Planet of the Dead

by Thomas S. Flowers

  Not worrying...?

  No family responsibility?

  Could such a thing be real?

  And here he was, stuck alone in his father's Shell gas station, the very same one, his first, purchased back in 1991, the same year his family had immigrated to the States.

  Taj knew of his father's love for this place and the advantages it had afforded for not only his other brothers and sisters, but the whole Singh clan. And perhaps back in the 90s, an Indian immigrant owning his own franchise gas station in Houston, Texas was a bigger deal than he gave credit for, but today it felt embarrassingly cliché.

  Looking again at the large oval clock on the wall, Taj sighed and began his nightly rounds. He checked the racks of sodas and tea and energy drinks in the coolers, not worrying about the beer. Some guy in a Budweiser uniform would fix it up in the morning after his shift had ended. Unworried with those racks, he then set to refill the ice in the large ice chest up front that contained the thirty-two-ounce cans of Miller and Bud and Coors, of which he never quite understood the purpose. Who drank this but driving customers. And wasn't drinking and driving illegal? Why would they mindfully sell single large cans of beer and not only that but also provide a brown paper bag in which to conceal it?

  It made little sense to him.

  Finished, Taj went to brew a fresh pot of coffee at the refreshments stand where they kept the breakfast and snack items and microwave. He glanced at the rack of coffee cakes and banana nut muffins and other Hostess brand items, not feeling the least bit hungry but still unwrapping one of the muffins and devouring the top. Discarding the rest into the trash bin.

  He continued with the coffee, remembering how one night he had "forgotten" to make the pot, just like with the beer in the ice chest, not seeing the point, only to get an ear full of complaints from the truckers that came passing through late at night on their way to the ship channel. Above the coffee maker his father had laminated instructions on how many scoops of grounds to use, how to rinse out the filter, and to be sure to dump the used grounds in the waste bin and not down the sink.

  Taj smirked at the sign and added an extra full scoop of grounds to the pot.

  Filling the mop bucket, he started for the bathrooms. The women's restroom was locked and for the life of him he could not remember anyone coming in since his shift started.

  Maybe someone was here before? he thought.

  Why didn't Parmjit tell me someone was here?

  He shrugged and went about cleaning the men's room.

  Finished, he checked again only to find the women's bath still locked.

  He exhaled loudly, hoping whoever was inside could hear him, and left the mop bucket by the door.

  Up front, he grabbed a couple of large black trash bags, and went outside through the large sliding entrance doors. He knew this was a big "no no" on his father's never to do list, leaving a customer alone in the store. But he wasn't going to be out here very long, if he could help it. It was way too dark. And besides, he doubted whoever it was would go about robbing the place.

  By the pumps, only two trash cans were full. So, he emptied them and replaced the bins with new trash bags. Tying a knot in the full ones, he looked around. Not a single car had passed down the road since he'd been out here. The Shell resided on the old business road of Highway-146, off the beaten path perhaps, but there was a large apartment complex across the street, and the station was on the main route for the ship channel. Typically, especially on Friday nights, there should be more traffic. Truckers wanting coffee and youngsters looking for beer. Or lonely divorcees reduced to cooking their dinner in the convenience store microwave. He'd normally only be done with half of his rounds by this time, usually rushing at the end to do the trash before his father arrived to start the day shift.

  With only a few street lamps on the road, an eerie orange glow was cast across the ground. Shady Grove Apartments, where normally he could spot at least a few groups of residents out having a smoke or drinking, a few he even suspected dealing some sort of narcotic. Tonight, there was no one. His brother had mentioned something about a cold or flu going around. Many of the customers coming in throughout the day had not looked very well. Maybe it was that.

  Sick, I better not get whatever's going around.

  He stood there and stared out into the night, hating how dark it was. Wishing there were more street lamps. Taj had asked his father more than once why there were so few. His best explanation other than "why do you ask," was that the neighboring town of Shoreacres wanted as little light pollution as possible, or some such nonsense. Whatever the real reason, budgeting wise or what have you, he wished they could at least have some fluorescents around their own building. But what did his father care? He wasn't the one who had to work the night shift.

  With the tied trash bags in hand, Taj quickly made his way to the side of the building where the dumpers were. Lifting the large plastic lids, he heaved the two bags down into the tall receptacle.

  Wanting nothing more than to return inside, he froze.

  Something rattled by the trash.

  Behind the dumpster or in it?

  He did not know for certain.

  Turning back, he glared into the darkness, scanning the large dark blue compactor, trying to make sense of the shadows.

  Nothing moved.

  He turned to leave again.

  Stopped.

  Another metallic clang on cement.

  He turned back to the dumpster.

  "Hello?" he called.

  Nothing.

  "Is someone back there?"

  His skin broke out in goosebumps.

  His breath shortened, coming out in cold wisps.

  He kicked the side of the dumpster, listening to the hollow echo.

  A blur dashed out.

  He jumped back, clutching his chest.

  He settled down, still panting and smiled. Laughing in shuddered gulps of air, Taj watched as a black alley cat darted across the street toward the adjacent apartments.

