Zomnision watched the police station station burn. The fires reflecting in his now glassy expressionless eyes. His face was blown out and distended and looked something a kin to a Spanish omelette.
But he was pleased with himself, he wasn’t a fake anymore, he was a real psychic, a god, a zombie god. Accustomed to such, he’d given up walking. Opting instead to lounge his aching exposed joints to a throne of soft furries. Their bodies interlocked by his will. The base of which took their weight. They crawled along at the speed of a caterpillar in the midst of the thousand strong throng of his cult like followers. A sea of colourful characters wreaking havoc across the small town. Striking in unison as if they were a sword in his own hand, organised and merciless and kind of cute.
“Soon” He whispered “First this town, and then the world shall know my power is real”.
A strange disruption, a silver flash, furries flying in the air like an explosion in a build a bear store. Fluff raining down as this slim flash of sliver cut a path straight forward.
“What is that?” Zomnision said.
The Lancer was fast and precise, moving like a sliver of silver caught in an updraft. A living scalpel to cut out the cancer.
“You dare strike at me?”
The furries moved in a wave, surrounding the Lancer. Thousands of them piling all over him, moving as if connected, forming shapes even. Moving like the waves of an ocean battering against the Lancer. Pulling him down.
Zomnision's face flaps jiggled as he laughed a cheesy comic book villain laugh.
The light forming in the cracks of the furry horde launched them upwards. A splash of them flying through the air like water particles. Fluff and blood and gore levitating for brief flashes. Silver sparks flashing inbetween brief pops of activity. The Lancer climbed the furries. He hopping them as they floated like stepping stones in some vertical zen garden. Cutting a swath closer and closer, an unstoppable immovable object colliding with mortality. A train with no tracks to rend bones to dust.
Zomnision was overwhelmed. His powers burgeoning on godhood but caught with his trousers down. His full potential a glimmer in his eye. The throne he was sitting on started to subsume him. The furries lifted and covered him. Interlocking like some horrible mix between power rangers and barnie the dinosaur. Forming on him like living armour fluffy armor. But it was too late, the Lancer had no time. No monologue would hold him back to witness some final transformation. This was a hurdle, a hiccup to correct before moving on.
He straddled the furry well, bubbling with activity like a rainbow anthill. He reached his metallic long claw deep into the pile. A crunching snapping noise like he was pulling a tooth and it came out spiked on his three pronged claw.
The head of the fake psychic.
The Lancer looked at it and smiled with his eyes. The pile of furry started to crumble and disperse. He walked down it as it collapsed like a poorly made sandcastle. He took the misshapen mushy excuse for a head. Placing it in some kind of sack made of an metallic alloy and affixed to his hip and continued on.
The furries seemed disinterested in the tall silver man. Their demeanors hadn’t changed. No magical spell was caste slaying the head vampire so easily, the effects were the same. They were still dead, sort of, and they were still furries. But now they were regular zombies, hungry and directionless. That was until an ear cracking explosion caught their attention over the horizon.
Suddenly filled with purpose. The now stringless zombie furries shambled in the general direction of the noise.
The Lancer watched them go and let out a robotic tinny laugh.
The donut shop was shredded by a large explosion. The giant metal donut on top was still connected on top just a little singed but still standing. The supports of the heavy donut groaning and shrieking under it’s weight.
The cooling barrel of a clip fed grenade rifle smoked in Juanitas hands. She held it in front of her crotch like a giant metal strapon.
“Nita why’d you blow up the donut shop?” Jaclyn screeched.
Juanita was shaking with her eyes closed. Satisfied sweat dripping down her pasty face as she held the giant rifle between her legs. She shook her head and opened her eyes coming out of it and said “Huh o-what?” She got snotty instantly, reaching back for that nasally vocal fry. “That and places like that victimize people of size like myself. Using their biology against them to make them fat”. She was panting a little and she dropped the guns stock to the ground. Holding herself up with it like a crutch and then said “Oh and I call dibs on this”.
Kat was loading up a mach ten looking down the sights of the compact sub machine gun. She cocked her head to the side and said “You can keep it honey, I don’t want anything to do with that thing.”
“Yeah too phallic, and too- black” Roch said as she cocked a pistol grip shotgun.
Kat looked back at her giving her the side eye but Roch didn’t look up as she loaded the compact shotgun.
Jaclyn looked at the large rifle Junita was leaning on. It looked like a huge sniper rifle, almost the length of the girl leaning on it. She differed to the users manual “Copperhead anti-tank rifle” She recited.
Juanita snatched the users manual off her and threw it into the gutter. “No one looks at these, just take this.” She said as she shoved a small pistol into Jaclyn’s hand.
“Wwwwait, I’ve never!”
“Oh stow it, if straight white men can do it then so can you girlfriend.” Juanita said clicking her fingers still leaning one hand on the large rifle.
“I guess.” She said looking down at it. She lifted her head and said “We need to get moving, they’re watching us for sure now. If we want to complete our mission we need to move fast.”
“Ok, but let me fire off another round first.” Juanita said as she lifted the huge gun with both hands burying the stock into her warm sweaty crotch. Gripping it with her huge thighs. “Ooh” She shivered as she stroked up the long black shaft fingering the trigger.
A child’s happy humming.
