by B Branin
* * * * *
Back out on the main floor of the Ocean Grocer, the Twins found themselves in another shootout in the aisles that stored foodstuffs. Kurt and West were seated with their backs against a large, refrigerated bin that held grey spotted meats. Sparks flew off the metal bin as a barrage of bullets rained down in the general direction of the intruders.
“So then I tells him that if he let that dog off the chain,” West was saying, breaking open the stock of his sawed-off so he could reload, “I was gonna eat the damn pit bull to teach him a lesson…it didn’t taste half-bad.”
“Like chicken?” Kurt asked, before sitting up into a half-crouch and opening fire.
There were four gangbangers blasting away at the Twins. They had a mismatched assortment of small arms, all undoubtedly stolen or bought off some back alley dealer. The quad of assaulters had failed to see the wisdom in conserving ammo as they paused, scrambling to reload all at once.
Sitting up, Kurt’s next shot opened a bloody hole in the throat of a thug who was fumbling with the chamber of a large revolver. West stood up along side his counterpart and took careful aim. The buckshot from the giant’s sawed-off peppered the remaining trio but it wasn’t fatal, the distance to the targets too great. The painful spray of buckshot was enough to give Kurt ample time to line up kill shots, picking the thugs off like they were some sort of gangland carnival game.
“We’re runnin’ out of targets.” Kurt muttered as the Twins took off in search of more entertainment.
“Too bad.” West sighed, “This has been pretty fun. Reminds me of that time in Mexico.”
As they bantered back and forth the Twins wandered aimlessly, actively searching for any more hostiles. Wisely, no one dared show themselves. The main floor of the Ocean Grocer was pretty much deserted now thanks to the havoc they had wrought…and the fact nearly a dozen corpses littered the thrift shop, discouraging anyone else from confronting the Twins.
Yet another threat was waiting just around the corner.
The Twins came to a stop at the far end of the store, in front of a dirty carpeted area where small racks of unfashionable clothing were made slightly more appealing by the discount signs displayed everywhere. On top of the racks were sad looking mannequins who had been demeaned even further by sporting moth-chewed attire that some grumpy employee had slapped on their plastic bodies.
Stepping out from the forest of clothing racks, a young woman presented herself before the Twins, a twisted smile on her lips that matched the desperation in her eyes. Neither Kurt nor West bothered raising their weapons or issue a warning to this cultist…she had already slit her own wrists.
Blood grudgingly flowed from the self-inflicted wounds, the gashes running from the butt of the cultist’s palm all the way up to her elbow. How she had managed to survive this long without passing out from pain or blood loss was a true testament to the depths of her devotion to the Daughters of All.
“You…won’t…stop us.” The cultist informed the Twins as she swayed back and forth, on the verge of unconsciousness, “I’ve…followed Lorraine’s instructions. You’re…you…both…just…can’t…”
“Hey, sweetheart.” West interrupted the dying woman, “You wanna say something worthwhile before bleedin’ out or just gonna babble some more crazy bullshit?”
“I can end it now.” Kurt offered, holding up one gun, “Want me to?”
The cultist didn’t respond but instead toppled to one side. The Twins wouldn’t have given the suicidal fanatic a second glance but something strange happened the moment her body hit the floor.
The ground trembled.
All was silent in the Ocean Grocer as the Twins stared down at the cooling body of the fanatic. They had both felt the earth shake. Was it a coincidental tremor? A quick quake? Considering their already strange encounters with the Daughters of All, neither West nor Kurt were dumb enough to hope for something that simple.
So the Twins waited patiently, trying their best to ignore the sudden cold that bit them to the very bone. As the chill passed the mannequins that were shamefully displayed atop of the clothing racks began to rattle ever so gently, as if a rogue wind had made it inside the belly of the store.
The gentle shudder that the mannequins displayed turned more violent with each passing second. Their plastic bodies soon began to shake with such intensity that joints popped and hollow chests cracked. West turned his head to the side and spit. Kurt lit up a cigarette. The Twins continued to wait, watching the shaking mannequins with simple, unimpressed boredom painted on their faces.
The life-size dummies couldn’t handle the sudden strain. Limbs were ripped off plastic torsos while their heads spun around and around until they eventually were separated with an audible pop! The plastic body parts didn’t fall to the ground as the laws of gravity dictated but rather they floated upward, migrating to the center of the carpeted clothing area.
Apparently the sudden absence of normality extended to more than just the ruined mannequins. The clothing racks began to spin as pathetic pants, shoddy shirts and even bottom-barrel belts shot off their metal frames. These were also being drawn towards the center of the clothing section by whatever madness had been summoned.
In midair the bits of mannequin were reassembling themselves, lashed together with neckties and nylons and wrapped in a skin made from torn cargo pants, further solidifying them into a single form. The makeshift mass was quickly given a bipedal state of being as dozens of dummy legs were conjoined in midair, forming two plastic pillars wrapped up in a sinew made from wool scarves. The pillars then attached themselves to either side of the condensed bulk, creating stiff buttresses that supported the strange creation.
Along with the bottom appendages being assembled, a mockery of arms had also begun to form. The steel rods that had served as the mannequins’ spines had roughly lodged themselves into the upper portion of the makeshift mass. These conjoined steel rods, each seven feet in length, were quickly wrapped over and over again with all sorts of cloth, fleshing out the steel with muscle made from cotton and linen. Condensed balls of corduroy, nearly three feet in diameter, impaled themselves at the end of the cloth-covered steel. Each ball was joined by five mannequin arms, roughly spaced out to mimic fingers that immediately began sliding along the corduroy to make a crude, fist-like shape.
Lastly a giant head attached itself to the top of the monstrosity. Dozens of bent and twisted wire hangers formed a disturbingly detailed skull with a crooked mannequin arm serving as the jawbone. The top of the skull was quickly wrapped in pantyhose, giving it a horrible, fleshed-out look while still allowing the jaw to move up and down, soundlessly gnashing together teeth made from plastic mannequin fingers.
The abomination of clothing, steel and plastic fell from the air and landed with a muffled crash against the carpet. So massive was the monster that it had to take on the posture of a gorilla just so its head wouldn’t scrape against the store’s ceiling. In a terrifying display of strength, it raised one of its enormous arms and with a single slam, crushed a steel clothing rack underneath its fist like an old beer can.
Kurt spat his cigarette out and West clicked his tongue.
“Well that’s something you don’t see every day.” The Twins said in unison as the abomination advanced towards them.