trips down to Earth, yet you have neither apprehended one or even ascertained why they are here.”

Seamus glanced at Hargraves with a frown, the young man leaned down, and whispered the meaning of 'ascertained' to his superior quickly. “We may not know what they want on Earth,” Hank said rallying quickly, “But by god we know where they land!”

“Simply knowing where they land will not help us much.” Mr Valentine said coldly.

“If we know where they land, as soon as they land on the good old US of A, we'll be able to get straight over there and show these mothers why America is the best god damn country on earth.”

Mr Valentine raised an eyebrow delicately. “I'm sure you will Mr Seamus.” he said thinly, “But I would like to remind you that we have less than a week and half until the world ends. What are you doing about that?”

“Err,” Hank said worryingly, “Is there anything I can do about that?”

Mr Valentine sighed and stood up, “Mr Seamus, apprehend us an alien and we shall find out if you can do anything to save our great country. If not, The president will be advertising for a new head of Area 52.” with a curt nod to Hargraves, Valentine strode from the office.

Seamus reclined in his chair and thumped his desk, “Damn that man!” he exclaimed wildly, “Do you really think the president would replace me?” he asked Hargraves.

“Oh no sir, you don't need to worry about that.” the young man said soothingly, “What with there being less than a fortnight until the end of the world, the president wouldn't have time to replace you!”

“Thanks boy, that means a lot to me.”

Suddenly the door swung open and Anna Lacey strutted in, smugly holding a piece of paper. “What now?” Seamus grunted, giving her the obligatory, perverted glance required from all male employers over a certain age. “We've found another spike.” Lacey stated victoriously, angling for he long overdue promotion. “So what?” Hank said dully.

“Erm sir, remember what Mr Valentine said sir?” Hargraves suggested.

“Dang it.” Seamus muttered, “Where is it?”

If possible, the woman's smug smile only increased, “A small town in Texas. I have the car ready and waiting.”

Hank had leapt over the table and was through the door before Lacey had even finished her sentence. She glanced at Hargraves and raised her eyebrows, a man who wasn't constantly staring at her breast was one to watch out for, even though it was the supposed end of the world, it was no good having competition hanging around. “Ready?” she asked witheringly.

“I'm coming?” he asked shocked.

“Of course.” she said, “We need your expert skills.”

The young man blushed at the compliment, “What skills?” he asked modestly

“Neither Seamus nor I can read a map. Now saddle up.”


Gloria Fisher had never intended to wind up as a doctor's receptionist. No, she had had plenty of dreams when she was a young girl. Her ambition had been to find herself a handsome foreign billionaire and marry him straight away, then spend the rest of her life travelling round the world with a credit card. But the billionaire had never turned up in time, she had sat up all night before her final GCSE exams, waiting for him to turn up in his porsche, but he hadn't arrived. On the morning of her A level exams she had stood patiently by the window, waiting for the billionaire's private helicopter to land on her front garden.

It didn't happen.

Instead, she had received poor grades and was left with a limited set of skills for the workplace. So she became a receptionist. She had the perfect opportunity to wile away the hours surfing internet dating sites, hoping that a billionaire might, by some small chance, be so desperate for love, they go on the internet searching for twenty-two year old receptionist from Ipswich with no GCSEs or A levels. And she had actually found one! It had taken her a while, but finally, he had popped up. Charles, aged thirty-four from Majorca. He owned six businesses and also owned himself three yachts. And what's more, once Gloria had told him her job, he had immediately become interested. In fact, he was so interested, that at half past four on a Wednesday afternoon, he had called her up at work. “Oh yes my dear,” drawled the charming tones of Charles over the phone, “The Mediterranean is most delightful this time of the year. You must join me there.”

“Oh really.” Gloria giggled, ignoring the woman in front of her.

“I'm serious, you must join me. Will you shut up and just get on with it? I have to be charming first!

“Who's that?” Gloria asked, shocked at the sudden appearance of a second voice.

“No one my dear. Ask her! I'm asking her, I'm asking her! My dear, I must ask one small thing,”


“What are you doing Friday night at eight O'clock?”

Gloria visibly blushed at the question, the woman impatiently drumming her fingers on the counter sighed loudly, the receptionist turned her chair away from the patient. “Nothing, why?”

“I was wondering -”


“If you would do me the honour -”


“Of emailing me your log in details for the record files of every patient you have with the name Peter Smith?”


“And then of course I shall wine and dine you at the most expensive restaurant this side of Paris.”

“Oh Charles!”

“Is that a yes? Is that a yes? I just asked that!

“Of course!” ignoring the addition of another voice to the romantic conversation, Gloria quickly and naively entered the details into an email, added a total of two dozen kisses and sent it to the phantom romantic. “Okay I've sent it. Now, where are we going Friday -”

But Charles had cut off. Gloria stared at the phone, then placed it down. “About time. Now, can you please answer my question?”

“What?” Gloria asked irritably, turning to Emilia.

“Peter Smith! You have a patient here called Peter Smith, I want to know where I can find him!” Emilia snapped.

“Do you happen to know a foreign billionaire who is looking to find love with a twenty something doctor's surgery receptionist?”

“What? No!”

“Then push off.”

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