Into the Storm

by Scott Marcy

  “There are so many humans,” Kaylin said. “They really need to learn to meditate.”

  “Meditate?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, to control your fleshly urges and achieve a spiritual state of enlightenment.” She crossed her arms and legs, a tense look on her face. “Most elves are 10,000 years old before they have children.”

  “That explains the elves low birthrate,” Alex said. “Human males have a supercharged sex drive. Look at how many men slept with Sterling.” Alex glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the sour look on Sterling’s face. “Sorry.”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing.” Sterling scowled and slouched. “I can’t believe I had sex with all those people. I want to take a shower.”

  “Eyes on the road,” Lyra said to Alex. “We don’t want to crash at this speed.”

  “We’re doing 35 miles per hour,” Alex said. The traffic around them was light and spaced three car lengths apart. “This is slow.”

  “Slow?” Lyra tried to cinch her seatbelt tighter and braced herself as if they would crash at any second. She read a green information sign. “What is I70?”

  “This sugar water is good,” Kaylin said, slurping fruit punch soda. “It’s all fizzy, but the food is flavorless.”

  “That’s fast food.” Alex entered the on ramp and pressed on the accelerator. The van responded and sped to 70 mph. She merged into the rush of traffic and closed the gap with the car ahead of her. When an 18-wheel truck roared up beside them, the other girls cringed in horror.

  Lyra turned pale and dug her fingernails into the armrest. “What’s the matter? Is someone chasing us?” They all looked behind the van to spot their pursuers.

  “No. We’re fine. This is normal.” Alex adjusted her grip on the steering wheel and tried to relax. Even though she was born on Earth, the year she spent on Eden changed her: everything about modern life seemed artificial, especially the speed at which it moved. On Eden, she walked most places. Travel by horseback was as fast as it got.

  As they left the city, traffic began to separate, and the distance relaxed them. Kaylin held up a single fry, which wilted and doubled over. “These things are better when hot.” She nibbled it and made a face. “It’s icky like this.”

  “Most people don’t eat a hamburger, fries, and soda for breakfast,” Alex said.

  “It upset my stomach. Human food is weird,” she said and nibbled the cold fry.

  “And salty, fatty, and sugary,” Lyra said.

  “Can we stop at the Factory Outlet Mall and shop?” Sterling asked and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Everyone stares at us, and a police officer asked me if I was a working girl. What’s a working girl?”

  “A prostitute and yes: that is a good idea.” Alex eased toward the exit for Mobley, Kansas and slowed the van. They cruised through the off ramp and made a right turn at the traffic light and into the shopping mall. The abundance of colorful cars and trucks dazzled their eyes, and the two-story mall promised shopping wonders. She found an available space a fair walk from the entrance.

  “Couldn’t you find a closer spot,” Kaylin said and bounced.

  “By the time I did, we could already be in the mall; besides, let the old people park close. We can walk.” Alex turned off the van and used a switch to open the side door. The others stared in wonder as the door opened wide before them by itself.

  The four friends gathered at the back of the van, and Alex opened the back. When she began to remove her swords, she said, “They don’t allow weapons inside the mall. Besides, shopping malls are safe.” Lyra rolled her eyes, and they removed her weapons and armor. “Mr. President, we’re going shopping. Do you want to come?”

  “No. I’m good,” he said.

  After they closed the hatch and walked away, Lyra said, “What will we do for money?”

  “I have the president’s credit card.” Alex tried to slip it into her back pocket, but the card slid along the smooth material. “Right, no pockets,” she mumbled. “We need to buy purses.”

  Kaylin cocked her head and asked, “What’s a purse?”

  When they walked toward the entrance, Kaylin took the lead. She bounced and sang. Lyra crossed her arms and said, “I don’t see why we need clothes. What we’re wearing is fine.”

  “We look like a girl rock band,” Alex said. “Besides, it will be fun. Oh, and if anyone asks about your ears, tell them they are glued on … the pointed tops I mean.” Lyra felt the pointed tips of her ears and puzzled.

  When they entered the mall at the food court, glorious aromas — cinnamon, baked bread, cooked meat, pretzels, and brewed coffee — urged them to come and partake. The very next thing they noticed was everyone’s girth. A chubby girl with rosy cheeks waddled up to them, held a huge soda, and slurped it. “You’re pretty,” she said.

  Lyra squatted before the girl and said, “You’re pretty too.” The girl’s smile wrinkled her nose and made her chubby cheeks bulge. She scurried back to her mother, who paused from eating a triple burger, and the girl jumped as she told her what Lyra said. The annoyed woman handed the girl an apple pie and resumed eating.

  Some teenage boys gathered near the door snickered and stared at the girls. They stuffed their faces with sugary pretzels and gulped buckets of soda. The bravest of the group, Trent said, “Nice butts, good racks.”

