Fear the Nobodies: Twenty-Two
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>Muscles contract and tense in violent, synaptic rhythm
>The concrete shudders as you pound earthquakes into the sidewalk
>Your legs burn, scalded with lactic acid
>Your lungs are worse off than your legs
>Cars whistle by, their horns screaming
>Fat maple leaves – ripped from their branches by the gathering storm – slap your face as you run
>Black clouds swell above you…
>…and gather behind you
>You’re out of breath when you tumble through the automatic doors of the Shop N’ Save, all your effort terminating in a heavy stumble that sends you to the ground in a heap
>Humans and anthros dodge out of your way, jockeying groceries in their swinging arms
>When your eyes split open, a predatory silhouette blocks the light streaming in from outside
>Your pupils adjust to the contrast of the store’s fluorescent lights and muted sunlight
>A thin, gray-furred anthro dog stands over you
>She holds a skateboard to her chest, like bashful kid clutching a stuffed animal
>A shy, curious smile warms her face
>“Are- are you Mike Sapone? I think we go to school together,” she says
>Wait…
>…you recognize her!
>Morgan!
“Why… do you want an autograph?” Is all you can muster
>The anthro offers a shy smile and a small curtsy of her maid outfit in response
>“Well if you don’t remember me, my name is Morgan, but most people call me ‘Morg.’ I was w-wondering if you wanted to skate with me after school today… I mean… you don’t have to, of course.”
>Heat flushes her cheeks scarlet
>Before you can answer, your attention snaps to the crowd behind Morgan
>Something heaves bodies up into the air, as if they stood beneath landmines
>An ear-splitting roar hits your eardrums,
>You try to muffle the sound with your sweaty palms
>Something – or someone – is behind Morg
“Morgan, look out!”
>Your voice is a man-made satellite slung into the vacuum of space, barely a mote of dust, caught in a stray sunbeam
>Lydia’s towering shape appears behind Morgan
>In a single motion, the lioness bats the anthro girl from your theater class far, far off to the side, sending her into the produce section, coming to rest in a bin of pineapple
>“On your feet, whelp,” Lydia seethes, lording over you with the weight of her smirk
>How kind of her to give you time to get on your feet
>You scramble upward and assume a fighting stance, ready to dance for your life
“Listen, Lyds, I got a confession,” you huff as you bounce on the balls of your feet
>“Oh good, I’ve always RELISHED the idea of hearing a dying confession,” Lydia bellows
“Even before I had the fangs… I’m a biter.”
>As if in slow motion you watch Lydia’s eyes roll into her skull
>Then, her arm draws backwards
>?She takes a gigantic lunge forward
>A collective gasp goes up from the assembled shoppers and onlookers
>Someone shouts to call the cops
>But all you hear?
>The sound of the lion’s fist splitting the air apart as she throws a paralyzing right-hook
>Oh GOD
>On the grace of neurons that once didn’t exist; on muscle that grew twice as fast, and synaptic tissue that does your body’s thinking for you, your body acts before your mind
>You dip backwards and watch as an angry orange fist SCORCHES above your gelled hair
>Wow, how awesome is it that you dodged that-
>Behind you, Lydia’s fist crashes into a moose – still gripping the hand of his wife
>She belts the aged mammal right in the pacemaker
>The force behind the punch is enough to lift the six-foot-eight mammal out of his shoes, and to send him sailing – wife dragging behind hubby like some kind of screaming comet’s tail – for the fences, that is, the dairy aisle
>By God, you think they even did a full rotation mid-air, too
>It’s almost beautiful
>And then reality hits at the same moment Lydia sweeps your feet
>You tumble onto your ass, instinct telling you to throw your stout body to the right the minute you touch concrete
“Hey!” you croak, dodging a concussive jab from Lydia, the latest of which drives splintering cracks in the pavement where your head once lay
“What are you fucking doing!? You’re gonna kill someone! Goddamn, calm dow- WOAH!”
>Another jab in into the Earth that actually peels up the ground beneath Lydia’s fist
>Okay, you can’t be on the ground anymore, she’s going to fuse your skull to the pavement if you’re not careful
>You hop to your feet right as Lydia bounces to a safe distance
>“That’s rich coming from you, Mikey boy. What happened to that big speech about how you don’t care about anyone or anything in this town?” She scoffs, “I thought that this was the whole point, huh? That the world is a condemned building, and we get to be the wrecking crew?”
“You bitch,” you seethe, “How DARE you use my own words against me!”
