"Well, looks like yer main problem here is a faulty carburetor, either that or there's some kind of blockage… anyways, I'm gonna have to take it apart and see if it needs a clean or not if yew want this baby runnin' smooth by tomorrow." The young mechanic spoke in his Southern drawl, standing up and stretching his back with a few clicks. He wiped his nose, leaving a long streak of grease beneath his nostrils and grinned at his customer.
"Tomorrow? Listen, jackass, if all you need to do is to wipe down some goddamn carber-whatever then why the hell is it gonna take that long? I'm paying you to get the job done today. I need my car today," The customer spat. His immaculate expensive-looking suit looked out of place in the rusty, grimy garage, and the mechanic in his grubby overalls let out a nervous laugh.
"Sir, we're meant ta be closin' in about fifteen and I really don't wanna be stayin' overtime with all –"
"So you wanna charge me for keeping my car here overnight too or something? You know what, give me my goddamn car back. I can clean the fucking engine myself."
"Sir, I know yer in a hurry and all but yer gon' find that a little hard without the specialist equipment and considerable knowledge on –"
"Considerable knowledge? Considerable knowledge? You know what I think of your fucking redneck knowledge?" The customer jabbed a finger into the mechanic's chest, lips drawn back into an angry sneer. The mechanic stepped back in shock, and squared up to his customer with a clenched jaw, cutting off his hail of insults.
"Now yew just listen here, buddy, by rights I don' even have ta be here what with the Green Flu and all - I could be takin' it easy with a cold one on my porch but I take this here job seriously, because it's what I do best. An' I can assure yew, mister, that I know a hell lot more 'bout carburetors than yew do."
"Oh, well, congratulations! If you're so fucking good at this job, get it done today." The mechanic opened his mouth to retort to the customer's well-versed sarcasm, but was cut short as the customer ripped an orange flier with the letters CEDA written across it from the wall and shoved it into the younger man's grease smeared face. "If you haven't noticed already, the whole state has gone to hell with all these sick people, and some people want to get out of this shit hole. Now, tell me this - no, honestly, I want to hear your knowledgeable opinion on this, how do you expect me to get home when the trains aren't running, the bus drivers are sick, and some FUCKING HICK won't do the job he's paid to do?"
"Alright." The mechanic took a deep breath. "Alright. I'mma have to ask yew to leave 'fore I do somethin' we both regret, sir." The mechanic stared into the cold green eyes of the suited man, and the customer looked at the grease-moustached face of the mechanic with vehemence.
"You know what – fuck you. I don't have time for this, and you really don't want to be fucking with me." The suited man stepped away after a long pause, running his hands through his slicked back hair and checking his cell quickly, before glancing nervously at the entrance of the garage. "Keep the fucking money and fuck you. I have plenty of it now anyway." He yanked the door of his car open, climbed in, turned the ignition and proceeded to back up out of the garage with the bonnet wide open. The mechanic looked on, arms folded, as the customer angrily got out of the car again to slam the bonnet closed and turn away, only for it to bounce open again. The mechanic smirked.
Embarrassed, the suited man slammed it closed again, stormed back into his car and spluttered off down the road. "Asshat."
"Well fuck-you-very-much," the mechanic muttered under his breath, listening to the quiet country warbling of the radio as he pulled down the metal shutters of the garage and grabbing his keys.
That asshole suit wasn't gonna get very far.
It took the mechanic a very long time to get home that evening. He sat in his car, stereo blaring in the humid heat, drumming his dirty and calloused fingers on the steering wheel. It was when he turned out from the quiet narrow streets and got to the main road that he saw something… unusual.
"What the…" The first thought that crossed his mind was a mall sale, or a big concert in town, but he hadn't seen any billboards or posters for either of those things all week. The road was filled with beeping, honking cars with suitcases and plastic tarps strapped to the roofs for as far as the eye could see heading into town.
But shit, of course. How could he forget? People were leaving Savannah. The Green Flu pandemic had a lot of folks scared for their health – it had spread down to Georgia faster than you could say 'bile' and was the nastiest, grimiest flu recorded to date. The mechanic already knew of some friends and extended family heading down to Florida where the flu hadn't seeped into yet. He even had a couple of buddies that shipped themselves and their families to Ireland to wait until this whole shit storm blew over.
The mechanic couldn't blame them. At 23, he'd never seen his birthplace so fucked up. The streets were near empty, nobody turned up to work anymore – hell, he had been the only guy in the garage for nearly a fortnight now. Somehow, despite all the extremely contagious sickness surrounding him, he felt healthier than ever. That ratty customer was the only soul he had seen without the sniffles and dark circles under the eyes for four whole days, apart from his mom. Momma seemed just fine. The only problem was that it just wasn't as fun drinking a beer and fooling around at the pool table after work on his lonesome.
Yeah, that had to be it. People were leaving town, but the mechanic would never have guessed that this many people would be packin' up and leaving. It looked like damn near half of this side of Savannah was trying to get away. Looked like it was gonna be another slow day at the garage tomorrow.
When he finally got home after taking a short cut around the high road, he noticed that his mom's van was gone. He fumbled with the keys in the keyhole and swung open the old, paint-peeling door into his house. "Momma? Is anyone home?" He kicked the dust off his shoes on the doormat and took his worn, fraying baseball cap off. "Dahlia? Dolly? Daisy?" He stuck his head around the doorframe that lead to the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter, and bit into the flesh with a crunch. "Tucker? Come 'ere, old boy!" He listened for a moment, head cocked, waiting for a voice, footsteps down the stairs or the familiar click-clack of his dog's paws on the wooden floorboards. Nothing. He shrugged, grabbed a pen with his free hand and scrawled across some scrap paper that lay next to the radio and telephone.
gone to O'malley's with keith and I picked up
some milk for you it is in the frigerator.
Ellis
He took another bite of his apple, picked up his keys again, and left the house without noticing the red blinking light of the answer phone next to his untidy note.
The flickering LED beer symbol on the front of O'Malley's Bar was a garish beacon in the descending dark. The mechanic pulled into a free parking space – there were an abundance of them, of course – and stepped out of his car, stretching his back. He slammed the door shut, threw his apple core into the bushes and adjusted his cap before nudging the bar door open. It was pretty empty.
"Yo, Joe!" The mechanic grinned, walking forward quickly to the bar and sliding a bar stool underneath him, resting his elbows on the scratched, worn wood of the counter. "How's it hanging, bro?"
Joe, the bartender, was facing the wall, holding what seemed to be a bucket. His thinning hair scraped into a scraggly ponytail at the back of his head bobbed as his body stumbled forward slightly.
"Nothin' much then… Pretty dead in here tonight, huh? Tell me 'bout it, I only had one customer today at the garage and shit, was he an ass…" The mechanic raised his finger, stood up, and walked over to a filthy mirror on the wall above one of the plush booths near the wall. "Well shit, has my face been like this all day?" He grabbed the bottom of his yellow shirt and rubbed the grease stain on his upper lip vigorously. "Hey, Joe, you ain't seen Keith around today have yew? Said we'd meet up tonight, even if the other guys can't make it…" He swung back around to face the quiet bartender. "No…?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, yew mind grabbin' me a beer? S'been a long day…"
Joe the Bartender let out a strained grunt.
"Hell," The mechanic chuckled, "What am I askin'. I always grab mah own beers now!" Behind the bar, Joe dropped his big blue bucket as the mechanic took a bottle from the cooler under the counter. Green goo oozed from the bucket into a thick, mucus-like pool at the bartender's feet. "Naw, I get it if you're not in the mood ta talk, what with yer Marie catchin' the flu an' all. Must be darn hard workin' here when yer gurl's in hospital… shucks, yew must be worried." The mechanic settled back onto his bar stool and took a sip of his beverage straight from the bottle. "Hope yew don' mind me sittin' here till Keith shows up. Anyway, here's to our health, right?" The mechanic lifted his bottle to the back of Joe's head, and took a hearty swig. "Hey, yer not still mad at us 'bout that goose we let into the bar last week are yew? 'Cause I'm tellin' yew, that shit was –"
Suddenly, green everywhere. Joe the Bartender proceeded to swing around and empty the sticky, volatile contents of his acidic stomach all over the counter, missing the mechanic by inches as he jumped back just in time, spilling beer all over the floor around him. "Shit, Joe, yew been drinkin' on the job again?"
"Hnng..." Joe the Bartender's bloodshot, dark circle lined eyes looked unseeingly into the face of the mechanic, teeth bared and smeared with lumpy bile.
"Holy SHIT!" The mechanic scrambled away, falling over on his stool in the process. He picked the stool up, just as Joe the Bartender climbed over the counter like a hungry reptile and soon the only thing separating the rabid bartender and the terrified mechanic was the wooden frame of the stool. "HELP!" The force of the bartender against the mechanic's chest was unnatural, and he didn't think he could stand the vile smelling saliva dripping into his face for much longer. "Alright Joe, I think you're a real nice guy an' all," The mechanic spluttered, "But if you don't snap outta this I swear I'll have ta do somethin' I don' wanna do to yew!" Joe let out an ear-piercing snarl and swiped his grimy hand at the mechanic's face. The mechanic screamed back, and shoved the stool to the side so that the bartender's back was now on the floor. Straddling the stool, the mechanic stood up and wedged the bartender's chest between the wooden legs of the stool. With animalistic fury, Joe jumped up and lunged towards the mechanic, only to be shuffled (with much effort) into the back room, separated from the bar with a sliding metal grating. The mechanic threw the stool along with his crazed friend with all his strength behind the metal grating, slid it closed and clamped down the padlock.
Joe the Bartender lunged back at the metal grating with a clang, hands outstretched and teeth gnashing. The mechanic stood bent, hands on his knees, breathing deeply. "Listen… I hope this doesn't mean I can't come here no more…" He took a step backwards, only to slip on Joe's slimy bile and trip over the blue bucket behind the bar, hitting his head on the counter on his way down.
Joe continued to bark and growl behind the shaking metal bars, as the mechanic lay as if in a deep sleep in a green bed of puke.
Author's Note: This is my first time here, so be gentle with me. Things will get a little more exciting, I promise. Next time, we meet the high school teacher.