  “Why aren’t you boys working with your fathers?” Lyra asked. “How will you learn a trade standing around here.”

  “My dad’s a CPA. I want to be a rock star.” Trent nodded at his friends. “We have a garage band, The Scum Suckers, but we’ve gotten a few gigs. Are you girls in a band.”

  “Yes, we are,” Alex blurted, cutting off Lyra. “We’re on our way to Denver for a concert.” Lyra raised an eyebrow and stared at Alex. “We’re the … we’re the Valkyries.”

  “Cool,” Trent said. When he tried to look them up on his phone, the screen went black, and it smelled like burnt hair. “Aw, come on, I just bought this.”

  After they had walked away, Lyra said, “We’re the Valkyries?”

  “Why not,” Alex replied. “We were great singing around the campfire.”

  When they reached the central corridor of the mall, they found themselves on the second floor. They clung to the railing and marveled at the array of stores. “I want to go in there,” Kaylin said and pointed at an athletic shoe store. “I could use my boots resoled.” She lifted up her right foot and showed them the worn heels.

  Alex was about to correct her when she noticed the lights fade and then brighten. A shadow moved over a domed skylight. “Huh, they must be working on the power.” One of the bulbs grew brilliant white and then burst, showering terrified shoppers with glass and sparks.

  They walked through the mall admiring the abundance of goods. Kaylin bought a sundress with a yellow, red, and blue floral print. Lyra bought tube socks, petroleum jelly, and lip-gloss. Sterling picked out several books: engineering, manufacturing, and chemical engineering. The boy behind the counter eyed the books and then stared at her breasts. “Are you in college?” he said, and his voice cracked.

  Sterling twitched her nose. The pimple-faced boy with braces was of no interest. About to say something rude, Alex cut her off saying, “She’s a college student and a drummer. We are just doing a bit of shopping.” The boy nodded and wrung his hands.

  “That’s cool,” he squawked. “I play a little guitar.”

  “How little is it?” Sterling asked, but Alex dragged her from the shop. After they had left the shop, Sterling flicked a blonde tress over her shoulder. “Why do you keep doing that, cutting us off or apologizing? I was just going to inform him that he could never win a girl like me, and he should lower his expectations.”

  “You mean like those wagon drivers?” Lyra crossed her arms and shifted to one hip. “Some of them make him look like an Elven prince.”

  “Um,” Alex said, “that would have shattered him. You don’t want to hurt people like that. Do you? Besides, trust me: he
knows the truth.”

  The girls broke out into a debate. What was better: a painful truth or a face-saving lie? The debate raged as they entered a large department store. At seeing the lady’s fashion department, Kaylin clapped with glee and grinned. She grabbed Sterling’s arm and dragged her toward the sundresses. Lyra examined a workout ensemble across the aisle, and Alex longed for the simplicity of the men’s department. However, Alex required clothing, so she braced herself, became ridged, reminding herself that she was female. When she picked out a white sundress, adorned with a pink rose print, Kaylin scampered over to her. “That’s adorable,” she squealed.

  Sterling carried a gold satin blouse up to the cashier and stuck out her chest. “What size is my size? This blouse is a 12. What does that mean?”

  The saleswoman, Dorothy, peered over her reading glasses and picked up a tape measure. “Let me measure you, sweetie.” She recorded Sterling’s measurements on a yellow post-it note and gave it to her. She led her back to the display and found the correct size. As she handed it to Sterling, Kaylin rushed between them on her way to the changing booth.

  Her cheeks blushed bright red, Alex also asked the sales woman to take her measurements. After she was inside the booth, she tried on the dress. She turned this way and that, examining the garment. What am I doing? I’m back on Earth, and I’m wearing a dress. As if to remind her, her gaze shifted to the silver necklace around her throat, and her right hand slid around it.

  A knock on the changing booth door interrupted her deliberations. She opened it a bit and saw Kaylin. “What do you think?” She spun around for Alex, modeling a denim skirt, a white blouse adorned with a chili pepper print, and sandals. “I’m going to wear it out.”

  A woman strode up to the counter and hitched her purse up her shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said to Dorothy, “I need to find a gown. Do you have any off the rack? Mine was ruined.”

  Alex cocked her head. That voice was familiar, but she could not identify the face. “Excuse me, do I know you?”

  “Okay ladies,” Jack said, “where is my credit card?” He halted and gaped. “Gloria,” he exclaimed and froze in place. When the shock ended, he ran to her and threw his arms around her. Holding her tight, he kissed her and held her.

  “Jack, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at that rally in Denver.” When she saw the tears in his eyes, she knew something important was wrong. “What is it?”