>She’s right – in that moment, you really didn’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself
>Yet, watching Morgan crash face-first into the pineapples, seeing that elderly couple likely die…
>You plant one foot forward, fist curled tight with hate
“You’ve got a problem, you know that?” You roar, “you’re so obsessed with how much everyone and everything SUCKS, you can’t smell how up your own ass you are!”
>Your words are like an Afghani child, throwing stones at an Abrams tank
>“You really think I haven’t hear that lame insult already? God, you sound like my parents.”
>Lydia waves the concrete dust and grit from her first
>“Cute, though, I admit,” she says, sighing, her shoulders dropping a little, accompanied by a quick glance over her shoulder which she holds
“I. Defy. You,” you growl, “Fuck you, I’ll never work with people like you!”
>Now’s your chance while she’s looking away!
>You try to inch closer to the goth
>Just
>One
>Good
>Swing
>It’s all you need…
>“I have YOU as my problem,” she says, matter-of-fact, “but… in about twenty seconds you’re about to have five more problems once those dumb bimbos get here and rip you apart.”
>Then, in a flinch, Lydia’s neck snaps forward again
>Her fangs glisten in a hateful smirk, her eyes devour you the same way a wild predator looks at the prey that dared challenge it
>“And all that is assuming that I don’t CATCH YOU OFF-GUARD FIRST!”
>In a flinch her fist recoils backwards back like a firing pin
>Your face?
>The primer
>She drives her arm forward like a piston aimed directly into your skull
>Lydia’s fist, crackling with friction as it scrapes the lower atmosphere, screams forward
>Fuck, she baited you in
>The penalty for falling such weak bait is death
>T-minus one blink of the eye til’ impact-
>“NOOOOOOOOO!”
>When you open your eyes…
>N-NANI!?
>…you can’t fucking believe what you’re witnessing
>Instead of YOU, Mike Sapone, catching a paralyzer from Lydia…
>…a human boy scout, full uniform, sash, perhaps running an errand for his troop…
>…yes… a real-life incarnation of altruism from one of the biggest dweebs in town…
>…he selflessly tosses himself in the path of Lydia’s fist, still carrying his paper grocery sack, whose contents don’t become relevant to the plot…
>…until the lioness’ fist blasts through the bag like she’s blowing through drywall…
>…sending a rain of fresh citrus juice high into the air – detonated lemons and limes; supplies for a lemonade stand…
>…rocketing the poor kid directly into your chest, the sheer force of which hurls the both you backwards, further into the store…
>…the two of you skipping off the linoleum, until you crash into a display stand of lemons and limes, your momentum arrested in a shower of fruit bumping off your skull
>You look down
>The kid on your lap?
>He’s…
>…breathing
>And were it not for you taking the brunt of his impact? He probably wouldn’t be breathing at all
>He saved you
>You… kinda saved him
>Maybe…
>…there’s something to this whole ‘people’ thing
https://youtu.be/TQBG7wAVWAA?list=RDTQBG7wAVWAA
>Screams rip through the crowd of onlookers
>People flee – most of them deeper into the Shop N’ Save
>Lydia storms forward as five of her succubi cheerleaders streak through the scattering crowd on all-fours, like blood seething through cracks in the skin
>“You’re a gutless coward, Mike Sapone, always hiding behind lesser beings,” Lydia seethes, “and that’ll be the legacy you leave, besides the blood stain: cowardice!”
>You shrug the unconscious boy scout off of you
>Without much planning or thought, you grab a fallen lime off the floor and stand
>See, you’re not quite settled with the way Lydia is talking about your legacy in this punk ass town
>THE SAPONE FAMILY are LEGENDS around Ranchview
>So you decide to remind her of her TRUE place
“Pfft, you got the wrong guy, honey. I’m not a coward,” you say, using your new strength to sheer the lime in two, exposing the sour, citrusy meat of the lime, like a weeaboo unsheathing his katana
“I’m not a coward. I’m just an asshole.”