  "Damn," he giggled, combing the sweat from his forehead back into his hair.

  Headlights approached from down the road.

  Taj quickly made his way back inside. By the time he got to the register, a large Ford pickup had pulled into one of the parking spots in front of the store. Two college aged men came in, followed closely by two girls that didn't quite look as old. High school seniors no doubt. He watched as the group made their way down the chips aisle toward the coolers with the beer. They whispered between each other, laughing, giggling. There wasn't a sense of intentional mean spiritedness; at their age, all kids are jerks.

  The girls giggled between each other and departed toward the restroom.

  There was little doubt for Taj these girls were still in high school. Same old story. They had boyfriends a few grades ahead of them that went off to UH, or maybe they simply thought high school boys were too immature. They weren't at-risk youth, as far as he could tell. They were just...young. Left alone to their own devices with little to no parental surveillance.

  How Taj wished he were them.

  Both boys came up to the register. No longer laughing, but smiling still. One of them set a twelve pack of Bud on the counter. Taj could only guess their age, but he assumed he was only a few years older than they were. College freshmen in some local University. Dorks on campus, but gods to high schoolers.

  "ID?" Taj asked, but he already knew what their answer would be. One of the boys looked somewhat familiar, maybe he'd been around the store before. He couldn't be sure.

  The one with the beer grinned innocently, eyes down, making contact for just a few seconds of time before retreating again. "Here's the thing, like a dummy I left my driver's license at home in another pair of pants. Could you--?"

  Taj shook his head. "Store policy."

  The kid in behind the other perked up. "Hey, don't I know you?"

  Taj shrugged. "Do you?"

  "Yeah, man. You have Crowley for biology, right? Y
ou have the class right after mine. I've seen you. Your name is..."

  "Taj."

  "Right. Look, we don't mean to put you on the spot, but we've got two really hot dates." The kid hitched his thumb toward the restroom. "We were really hoping to impress them, if you catch my meaning." He smiled again, wide and foolish looking, the way only teenaged boys get with fantasies of boobs and handjobs.

  Despite his own father's strict parental surveillance, Taj knew exactly what they were talking about.

  The other boy added, "It'd be really cool if you could do us this favor, just this once."

  Taj also knew that the "just this once" part was an absolute lie. They'd be back, there was little doubt about that, and they'd be back with new dates and new excuses.

  Both boys were smiling now. Waiting for affirmation.

  No harm, really.

  Just eager, lustful, as boys are apt to be.

  Taj sighed. "Sure, but just this one time."

  "That's awesome of you, bro." The boy's high-fived each other. "You just guaranteed us getting laid tonight, Taj!"

  He ignored that last comment and rung up their purchase.

  "Fifteen dollars and eighty-five cents, please."

  The boy that had set the beer on the counter paid with a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change, my good sir," he said in a mock British accent.

  The other boy hoisted the twelve-pack.

  Clicking their heels toward the register, the girls turned. Their expressions were in contrast with each other, one being concerned, and her friend had an expression as if she'd just heard a nasty joke.

  "Excuse me," one of the girls said. "There's a woman that won't come out of the bathroom."

  "Yeah," chimed her friend, popping her chewing gum. "Probably some drunk bitch."

  "Or maybe she's sick," the other offered, looking embarrassed for the crassness of her friend.

  The other girl rolled her eyes. "Sick cause she's probably some junkie, slipped off the toilet and pulled her cooch."

  The other gawked.

  "You ladies ready?" one of the boys asked.

  "Definitely," said the girl with the bubblegum.

  "Let's roll," said the boy with the beer, leading the way back out the large sliding door. Outside, they shouted and howled and jumped into their Ford pickup. They pulled out way too fast for Taj's tastes (help me, I'm turning into my father!), tires screeching on the asphalt.

  Not that anyone was around to complain.

  Taj looked back toward the restrooms.

  On the counter, he gazed back at his list.

  Picking up his pen, he wrote on the things he would tell his father why he wanted on a different shift, "No more junkies locked in the bathroom."

  2

  Taj wasn't sure if he should be thankful no other customers had come in since the group of college boys and their high school girlfriends, considering he did not have to listen to any more complaints regarding the bathroom situation. But on the other hand, he was now having to deal with whoever this person was locked inside said bathroom alone.

  For a moment, he considered leaving the matter be.

  His father could deal with the drunk or junkie, whoever they were in the morning.

  And then what would he say?

  Could Taj stomach sitting through another lecture on the importance of responsibility?

  He doubted he would survive another.

  Standing in front of the locked women's restroom, Taj wrapped gently on the door. "Excuse me," he said, his voice shaking more out of embarrassment of bothering someone in the bathroom. He cleared his throat and added, "Is everything alright?" hissing at himself at how ridiculous that sounded. Is everything alright? Chawalan na Maar--his brothers would tease him so much for this. But what else could he say? "Hey, don't make a mess in there."

  He shuddered at this last thought. Remembering too many instances when someone had made a mess, especially in the women's restroom.

