Tales From the Gas Station 2

by Jack Townsend

  After a few seconds, it dawned on me why that wasn’t right. The gas station shouldn’t have been empty.

  Where’s the clerk on duty?

  “Hello?” I called out. “Calvin? You in here?”

  I crutch-walked over to the bathroom and pushed open the door to see that it was empty. Next I made my way out back for a quick look around. Nobody there either. Had Calvin up and vanished? Could we be so lucky?

  Maybe the fox lady took him.

  I quickly pushed that idea out of my head. After all, the fox lady only ever comes at night. Besides, Calvin didn’t really seem like her type.

  When I got back to the front of the store, Old Bob Hoover was walking inside. He gave me a quick salute before heading toward the crockpot of boiled peanuts. The so-called “emergency” would have to wait until I didn’t have any customers. For now, I needed to do my regular job.

  As I made my way to the time clock, I saw that Calvin had posted a “revised work schedule” right above it, with every name scratched out and replaced with his own. According to this sheet, he had been working without a single break since I went to the hospital three days earlier.

  Oh boy, I thought to myself. That can’t be good.

  Old Bob walked up to the customer side of the counter, picking his nose with his free hand and holding his wares in the other. I started for the cash register but froze when I saw what was covering the ground beneath it.

  A large puddle of lumpy, fresh blood spanned the entire area from the wall to the edge of the counter. Old Bob stared at me, confused as to why I wasn’t helping him. He couldn’t see from where he was standing, but there was no way I could get to the register without stepping into what was almost certainly an active crime scene.

  “Hey Old Bob.”

  He looked around before answering, like maybe I was talking to a different Old Bob.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s on the house this time.”

  His eyes got big.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  He wiped his free hand onto his overalls, then grabbed a praline from the display on the counter and asked, “This too?”

  “Sure.”

  He smiled big, showing off his single front tooth, then turned and left the building.

  Once he had gone, I turned the locks and returned to investigate the puddle. It smelled rancid and contained clumps of hair and bone bits and globs of semi-solid material. One useful fact I’d picked up from those hundreds of morbid detective stories I’d read is that a human body contains about a gallon and a half of blood. This mess looked to be in that ballpark. It was only a morbid possibility, but I couldn’t rule it out.

  I moved around to the front of the counter and, just for good measure, yelled as loudly as I could, “Hey Calvin?! You in here?”

  Surely that puddle wasn’t-

  “Yo, Jack! What’s happening?”

  The voice came from right behind me. I nearly fell over trying to turn around to see Jerry standing there, eating a corn dog fresh off the roller.

  “What are you doing here?!” I blurted.

  “Mammaw called me and said there was an emergency and you might need some help.”

  “How’d you get inside?”

  “Back door. Same as always. Why?”

  “I think Calvin Ambrose melted.”

  “Sweet. That guy was a tool.” He pulled the remainder of the corn dog off the stick and finished it in a single bite.

  I turned back to the counter, reached over, and grabbed the store phone.

  “We need to call O’Brien and get her to come back.”

  While I dialed her number, Jerry walked around to the other side of the counter and whistled.

  “Yikes,” he said, crouching down to get a better look. “What a way to go.”

  O’Brien’s cell phone went straight to voicemail three times in a row. She must have still been too close to the edge of town to get proper service. As much as I hated it, there was only one other number to call.

  The woman answering the phones picked up right away with a cheerful, “Sheriff’s office!”

  “Hi,” I said, “Good morning. How are you?”

  “I’m great, darlin’. Blessed to be alive! What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, I just needed to leave a message for someone. Deputy Amelia O’Brien.”

  “Would you like her cell number?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Can you just ask her to turn around and go back to the gas station at the edge of town as soon as possible?”

  “I sure can. Is everything okay?”

  “Well, yeah, mostly, probably, but not really though.”

  “I’m sorry. Is this an emergency?”

  “Yes, but, like, a small emergency. Barely an emergency at all. Call it a micro-emergency.”

  “A… ‘micro-emergency’?” She sounded confused.

  “Well, it’s kinda hard to describe. But… I think one of my coworkers may have spontaneously liquified.”

  What followed was a long period where neither of us said anything. Jerry filled the empty space with a loud laugh and an “I can’t believe you just told her that!”

  Finally, the woman recovered her voice and asked, “Is this the half-pig guy?”

  “Oh. You remember me.”

  “I’ll let her know when she gets here. In the meantime, do you need me to send an ambulance?”

  “No, I do not think that will be necessary.”

  ***

  I considered covering the puddle out of respect, but we didn’t have any old newspapers to spare, and I didn’t feel like wasting another tarp. Instead, I grabbed the “Wet Floor” display from the crack by the drink case where the old tar pit was already beginning to reform and placed it at the edge of the counter.

  Jerry was crouched down at the perimeter of the goo, poking at the lumpier bits with the corn dog stick. “You probably shouldn’t do that,” I told him. “Calvin may have had some kind of communicable disease.”

  “Yeah, you’re probs right. He never struck me as a wrap-it-before-you-tap-it kind of guy.” He stood up and tossed the stick over the puddle at the garbage can on the other side, missing by a couple feet. “Now what do we do?”