>With that, you lunge forward, practically jumping into Lydia’s slavering maw as your feet bounce off the ground
>Your arms push ahead of your snarling face, a split lime in each hand
>The goth lioness is too stunned to react
>With as much hate as you can gather in your heart, you dig the lime-halves into Lydia’s widening, eye-liner-caked eye sockets, your own teeth clenched hard enough to leave an imprint on steel
>Fuck it
>For good measure, you even twist the limes, like you’re trying to juice them against her eyeballs
>Lydia fucking SCREECHES in agony, reacting only with a blind shove and a pained stumble
>You clunk-foot backwards and topple onto your ass
>The lioness drops to her knees like she’s praying to a god she doesn’t believe in, her palms digging into her blistered eyes to no avail
>Naturally, you take this as your chance to escape out the doors like a wild horse finding an unlatched gate
>With urgency you hop to you feet
>You’re about to blow past the agonized lion and head directly back the way you came…
>…when the cheerleaders – drawn off their victims by their master’s screaming – converge on her flank, blocking your exit
>A tired, slightly annoyed sigh escapes you
>And right as the pig cheerleader hisses, spitting a demonic forked tongue towards you, do you decide it’s probably in your best interest to slip deeper into the store
>What’s the plan here?
>Just run until they swarm you?
>Your feet move, but your mind drags behind you, like a dog tied to a car
>You can’t possibly take all of them
>You blur past helpless shoppers, spinning with strange grace around couples, between, and over shopping carts in the crowded aisles
>The horde of ravenous anthro cheerleaders, on the other hand, acts more like a wrecking ball as the scramble after you
>They mow down everyone in their path
>It’s only after you hit the deli section do you manage to briefly throw them off your scent
>In a panic, with no better options, you hurl yourself behind a knee-high meat cooler
>With frozen chicken as your guardian, you try to breathe in an even keel and not black out
>It’s not easy
>You’re gassed, and the wild sound of claws skittering off the floor nearby isn’t doing much to tranquilize the nerves
>You feel like you’re going to collapse
>Your head drops between your knees as dark stars cloud your peripherals
>God DAMNIT
>You couldn’t even take one, not like this
>Plus, Lydia is probably up by now, looking for you, ready rip out your beating heart and eat it
“So, this is where it ends, huh?” You mutter in self-pity, “trapped in the fucking Shop N’ Save? All alone, burned every bridge over troubled waters?”
>Suddenly, the idea that if there is somehow a funeral for you after all of this – should you perish – none of the people you left behind will attend it
>Your throat tightens, and you wipe an embarrassing tear from your eye, feeling rolling waves of hot anger and shame course through you
>You’re not scared or sad that you’re alone…
>…is what you tell yourself
>Your ears prick up
>Quick footsteps – nervous, afraid
>They’re in the deli
>Your ears dial in on the magnetic rhythm of a frightened heartbeat headed your way
>Well, it’s over
>As soon as this one alerts the others, they’re going to swarm you, Zergling style
>Against your better judgment, you prepare to fight for your life
>Which is why, slowly, you rise to your feet
>Though your voice trembles, a heady infusion of terror and adrenaline keeps you upright
>You try your best to deliver your coldest lines, like a boss in a video game
“You can fight me tooth and nail… you might even win… but know this: to those who survive, I shall be the ghost on your lips; the name of the day you buried all those years ago, when you skirted too close to the edge of heaven. You will know me by the trail of the dead; you shall know me by my name-”
>A scared, girlish shriek interrupts your boss speech
>“MIKEEEEEE!”
>Your head cranks to the source of the noise
>There’s a thin vixen about your age sprinting over from the breakfast aisle, stumbling past scared patrons and displays
“J…Jenna?” Is all you can manage
>As if running in slow motion, with her thin body emerging from a dream-like haze, the orange vixen makes a direct line for you
>One stripe of white travels across her fur, all of which is lost in the soft folds of a woolen gray sweater
>Jenna’s frantic, her ears bolted backwards, arms waving, phone glowing in one hand
>Her green eyes at last lock with yours as she-
>-hurls her body ACROSS the meat freezer-
>-narrowly clearing the chicken, colliding-
>-right into your chest, swinging her arms all the way around you like she’s tackling you
>You stumble backwards, nearly falling for gravity’s trick, almost ass-first into some cured hams
>But you don’t fall
>Some hidden well of inner fortitude gives you that waning little drop of adrenaline that you need to keep your footing – if only to look cool and composed in front of Jenna
>You let your arms fall limp in exhaustion as the fox squeezes the air out of you
“Jenna-” you cough, “ease up, alright? That hurts.”
>Jenna’s knees give suddenly, and she drops behind the cooler
>“DOWN!” She hisses, glaring up at you, her body flat against the cooler
>You drop down to her level, out of sight
>The respite is small, but it’s a rare moment to say nothing at all to Jenna, and still find joy in her company
>She catches her breath as quietly as she can, predatory ears twitching as she scans for the sounds of the cheerleaders
>Jenna looks like she’s about to cry from relief as her posture slackens a bit
>“I can’t believe I was right – you were really in here,” she says, panting from joy and exhaustion all at once, a hurricane inside her heart
“How- how long have you been looking for me?”
