BATTEN, DOWN - short fiction / by Garth Jones

Batten: 26.3645° S, 152.9677° E.

The Mayor, Jimbo Paddock, had annexed the surf beach and area surrounding his wellness cafe at sunset.

He was a boiled-pink, barrel-chested, lats-flared, fluoro dick-stickered, self-funded retiree Spartan with an iron-streaked braid.

Murdered the fuck out of a bunch of families and resort staff, right up in our faces, as the light dimmed.

Jimbo was into exotic food and carried a spear he’d made from his decommissioned Cool Cabana. He’d slung the shade sail’s bloodied polyester sleeve over his shoulder, filling it with gory trophies of his innumerable kills.

A real mean Boomer survivalist motherfucker.

An apexagenarian predator.

The resort sauna’s toilet had been full of blood.

That’s when we’d decided to make a break for it, obviously.

It was our first actual family holiday in, well, ever. We’d burnt all our financial bridges for this solitary 72 hours of scheduled familial bliss: me, him, bub.

Saved like fuckers for a weekend on the white sand.
Aspired.

Gone hard.

Sweated, scrimped, saved.

Sacrificed.
Argued.

Saved again.

Remortgaged.

Gotten a loan.

Argued.

Gotten a loan from the parents.

We needed the break.

It really was that dire.

Of course we were at each other’s throats.

So it was sort of a relief when the end of the world kicked in…

Read the full story in Yarns From the Fuck-You-Ni-Verse.