  There was no gas station protocol for this sort of thing, which is fine because if there were, I would be very worried. “Now, we sit tight and wait for O’Brien to call and tell us what we’re supposed to do.”

  As I made my way to the coffee machine, I couldn’t help but wonder how the average person would react to something like this. Was I supposed to be grief-stricken? Calvin Ambrose was a terrible coworker and human being, sure, but did that make him unworthy of mourning? If the roles were reversed, and he found me in a goop behind the counter, what would he do? Would he cry? Would he care? Or would he force Jerry to clean me up and move right along with his life? I was, after all, very replaceable. We all were.

  As I stirred my coffee, I let myself drift.

  The tapping man had a point. People die all the time. Why does any of this matter? What are we even doing here? I allowed my thoughts to drift, and somewhere along the way they took a wrong step. Without realizing it, I’d fallen into my own head. Now I was tumbling down a rabbit hole of existential distress. Doctor V had warned me that my apathy was a defense mechanism. A wall I’d constructed to keep the dark emotions from devouring me. He wanted me to prepare for the possibility that these floodgates would open one day, and I’d be at the mercy of whatever I’d forgotten on the other side. I didn’t entirely believe him, but now, I worried over what might happen if I were to start caring.

  “Boom, baby!” Jerry said, slamming something onto the table before falling into the seat opposite mine. I looked up from my cup to see that I was no longer standing by the coffee pot. Now I was sitting at the booth under the window with absolutely no memory of walking over here. My backpack was on the floor underneath me, and the crutches were leaning against the nearby wall.

  I l
ooked over at the coffee pot and tried to remember how I’d gotten over here. Then I looked at my drink. It was full and steaming hot, so I couldn’t have lost too much time. This could have been another episode like the bookstore. This may have been a sign that my mind was circling the drain. Or it might just be another residual effect of the twilight amnesia. Would it be irresponsible for me to ignore this and pretend it didn’t happen? Yes. Was that exactly what I was planning to do? Also, yes.

  “What’s this?” I asked, looking at the electronic device Jerry had put on the table between us. It looked like a Walkman ate another Walkman, exploded, then underwent reconstructive surgery in the dark with liberal amounts of electrical tape.

  “This is what I’ve been working on while you were out. I give you…” He paused momentarily for dramatic effect. “...the new and improved Russian radio! What do you think?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “I thought we were done with this thing,” I said. “I’ll be honest; I’m a little confused.”

  “Well prepare to be even more confused, because I got this bad boy up and running better than ever! What mysteries will our Russian Rod Serling reveal to us today? Only one way to find out!”

  He turned the radio around so the speakers faced me, then pressed the power switch. The smooth Slavic voice filled the room.

  “...tortillas... Virginia Stegall’s cat Boots has given birth to six kittens... Three kittens will die within twenty-four hours... Remaining kittens will be adopted by Mark Shaw in ninety days... Virginia Stegall is in love with Mark Shaw... Van driven by Heather Webb has lost front passenger tire... No one will stop to assist... Heather Webb will change tire alone...”

  I reached out and turned off the radio. Jerry looked up at me said, “Wow! What a roller coaster!”

  “This is still going on?” I couldn’t believe it. “How long is this transmission supposed to be? It must be on a loop or something.”

  “No loop. I’ve been listening to it since you left. He never stops talking.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Pure dedication. You know that means he’s recording even when he goes to the bathroom?”

  Suddenly, I realized what was different about the radio. I picked it up and turned it over just to be sure, then said. “There’s no wire.”

  “There’s no wire!” Jerry echoed excitedly. “We’re wireless now!”

  “How?”

  “Well, it was actually pretty simple. I just needed to set up a short-range frequency transmitter and connect it to the incoming signal. Of course, I had to run a cable to a dish on the roof to get around the frequency jam, but now I should be able to pick up this station for a couple miles if the wind is right. It’s going to blow Van’s mind when she comes back to work and sees what we made while she was on vacay. And before you say it, I already know. I’m a genius.”

  Before I could question the wisdom of transmitting this mysterious broadcast to the world, the store phone rang. “That’s gotta be O’Brien,” I said. “I’ll get it.”

  I made my way to the phone and answered without even thinking. “Hey, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “I try to keep an open mind, Jack. You’d be amazed by some of the things I am willing to believe.”

  It was not O’Brien.

  “Oh. Hi, Pops. I thought you were someone else.”

  “That’s easy. I can believe that. My turn: Did you know that watermelons are technically berries?”

  “I did not, but I can believe it.”

  “Well you shouldn’t! It’s not true. I just made it up! That’s the problem with beliefs, Jack. Sometimes you believe the wrong thing.”

  “Ah. Okay. You got me.” Jerry walked up next to me and leaned against the counter. He pointed at the phone, and I mouthed the word ‘Pops.’

  “Good small talk. Now, on to the matter at hand! How’s the new girl working out? She got her sea legs yet?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure Calvin already fired her. And everyone else, too.”

