The Psychozone (3 page)

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Authors: David Lubar

BOOK: The Psychozone
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M
y dad owns Jumbo Burger. This is kind of cool since just about everyone eats there. It's also a pain at times because he makes me work on the weekends. Despite this minor violation of the child labor laws, our family was the picture of small town happiness, just me and Mom and Dad, living the good life selling fatty hunks of fried meat to the pleasant people of Spring Junction. Then, in less than one short month, everything changed.
The first sign of trouble appeared when I was walking home from school with my friend Tony. “Hey, Jake, what's going on over there?” Tony asked. We were passing the corner by Winchel's Mini-Mart. The store had been empty for years, ever since the big supermarket opened up across the highway. Now, the whole lot was level.
Someone had come in with a bulldozer and scraped the building off the face of the earth the way you might scrape a scab from your arm.
“Beats me.” I shrugged. “Maybe they're putting in a new store.”
“I hope it's a comic-book store,” Tony said.
“Or a hobby shop. You know—one with a slotcar track.” I thought about how great that would be. But it was more likely whatever they put up would be a convenience store.
We walked past the spot, discussing all sorts of wonderful shops we'd like to see built there.
“Want to grab a bite?” I asked when we reached Jumbo Burger.
“Sure. You don't think I hang around with you for the company, do you?”
“I always knew your friendship could be bought with burgers.” I also knew he was kidding.
We went into the back and I grabbed a couple burgers from the grill. “Hey,” Davey, the cook, said. “Make your own next time or I'll murder you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I liked Davey. He'd been flipping burgers for my dad for years. He must have been about eighty. He'd cook all day, just stopping whenever he could to sneak out back and smoke his awful little cigars. They smelled like burning skunk tails. I don't see how anybody could do that for pleasure. His lungs must have looked like the inside of a fireplace. But he was a neat guy. He wasn't just a cook, either. He could repair most of the appliances in the kitchen and do plumbing and wiring and all sorts of stuff. I once saw him
fix a customer's car using nothing but a piece of tape and a plastic fork.
I snatched a couple of sodas, with lots of ice to help us cool down from the heat. It was way warmer than usual for this time in May, and I was dripping with sweat after spending just a moment next to the grill. I took the food to one of the booths. Tony and I stuffed our faces, then headed out to see what was happening in town. When we went past the corner lot, there was a sign stuck in the ground: MONSTER BURGERS—COMING SOON.
“Monster burgers?” I said, wanting to kick down the sign. I settled for throwing a clod of dirt at it. “They can't do that. There isn't enough business in town for another burger place. And we were here first.”
“Don't worry,” Tony said, “no one will go there.”
Boy, was he wrong.
The rest of the building went up almost as fast as the sign. By the end of the week, Monster Burgers was open for business. And they were selling their biggest burger, the Monster Triple-Decker Meat Slab, for half the price of our own Jumboriffic Jawbuster. Within two weeks, Jumbo Burger looked like a ghost town.
“I can't figure it out,” my dad said, leaning on the counter and staring out at a room full of empty booths. “There's no way they can possibly sell burgers for that price. If I did that, I'd be out of business in a week. I have to find out what they're doing.” He grabbed a ten from his wallet
and handed it to me. “Go buy some of their burgers and bring them back.”
“Sure, Dad.” I went down to the corner and joined the crowd waiting to be served at Monster Burgers. There were four registers on the counter, with a person behind each. Five more people shuffled around in the back filling the orders. There was one guy out front, mopping the floor. Whatever he was using, it made the place smell like a hospital. When it was my turn, the guy behind the counter looked at me like I wasn't even there—or maybe like he wasn't even there.
He just stared at me and waited for my order. It wasn't exactly the warmest service I'd ever experienced.
“Uh, give me a Triple Slab, a Hunkburger, and a couple of Mini-meats,” I said, ordering a variety of items. I scanned the menu board to see if there was anything else I should get. “What's in a Screaming Chicken Sandwich?” I asked.
“Chicken,” the guy said without any change of expression on his pale face.
“How about in the Giant Shrimp Basket?”
“Shrimp.”
“Does that come with fries?”
“Fries,” he said.
“And I suppose the Blood-Rare Roast Beef Club has roast beef?” I asked.
The guy nodded and said, “Beef.”
I could see I wasn't going to get much information from him. “That's all,” I said, deciding to just get the burgers.
The guy punched some buttons on the cash register, took my money, then punched some more buttons that sent my change came sliding down a chute connected to the register. The way things were set up, it looked like the place could have been run by trained poodles.
I got my order and took it to Dad. To tell the truth, and I am ashamed to say this, the food smelled so good I was tempted to eat it on the way back.
“Let's see,” Dad said, taking apart one of the burgers like a surgeon going for a gallbladder. “Standard bun … sauce … three slices of pickle … onion … lettuce.” He examined each part of the burger, saving the meat for last. Then he broke open the patty. He sniffed it. He rubbed it between his fingers. He tasted a little piece. Then he shook his head. “It's good meat. I was hoping it would turn out to be something cheap. If he was using bad cuts of meat, I could understand the low prices.”
I snuck a taste. It seemed fine. “How else could he keep his costs down?” I asked.