>Jenna – still trying to get some wind in her lungs – gasps out an EXHAUSTED, “two hours…”
>And then she leans her head back against the frosted glass, against the pit of frozen chicken, and she starts to beam with a smile
>“But we found you, Goddamnit. We found you.”
>All you can do is sit back in awe, surrendering to the idea that Jenna spent two hours of her life just trying to find you
>That’s selflessness
>And yet, your selfish mind can’t parse the idea – like trying to make two-plus-two equal five
>You beat the PISS out of one of your best friends, and then ditched the others not but a few hours ago…
>…and now one of them is here to save you?
>Wait
“Who the hell is ‘we’?” you say
>Jenna doesn’t give you an answer
>Instead, the fox presses her phone against her ears, a dopey smile warming on her face
>“Comrade Eagle, this is Foxtrot. Yep, I have possession of objective Hamburger. Requesting close air support anywhere that is NOT the deli aisle, over.”
“Wait… why am I ‘objective hamburger-’”
>Jenna’s ears bolt up in a sudden panic
>And you thought Sam had big, goofy ears
>“Affirmative, Comrade Eagle. Foxtrot and Hamburger standing by. Good luck, and godspeed. Over.”
>Your fingers find Jenna’s wrist as you pry the phone from her skull
“Who the fuck are you talking to? Jenna, this is a really bad time for theatrics,” you hiss, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m being hunted by the goths and some succubi at the moment.”
>The fox opens her maw to speak, but the crackle of the store’s overhead PA silences her
>There’s the sound of brief struggle, inaudible curses lost in the static
>And then…
>…everyone and everything in the store…
>…comes to a screaming halt
>Nobody moves
>The shelves are all faced and still, like great old trees in a windless forest
>The price scanners all hush, dreaming static lullabies
>The reason for the stillness and the silence?
>There’s a drama unfolding over the PA system
>“You know, I had a dream about this, Alex. It was the same dream over, and over and over again.”
>A nasally voice – distant, yet audible – interrupts the other speaker
>‘Comrade Eagle’
>Comrade Alexi
>“Spare me your romantic fantasies, mister Smith. Now step aside.”
>“No.”
>“You can’t hold back the rising tide of what’s to come – but you can join in on the side of good – on the side of the worker. Don’t make me do this,” Alex says
>Funny, he sounds more serious than he ever has in his life
>Alex’s boss can only laugh the sad, rib-sucking laugh of a mentally broken man, whose pointless life seemed to have lead up to this very confrontation with a puny high schooler
>“Step aside? You want me to STEP ASIDE and abandon this… this tiny, bullshit life I’ve scraped together? At this point, why would I, Alex? Why would I finally give you what you want after all these years of torture and corporate combat between the two of us? Where’s the fun in all that? No no, Alex. I’m all in. I’m a company man.”
>“I admit,” the sound of Alex spitting is heavy in the nearby microphone, “you’ve been a worthy opponent during my employment. I don’t know how you got past that last OSHA complaint I filed, but here you are.”
>“I don’t fear OSHA – certainly not any more. Let the dogs of the state come,” Smith replies
>“Of all the bourgeoisie I’ve broken over the years, you’re the most rigid among them. We don’t have to fight.”
>“Oh, but Alex… we do. After all, you want to abuse MY PA system. You want to lounge around in MY hard-earned manager’s office. You want to drive MY Honda Civic. Its got a head gasket problem, ‘Alexi’ – six-grand to fix ‘er. I’ll never afford it in this lifetime.”
>“I don’t want your bullshit car or your job, mister Smith. I’m here to do something that matters,” Alex responds
>Another peel of laughter from mister Smith echoes across the enraptured supermarket
>“Oh Alex… there can be no greater call in our lives than that of our inevitable battle. I know this, because I dreamed it… OVER, and OVER, and OVER again for the past two years! Every night, you and me, man-on-man! Come on! Let’s end this!”
>There’s a brief, tailing silence
>You swear, you can hear the entire store holding its collective breath
>And then Alex’s voice – determined, focused, says, “In that dream of yours… how many times did you beat me?”
>A metal folding chair squeals into the microphone and blasts across the store PA
>Another bout of broken laughter
>“It’s like… ever since I hired you (and found out that labor law and union rules prevented me from canning you), I’ve been training to defeat you.”
