Anomaly Flats (20 page)

The bullet found its mark.

The abomination screamed. “What the
shit
, Lewis?!”

Lewis lowered the gun. He squinted down the aisle. Then he blinked. “Mallory?”

“Did you just
shoot
me?” she cried. She slapped down her body with her hands, looking for a perforation. “You
shot
me!”

“I think I missed,” he corrected her.

“You fucking
shot
me!”

“I think I…shot
that
.” He pointed to a bottle of Sun Drop just behind her and to the right. It had sprung a bright, fizzy leak.

“You
shot
me!” she screamed.

“I missed!”

“
You shot
at
me
!”

“Mallory, I think you might be in shock…” he said uneasily.

“I am not in shock!” she demanded. “I’m in pissed off!”

“I’m really sorry! I thought you were the clone!”

“
Do I
look like your clone
?”

“Well…not upon closer inspection,” he admitted. “What are you even
doing
here?”

“I turned around!” she said, seething. “I turned around to help you save your stupid goddamn town and also
so you could shoot at me
!” She brushed herself off angrily and side-stepped the growing puddle of electric-yellow Sun Drop.

“You came back,” Lewis said, truly realizing it for the first time, now that his adrenaline was slowing. “You came back to help me.”

“And this is the thanks I get.” Mallory crossed her arms and shot daggers through her eyes at the scientist at the other end of the aisle.

“I’m really sorry. I really did think you were my clone. I figured you were halfway to Iowa, and who else would be creeping up on aisle 8 but the clone?” He thought for a second, and then added, “And why
are
you creeping? Why’d you take the side aisle?”

“I thought if I came up the main aisle, you might…I don’t know…
shoot me
.”

“Makes sense.”

“Uh-huh.” They stared at each other for several long moments, Lewis delighted and relieved, Mallory supremely pissed off. But her heart eventually slowed its maniac pounding, and her breath relaxed to something like normal, and her face softened a bit. “Just…don’t do it again.”

“Sorry. Really. Sorry.”

Mallory sighed and glanced around the Walmart shelves. There was a severe dearth of mayhem and hellfire chaos. “I take it we made it in time?” she asked.

Lewis nodded. “He’ll be here any second, though. He’ll likely come up the main aisle, but it’s possible he’ll sneak up the side.” Lewis’ cheeks blushed rosy pink, and he looked down, trying to hide them, as he said, “I’m really glad you came back, Mallory. Thank you.”

“If you start crying, I’ll leave again,” she muttered. “Now throw me a weapon. Unless we time-warped into a silent movie, I doubt this soda puddle is going to do much to stop a clone.”

“I don’t think anyone ever slipped in puddles in silent films,” Lewis pointed out. “You’re thinking of banana peels.”

“Just toss me the goddamn gun, Lewis.”

But Lewis clutched the pistol to his chest and shook his head. “I think I should keep the gun.”

Mallory tipped her head at the puddle. “Yeah…you’re really good with it.”

“If he comes up the main aisle, a long-range weapon will be best,” Lewis insisted. “If he comes your way, it’ll be closer quarters, and you can lance him with the spear.”

“
Lance
him?”

“It means to pierce or—”

“I know what it means, Lewis. Why can’t you say ‘stab,’ like a normal person?” She shook her head irritably, but she held up a hand and flexed her fingers, beckoning for the spear. “Fine. Toss me the crowbar.” Lewis gave a look down the aisle, to make sure the clone wasn’t coming, then he tucked the pistol into the waistband of his pants. He grabbed the Spear of Rad firmly in his right hand. He took three steps back and bounced a few times, flexing his knees and wriggling his toes. He swung his arm forward, then back, then forward, then back, then forward again, then back again, warming up his shoulder and trying to pair his breath with the arm movement.

“For fuck’s sake, Lewis, just throw it!”

The scientist nodded. He took a deep breath, ran three steps forward, and grunted mightily as he hurled the spear as hard as he could.

It clattered to the ground about halfway down the aisle.

“Are you kidding me?” Mallory demanded. She couldn’t remember ever having been so disgusted in her life.

“I never took javelin!” Lewis cried. He didn’t remember ever feeling more embarrassed.

“No one ever
takes
javelin; they just
throw
the javelin, because throwing is a
natural motion
!” She stared down at the spear, which lay sadly beneath the bright glare of overhead lights. Then she glanced up at the cans of garbanzo beans that towered over it on one side, and the stack of canned peaches on the other. They didn’t necessarily look all that evil…but she could feel the darkness emanating from them like radio waves. There was something demonic behind those shelves, all right. She felt sure that if she stepped between the rows of cans, her soul would shrivel, and her eyes would blacken, and she’d be lost forever. “Come get it,” she said.

“It’s closer to you,” Lewis pointed out.

