Anomaly Flats

by Clayton Smith

  “Oh, yes, good thinking!” cried the Lewis on the left. He reached up to grab the boat, but the other Lewis smacked his hand away.

  “No!” shrieked the Lewis on the right. “He’s not just a clone! He’s an evil clone!”

  “You’re the evil clone!” the Lewis on the left shouted, and they began swatting at each other once more.

  “Stop!” Mallory held the oar over her head, ready to strike. The Lewises subsided sheepishly. “Are all Clone Lake clones evil?”

  “Yes!” cried the Lewis on the right.

  “No!” cried the Lewis on the left. Then he looked over at the Lewis on the right. “Wait, yes!” he decided.

  “So one of you is definitely evil?” she asked. The Lewises nodded. Mallory pointed the oar at the Lewis on the left. “And you were going to let both of you come up into the boat knowing that one of you is evil?”

  “Well…” the Lewis on the left began, but he didn’t seem to know what to say after that, so he just gave a sullen shrug.

  “I’m gonna call ‘not caring if an evil scientist gets into the boat with Mallory’ the wrong choice.” She swung the oar down at the Lewis on the left, and he shrieked and ducked under the water, avoiding a cranial injury by just a few inches. He came up sputtering a few feet away and began swimming frantically toward the shore, shrieking, “You’ll be sorry! You’ll all be sorry!” as he went.

  Mallory lowered the oar to the remaining Lewis. He grabbed it gratefully as he struggled his way into the boat. He flopped down on the bench like a bloated fish, wheezing and shaking and clearing the water from his lungs. “Thanks,” he managed to say between gasps.

  “No problem.” She fit both oars into the oarlocks and started rowing them toward the shore. Then she added, “Sorry about creating your evil clone.”

  “I told you not to touch the water,” Lewis reminded her, panting.

  “I didn’t touch the water. I made you touch the water.”

  “The principle is the same.”

  “You said it wasn’t dangerous.”

  “I said it won’t hurt you. It’s that kind of not dangerous.”

  “You should have been more specific,” Mallory insisted, pulling at the oars.

  Lewis gasped a heavy sigh. “I told you not to touch the water, and I was extremely careful not to get any water on me. What would you have liked me to say?”

  “How about, ‘Mallory, if you push me into the lake, you’ll create my evil clone, so please don’t’?”

  “I didn’t know you were going to push me into the lake!”

  “Yeah. I’m as surprised as anyone,” she admitted. “I just spontaneously decided that you really deserved it.” She paused for a moment and rowed a few times, wondering if perhaps her remarks weren’t terribly helpful. “Again…really sorry about that.”

  Lewis shook his head and sighed. There were plenty of responses he would have liked to give to that, but he decided to just stew quietly on his end of the boat instead.

  After just two minutes, Mallory had managed to cover half the distance to the shoreline. “You’re a really good rower,” Lewis observed.

  “I know, I know…I’m sturdy,” she said, annoyed. “What do we do about him?” She nodded over at the evil clone, who was flopping his way toward the far beach.

  “There’s only one thing you can do with evil clones,” Lewis said, sitting up and wringing the water out of his bow tie. “Destroy them.”

  Mallory started. “Whoa. Seriously? We’re going to kill him?”

  “I’m not sure he’s a him. More of an it, I think. But that depends on your view of the human soul, and it brings up a lot of really intriguing and complex questions about the very nature of life. So, okay, we’ll say ‘him.’”

  “You are so irritating sometimes,” Mallory said, shaking her head.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Lewis sighed. “To answer your question, yes, we’re going to kill him.”

  “Isn’t that…you know…murder?”

  Lewis shrugged. “It all depends on if you view the clone as a person or a thing. It goes right back into—”

  “I know, I know, complex questions of the soul. Jesus, can’t you just give me a straight answer like a normal person?”

  Lewis cocked his head. “Is it your experience that most people give straight answers? I find that to almost never be the case.”