>“HOW MANY TIMES THEN, SMITH?”
>“…”
>“Never,” is the reply, “Not even in my dreams can I quell your fire.”
>Alex’s response is snotty, as if he’s already won the duel
>“If you don’t stand a chance against me in your dreams, what makes you think you can take me on now? All that training and hate is going to look real embarrassing when I’m working the PA in a second.”
>“Because,” Alex’s boss seethes, “in all those dreams, I never thought that I could have something like THIS!”
>The shrill staccato of steel sliding from its sheathe rings clear as struck silver across the store’s PA
>Alex protests pretty much instantly
>“WOAH, WOAH! Is that- is that a real katana!? You brought a real katana to work every day so you could fight a teenager? Dude, hold on- you can’t use that- hey, hey… HEY! Stay BACK!”
>The PA pops with motion and struggle
>Mammals wince at the concussive blast of noise channeled through the over driven speakers
>“You’re fast, kid!” Smith remarks, “but I’m faster!”
>“STOP SWINGING A REAL SWORD AT ME!”
>There’s another crash of static and concussive pops that clip through the mic
>And then…
>…the dim hiss of electronic components clustered too close together…
>…tables and chairs shifting in the background…
>…someone yells something inaudible and inappropriate
>The Shop N’ Save exists in a vacuum now
>All the air is gone, and nothing else matter more than the next ten seconds in the manager’s office
>All motion gravitationally halted
>All laws of thermodynamics broken, as one-hundred beating hearts tune in to an involuntary frequency
>The pair of dueling voices draws closer to the PA system up above
>“You seriously think you can hurt me with a folding chair, kid? I EXPECTED BETTER FROM YOU!”
>“PUT. DOWN. YOUR. BLADE, you CRAZY motherfucker. I WILL beat your ass!”
>“Ha! That’s what you’d want me to do! Clever… clever… but you didn’t account for the fact that this replica katana is PURE NIPPONESE STEEL, FOLDED OVER TEN-THOUSAND TIMES BY JAPANESE SWORD MASTERS. I can cut clean through most folding chairs in a SINGLE slash!”
>“Oh yeah? Really?”
>“Yeah really you little mutant, I’ve seen it on the inter- SHIT!”
>Something dense and metal collides with the delicate steel of a replica katana, releasing a hollow PING that echoes across the store
>A barely-audible groan
>A curse
>The overhead PA rumbles back to life after a short moment of stillness
>“Aaaaaaatention alllll shoppers, as a special thanks for your patronage during this holiday season, we’re giving out freeeee bags of Halloween treats at the bakerrry. Limit one bag per customer.”
>*click*
>“Oh yeah. Michaelllllll… Michael Sapone. Repeat, Michael. Sapone. Please proceed to the bakery to assist with distribution. Thank you.”
“Michael,” you growl, mocking your own name, “he knows I hate it when he calls me that.”
>Shoppers flock to the other side of the store
>You peek up over the meat cooler
“The coast is clear…” you say, already moving upwards
>“Wait!” Jenna says, clapping a palm on your cold, pale arm, “we’ve gotta wait for the signal! That’s when they’re all on the other side of the store!”