  Standing taller, he knocked again. "Miss, are you--"

  He stood back from the door.

  What was that?

  Moaning?

  Taj pressed his ear against the cold door. Listening.

  What is she doing in there? Sounds like--

  Up front, the entrance bell chimed.

  "Taj?" an older man called with a tone of concern and annoyance.

  Perfect, just what I need.

  Taj pushed away from the bathroom and hurried to the front of the store. Standing beside the register, looking down at the notepad on the counter, arms folded across his chest, stood--

  "Father? What are you doing here this late?" Taj came half way, between him and the bathroom hallway. He looked around, expecting to see some of his older brothers and sisters. Akash was usually always by the old man's side. And if not him, his eldest sister. "Where's Akash? Rohini?"

  His father picked up the notepad, inspecting with a frown. He didn't bother looking back at Taj. "Sick. I came here to see if you're okay."

  Taj shuffled his feet. "Sick? Are they alright, is it bad?"

  His father grunted. "Flu of some sort." He held out the pad. "What is this?"

  Taj glanced at it, shit. "Umm...its...its..." he stuttered.

  "Exactly," his father interjected. "This is you not following the rules. What if robbers had come in instead of me? What if they helped themselves to the register? And what if you walked in on them in the act? What do you think they'd do, Taj?"

  "Father--"

  "No arguments. You know I'm right."

  "Yes, father, but--"

  "But what, what could be so important to distract you from your obligation?" His father tossed the notepad back on the counter.

  "There might be a problem." Taj gestured behind him toward the restrooms.

  His father's brow furrowed. "Problem?"

  "Yes, someone locked themselves in the women's restroom."

  "And?"

  "Well, they've been in there for a while."

  "How long?"

  "I don't...before my shift."

  His father looked surprised. "That was four hours ago, Taj. Are you certain?"

  "I'm fairly certain. I think she may be hurt or something."

  "Hurt? Why would you say that?"

  "I knocked on the door, to see if she was still in there. I heard..."

  "What?"

  "I don't know. It sounded like she was in pain."

  His father drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He seemed to be thinking things through.

  Something, or someone banged on the bathroom door, moaning angrily.

  Taj jumped. He moved to the side, turning, looking back into the hallway. After a second, he turned back to his father noticing a funny expression on the old man's face. "What?" he asked.

  "Why are you so jumpy?" his father asked.

  Taj shrugged, looking to the floor. His cheeks felt hot.

  Starting toward the bathrooms, Taj's father placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think maybe you've been on night shift for too long."

  Taj nodded, feeling his face turn more red.

  "This is nothing to be embarrassed about," his father added. "Your eldest brother, Akash, used to work the night shift. He swore before I took him off that the alley cats were plotting against him. Can you imagine?" he giggled. "So, you see, being jumpy isn't bad. I'll get Anant to take over for a while, give you a break. We can talk later about what shift would work with your school schedule. Sound good?"

  Taj nodded, still feeling a little embarrassed, but also thankful. Despite his grievousness against his father's rules and the constant intrusion of paternalism into his life, he knew his father was a good and thoughtful man.

  His father smiled and let go of his shoulder.

  Taj followed behind him to the restrooms.

  The noises were becoming more frequent now. Thudding and thumping and moaning against the door of the women's bathroom. His father glanced back at him briefly, seemingly not wanting to take his eyes away from the quive
ring door.

  "Go up front and call the police," his father said, nearly whispering.

  Taj looked at him, eyes wide with uncertainty. "Police? If this woman is hurt, shouldn't we call an ambulance instead?"

  His father kept his gaze on the door as it jittered and thumped harder and harder. The woman inside groaned as if she wanted out but didn't know how to open the door. "The police can decide if she needs medical attention. This woman could very well be on some sort of drug. Now go and do what I have told you, Taj."

  Taj nodded uneasily, turning and rushing off to the front of the store. He picked up the phone sitting beside the register and dialed 911. Static hissed in his ear, and then it cleared and he heard the normal clicking as the call was connected.

  "911. What is your emergency?" a woman answered. She didn't sound as Taj had imagined, calm and clear. This woman sounded tired and worn down. There was a sort of panic in her voice that disturbed him.

  Taj quickly explained the situation.

  "A unit has been dispatched to your location. Can you stay on the call until they arrive?" the operator asked.

  Taj bit his lip, glancing back at the hallway where the restrooms were. He didn't want to stay on the phone. He wanted to help his father. The thumping and thudding was becoming increasing loud. He could hear threats from his father. And then there came the sound of wood giving way, cracking.

  He tried to get a better angle of the hallway, but the phone's cord kept him tethered to the counter. If only his father had splurged on a cordless, he could go and help him and stay on the line.

  His father was nearly shouting now. Alarm in his voice. "Miss, you need to--what are you doing? Stay--stay back. No. Stop. Get off me. Don't--"

  Taj let the phone drop from his ear, still in his hand. "Dad?" he called.

  From the hallway, the sound of grunts and shuffles and--