  Mallory closed her eyes and counted to three. “Never mind,” she said. “I think I’m warming up to murder.”

  “Well, murder or not, the death of a clone is sanctioned in the Anomaly Flats town charter. It has to be, or else we’d be completely overrun by evil clones.”

  “How do you know you’re not overrun by evil clones?” Mallory pointed out, bringing the boat to the shoreline. “What if the town is full of evil clones who killed their originals, just blending in and biding their time until they can rise up and murder all the non-clones in their sleep?”

  Lewis blinked. “Great. Thanks for that,” he said sourly. “Now I’ll never sleep again.”

  The boat ran up on the beach, and Mallory and Lewis hopped out and dragged it up onto the shore. “So how do we do it?” Mallory asked with a frown. The idea of murdering someone didn’t exactly sit well with her…even if the intended victim was an evil clone.

  “Let’s get back to the truck,” Lewis said, still panting from his struggle. He put his hands on his hips and pulled in a few deep breaths. “I have some acids in there that should do the trick.”

  “Perfect. If we don’t kill him, at least we can make him a Batman villain,” Mallory said.

  “Hey, we work with what we’ve got,” he shrugged. He patted the pockets of his lab coat. “Do you have the keys?”

  “Keys? Why would I have the keys?”

  “Maybe I gave them to you.”

  “You did not give them to me. You had them.”

  “I’m not sure I—ah! Yes,” he said triumphantly, hoisting a finger into the air. “I did have them. I left them in the truck.”

  Just then, the RV’s engine roared to life, and gravel flew as the tires spun wildly. The RV lurched forward, onto the road, squealing the tires against the asphalt. The Lewis in the truck gave them the finger out the open window as the Winnebago disappeared over the hill.

  Mallory turned to Lewis and shook her head. “Left the keys in the truck. Brilliant.”

  Lewis frowned. “Shoot.”

  They stared in silence after the RV.

  Mallory gasped suddenly. “My bag!”

  She took off after the fleeing clone on foot. “Wait!” Lewis hollered. He ran after her, which was no easy feat for a man who was terribly out of shape and who had just battled an evil clone in a deep lake. He more flopped than ran, gasping for air and wheeling his arms and loudly begging Mallory to slow down.

  They reached the edge of the road, both of them panting and cursing. “What do we do?” Mallory demanded. “That son of a bitch has my bag! What do we do?”

  “I don’t know!” Lewis wailed.

  The RV reappeared on the crest of a hill farther down the road, for the briefest moment, then disappeared again over the other side. “He’s taunting me!” she screamed. She kicked the edge of the road and sent a spray of loose gravel flying. She stormed around in a circle, positive that it wouldn’t help, but not sure what else to do. She gasped out loud and grabbed Lewis roughly by the lapels. “Look!” she cried. An old, blue, rusted-out Chevy truck was rumbling around the curve. “Hitch us a ride!”

  “What do you mean, hitch us a ride?” Lewis whined. “That’s Bill Stevison’s truck. We don’t want a ride with him…he’s strange.”

  Mallory was having none of it. She shoved him out into the road.

  “Ow! Geez, okay, okay!” He threw up his hands at the oncom
ing truck and screamed, “Bill, stop!” The sheer pitch of his voice shot daggers into Mallory’s eardrums. Bill Stevison saw Lewis through the windshield, and his eyes grew as large as the Chevy’s hubcaps. He hurriedly unbuckled his seatbelt, popped open the door, and, with a wild shriek, threw himself from the driver’s seat and into the ditch that ran alongside the road. The truck veered off the road in the other direction, smashing straight into a massive fir tree. The Chevy shuddered, and steam hissed out from beneath the busted hood. Bill picked himself up out of the ditch, despite an obviously broken elbow, and scrambled away across the field, shrieking and crying and running for his life.

  Mallory stared at Lewis. Lewis stared back. “I told you he was strange,” he said.

  They ran toward the truck, and they both made a dash for the passenger side. “What’re you doing?” Mallory demanded. “You’re driving!”