>On cue, the PA system crackles back to life
>A familiar, grating noise plays through several layers of electronic compression
>You groan in annoyance
“I’m so fucking tired of hearing this song,” you moan
>Alex played this song to DEATH freshman year
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U06jlgpMtQs&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=16&t=0s
>“There! That’s the signal!” Jenna shoots to her feet and grabs you by the wrist
>She darts off, trying to pull you along like an impatient toddler
>Oh no you don’t…
>You’re not getting rescued by a five-foot-five vixen who you’ve got AT LEAST sixty pounds on
>Your body shifts into its final gear as your legs spin beneath you
>“Mike Waaaaaiiiittt!!!” Jenna cries as she struggles to match your pace
>You’ve only got a fraction of a second to make it out the door to safety before either Lydia or her servants spot you
>But you’re not leaving without Alex
>No comrade left behind
>Thankfully that commie dumb ass finds you…
>You burst out of the cleaners and solvents aisle, only to find your momentum pitched hard to the right
>Someone jams a cart – full speed – into your side
>The thin metal of the cart catches you in the flank, sending you stumbling, your pace a clunky waltz
>Jenna’s flat ass slaps off the linoleum, and you can hear the air forced out of her chest as she lands upright
>“COMRADE!” Alex cries, leaning his lanky body over the shopping cart that just trucked you
>He’s got…
>…oh my god…
>…it looks like Alex stole his boss’ katana after the fight
>You suck in your chest, barely holding back the urge to wring your friend’s thin neck like a wet towel and take a drink of his blood
“Comrade Alexi,” you wince, “you doing some shopping right now? We gotta JET, and you just ran me over! You dumb bastard, don’t you know there’s rabid cheerleaders-%quot;
>“Alex was supposed to meet us here. He’s bringing us the supply cart. We’re lucky he’s here early,” Jenna cuts in, as she brushes he sleeves
>ALSO ignoring your candid use of the ‘r word’
>With an unusual, predatory grace, she hops to her feet and peels back the quilt on the bottom of Alex’s shopping cart
>On cue, you fight the urge to vomit, clutching a shelf, bending the steel that holds up a box of Cheerios
“What the fuck? I feel like I just got gassed in the trenches!” You say, sputtering and clenching your throat
>Jenna retrieves a fresh bulb of garlic from beneath the old blankets
>You wince
>Just lookin’ at it is like staring too hard at the sun for too long
>“I got us SO MUCH garlic, bro. Garlic bulbs, butter, minced garlic paste…”
>Jenna easily splits a bulb of the putrid tuber and rubs the odorous bits into her fur, like some kind of primitive deodorant
“WHY?!” You cry
>“That should be obvious,” Jenna remarks, her head on a swivel as she scrubs her exposed fur with garlic, “everyone knows vampires hate garlic.”
>Alex does the same as Jenna
>“I also got us some water pistols, a super soaker, and like SIX packs of water balloon,” Alex brags, still working the exposed bulb of garlic against his white skin
“You guys getting ready for a pool party? Where’s the real firepower? Where’s the stakes, where’s the silver buckshot?!” You stammer, “Jesus Christ, we’re fucking cooked…”
>Alex throws his lanky body into the cart as well, rocking the metal frame side to side
>Alex in front, his hand on the pommel of ‘his’ newly ‘redistributed’ sword
>“Mike, push us forward. Onward, comrade! Out the doors of this house of suffering!” Alex commands
>Shrieks light up across the store as you push
>Five high-pitched screams, to be precise
>And one very, very angry lioness’ roar
>Oh good, Lydia is back on the prowl
>A human’s voice – still gathering consciousness – crackles over the speakers, in contest with the blaring Soviet Anthem
>“Attention shoppers, we at the Shop N’ Save would like to apologize for the FALSE claims of free Halloween candy in the bakery. And Alex Mullen…” the voice says, slow, deliberate, breathing hard and nursing a lumped skull, “I WILL find you once I figure out how to stop this. And I WILL reclaim my blade.”
>Alex unsheathes ‘his’ new sword
>Jenna gasps and ducks, tucking her ears low to her skull
>“Sic semper tyrannis!” Alex screeches, raising his katana towards the overhead lights
“Alex! Don’t yell stupid shit!” You hiss, head swinging up and down the aisle, looking for cheerleaders
>Jenna tugs on Alex’s jeans, trying to lower him into the cart
>“Sit your ass down, skinnie! Mike can’t push when you’re flipping off the sky!”
>Two cheerleaders – a cat and a horse – appear at the far end of the aisle you’re in
>Right where you need to go
>Naturally
>In perfect symmetry, the cheerleaders surge down the aisle at a blistering pace
>“Mike!” Jenna turns back to look at you, eyes pleading, “Push us! C’mon!”
>You nod in solemn affirmation
>You’re all about to die anyway, so why not try it?
>Utilizing your vampiric strength, you easily spin the cart so that the front is pointing down the aisle, like an Italian warhead aimed right at the cheerleaders
>The fully loaded cart feels nearly weightless to you
>Alex plants one foot forward on the edge of the cart and levels his blade towards the rapidly approaching cheerleaders
>His other hand he uses to firmly affix his beanie to the top of his head
>Comrade Alexi cuts loose with a throat-shredding yell
>“FORWARD UNTO DAWN, COMRADES! TSSSSUUUUUUUU!”
>Jenna claps her hands over her ears in pain as the soviet anthem reaches an ear-shattering crescendo
>You grit your teeth, sharing only a fraction of Jenna’s anguish
>Fuck it
“TTTTTTSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUU!”