  “What?! Fired her?! Where’s Calvin? I need you to put that knucklehead on the phone. Now!”

  I hesitated for a moment, searching for the right way to break the news. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Pops, but I think Calvin may be deceased.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, his car is here, but he isn’t, but there is this thick slurry of blood and viscera behind the counter. I’m no doctor, but I can’t help but think maybe he… you know… metamorphosed into... human jelly? I can’t be sure—”

  He interrupted, “Dammit, Jack! I told you! Didn’t I tell you?! I told you not to let him work for more than forty hours! I asked you to reign him in! Then what do you do? You go and take three days off in a row! Well, I hope it was worth it!”

  “I was in the hospital. My leg got cut off. I almost died.”

  In a flash, his tone went from angry to condescending. “Jack, I’m only saying this because I care about you, and I think you need to hear it from someone you respect: You’re coming off as a bit of a drama queen right now.”

  “Did you know this could happen? Did you know Calvin might dissolve if he worked too many hours? Should I be worried?”

  “Relax. Calvin didn’t ‘dissolve.’ People don’t just turn to liquid.” He lost himself in a short chuckle, then added wistfully, “Were it only so easy!”

  “Okay… That’s not suspicious at all.”

  “Look, he probably overworked himself and went for a little walk in the woods to blow off steam. Some of you full-timers don’t know how to take a proper break. Why don’t you go ahead and help yourself to a nice stiff drink—on the house—and take a second to relax? Then, once you’ve caught your breath, go get the meat sauce cleaned up and reopen the store. We can’t keep closing shop every time something like this happens. And if you see Mr. Ambrose again, let him know he’s fired.” As usual, he didn’t wait for a reply or confirmation before hanging up.

  Jerry hopped onto the counter, leaned across the puddle, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the display case, then asked. “How’s Pops?”

  “As usual, bizarre and sorely lacking in empathy.”

  “Do you think the owners are robots?” he asked as he pulled the plastic wrap from his pack of unpurchased smokes. “That’s my current hypothesis.”

  This was just another instalment in a long-running conversation between the two of us. Nobody in town, myself included, had ever actually seen Mammaw or Pops in person before, and when he found this out, Jerry glommed onto that fact like a raccoon to peanut butter. Where I didn’t see any need to think too hard about it, Jerry made it his new personal mission to figure out their story. Who were they? Where did they come from? What were they hiding? When I suggested that they were likely nothing more than eccentric recluses, Jerry dismissed the idea as “too boring to be true.” He instead put forth his own series of suggestions including aliens, minor deities, a time-traveling Bonnie and Clyde, and now: robots.

  “Doubtful,” I said.

  The phone rang again and I picked up right away, certain that it would be O’Brien this time.

  “Hello?”

  “Oi, Jack!”

  Still not O’Brien.

  “Hi, Mammaw.”

  “Pops tells me that tomfool Ambrose fired everybody?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Well what are you waiting for? Unfire them! Start with that girl. And if you see Ambrose again, kick him in the testicles for me.”

  True to form, she hung up on me before I could let her know I can’t kick people anymore.

  “So,” Jerry said. “How’s Mammaw?”

  “Curt and totally lacking in social grace.”

  “Uh huh,” he smirked. “Almost like a robot would be?”

  I leaned over the counter and reached for the shelf below the register for the stack of employee applications. About half of them fell out of my grip and landed in the blood puddle.

  Well,
I guess those guys aren’t getting rehired.

  As I worked through the remaining applications, Jerry snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Maybe they’re cats!”

  I stopped what I was doing to look at him, as if that would offer any further clue as to what he was talking about. “What?”

  “Cats. I bet Mammaw and Pops are both highly intelligent cats that learned how to speak and operate telephones. Think about it. It explains everything. Everything!”

  “They’re not cats. Or robots.”

  I found the application I was looking for and took a breath of relief that it hadn’t fallen into the grume pit. Jerry opened his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out with his teeth. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’ve met their daughter.”

  I leaned away from Jerry and dialed the number from Rosa’s application. The phone rang so many times that I was amazed when it didn’t go to voicemail.

  “Hello?” chirped a cheerful voice.

  “Hi, is this Rosa Vasquez?”

  “Yes ma’am,” she answered.

  It was such an unexpected blow that I had to take a second to recover.

  “Hi, this is Jack. From the gas station?”

  “Oh!” she yelled in a nervous, high pitched voice. “Oh my god I’m so sorry! I thought you were a deep-voiced woman!”

  “Do I sound like… never mind. I was calling because I’m working on the schedule, and we’ve got some shifts that just opened up.”

  “Wait,” she stopped me. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I thought I was fired.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I came in to work with Mr. Ambrose and he said some really mean things and told me to go home and never come back.”

  I took a deep breath and remembered exactly why I didn’t feel any sympathy for the man. “I’m sorry, Rosa. But you don’t have to worry about that guy anymore. He’s gone.”

  “He got fired?”

  “Yeah, that too. Can you start tomorrow? Let’s say eight in the morning? I’ll be the one to train you this time.”

  “I have a job interview, but I guess if this is a real offer then I can cancel that.”