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When it seemed like forever that Trent and Mason had been on the move, when the dry hot day left them parched and perspiring, when an eternity of three and three-quarter hours had passed on the lonely highway — at last they saw the first sign of their journey's end. A literal sign, its letters blazing bright in the sun with the wording: 'Welcome To Kettersburg' standing tall amid the trees. They had reached their destination. Well, a destination...

“Thank God we made it. I'm drippin' like all hell here." Trent wiped the sweat from his brow. He was the more fortunate of the two. Mason was roasting beneath layers of clothing. Compared to Trent's soaked shirt it wasn't noticeable to onlookers, but he felt the moisture weigh him down nonetheless, like lead in the weave.

Past the road signage were the first buildings they'd seen in some time. Small country town fare, houses and shops built to styles and specifications one could find swept across rural Unimerica. Some residences were brightly-painted in yellows and blues, others kept the off-white colour of the original timber-panel construction. Most were two stories high, three at the very most. Concrete structures were less numerous, but they did appear closer to the centre of town, or what they thought might be the centre of town — streets met in a four-way intersection, the nexus of local commerce judging by the arrangement of stores and services. There were other distinct parts of the town in the distance, far from their current point of entry, but neither of them cared. They had things to do and places to go that weren't here.

The possibility of staying mattered not — regardless of their feelings on the town or their own pressing engagements — because everything was closed.

“Ghost town."

Everything, from the restaurants to the liquor stores, had shut security doors and/or boarded-up windows. Time had passed since they were first sealed away. A sizeable amount of time.

Trent looked around. “Ghost town indeed." He took a few steps forward, moving past the welcome sign, the footpath an honest and well-received relief from the untamed edge of the woods he'd been skirting. Mason followed him as they passed the initial rows of houses. “Nobody home," Mason said, as one newcomer to another. No sign of townsfolk the closer they got. Were they not fond of visitors?

Another step, and then...a jingle from Trent's pocket. Shoving his hand inside and retrieving his smartphone, a cry of joy escaped him at the sight of two bars of restored signal. “YES! Yes yes yes!" he cheered, almost losing himself in the delirious heat and jumping for joy.

“Ya got your cell working!"

“Good news for once." Trent had been dreading the notion of having to locate a payphone (if they even existed anymore) or begging a local for the use of theirs. Fortunately, those thoughts could now dissipate freely, lifting their burden from his weary mind. He checked the important stuff: texts, missed calls, e-mails. Assured that no-one had tried to contact him since the breakdown, he then opened a map. The bulky presence of the paper booklet he relied on earlier made itself known, sticking out of his rear trouser-pocket, itching the small of his back in defiance of its digital cousin. Usurped, and no longer the centre of attention, it too fell to the back of Trent's mind, the soothing glow of his phone's screen washing over his prior concerns.

“I was worried this town wouldn't even have coverage. Seems I was worked up over nothin'," he sighed, “after we find a place to sit down I'll have to make some calls."

“Don't worry," Mason smiled, “I won't be in your hair for much longer. Got my own ways to go too."

A moment of peace and quiet came between them, Trent resuming his approach on the town. There wasn't complete silence — the chirping of birds and insects raised the ambient sound level to a point — but it still held an eerie quality, especially given the deserted nature of the town.

“This place is empty."

“Where is everyone?"

“Dunno. Huh, look, there's no cars either."

“You're right stranger. Many of these houses have no-one in them. Look," Mason pointed to an ugly mass of brambles choking the life out of someone's front porch, “place is overgrown."

“There has to be some people." What was Trent going to say? He could hear it already...

Hey United Automobile, my car broke down and the nearest town is completely empty, could you sent a guy on a miles-long trip to help me? What's that? My policy? Standard. Hello...helloooo...

At the junction they found a gas station that looked open. Or at least didn't look like a zombie apocalypse had forced its owners to fortify the building. “Maybe we should try there," Mason proposed, “can't be worse than wanderin' aimlessly."