  “I can’t!” Lewis whined.

  “You have to! I don’t know the roads!” Mallory shouted.

  “But these old trucks don’t have power steering, and I can’t turn the wheel!”

  “What makes you think I can?!”

  “Because you’re—”

  “I am not sturdy, goddammit!”

  “You’re weirdly strong!” he insisted.

  “I do yoga!” She stormed around the front of the truck and hopped up into the driver’s side.

  Lewis pulled himself cautiously into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt. “I hope you know how to drive a stick,” he said miserably, glancing at the shifter jutting out from the gearbox.

  “I was born and raised in Missouri,” Mallory said, gritting her teeth, pressing the clutch, and jerking the shifter into reverse. “Of course I know how to drive a stick.”

  This proved to be a bit of hubris on Mallory’s part. It took a few engine deaths before she could successfully maneuver the truck away from the tree and back out onto the road. The steering wheel had no give, so she pulled at it with both hands to direct the truck onto the asphalt. In under a minute, they were on their way, tearing down the backcountry road in pursuit of Lewis’ evil clone.

  “Where am I going?” Mallory asked, her body tense as she struggled with the steering wheel.

  “Straight. This doesn’t break off until it hits Cumberland, the main road through town. That’s in about seven miles.” He turned to Mallory with a grave look in his eyes. “There’s no telling which way he’ll turn. We have to catch up to him before then.”

  Mallory set her lips in a hard line. “Got it.” She jammed the truck into fourth gear and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “Buckle up.”

  “I am buckled up,” Lewis said, confused.

  Mallory rolled her eyes. “It was an expression, Lewis. It was for fucking effect. For crying out loud, watch a movie.”

  They sped along the road, Mallory gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles went white. The old Chevy lurched around the curves. At the crest of the next hill, the truck soared into the air for a split second and came crashing down on its axles. The tires swerved, and Mallory almost lost her grip on the wheel. She cried out, but with enough grunting and pulling, she managed to get the truck under control. She heaved down on the wheel as the road took a sharp curve to the left and just barely managed to keep it on the road as the passenger side squealed against the metal guard rail, sending a small spray of sparks up against the window.

  “Getting there alive is preferable,” Lewis said, squeezing his eyes shut and holding onto the dashboard for dear life.

  “Picky, picky,” Mallory mumbled.

  After a few minutes, the old Winnebago came into view. “We’re gaining!” Mallory said, surprised. “I am an amazing driver.”

  “The Winnie’s old and slow,” Lewis pointed out.

  Mallory shook her head slowly. “Have I told you how wildly unsurprised I am that you’re single?”

  They approached the intersection with Cumberland. The evil clone blew right through the stop sign and veered the RV to the right without hitting the brakes. The Winnebago squealed and groaned and rose up on two wheels, and for a second, it looked like there was no hope for it but to tip over. But somehow, miraculously, the wheels touched down again, hard, rocking the RV violently.

  “Shit,” Mallory said through gritted teeth. “Hold on.”

  She gripped the top of the wheel with both hands and strained against it, struggling to pull the Chevy onto the new road. The wheel stuttered and shook in her hands. She grunted with the strain of it. The truck jammed to the right, and the centrifugal force pulled Lewis down the bench seat so he was suspended sideways by his seatbelt. The tires screeched on the asphalt, but thanks to the weight of the old truck, they stayed on the ground. Mallory jerked the wheel back to the left. The truck fishtailed, but it righted itself after a few heart-stopping skids, and they tore off down the road after the clone.

  “Where’s he going?” Mallory asked. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like rocket fuel, and her whole body shook. “Any idea?”

  “How would I know that?” Lewis asked, though not unkindly.

  “He’s you, isn’t he? Where would you go?”

  But before Lewis could answer, something exploded against the windshield. Mallory swerved in surprise, barely keeping the truck on the road. “What the hell?”

