“What the hell was that?” she pleaded as he slid onto the seat.
But Greg only managed a shake of his head as his mind raced to figure out how to reach the police or the military or whoever could blow up that building and destroy whatever hellish beast was growing inside.
He cranked the engine, opened the throttle, and they sped away.
Behind them, the trucks went on to make their deliveries.
FEEDING FRENZY
The restaurant stood less than forty feet away, small and unimpressive in comparison to the encompassing forest landscape, but also the blackest thing in sight on an otherwise bright and sunny day.
Ron parked the rental car just outside the entrance to the parking lot, pulling to a stop amid a small pile of animal bones that crunched beneath the tires.
He switched off the engine. “Not exactly the first impression I was hoping for,” he said.
Beside him, Greg seemed undeterred. Minus his beer-gut and his rapidly receding hairline, the older man looked like a six-year-old kid on a jackpot Christmas morning. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “They told me the property was a little messy. Look at the building, though! Are you sure this is the right address?”
Ron nodded to the realty sign standing to the left. “This is the place, all right.”
“Jeez… It’s in great shape!”
Maybe, maybe not, Ron thought, but he decided to hold his tongue. They were already falling into their usual mode of operation, Greg seeking out the sweet deal while Ron remained ever-watchful for the lemon that could sour it.
They got out of the car.
Outside, the smell of dry oak leaves instantly enveloped them. Ron drew in a long breath of it, cleansing the stink of the rental company’s pine-scented air freshener from his sinuses. He glanced behind them, to the dirt lane that tethered the old restaurant to the highway, frowning at the distance. It couldn’t have measured more than fifty yards in length—he spotted traffic blinking between the trees—but the silence here made it seem immeasurably farther than it looked.
“It’s kind of out-of-the-way, don’t you think?” he asked.
Greg had already reached the building and was tugging at the locked doors. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you kidding? This is a prime location. We’re surrounded by farmland and national forest. We’ll get all the traffic between Brainerd and Clearwater Creek. Cut down some of those trees and we can put up a sign that’ll practically be on the highway!”
Farmland and forest, Ron thought, but again he kept his comments to himself.
“The realtor must be running late, huh?” Greg asked. He cupped both hands over his face and leaned forward, trying to find a chink in the plywood armor that covered the building’s windows.
Ron strolled across the lot. He studied the dimensions of the restaurant, guessing that the original owner had attempted to emulate the layout of a traditional fast-food business but with a slightly higher-scale motif, to set it apart from the larger chains that dominated North America’s roadways.
He’d never seen a fast-food joint with a black slate-shingled roof and widow’s walk. Or wrought iron lampposts shaped to resemble a cluster of entwined tentacles. Still, despite its unorthodox appearance, Ron thought the building looked good and sturdy. That, coupled with the rock-bottom price tag, opened a world of possibilities for improvements. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to get too excited too fast.
Greg joined him as he made his way around the side of the building to get a look at the back.
“You said this was a fixer-upper, right?” Ron asked.
Greg nodded. “The ad mentioned ‘extensive fire-damage’ but this looks a lot better than I imagined.”
Ron stopped walking.
“Oh, hey, a takeout window!” Greg said, pointing. “This is great! That’ll save us even more money on the renovation!”
But Ron wasn’t looking at the takeout window. “What’s that?” he asked.
Focused as he was on the drive-thru, Greg had failed to notice the giant hole in the wall of trees beyond the restaurant, or the enormous four-lane road that extended off the parking lot, stretching to a pinpoint in the far depths of the surrounding forest.
Greg gaped at the sight. “Holy, shit!” he laughed. “And you were worried about being too far from the highway!”
Ron ignored the comment and approached the road. A gust of wind ushered a group of dead leaves across the concrete, but, other than that, the vast avenue appeared as vacant as a desert wasteland.
No cars.
No people.
Just a wide lane of unbroken grey cement that receded into the distant shadows.
“You don’t think this is a bit strange?” he asked.
Greg shrugged. “Could be under construction… Maybe it’s a new expansion to the Interstate?”
“Leading to a restaurant?” Ron replied. “There’s no median, no streetlights—”
The sound of wheels crunching over gravel broke into the conversation, and they both looked toward the parking lot.
“That must be the realtor,” Greg remarked. “We can ask her about it.”
They headed back toward the car. Ron let Greg lead the way, lingering behind just long enough to cast one last glance at the unusual forest road. They’d walked only a short distance, but from his new perspective he noted how the trees shielded it from sight, the branches interlacing overhead, enclosing it like a tunnel.
Greg threw a hand against his chest, halting him in his tracks.
“God bless the locals!” his friend said. Then, before Ron had a chance to get his meaning, the man resumed walking, stealthily adding, “Be a pal and let the single guy do the talking…”
Ron followed his line of sight to where he spotted the realtor exiting her vehicle.
Dwarfed by the SUV she’d arrived in, the petite young woman looked in need of a climbing harness to get from the driver’s seat to the ground. On the contrary, she moved with an athletic grace, seeming to flow from one position to the next. Out in the open, her long blonde hair caught the full radiance of the sun, contrasting with the black material of her pants and jacket, which hugged the trim contours of her body.
He thought of Diane back home, so far away, knowing that if they did indeed buy the restaurant he’d become a local himself for the first several months of operation, overseeing the renovation and training all the staff.
Ahead of him Greg looked back, twitched his eyebrows.
Ron shook his head and followed.
This is business, he opened his mouth to say before the other man was out of earshot, but stopped short when his gaze once again shifted to the girl. She still stood next to the open door of her sport utility, a blatant expression of perplexity creasing the skin across her brow. Her full attention remained focused straight ahead, staring at the restaurant, and she didn’t even notice Greg approaching until he’d closed within the last ten feet of her.
She spun to face him as if suddenly realizing she was in the shadow of a grizzly bear.
“We’ll take it!” Greg declared before she had a chance to say anything.
Ron watched the look of fear mix with another fleeting flash of bewilderment, and then she was laughing with embarrassment. Her voice sounded melodic in the open woodland air.
“You must be Mr. Brunik,” the woman said, offering Greg her hand. “Wendy Thomas. We spoke on the phone.”
“It’s nice to finally meet the woman the beautiful voice belongs to,” he said.