By J.M. Allison
Zoot pulled the brim of his pilfered bucket hat down to hide his scaled skin and amphibious features. The overcoat he’d procured hid his olive-green flight suit. Thankfully, the black tentacles running down the back of his head imitated the hair of the native creatures, but his disguise was hardly complete.
After two days hiding out and studying the local inhabitants, he’d gained a rudimentary knowledge of their language and customs. Enough that a short excursion to forage for the raw stones needed to fuel his pod and directions home shouldn’t immediately give him away.
He wandered toward a brightly lit building at the end of a street. Fueling stations for land vehicles lay just behind it. Zoot crossed to the front entrance.
Thud. He rebounded off an invisible barrier and shook his head. He noted the dark metal outlining the transparent entrance and chided himself for not identifying it before his blunder. This establishment’s entry portal must be activated manually versus by proximity sensors. Quaint.
He pressed on the glass. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder. Still, the barrier didn’t give way. He leaned his shoulder into the wall and used his weight to shift it. Yet it stood firm.
A hand tapped his shoulder, and he spun to face an adolescent female.
“It’s a pull…” She offered an awkward smile, then reached past him to pull the barrier open. She stepped into the establishment and allowed the door to close behind her.
Zoot glanced around then mirrored her movements. An easy twanging music filled the air, and Zoot shuffled to a red stool at a polished white counter.
“What can I get you, honey?” A thin woman with an overexhausted slump and monotone voice stood beside Zoot, writing utensil poised above a small notepad.
“I require fuel, sustenance, and directions home.”
“Gas is $2.37 a gallon. You pay at the pump. Special today is a ham and blue cheese grilled sandwich with fries or mixed greens. For directions, go to GPS.”
Zoot had to focus to catch the woman’s rapid-fire information. He nodded like he expected such answers. “Sandwich with mixed greens?” He offered an innocent smile, but she turned to go, eyes never leaving her notepad. “Where do I find GPS?”
She paused, her eyes finally meeting his.
His smile broadened.
She shook her head and moved off.
Zoot slumped forward onto the counter, contemplating where he might find raw stones to fuel his pod.
“…Whether you’re looking for something small or something that’ll go the distance, you’ll find it at Galaxy Diamonds. Located on I-44 just off exit 17, across from Allwood Mall. Open Mondays through Fridays, eight to five and Saturdays till four.”
Zoot sat up. Diamonds?
“Where every gem is the beginning of a beautiful journey.”
Zoot tipped his head. How convenient. Did every building broadcast informational messages to their patrons?
“One ham and blue cheese with mixed greens.” The server slid a small plate onto the counter in front of Zoot, then left without making eye contact.
He studied the offering. The sandwich appeared as advertised, though the cheese was not blue all over. The mixed greens, however, boasted only one shade of green. Various other plants, some orange, red, and white, joined the mix. He picked out a feathery red leaf he was fairly certain could be a weed. Truly, humans consumed some incredibly interesting items.
A new melody began over the speaker as he took a bite of sandwich.
He’d visit Galaxy Diamonds next. Though not as efficient as emeralds or sapphires, diamonds should get him back to the Cluster, where he could catch a Zipher Transport home.
Next, he needed… GPS, was it? Likely, the Earth version of the Intergalactic Travel Guides he was used to.
“Country roads take me home, to the place I belong,” boasted the informational transmission.
Zoot smiled. The efficiency of this establishment to anticipate his needs and provide answers was truly astonishing. First, he’d collect the diamonds, then he’d seek out Country Roads.
He raised one hand toward the serving woman, calling her over. “I need to find Miss Roads.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, honey. But I don’t know everyone in town.”
“She hails from West Virginia,” Zoot added, recalling the information given over the speakers, “sometimes referred to as the Mother of Mountains?”
“Ain’t no one ‘round here like that, honey. Sorry.” She shook her head and chuckled as she moved away.
Zoot frowned. Where else could he look? Perhaps GPS could direct him to Miss Roads. If he could figure out how to find a GPS station…
“I told Frank not to listen to the GPS,” a plump woman with short-cut hair drawled into a small square device she held to her ear as she shuffled up to the counter. “I know every route to Paradise and if he’d taken my advice, he’d have been home in three hours and avoided the traffic on Route 57.”
She tipped the device away from her mouth. “Pick up order for Courtney Rowes.”
The server nodded and ducked back into the kitchen.
Zoot grinned. Fortune must truly be smiling upon him. He slid off his stool and hurried over to the woman. “Miss Roads, it is indeed fortuitous I have encountered you here! If you please, I need directions to Europa.”
Miss Roads smiled. “No problem, Sugar. Take I-37 south to the International Airport. They have a non-stop red eye to Europe every Monday.”
Zoot bowed. “Thank you!”
“No problem!” She accepted a small white bag from the serving woman and nodded her thanks. Then she sauntered away, her attention returning to the small device she held to her ear.
Zoot grinned. He’d be home soon, and no stop for fuel required. He dropped a few coins onto the counter and scurried out the door, turning his steps south. He’d find the International Airport, then be home free. All thanks to Miss Roads!
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