“Yeah. And there's a diner also. Don't know 'bout you but I'm starving!"

“C'mon then, stranger — we need to eat."

* * *

The diner was owned and operated by a man in his fifties. He also ran the gas station attached to it. With that in mind, it was disheartening to see the place empty — no waitstaff or fry cooks. He was taking orders despite the missing employees. His new customers bought coffee and enough greasy food to sate their wanton stomachs. They were then guided to a booth, where Mason parked his rucksack in the corner and tucked straight in to his serving of heart disease. Trent used the time to phone for a tow truck.

“Hi, roadside assistance...yes..." Mason heard him trail off, his mind on the long-awaited meal in front of him. Compared to this magnet for his attention the voice of Trent vanished underneath his heavy chewing. Mason glanced over at him occasionally (he wasn't completely distracted), and each time he was treated to an ever more exasperated expression on the guy's face.

“Okay. Thanks..."

Trent — with defeat in his eyes — limply put the phone away. He came back to the booth and sat down with a sigh. “What's up?" Mason asked.

“They'll pick up my car, sure, but it's a long drive. It seems like I need to stay the night."

“Really? Shoot. Doesn't look like anywhere is open."

Trent picked at his plate. “I'll come up with something."

Nothing productive was on their minds, so they beckoned over their host. Some conversation and company would whittle away the time. The diner/station owner was more than happy to chat. “Beats sitting on my ass in the middle of this husk of a town. No TV, patchy Internet..." he scratched his head, “been a boring season thus far."

Trent and Mason continued to eat their fill, shifting themselves to make room for a third person.

“What's your name?"

“William. Bill. Some folks say Billy. Most call be Will. Friends do anyways."

“You count us among 'em?"

He sucked his cheek. “Stick around for mah stories and I reckon so." Cracking a weary smile, Will turned his chair around, sitting in reverse with the back of it propping up his crossed arms. Dragging it closer to the table until it clashed with the edge, he brought himself front and centre, glancing curiously at his customers. “Oh, and don't fall asleep neither. That sends ya right back to 'esteemed acquaintances' in mah books."

“Heck of a rank for us, even for a demotion," Trent joked, Mason remaining silent for the exchange.

“Not if you lived here it ain't. Acquaintances...well townsfolk give 'em the whole show: 'how do you do' and 'please' and 'thank you' and blah blah blah. Friends, now there's a big difference in how we treat our friends. They get the real deal. Salt-of-the-god-damned-Earth sincerity. The shirt off our backs. An' all that jazz."

“Well, thanks for the...uh...high praise," Trent replied, “but, we don't see many people here. You got no cars or trucks or bikes outside."

“What? You sayin' nobody's home? I'm home? Don't I count?"

“Not...ya know what I mean."

Will winced. “I do." He stood up. Trent had definitely touched a nerve. “This place," he twirled as he walked, gesturing around himself, “I've had this place for twenty good years, three bad. And let me tell you somethin' friend, them three bad years...everythin' went to shit so fast you could blink one moment and the next time ya open your eyes you're missin' utilities payments, bills, debts pilin' up — blood from a turnip!" The two seated patrons followed him with a keen eye as he shuffled to the counter. They saw him reach over, heard the clink of drinking glass and the gushing of a spray-tap. A crude means of refreshment; plain water in a glass that had been gathering dust since long before they came to town.

Trent, again, was the only one of them to inquire further. “What happened?"

The man sighed. There was sadness in his voice, deep and debilitating. Yearnings for a better time. “Three years ago I get a call from some lady. Nice-soundin' voice. One of them corporate types. So I'm on the phone to her and she's askin' me...like...odd questions. Questions I don't rightly know the answer to — to this day. At least, the answers she was lookin' for." He took a swig of his water, gulping thirstily as it dribbled down the sides of his cheeks, soaking his collar. “I had no idea what business she had callin' the proprietor of a lowly gas station in the middle of Kett County, but there she was, talkin' away."