>Your roar joins Alex’s
>Even Jenna cuts loose with a howl
>Now, with your legs spinning at inhuman speeds, you rocket a shopping cart never meant to hit these speeds straight at the pair of cheerleaders
>You don’t expect the cheerleaders to move
>What you expect is an anime-style collision: sparks and explosions between your two parties; the three of you flying into the air; the cheerleaders blown backwards
>Yet, you truck right through the cheerleaders
>In fact, the cat girl slips underneath the cart with a surprised yelp
>You treat her like a speed bump as you motor forward
>At last you bank around the corner of the aisle, your payload teetering on two wheels, threatening to hurl Jenna and Alex overboard
>Confused shoppers dodge like you were an oncoming car
>You might as well be, with how fast you’re going
>Aisles blur together in a multi-colored smear
>Alex uses his free hand to skim the seasonal aisle’s shelves, loosing Halloween candy and costume staples into your cart
>But you don’t slow down
>You can’t afford it, no matter how gassed you are
>Because when you look back?
>Three cheerleaders are hot on your tail
>You can sense them gaining velocity as you zig-zag through the produce aisles
>Despite how strong you are, this cart still drags you down
>And yet, after of this?
>You’ll be damned if you’re going to abandon your friends
>You squint hard at the morning light pouring in from the double-wide main doors as you approach
>Your muscles and lungs are scorched at this point, but you push ever forward
“Almost…”
>You’ve done enough running today for the rest of your life
>Jenna turns around, bouncing a garlic bulb in her paw
“What are you doing!?” You shout, trying to compete with the Soviet anthem now looping, “eyes forward!”
>It’s at that moment you feel something snatch the tail of your shirt
>It’s as if someone threw a gigantic anchor onto you, because your cart rapidly becomes a lumbering tank
>A human cheerleader with auburn hair is on her belly, one hand desperately clinging to your clothing
>Her fingers are now more like claws than they are dainty, manicured fingernails
>She growls at you, and lunges with her other arm for a better hold
>Before she can grab any more of you, a well-aimed garlic bulb beans her in the center of her forehead
>The cheerleader’s body seizes, and she drops her hold on you to cover the sizzling welt on her forehead
>She looks like she got stung by a hornet
>“Take THAT, you goddamn HUSSY!” Jenna cries, preparing another bulb for flight
>You can’t help but smile at the idea of Jenna swearing
>Now unburdened and un-anchored, you bolt…
>…into the gray light of freedom, leaving the Soviet anthem – and the cheerleaders – behind
>The little rush of dopamine you get from ‘escaping’ doesn’t last more than a heartbeat, for two reasons:
>1) You don’t have a plan after this besides loading up in Jenna’s minivan and hauling out of here
>2) On the topic of minivans and escape, Lydia Penferth stands in front of Jenna’s old white van, the front-hood pried open like a can of tuna
>She watches as the three of you roll closer…
>…patient, calculated
>“You know, Jennybuns…” Lydia says, smirking, “I’ve always hated your bumper stickers. They’re such a dead giveaway that some nosy egg-headed bitch is behind the wheel – someone who thinks she’s smarter than everyone else on the road.”
>Jenna growls, her fangs shivering with hate
>“I am smarter than you, I know that much,” Jenna seethes
>Her paw tightens around a clove of garlic
>“Well that’s good,” Lydia says, reaching a paw into the van’s exposed hood, “I hope you know your way around an engine block.”
>With little effort, Lydia rips a hose and gasket from the engine, like she’s disemboweling a wild gazelle, intestines first
>Jenna gasps, as well she should
>That van was worth at least $500!
>“When I saw you and the communist stick haul ass out of the van and run inside, I knew exactly who you were looking for. Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at Mikey boy in the halls, hun,” Lydia grins, “it’s obvious to anyone who knows what they’re looking for.”
>“Shut up!” Jenna barks, her voice straining in her throat
>A warm blush of scarlet blooms across Jenna’s face
>Jenna rises out of the cart in firing position, but you gently force her back onto her ass
>Lydia is slick with black oil and brackish fluid as she rips another hose out of Jenna’s van
>The goth’s eyes are tempered bright red, – but not from any vampiric magic
>That’s from where you blinded her with some DIY mace
>“End of the line, kiddos. You’re not going anywhere,” Lydia declares as she strides forward, “Mike, I’m gonna enjoy hearing you squeal the most. Then, I’m going to break your mate. Or maybe I’ll kill the vixen FIRST.”