“I’m not getting sucked into some low-priced hell-circle because you babied the throw,” Mallory snapped.

“You won’t get sucked into anything as long as you don’t touch the cans.”

Mallory crossed her arms in perfect defiance. “Prove it,” she said. She was
not
stepping into that aisle.

Lewis bit his bottom lip nervously. Then he said, “Hold on. I have an idea.” He pulled the pistol from his waistband, gripped it in both hands, and pointed it down toward the spear. “I’ll shoot it over to you.”

Mallory lowered her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Lewis…”

“I can do this,” he said, sounding surprisingly confident.

“No. You can’t.”

“I think I can.”

“If you pull that trigger, I’m leaving.”

“It’s the only way,” he said. His tongue poked itself out of the corner of his mouth, and he closed one eye, lining the other up along the sights of the pistol. “You might want to move. The bullets could ricochet.”

“Lewis. Do not fire that gun.”

“Are you going to get the spear?”

“No.”

“Then I’m going to fire this gun.”

“Lewis…”

“Quiet, I need to concentrate.”

“That’s it,” Mallory said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!”

“Hi there!” chirped a bright voice over Lewis’ shoulder. He jumped and twirled around, firing the gun into the ceiling. He screamed and waved the gun in the direction of the voice, but it didn’t belong to his clone. It was another Walmart employee, a man this time, wearing the signature blue vest and beaming through an impressively bushy mustache. “Can I help you folks with something?”

Lewis exhaled a sigh of relief and lowered the pistol. “No, thank you. My colleague and I are just…debating.”

“Not sure what to do about dinner?” the employee asked jovially. “Got a sale on canned tuna this week. Three cans for just $2.49!” He leaned in close and whispered, as if it were some great secret, “We keep the tuna over in Aisle 3.”

“We’ll certainly keep that in mind,” Lewis replied. “Thank you.”

Mallory squinted at the Walmart worker from the other end of the aisle. Her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be—her company had staunchly refused vision insurance, just another reason she had no choice but to rob the CEO blind—but there was no mistaking the face behind the mustache, even from the distance. “Lewis!” she screamed. “It’s the clone!
Shoot him
!”

Lewis rolled his eyes and shook his head with a little chuckle. “Mallory! Why in the world do you think every man with a mustache is my clone?” He gave the man another look, and he did have to admit, there was something…
familiar
about him. Maybe it was the clothes; the Walmart employee wore the same gray slacks, the same pink-and-green plaid Oxford, the same purple bow tie as Lewis wore. He even had a pair of ratty old Keds on his feet and a spotless white lab coat under his standard-issue Walmart vest.

He was a very sharp dresser; that was for sure.

Maybe it was the hair that rang a bell; the mustachioed man had short, light brown hair that stuck up a little in the back, sort of like Lewis’ short, light brown hair that stuck up a little in the back. Or maybe it was the glasses, which were square-rimmed and really rather handsome, in Lewis’ estimation. Or maybe it was the man’s height, since he was exactly as tall as Lewis.

Yes, the similarities were curious. They were even a little unnerving. But there was one very distinct feature that just couldn’t be ignored: A man just can’t grow a full mustache in a matter of hours.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis said, holding his hands up apologetically, “my friend is a little confused, and—” As he spoke, he noticed something exceedingly odd. The corner of the other man’s mustache seemed to be sliding down over the edge of his mouth. It moved slowly at first, then picked up more speed as it crested the top lip and plunged down toward the chin, leaving a sticky, stringy trail of spirit gum behind it.

Lewis gasped. “
It’s a false mustache
!” he shrieked.

“No shit,” Mallory sighed.

The scientist raised the pistol, but Evil Lewis was ready for him. He socked Lewis in the jaw, and the poor man went tumbling into the end cap, knocking over the display and sending a tidal wave of Tang canisters spilling across the linoleum.

“That was pathetically easy,” Evil Lewis sneered. He ripped off the drooping mustache and flung it as his original. Then he grinned across at Mallory as he shrugged out of his vest. “You should have gone for the spear,” he said.

Mallory gritted her teeth. Getting lip from one science dork was bad enough; she’d be damned if she took it from his double, too. She reached for the soda shelves behind her and ripped open a case of Orange Slice. The cans came tumbling out, and she snatched two of them as they fell through the air. She hurled first one, then the other down the aisle. Evil Lewis shrieked and ducked behind his arms, but he was too slow; the first can flew wide, but the second smacked against his cheek with a sickening
thunk
,
knocking the evil clone onto his back.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Mallory spat.

Lewis rolled over like a frenzied turtle and brought the butt of the pistol down toward Evil Lewis’ nose, but the clone blocked the attack with his forearm and grabbed the pistol with his other hand. Lewis cried out and threw himself on top of the clone, and they rolled around the floor, each grasping for the gun and trying to rain kicks and headbutts down on the other, but neither one succeeded very well. Limbs flailed and shrieks flew, and watching the two men wrestle was like watching two drunk kittens trying to play.