A wicked smile and some yellow teeth revealed by unshaven lips peeling back with a sticky wet noise. A dirty fingernail picking at them, sucking at his gums. He took a soppy sucking crunching bite out of an onion and held it in front of his face.
Carpenter was crouched by the wheelwell of red stationwagon.
“Shhhh” he said as the little girl hummed and popped her little head over the car to spy.
“Escuse moi” Another voice said behind him.
“Shhhh” He said again in a more harsh tone.
“Nita we can’t stick around here, we’re making too much noise” The small girl said.
“Yeah we’re too exposed” The Butch girl said.
“And I’m freezing!” The black girl said. “Actually, I do want a turn with that thing”
“Yeah me too” The butch girl said.
“Get offa it! It’s mine! I saw it first!” The fatgirl screeched.
Whiney voices on the other side of the street bled over them.
“I’m err, lost, err can you help me, I’m err…?” The voice behind him said, trailing off as if he forgot what the word in English was, a little shakey and dry.
“See there’s a trick to everything in life. Even this” He stopped short remembering she was listening.
“A trick?” The Frenchman said. The Frenchman without his coat looked like a soccerdad. His messy cupcake sweater, torn and a little burnt. His beanie even higher and frayed. His face covered in soot and little scratches making him look like a cartoon character that smoked an exploding cigar. He looked tired and soggy with his hands behind his back. A small punch knife gripped in his balled fist as a he shouldered along the car closer to Carpenter’s back. He felt worn, stiff but coiled. His bones loose and creaking like they were packed in sand. Feeling groggy and shaken, weak and more harmless than he liked.
“Yeah” Carpenter looked over the car and took another bite out of the onion. “There’s always some crazy person who pays to be here and they’ve always got a way out. Just need to keep on them and wait for the right moment.” He took another bite out of the onion and then threw it hard at the Frenchman. He caught it in front of his face. A tinkling of the small punch knife landing in the gutter and disappearing for good. “So what are you, like a Canadian tourist?”
“Ah qui, you could say that.” He laughed, and then grimaced because it hurt his ribs to laugh.
“He smells like blood” Laura said.
“I smell it” Carpenter said.
“…smell what?” The Frenchman said.
The atv’s hood was smoking, it rolled to a stop with a pained hissing noise. The armoured vehicle looked like it’s been through furry hell. The hood and roof and windows were covered in gore and brightly coloured fluff. As well as slivers of the police station garage door sticking out the windshield and the grill.
Sunday opened the door and slammed it angrily “Piece of shit s’posed to be tough or something.” She walked around the front and saw that there was a furry head under the hood. The culprit was a giant piece of twisted metal from the garage door stabbing between the grill. Hitting some vital organ in the heavy vehicle.
“Fuck!” She shouted.
She went around the back passenger door and opened it. TJ was in the back making noises in his throat, the door opening blasting cold air in his face. “Mom?” He said groggily. “Close the window” He was lying on his back with his feet pointing at Sunday.
Sunday smiled and sighed, he rolled over trying to go back to sleep, get a little warmer. She tutted and twisted his foot a little.
“Ow” he said hopping up and banging his head on the roof of the atv saying in a quieter tone “Ow.”
“We’re here.” Sunday said as she zipped up her jacket. Her clothes still felt rigid and like they came off of a corpse, as if they didn’t fit. She stood for a minute, while he was squinting and yawning and stretching. An uncomfortable silence building as if she was afraid he’d know instinctively.
“Here where? Sunday?” He said sleepily.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” She said in a chipper tone, she felt cold and awkward like she didn’t know who she was to him. She was a stranger, an imposter.
“Wait” He said “Didn’t you die?”
“We’ve been over this, I’m fine.” She said.
“No, I mean, I killed you.” He said it like it was a question.
“Haha what? You kill me in a dream you better wake up and apologize.” She laughed.
“There was that other guy, Jimmy? Some other guy.” He said in a scratchy voice.
“There was a fire, lots of confusion. You must have banged your head, the others didn’t make it, we were lucky I could get us out of there.”
He was confused, his head hurt, there was a grinding sound he could hear in his head. Like there was wet sand shifting, building pressure behind his eyes. He opened them wide and then closed them hard again. It hurt to open them. He was ready to believe anything that sounded good. Anything that didn’t need intensive thought on moral and existential questions.
“Am I missing a finger?”
“I think you got it caught in the door, come on, it’s just a pinky”
“Still, hurts.” He said quietly.
“Aww baby want a frosty chocolate milkshake?” She said smiling trying to diffuse his apprehension.
“There’s milkshakes?” He said in a dazed voice.
“Of course there are, why do you think we came here?” She chuckled.
“Yeah, where are we again?”
The atv had died in front of whitefish mall. A huge expansive structure. Sprawling out in a crude ‘V’ shape made up of two buildings the size of two football fields. The buildings connected by a glass domed central chamber. Which looked like a green plate glass interpretation of the whitehouse.
A ‘mega-mall’ it was called, it was beyond belief, more like a military base in size. You could just keep panning out and it kept growing. Three stories high, a thousand stores, the worlds largest indoor icerink. A Christmas display with a real pirate ship. It almost dwarfed the snow capped mountains behind it. The sun was coming up. Orange and red coming in hot on the flat plateau of the mountain. The parking lot stretching back miles. It was empty but for a few dormant security buggies and the atv quietly smoking.
“Cool” TJ’s voice echoed.