>Before you can respond, Alex plants a heroic foot atop the cart, his sword glinting in the pale morning
>In his free-hand there’s a peeled bulb of garlic
>He balances a garlic bulb in his left hand
>“I ain’t a good shot, I admit, but accuracy means nothing when we’ve got all this ammo,” he motions towards the cart, “I think you and your little group better call it quits before someone ends up smelling like an Italian dinner.”
>A frustrated growl slips out of the lion’s clenched teeth as she pauses
>“See Mike? Do you SEE how you hide behind others?” Lydia rages, “you’re all cowards. Come and fight me – no garlic.”
>Alex scoffs
>“We may be cowards, but none of us are morons,” he says, not realizing he’s the moron of the group, “now if you don’t mind, we’ll be leaving in one piece. Together.”
>Lydia raises a pierced eyebrow in genuine surprise
>“In a shopping cart?” She says, adding a smal bit of chiding laughter
>“It’s more of a chariot,” Alex corrects her
>“So, this is the crowd you keep, Mike?” Lydia’s eyes flicker between Alex, Jenna
>And then they fall upon you
>“THIS is the group you want to ‘save the world’ with?”
>You nod without even thinking
“Like ‘em or not, these are the homies, minus two present,” you reply
>“Won’t be a very fair fight – six on three and all,” Lydia smirks
>“Six? Pffftt, can you not count? We outnumber you three to one!”
>Alex hurls gales of dumb, hateful laugher at Lydia
>And then, a feline hiss from behind puts a stop to all of Alex’s gloating
>The three of you turn in unison
>All five cheerleaders are assembled behind you
>All of them tremble and shiver, drunk on blood, adrenaline, and maybe even lust
>You drag a huge knot of cold air into your lungs, ready to fight
>Who knows what burns in their blood, other than hunger your mortal souls (and likely your virginity)?
“You know what?” You turn to face Lydia, hoping to spare your co-conspirators, “I’ll fight you. One-on-one. Leave the fox and communist out of this. Deal?”
>The lioness has only to widen her stung red eyes to make her point
>Ah yes, the dirty little blinding trick you pulled
>That was clever of you earlier, though not at all fair
>Lydia snaps her fingers twice
>“Goodbye, Mike,” she says
>Nobody moves
>Or, at least it feels that way
>You see, everything happens at a glacial pace when you’re a vampire
>The lioness’s cheerleader army lunging at you…
>…the way Jenna and Alex each dive for garlic bulbs, coming up with handfuls each…
>…your manic, unconscious drive as you propel the cart forward…
>…all of this as slow and as smooth as molten syrup
>Nobody is going to come and save you now
>You steer the cart into Lydia, legs churning as hard and as fast as your body can push them
>And right when the lioness’s jaw drops to issue a declarative roar, is when you shove the cart forward, right at that sand-colored bitch
>And you know deep down that Alex and Jenna have a better chance of escape than you do, by a suburban mile
>Alex and Jenna are thrown forward, nearly dislodging both of them from the cart
>Garlic bulbs go flying in the air like shrapnel
>Lydia – braving your forceful attack – plants her feet in the asphalt, grinding your escape to a halt
>Suddenly, Jenna and Alex become the center of a game of tug-of-war, with you attempting to drive them past Lydia, and Lydia trying to wear you down until her cheerleaders can collapse upon you
“Out… of… my…. way!” You cry, pushing the cart with as much force as you can into Lydia, who pushes back
>Your comrades sling garlic over your shoulder, beaning the cheerleaders, trying to buy you time
>You compress your body, right at the knees, building an absurd amount of force in your lower half
>“END. OF. THE. LINE!” Lydia replies, now pushing back into you
>Shit
>She’s going to bowl you over and tip the cart!
>That is, until Alex – maybe unwilling to stab the lioness with his new sword – uncaps the garlic paste
>Like a Jackson Pollock painting, Alex squeezes a full tube of minced garlic right at Lydia’s face
>The effects are immediate
>Lydia drops all tension in her body as she clutches her face, screaming
>You take it as your chance to rocket right over her, jostling more garlic loose, but keeping Jenna and Alex in your craft
>Behind you, the cheerleaders give chase, at least those who Jenna and Alex can’t rock with a bulb of garlic
>You push
>And push
>Steam pipes out of your scalded chest as you rumble across the asphalt of the parking lot, through the path of oncoming traffic, and onto the sidewalk that flanks the main road
>“Where are we going!?” You ask over the rumble of traffic and the sound of cheap metal casters scraping against the concrete
Oliver Hart
Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.
Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall