Shorts: A Collection of Short Fiction

Clone 3244

The two wives arrived at the desolate town in a beat-up sedan and pulled into the gas station on Main Street.

"Do you want anything?" Cheryl asked Betty. She needed a drink, and though she was likely to only find beer here, she could lower her standards just for today.

Betty shook her head. "No, I'm good. Thanks." Cheryl left Betty to fuel up and went inside. She chose her favorite beer brand and wondered why she'd allowed Betty to talk her into this trip. Phil was a terrible husband, and now he was dead. Betty had convinced her to go and they were friends, despite Betty being Phil's current wife.

A woman with her hair in curlers rang up the beer and fuel, and Cheryl counted out the cash. She returned to the car and watched a dog gnaw on a bloody deer leg outside the butcher shop next door. She wondered why on earth Phil would want to be interred in this creepy town.

Everyone at the graveside service had one trait in common. They were all men, and they looked just like Phil. Not resembled. Exact copies. Cheryl caught Betty's exasperated expression and could feel her unease as palpably as the summer breeze. The curler-clad clerk appeared to be the only female in town.

When the service ended, the ladies wasted no time running for the car. Just as Cheryl climbed into the passenger seat, a lady's voice blasted over a loudspeaker, "Now that clone 3244 is laid to rest, would clone 3245 report for duty to continue the experiment? Also, would someone dispose of the blue sedan with Oregon plates and the female occupants? Thank you."

Betty hit the gas before Cheryl could shut the door. "You bastard, Phil. This is all your fault!"