“She started by asking 'bout this here establishment, claimed it was an important part of the town. Important enough to get mah 'pinions on things. So I was still confused by this, but kept yammerin' away on the phone. She asks about folk here, the average property, what kinda roads run through the place...infrastructure questions mostly. And here's me, completely outta mah league! And I say to her: 'sorry ma'am, can't help ya there, I'm no...uh...city planner' or something of the sort. Thought that would, y'know, move the conversation on." Will yawned. “Didn't happen!" he let out a weak chuckle.

“She wouldn't take no protest for an answer, an' started talking 'bout money. Again, I'm confused. But she makes it clear her company would be willin' to shell out tidily for chunks of the town. She asks me again 'bout folk here; what would make 'em sell, what would...entice 'em..."

“Why was she so interested?" Trent asked.

Will merely shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno. I'm ignorant on that account. And remember this was a few years back. Kettersburg was a lot livelier. I saw no reason to sell anythin' of mine."

Trent put down the fork he'd been holding idly in his hand, transfixed by Will's tale. It quietly clinked onto the table. Mason retained his cutlery, picking at his food every now-and-then while Will told his story. “This was a mistake, yes? 'Cause you started by explaining how you had three bad years."

He cracked an uncomfortable smile in acknowledgement. “Yup. Turned her offer down. She goes on an' says 'thank you for your time' and that she may be in touch again. I doubted it, who wanted to buy out anywhere in this neck of the woods?"

“I'm sure there's people who do. People who value the countryside. The peace and quiet."

“Yeah maybe. But that woman didn't sound like she was lookin' for a secluded country home. She was strictly business."

Will returned to their table, aged digits wrapped tightly around the half-empty glass. He noticed their plates were nearly empty. “Anythin' else I can get you?" he asked, resuming his professional role, “somethin' I can fix you up with?"

Trent shook his head. “I'm fine." Mason grumbled, shaking his as well.

“Well I don't wanna bore you both for hours, so I'll cut a long story short. Couple weeks later, after that phone call, I'm workin' here at the station — usual stuff: tills, accounts, keepin' mah cooks from slackin' off — when I see out the window. There's this three-car convoy of fancy black sedans drivin' up the road. And I sit there thinkin' to myself: 'geez, might be related to that woman'."

“Let me guess: ya guessed right?"

“Correct! They pull in to my parkin' lot. Here's me startin' to sweat, wondering what they want, when a guy from each car steps out and starts fillin' up at the pump. I'm sorta relieved at this point, 'cause I was worried that lady was affiliated with some mob outfit, and not a respectable businesswoman as I'd been led to believe." He laughed. “Can you believe it? Me thinkin' I was gonna have mah legs broke! Me!"

“So she was legit then. The woman," Trent responded, “for...uh...whatever it is she does."

“Uh-huh. So these out-of-towners turn out to be corporate types (obviously), just like her. All suits 'n' skirts, ties etc... on their way through the town, travellin' to another part of Barson State. They stopped to refuel their company cars, this far out it must've been a long journey, and again I'm wonderin' why go all the way out here?"

Will finished his water and straightened his back, rubbing his eyes. “Uggh. When one of 'em is payin' for gas I ask who they're are, where are they from, where are they goin'. The usual small talk with customers. In that conversation the lady comes up as a topic. Don't remember if I mentioned her first or if he did. Got a little quiet after we brought that up. They knew her, an' worked for her, but said little else. Just that she was the regional manager. That was it. Nothin' else. They paid, and were on their merry way — three cars in a neat line drivin' outta town. Never saw the lady in person..."

Mason finally spoke up: “the company."

“Hmm?"

“The company, who were they?"