  Mr. Durban peered above his spectacles and lowered his copy of the sales item listing. The chaos of the dress department made him smile: excitement meant profit and a fat bonus check at the end of the year. He removed his glasses and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. The years had been hard on his knees, so he wandered back toward his office.

  When he passed by the office area, Chris labored over the sales report for the previous day and reconciled the accounting data. “I’ll have the reports for you in an hour,” she said and slurped her coffee. Mr. Durban waved and then finger combed his thinning locks over his balding head. When he gripped the doorknob to his office, he saw the double doors down the hallway swing, and a crash came from the stockroom.

  “Hello, is everything okay?” More crashes replied. He furrowed his brow and walked down the hallway. The overhead lights buzzed and snapped off. He paused, instincts warning him to turn and leave. It was his store, and he had been in the stockroom more times than he could count. However, still another crash gave him pause. He turned around and walked back to the main office. “Chris, have mall security come. There’s something wrong in the stockroom.”

  “Yes, Mr. D,” she said. She phoned the mall and summoned security.

  Melvin Blum, already in the employee break room, lumbered into the office. Once upon a time, he played defensive tackle in college football, made the all-star team, but that was 150 pounds ago, and now a thick layer of blubber hung around his gut. He slurped his coffee and swallowed the last bite of a powdered donut. “Are there problems, Mr. D?” When Mr. Durban stared at the white powdered sugar on his blue shirt, Melvin brushed it off his uniform and licked a bit off his clip-on tie.

  Mr. Durban said, “There is someone in the stockroom. I hear crashing noises. Go and check it out.”

  For a moment, Melvin was tempted to say, “Who, me?” But he thought better of it and retrieved his club from his holster. He wished the mall approved his request to carry a gun; a club seemed a pitiful defense. A frown on his face, he waddled down the hallway and pushed open the doors with his club. Knickknacks and glassware lay shattered upon the floor, and when he tried to turn on the lights, nothing happened. “Base, this is mobile unit 2.”

  “Who?” Charlene’s voice crackled over the radio.

  “It’s me, Melvin. We have a potential breaking in the Best Bargains Store. I’m going in for a look.”

  “You be careful,” she replied. “I’ll contact the sheriff’s office for help.”

  Melvin edged into the pitch-black stockroom. The emergency lighting was broken and smoldering. He shifted his club to his left hand and pulled out his flashlight. When he entered the room, Mr. Durban followed close behind him. “Stay back,” he said and crept down the aisle. Broken glass crunched beneath his shoes. When his light illumined a mannequin, he jumped and raised his club. “I hate that,” he muttered.

  “What do you see?” asked Mr. Durban.

  “Nothing so far,” Melvin said. When he heard crunching behind him, he raised his club, spun around, and saw Mr. Durban. He wanted to tell him to go back, but the company made him feel better. When they made a right turn at the end of the aisle, smoldering curtains and towels lay upon the floor. “That’s weird.” He stepped over the debris and made another right turn to the stairs to the second floor. The wooden stairs creaked as he climbed. More crashes came from the upstairs.

  When they reached the top, he shone his light through the large stockroom. Piles of merchandise lay upon the floor, most smoldering. Melvin rubbed an itch from his nose and tried to settle his quivering stomach. “Mr. D., you really need to stay back. It could be a meth-head looking for something to steal to buy a fix.”

  A sound came from down the aisle ahead of them. He turned the light toward it and raised his club. He gaped in horror and could not breathe. The light fell upon a black, humanoid silhouette, a non-human presence. It shifted and pulsed as if moving in and out of time. A pair of glowing red eyes floated toward him, and the swirling darkness ate the light from his flashlight and the warmth from the air. Melvin’s breath turned to frost; his heart pounded, and a trickle of urine streamed down his right leg, pooling by his right foot. “RUN!”

  Melvin fled past Mr. Durban and scrambled down the stairs. He sprinted through the stockroom and burst through the doors. His large belly leading the way, he sprinted through the office and shouted, “Get out of here!” Chris hesitated a moment and then chased after him. The shoe department girl, Patricia, dropped her jelly donut and ran after them.

  The trio gasped and lingered on the main sales floor. Regina strutted over and said, “What are you doing? We have a business to run.” He pointed his trembling club at the office area and tried to speak, but no words came out. When Regina turned, the walls buckled and lights exploded with a brilliant flash and burst into a thousand shards. A pair of glowing red eyes moved down the hallway. Leathery diseased skin of a dead man, mottled gray appearance, open sores, black blood trickling from the corner of his eyes and mouth, jagged teeth, ripped clothes, the creature that appeared was no longer human or Mr. Durban. He transformed into a daemia.

  “Halloween is five months away, and you are not scaring me this time.” Regina clucked and shook her head. “Mr. Durban, I can’t believe you are helping this pair play this practical joke.”