Gina Ranalli: Unearthed

“Think we’ll actually get any customers today?” Stacy asked.

“Don’t know. Remember last year we got a few around noon and—”

The small building shook again. Light fixtures swung and salt and pepper shakers rattled against table tops. When it was over, Joe tried to hide his frazzled nerves and chuckled. “Aftershock, probably.”

Giving him a skeptical look, Stacy slid off the barstool and walked across the diner to peer out the window at the parking lot. “At least the rain stopped,” she said.

From her vantage point, she could see past their own lot to the one next door, which housed about two dozen storage units. Across the street was The Motorcycle Barn, where the local bikers tended to gather most weeknights when they ran out of drinking money.

“I bet you could hear a pin drop out there,” she said. “I haven’t seen a single car drive by.”

Turning back to the grill, Joe said, “Well, like you said, it’s New Year’s morning. Probably most folks ain’t even awake yet.” He paused, then asked, “You fill up those napkin dispensers yet?”

Facing him once more, Stacy said, “Was just gonna get to it after I finished my smoke.”

“Well, you’re finished. Hop to it, Missy.”

Stacy gave Joe’s back the finger, which he evidently knew she would because without bothering to glance at her, he said, “And fuck you too, Sunshine.”

A couple minutes later, Stacy emerged from the storage room carrying several stacks of bound paper napkins and Joe used the remote control to turn on the television suspended in a far corner of the dining area. He groaned when he could find nothing but static on any channel.

“Maybe the cable’s out,” Stacy offered without looking up from her task.

“You think so, Einstein?”

“Hey, don’t get bitchy with me, old man. You probably forgot to pay the bill with your Alzheimer’s setting in and all.”

“Cute.”

The bell over the entrance door clanged and they both looked up to see a disheveled man stagger into the diner, drying blood caked in his hairline and trickling down his forehead. His clothes and hands were covered in mud and his eyes tore around the diner frantically.

“I need a phone,” the stranger gasped, stumbling forward towards where Stacy sat in one of the booths, a napkin dispenser open before her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Joe quickly moved out of the kitchen and approached the man, holding out a hand. “You okay, partner? You wreck your car or something?”

The man regarded Joe briefly as if he were an alien, then he blurted out laughter. “Wreck my car?” he brayed. “My fucking car is gone, man. Gone . Swallowed by the fucking devil himself.” He laughed again, lost his balance and probably would have toppled over if Joe hadn’t reached out to steady him.

“He tried to eat me too,” the man continued. “But I got out. Fucking-A, I did. Fuck that shit. I’m not being swallowed alive.”

Joe and Stacy exchanged a glance before Joe said to the man, “Been out partying all night, huh? Well, why don’t you just sit down right here and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Just brewed it and it’s good and hot. Fix you right up.”

Turning back to Stacy, he said, “Maybe you should get the sheriff on the phone, Stace. Hopefully this guy didn’t plow into anyone else when—”

The stranger pulled himself out of Joe’s grasp. “I didn’t wreck my car and I wasn’t out partying! I’m not drunk!”

Folding his arms across his chest, Joe said, “With all due respect, sir, you just told us the devil swallowed your car. No, maybe you’re not drunk, but either you’re on something or you’re a basket case.” He looked at Stacy, eyebrows raised. She got to her feet and started towards the kitchen area where the phone was.

“The ground opened up, man,” the muddied stranger insisted. “I was barely able to climb out of there! There’s a hole in the road big enough to swallow a fucking house! Didn’t you hear it?”

Joe frowned, glancing at the static on the television.

“I need to use your phone,” the man repeated. “Please! I have to call my wife!”

“Phone’s dead,” Stacy announced, coming back around the counter. “Weird, right?”

The crease between Joe’s brows deepened. “You have your cell phone on ya?”

Stacy shook her head. “It’s in my coat.”

“Try that.”

She huffed. “Joe, you think I have the sheriff’s number on speed dial, for Christ’s sake?”

“We have a phone book in the kitchen somewhere. Look it up!”

Clearly annoyed, Stacy went to do what she was told while Joe continued to study the muddy, bleeding man.

“I need to call my wife,” the stranger repeated.

“You heard her,” Joe said. “The phone’s dead. Don’t you have a cell of your own?”

“It went down with my car, man! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“Settle down,” Joe told him, his patience waning. “Why don’t you just have a seat and I’ll get you that coffee, okay? And maybe a Band-Aid for your head.”

The man reached up to touch his forehead and looked surprised when his fingers came away bloody.

“What’s your name, partner?” Joe asked.

“John,” he said, dejectedly as he slumped into the nearest booth. “John Ashland.”

“Nice to meet you, John. I’m Joe and that spitfire over there is Stacy.”

As if on cue, Stacy leaned over the counter from the kitchen and said, “Sheriff’s line is busy.”

“What the Christ?” Joe nearly shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. “What? Is it the goddamn end of the world or what?”

Unintimidated by his outburst, Stacy shrugged. “It’s New Year’s Day, Joe. People have stuff to do.”

“Look at the damn TV,” he barked, gesturing towards it. “What’s up with that?”

“I told you,” Stacy said. “The cable’s probably out.”

“Bullshit.” Joe walked to the door and looked out. “It’s not even windy. The sky is blue.”

“Maybe it got knocked out last night,” Stacy said. “Christ, what’s the big deal?”

But, the truth was that Joe couldn’t really put into words what the big deal was. It was just a nagging sense of unease growing in the pit of his belly. Everything going out of whack at the same time and this John guy showing up, dirty and bleeding and talking nonsense.

Joe turned to face the others again. To John, he asked, “Where did you say your car got…uh…swallowed?”

“I didn’t,” John replied, holding a napkin to his head wound. “But not far from here. Less than a mile, probably.”

Pointing outside, Joe said, “On this road? Right on 99?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“A hole big enough to swallow a house, you said.” He looked at Stacy. “Could have knocked out power lines. Phone lines too, probably.”

Stacy didn’t reply. Instead, she went back to sitting at the counter and lit up another smoke.

“Was anyone else on the road with you when the ground caved in?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was pretty dead out there.”

“And what about when you were walking here? Did you see anyone?”

“Dude, I was running like the fucking wind. I wasn’t checking out the scenery. The only reason I came in here was because I saw cars in your parking lot and figured you might be open.”

Something thudded into the plate-glass window and the three of them jumped, looking up to see a creature clinging to the glass.

“Fuck!” John shouted, leaping to his feet and back-pedaling away from the front of the diner.

Joe briefly lost the ability to breathe.

The thing outside was clearly an insect — some kind of bee perhaps, but with the hard, black shell of a beetle — but that wasn’t the most alarming thing about it.