“I...uh...God it's been a while, lemme see if I can remember." Will looked deep in concentration, his old mind chugging away to find the answer. “It was fierce strange. Animal name maybe? Think so. Cattle-soundin' name—"

Mason listened intently, transfixed on Will, eyes narrowing. His heart skipped a beat, the wait tearing him apart.

“—Bovinex I think."

“God-fucking-damn it!" Mason cursed, slamming his fist on the table.

“Whoa there," Trent reacted with surprise at the outburst, “where'd that shit come from!?"

“It's the same fuckin' thing all over this god-damned state!"

A moment of realisation crossed Will's mind. “Wait a minute...you know somethin' 'bout this?"

“Let me guess," the now-irate Mason snorted, “for the rest of those three years you saw customers dwindle, less people show up to the station, less customers, less diners. It all felt like the town was shrinkin', depopulating?"

“It—it did..."

“Well look around, huh? We both saw it," Mason gestured to Trent and himself, “comin' in here. Place is deserted. You look like the only fellah left!"

“Aww...I wouldn't go that far. Couple o' families on the East side stick around, an' there's seasonal residents, hunters and the like." He wasn't fooling anybody. “But you're right. Ain't nobody of any concern left in Kettersburg."

“That's how it starts."

Trent frowned. “How what starts?"

“This guy's story," Mason pointed at their host with his cutlery, “sounds awful familiar. Shit's not right."

Will's thoughts cleared. “Now that you mention it, there's been other strange goings-on recently." He cast a cautious eye over the seated two. “Where did ya say y'all came from?"

“Up from Kola Ridge."

“Kola Ridge? Ah! Ya got here via the Southway, yeah? Which has that big welcome sign stickin' up an' out like an ugly advertisement. That-a-ways?"

“We did."

“Heh. I hate that fuckin' thing. It's an eyesore," he groaned. “The fork in the road, where you took the route to Kettersburg?" Seeing them both nod he continued: “the road you didn't take — that one goes to another town. Same as, or very close to what we have here. The Shelbyville to our Springfield!" He snickered at the comparison.

“Yeah," Trent said, “we flipped a coin to choose which way to go."

A hoarse laugh escaped Will's lips. “Jesus...you two...a couple of stooges right here! Okay, flippin' a coin — good for you. Lucky ya came down this way, a real stroke o' fortune. The other road leads to Maxhill. Place is abandoned. More so than Kettersburg."

“Really?"

“While back the town was cleared out. Same deal, people got paid an' voomphf — got out. Afterwards these construction vehicles start movin' in, an' there's an almighty commotion day-and-night. Drills, mixers, trucks, you name it...they work around the clock. Tearin' down some buildings, keepin' others. I swung by there once to take a peek — put on my detective hat, so to say. I'm no construction worker, but it sure didn't look like they were buildin' ordinary houses. Big cranes were pullin' the roofs off while these teams of workers swarmed like bees with their bright yellow high-viz jackets beneath, proppin' up the walls. They were extendin' the houses, sure, but in an odd way."

“What...like taller than normal? If what ya say about liftin' roofs is true."

“Following a trend. Building some kinda model community, I betcha that's what was goin' on. That corporation — the Bovinex one — an' possibly others, were renovatin' whole towns and cordoning 'em off to passers-by. Gotta have somewhere for all their faceless corporate mooks to live, they're folk too after all! Ha!"

Trent tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah. I think these white collar business guys like lots of head-space, y'know, ceilings tall enough to accommodate their massive planet-sized egos!"

Mason patted Trent on the shoulder with a patronising look in his eyes. “Forgive this stranger," he said to Will, “he ain't experienced stuff the same as us."

“Gee thanks."

He ignored Trent's remark. “I've been travelling across the state for a long time now, doing odd jobs, seasonal labour, driftin' from town-to-town. I've seen very similar events play out like you said — though I never saw construction take place. I skipped town before that happens, it seems."

“God, that is awful strange isn't it? Like, I'm not the only one to have noticed it?" Will seemed relieved to have someone who shared his concern.