The clone knocked Lewis against the ear with a fist; Lewis delivered a knee to the evil clone’s ribs, and then they were rolling around on the far side of the aisle, knocking into display crates and tumbling over each other like laundry in a dryer.

Suddenly, Mallory lost track of which Lewis was which.

“Goddammit,” she said under her breath. “Not again.”

The Lewises flew at each other with whatever limbs they could swing. The one on the left landed a slap; the one on the right threw an elbow. Left Lewis bit Right Lewis on the hand; Right Lewis lowered his shoulder, drove forward, and pushed them both into a pile of women’s sweaters across the way. Sensible polyester blends flew through the air as the scientist and his evil clone screamed and punched and kicked and bit, and then they screamed some more.

Through it all, both Lewises fought for control of the gun.

Mallory had to take action. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She held the air deep in her lungs. She opened her eyes.

She ran for the spear.

Maybe it was the cloud of evil shrouding the canned goods, or maybe it was just Mallory’s mind playing tricks on her…but as she sprinted into aisle 8, she could feel the temperature drop by good twenty degrees at least. A chill prickled through her arms, and when she exhaled the hot air from her lungs, she could have sworn it puffed out in a little cloud. After just a few steps, she heard something rustling from behind the cans.
Leaves,
she thought subconsciously.
Branches.
But as she reached down to grab the Spear of Rad, she realized the rustling sound wasn’t leaves
or
branches. The sound wasn’t a rustling at all. It was a chorus of whispers.

The canned goods were speaking to her.

Maaaaaaallory,
rasped a can of Goya mixed vegetables,
touuuuuch meeeee
.

Put me in your caaaaaart,
hissed a can of Libby’s peeled potatoes.
I’m an excellent vaaaaaluuuue.

We’re buy-one-get-one, Maaaalloryyyy,
whispered a whole stack of Bush’s baked beans.
Come clooooser and graaaaasp uuuuuuuus.

An icy hand closed around Mallory’s heart, and it wasn’t the sudden temperature drop. It was the fact that she could hear the cans beckoning, and that she actually
wanted
to do as they said. She knew it was wrong—she knew that if she touched a single can, she’d end up like Rufus, or worse. She
knew
without a single speck of doubt that if she so much as brushed her fingertips against a label, she’d be rendered brain-dead. She would be forever lost. She
knew
that.

But even so, she wanted to touch those canned goods like she’d never wanted to touch anything in her life. They controlled her desire. They propelled her forward. Mallory felt herself slipping toward the shelves…

Then she tripped on the Spear of Rad, fell down hard, and cracked her head on the sparkling linoleum floor, on the same exact spot above her right eye where she’d discovered a bump just a few days before. “Ow!” she yelled. A hand flew immediately to her forehead, and already, the little lump was burning with a stinging, bruising vengeance beneath her fingers.

On the bright side, though, the pain seemed to clear her head. She could no longer hear the whispers of the canned goods over the red buzzing in her own head. She grimaced as she reached out and snatched up the Spear of Rad. Then she pushed herself to her feet and strode down the aisle, toward the pair of flailing Lewises.

Time to end this,
she decided.

The Lewis on the left had control of the pistol, and he drew a bead on the other Lewis’ chest, but the other Lewis caught Left Lewis’ gun hand in both of his own and twisted. Left Lewis screamed, and the two men struggled over the gun. The Lewis on the right pulled Left Lewis’ hand back, then launched it forward, and something in Left Lewis’ hand popped. He let go of the gun, and it clattered down the aisle, sliding to a stop at Mallory’s feet.

Mallory dropped the glorified crowbar and picked up the gun.
Yes,
she thought.
This is better.

She pointed the pistol in the air and fired a shot. A light exploded overhead and rained shards of glass down on Mallory from above. She did her best not to move and to act like shooting out a light fixture was precisely what she meant to do.

The Lewises stopped fighting and both raised their hands instinctively. “Mallory!” they cried in unison. “Shoot him!”

“Isn’t
this
a familiar scene,” she muttered. It occurred to her then that the safest thing to do would be to shoot both of them. She was not entirely opposed to the idea.

“He’s the clone!” Left Lewis cried, and he whirled around and socked Right Lewis in the stomach.

“I am not!” Right Lewis gasped as he crumpled to his knees. He lunged forward and sank his teeth into Left Lewis’ calf. Left Lewis howled in pain, and just like that, they were back on the floor, grappling and screaming and tumbling about. Mallory squinted at the flailing pair, trying to determine which one was the real Lewis, but it was impossible. Of
course
it was impossible. They were genetically identical.