Anomaly Flats by Clayton Smith Page A

every truck had at least one person in its line—every truck, that was, except for the Special truck. “What’s the special?” Mallory asked.
    “It changes every day. But don’t do it, Mallory,” Lewis warned. “Sure, sometimes it’s lobster, and sometimes it’s cheeseburgers. But I got the special once.” His voice went quiet, and he cast his eyes down at his hands, which found themselves nervously rubbing the sides of his pants. “You don’t want to do it. Okay? You don’t want to take the chance.”
    “What was it? Napalm cups?” she snorted.
    Lewis shook his head sadly. “I wish,” he whispered.
    Mallory’s face dropped. Lewis wasn’t joking. Something terrible had come out of that food truck; the drained, pallid look on his face was proof enough of that. There was no way she couldn’t know now. “What was it, Lewis?” she asked, touching his shoulder lightly. The scientist flinched, and she drew her hand back. “What did they serve you?”
    “It’s not just that they served it,” Lewis said quietly. “It’s that I ate it. Mallory…I had to eat it. If you buy lunch from the Special truck, you have no choice but to eat it. Do you understand? They…they force you. I didn’t want to eat it, but…” Tears streamed from his eyes, and his words choked off in his throat.
    Mallory turned to face him directly and put both hands squarely on his shoulders. She lowered her head so that he had no choice but to look her in the eye. “Oh my God…Lewis… what was it ?”
    Lewis tried to shrug out of her grip, but Mallory held firm. The tears stung his eyes red. He shook his head, and with all the courage he could muster, he whispered, “Pâté, Mallory. They made me eat pâté.”
    Mallory blinked. She didn’t realize her fingers were digging into his shoulders until he whimpered a little in pain. “Are you kidding me?”
    “It was horrible,” Lewis insisted, wiping away a tear. “Duck liver, Mallory. Duck liver .”
    Mallory released her grip on his shoulders. She took a deep breath and had to struggle like she’d never struggled before against the urge to punch Lewis in the mouth.
    She succeeded, sort of.
    She didn’t punch his face. But she did slug his arm as hard as she could.
    “Ow!” he whined. He rubbed at the pain as she turned and headed toward the Special truck.
    “You are such a delicate little pansy,” she said over her shoulder.
    “Mallory, don’t do it!” he called out after her. “It might be something even worse this time! It might be haggis! Do you hear me, Mallory? They might make you eat haggis! ”
    A tall, strapping man in a reflective yellow work vest approached the Special truck as Mallory made her way over. He had a dirty white hardhat tucked under his arm, and his thick leather boots were caked with mud. A small group of his fellow construction workers stood what they seemed to consider a safe distance away from the line of trucks, hollering and hooting and egging him on. He grinned dumbly back at them and waved them off. As Mallory approached, his cheeks suddenly burned red, and he shifted his weight awkwardly, toeing at the gravel with his boots. “Your first time getting the special?” he asked bashfully.
    “Yep. You?”
    “Nah. I’ve had it a few times already. This is lucky number four…fingers crossed.” He crossed the fingers on both his hands and held them up in the air. “Ha ha!” His laughter was undeniably nervous. He absently rubbed his brow with the back of his greasy, meaty arm as he laughed. Mallory noticed a long, white scar streaking across his forehead. She was about to ask what the specials had been on his previous visits when the service window on the side of the truck flew open with a loud SLAM , and a broad-shouldered man in a dark suit and dark sunglasses poked his head out. He wore an earpiece with a clear, coiled wire attached to it that disappeared into his collar. “One?” he asked, his voice cold.
    The construction worker