“Ever see security guards? Guys in patrol armour, with small arms?"

“No—"

“You sure? Dark blue/navy uniforms? Got that plastic-lookin' armour plate all over it."

“No. I don't think so. I only went once..." he trailed off, staring into the distance. “What I saw...that was back when ya could drive right up to the barriers. Now, most o' the road's been closed completely for the past three days. Fate saved y'all some time by pointin' you the way to my humble part of the world."

Mason circled his cutlery around his plate, dragging it with all the delightfully shrill, shiver-inducing noises it made. “They might have the word 'colony' on their uniforms, like a logo."

“Can't say I've seen 'em. But based on what you're tellin' me, if we sneak back for another look I've a feelin' I'll be seein' plenty of the sort, though I can think of another 'C' word that suits 'em better..."

“Everything's taken a real...dark turn all of a sudden," Trent said. Mason was one to agree with him — a solemn nod affirming his shared sensibilities. “Abandoned towns, secret construction, armed guards...yeah," he mused, “we haven't become the X-Files have we?"

“That old show? What are you, a hundred years old!?"

Trent huffed. “Sorry my references are outdated."

Will laughed. He seemed to them to have a jolly enough disposition, given their conversation thus far, which pleased his guests. “Okay grandpa," he paused for a couple of seconds, then spoke again: “I'll get us a round of sodas. Nothin' alcoholic — ya look like ya needs your wits about you for drivin' home — but we all could do with some refreshment. This heat'll put blisters on your balls!" On that crude remark, he stood up and left to pour some drinks.

Mason and Trent had a moment to themselves in the meantime. It was a weird situation for both of them; two strangers headed the same way, walking the same roadside, united in their trek to find help...help they sought in different forms. For Trent it was extricating his car from the side of the road, slapping a fix on the internals, and driving off on his merry way. And Mason...Mason...for all his sojourns he was eager simply to move on.

“Sucks about your car."

“Thanks for the concern. It's only been half a day but already it feels like I've been wanderin' for weeks."

“Sucks about the tow truck too."

“It does. It does..."

Until tomorrow, that was the latest estimate. A whole night spent impeded. Delays — this one especially — were a thorn in Trent's now tired and irate state of mind. Trust my car to die on me in a rural area.

He'd had enough of sitting and sharing stories.

“These road closures are bullshit!"

Mason's attention was directed back at him, his companion no longer observing his surroundings and taking in the decor. Here he goes, the traveller thought.

“Y'know what I'm gonna do?" Trent asked no-one in particular, seizing the chance to vent out loud. He glanced around, possibly hoping for someone to respond. Mason wore a 'what do you want me to say?' expression, and the beginnings of regret for having accompanied this man crept into his features.

“I'm gonna call my congressman!"

“Pfft," Mason snorted, “great plan. Who's your congressman?"

“Ehhrm...uhh...hell if I know. Hey Will, buddy..."

Hearing the holler, Will poked his head 'round from behind the counter, several drinks already poured. “Yeah?"

“You happen to have a phone book?"

“Phone book!?" More of his trademark laughter gave way to hoarse wheezing. “What fuckin' century do y'all think we're livin' in!?"

“I—"

“Course I got a phone book! I run a podunk gas station in the middle of fuckin' nowhere. I'd be remiss if I didn't have a collection of crumbly old-fashioned shit. I'll pop back and rustle it up for ya."

“Hey," Trent called over once more, “don't badmouth real, paper books. I've had to go without my tech to get here — they still help when you're in a tight spot." His use of paper maps for navigation a recent (and irksome) memory spurring this renewed appreciation of mass printing.

“Yeah, yeah, I know," Will shot back, “just wish some of the better amenities o' the 22 nd century could make their way here." He paused, speaking in a whisper: “seems I'll be movin' on in the future so it's all a big nothin'."

Mason faced Trent. “You really are upset, aren't ya?"