  Another little pop burst against the glass. Then another, and another. The clone was tossing little vials of brightly-colored liquid at them out the open driver’s window.

  “My acid collection! Stop it, you monster!” Lewis yelled, as if the clone could hear him.

  “Why do you collect acid?!” Mallory demanded.

  “Why don’t you?” Lewis countered.

  The little vials popped against the windshield, and a few of the acids began to eat through the glass. The windshield sizzled and melted away, and molten glass dripped down onto the dashboard. Wind whistled through the holes, and angry little droplets of acid flew inside the cab. “Don’t let it touch you!” Lewis cried.

  “Thanks for the tip, brainiac,” Mallory mumbled.

  She swerved to the right to avoid another acid bomb, then swerved back to the left. The assault continued as the RV careened down the road, wavering from one side to the other. “How big is this goddamn collection?” Mallory demanded, dodging a large beaker of green fluid.

  “He’s almost through it now,” Lewis said sadly. “It took me ages to collect all those…”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t find your chainsaw collection next.”

  Lewis scrunched up his face in confusion. “I don’t have a chainsaw collection.”

  “Seriously, Lewis? Which bottle has your sense of humor in it?”

  The chase continued. The clone ran out of acid—or at least, he ran out of acid within arm’s reach—and finally, the vials stopped flying. The Chevy’s windshield was damaged, but not cripplingly so. Mallory urged the truck to move faster, and soon they were on the evil clone’s bumper. “Should I run him off the road?” Mallory asked excitedly, though she had no idea how to actually run an RV off the road. But she was more than willing to try.

  Lewis the Spoilsport shook his head. “If you run him off the road, there’s a high probability of shattering most of the containers inside…mix some of those fluids, and we’ll have an ecological catastrophe on our hands. No, he can’t drive forever. Let’s just follow him and see where he goes.”

  “This high-speed chase just got super-boring,” Mallory complained.

  Then the clone jerked the RV off the road and into a cornfield, and things got a little more exciting again.

  “Hold on!” Mallory cried. She hauled at the wheel, and the Chevy peeled off the road and plunged into the cornfield after the Winnebago. The corn stalks were tall and brown and dry, well past the point of harvest. Ears of corn rotted away in their h
usks, oozing brown liquid through the leaves. The stalks folded and broke easily under the Chevy’s bumper, and they slapped loudly against the truck as it mowed them down. They left a wide alley of flattened ruin behind them. “Somewhere, there’s a farmer who is going to be very upset when he sees this,” Mallory guessed. Lewis didn’t respond. Mallory glanced over at him. He was huddled into a tight ball in his seat, his body pressed against the door, his hands covering his ears. “What’re you doing?” she asked.

  Lewis looked over at her, his eyes wide and wild with fear. “Don’t listen to it!” he yelled. “Shut your ears!”

  “Don’t listen to what?” she asked. But even as she said the words, she began to hear whispers rising over the slapping of the cornstalk leaves on the truck. They seemed to drift in through the holes in the windshield, snaking their way lazily about the cab and slipping into her ear canals on a warm, welcome breath:

  The best things in life are broken, the voices whispered.

  The best way to scratch an itch is with a razor blade.

  Tongues are an abomination.

  There is an exquisite pleasure in scraping your veins clean with steel wool.

  Children were made to set fire to.

  Your blood would look much nicer on the outside of your skin.

  A scream is worth a thousand dollars.

  Loud screams are worth more.

  Lungs were made to burst.

  The sun will drip fire and set the Earth ablaze.

  But Mallory didn’t just hear these whispers; she knew them. They filled her, they penetrated her core, and they made sense. On some deep bedrock of intuition and awareness, she knew these whispers to be absolute truths. It was as if a thick veil had been lifted from her mind, and she was experiencing the true, clear, horrible nature of the world around her for the first time. “We were born to scrub the Earth clean,” she said, relishing the truth of the words as they rolled off her tongue. “We are meant to scrub it clean of the blight of ourselves. That is our purpose.”