“Well, he might have gotten a good deal on the lot where he built the place. But that still wouldn't explain his prices. Maybe he has relatives working for him and he doesn't pay them.”
“Could be,” I said. “All the people working there looked a bit alike.”
Dad shook his head again. “Let's hope he raises his prices soon. I can't take much more of this.”
“He will,” I said.
But he didn't. Monster Burgers kept on selling
food at prices we couldn't beat. Dad started looking real worried. Even Davey looked worried. One afternoon, I caught him out back with a pile of butts at his feet. “What's up?” I asked.
He seemed nervous. “Look,” he said, “a guy's got to take care of himself. I didn't mean nothing by it.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Before I could say so, he went on.
“I was just checking. They ain't hiring cooks.”
“Who isn't hiring?” I asked.
“You know—them.” He motioned in the general direction of Monster Burgers.
“You asked them for a job?” It suddenly sunk in that he was talking about leaving us.
Davey stared at the ground and didn't say anything. He reminded me of a little kid who's been caught writing a swear word on the sidewalk. “You're right,” I told him, “you have to look out for yourself.” I wanted to make him feel better. But I did feel sort of betrayed. How could he ask the enemy for a job?
That was it! “Great idea, Davey!” I said.
“What?”
“I could get a job there and find out how they're selling burgers for so little.” Even if they weren't hiring cooks, they probably needed some kind of help.
So I went to Monster Burgers and stood in line again. It was crowded, as usual. The workers behind the counter were taking orders without saying anything. The same guy was mopping the
floor. When my turn came, I stepped up to the counter and asked, “Who do I see about a job?”
The guy at the register kind of jerked his head to the side. I looked over. There was a man behind the counter in the corner. He appeared to be a lot more alert than any of the workers.
“Excuse me,” I called to him.
He looked over. “Yes.”
I felt a sudden chill run through me. Overhead, the air-conditioning kicked in, blowing a cold gust down my back.
“Who do I see about a job here?” I expected a one-word answer, but the guy surprised me.
“I'm sorry,” he told me. “We aren't hiring at the moment.” His accent reminded me of an ad for one of those warm, sunny islands where people go for vacation.
I wasn't planning to take “no” for an answer. “I work real cheap,” I told him. “And I'm a hard worker. Can't I at least get on a waiting list of some kind?”
He shook his head.
In the end, I did have to take “no” for an answer. He just wasn't hiring.
It didn't seem to make any sense. “Who'd want to work here anyhow?” I muttered as I walked out. “The place is freezing, and it smells funny.”
“No luck?” Davey asked me when I came back to Jumbo Burgers. He was leaning over the grill, cooking a burger for one of our rare customers.
“Nope.” I looked out at the empty booths.
He shrugged. “Stop worrying. Life's too short to waste it going crazy over stuff you can't change.”
He stepped back from the grill and wiped his face with a cloth.
That's when it all clicked together for me. “No sweat!” I said.
Davey gave me a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”
I shook my head. “I'm not sure. It can't be. But it has to be.” I didn't want to say anything more until I had proof.
So I snuck back there at closing time and looked through the side window by the bushes. I couldn't believe what I saw the owner do. Even thinking about it made me shudder.
Thinking about it also gave me an idea how to make things right and normal again. But I couldn't handle it alone.
I went to get Davey. “Look, we can save the place. You just have to do one thing for me.” I told him what I needed.
He shook his head. “I can't do that.”
“Come on, it's no big deal. If you don't do it, I'm going to have to try. And I'll probably get killed. You want that to happen? You want
me
to get fried?”
Davey sighed. Finally, he said, “Okay. I should know better, but I'll do it.”
We went back to Monster Burgers and Davey disconnected the power that ran into the place.
“This won't make much difference, you know,” he told me when he was done. “A few things might spoil, but you'll never put him out of business this way. He probably has insurance.
“Look, just get back here before opening time
and reconnect the power. Trust me—it'll work.” I couldn't tell him the real reason. There was no way he'd believe me.
“Whatever …” Davey shrugged and walked off.
Morning seemed to take forever to come. When the sun trickled through my window, I rushed to Monster Burgers. I could see the lights inside, so I knew that Davey had reconnected the power, leaving no evidence of our tampering. Now, I'd find out if I was right.
I crouched near some bushes and peeked inside. The owner was just finishing up making changes to the menu board. Then he walked to the freezer. I held my breath, hoping I was right.
“Well?” Someone squatted next to me.
I thought I was going to jump through the window. I clamped down my jaw to keep from shouting and spun toward the voice. It was Davey. “Well?” he asked again.
“You'll see in a second. Watch the freezer.”
“But I told you—he won't go out of business if some meat spoils.”
“I know. I'm not going after the meat.” I stopped to watch the owner. He was opening the freezer.
From his face, I knew I was right. He staggered backward and clamped his hand over his mouth.
“Cheap labor,” I said to Davey. “Very cheap labor. That had to be the answer. Last night, when I saw him marching all the workers into the freezer, I knew.”
“The freezer?”
“Yup. They're zombies.”
I glanced back inside to see what the owner was doing. He took several slow steps backward, his hand still clamped over his mouth. Then he turned and ran toward the door.
Davey shook his head. “No.”
“Yes. Raised from the dead and slaving under his power. What a way to run a business. He didn't have to pay them. He just stuck them in the freezer every night so they wouldn't spoil. At least, that was the plan until we came along.”

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