“I don't know," his travelling companion sighed, “I just think I need to vent. To have someone to complain to."

Mason slinked forward on the booth seat. “Ya got me."

“You?"

“For a while longer. I ain't some fancy-pants politician who might be able to do somethin', but I'm here, sittin' right in front of ya, with complaints awful similar to yours."

“And what are you pissed about? Spooky policemen scarin' you away from towns!?"

“Go fuck yourself! I ain't a fuckin' bum. You know it's more serious than that. Now I don't know much about you 'sides a busted motor but if you're tellin' me life's been nothing but smooth sailing for ya that being stranded without your car is a major inconvenience then stranger, you ain't seen much of the world."

“You two simmer down." Will returned with the sodas. Grabbing Trent's attention he pointed behind him: “phone book's on the table there if the rage is flowin' through ya still."

Trent actually considered calling, as sudden as it sounded. He thought giving his elected representative an earful would spur action. That lasted about a minute before doubt settled in and dissuaded him. What would he say? What would they think? Who's this asshole? Are they even the right people to bitch at? If the others are discussing how long this strange behaviour has been happening statewide, what chance is there that local government wasn't also aware? Or perhaps more disturbingly...complicit in the events unfolding?

“This town's days are numbered, no doubt 'bout it," Will grumbled.

“There's much more to your story, isn't there?"

Will found it hard to mask his true feelings. For all his effort putting up a stoic front, acting cheerful and sarcastic, it was faltering. They could see it. This town was everything to him, once. To see it in such a state...the hurt was there, eating at him. And a hint of guilt over his inevitable betrayal.

“I've received calls similar to the first, way back when, askin' 'bout Kettersburg. Some even makin' offers on mah station and the diner. One day I'm gonna have to accept, or there'll be no-one left but me. Bye-bye Kettersburg..."

“Why is this happening? At all? I mean, how's what I'm hearing allowed!?"

“I don't know. None of us do," Will said, “as to your remark on state politics, y'all want my two cents?"

Mason proved himself the more patient of the two when Trent groaned, losing his with their storyteller. “What is it? We've got a conspiracy happening, that's what you're saying. What kinda conspiracy, who knows?" He smiled, fed up with the nonsense he'd seen them feed each other. “So where's the space aliens?"

“Hell son, this ain't a movie! Space aliens my ass! You're not takin' this seriously. Somebody went and done greased up our local government with a bribe...sorry, 'investment opportunity'," he coughed, “so huge that it got 'em droppin' their policy panties faster than either of you folks can say: 'Schweinshaxe auf Sauerkraut'."

“Really? Just gonna drop some Alleman on us?

“Well it ain't Inglish, that's for sure. My great-grandparents were from there originally. Only natural I 'member a couple of words and phrases. Make great conversation starters."

Trent laughed. “Look at me, trying to be worldly!"

“And who are you to question my heritage!? Pair of good-fer-nothin' drifters I see, loiterin' in my neck of the woods," he spat, “remember this well: politeness'll get you everywhere in the sticks. So cut the complainin' and inject some god-damned positivity into your perspectives."

Trent withdrew. “Sorry," he said, slinking back into his seat, “it's been a long day. A long hot day. And I'm tired. Meant no offence."

Will's temper cooled. “That's better. Y'need to look ahead, and ditch the grumpiness where yer car's currently residin'."

“Day's gettin' on," Mason added, “and we don't have much in the way of accommodation. If this guy's tow truck is going to take 'till tomorrow to show up then we need a place to stay. I know I'm not walkin' another inch today."

“Good point. Will?"

“Yeah, there's a motel still runnin' five minutes down the road. Lady who runs it is named Tess. Sweet ol' thing. Tell her I sent you and she'll for sure offer a discount."

They rose to leave, their meals eaten and drinks finished.

“I'll see y'all tomorrow, yes?"

Trent and Mason glanced at one another. “Seeing as this is the only place that does food...yeah..."