Chapter 3: Morning Snow and Hot Dogs

The freezer didn’t feel cold anymore.
It felt empty.

Ram blinked.

The sound was gone—the compressor hum, the distant radio, even Joseph’s dumb humming while he mopped. All replaced by silence. Cold, open, wide silence.

His breath fogged in front of him.

“What the hell...?”

He stepped forward, expecting the back wall of the freezer.

There wasn’t one.

Just concrete. A dumpster to his right. Another one to his left. And beyond that, the wide snowy parking lot of a gas station lit by yellow halogens. A battered sign buzzed overhead.

SURVIVAL STOP.

But not his.

The air was thin, sharp, and cold enough to make his teeth ache.

Ram took a few steps out from between the dumpsters, turning in a slow circle. Same building design. Same roller grill poster in the window. But no mesquite trees. No red dirt. No pickup trucks with brush guards or faded Trump stickers.

Instead, snowplow tracks carved through slush near the pumps, and a beat-up Subaru idled by the side lot. He walked closer, rubbing his arms.

A bell jingled as he pulled the door open.

Inside, the warmth hit like a punch. So did the smell of breakfast burritos and pine-scented floor cleaner.

A woman behind the counter looked up. She was maybe mid-20s, red beanie, long braid hanging out the back, and eyes that immediately clocked him as someone who didn’t belong.

“You alright?” she asked.

Ram blinked again. “I think so. Uh... I work at a Survival Stop. In Texas. I think I just... froze... and ended up here.”

She nodded like he’d told her it might snow later.

“Name?”

“Ram.”

“Well, Ram from Texas, welcome to Montana. I’m Clara. You just phased in, by the way.”

“Phased in?”

“Yup. Happens. Not a lot, but enough that we keep hot food ready just in case. You hungry?”

His stomach answered before he could.

“Got any hot dogs?”

“Fresh batch. Grab one.”

He moved to the roller grill and grabbed a bun and a dog. This roller was newer than the one back home. Somehow less... greasy. But comforting just the same.

On the counter sat a rack of bright orange beer koozies. One caught his eye.

Cerveza Johnny Mecuerdo
Tagline: “One More, Por Favor.”

He chuckled. “We drink this stuff back home. The owner grew up in the next town over from me.”

“You’ll find it in the back cooler,” Clara said. “It shows up everywhere. We figure it’s part of the phase net.”

“Phase net?”

Clara shrugged. “We don’t totally know how it works, just that certain products follow the traffic.”

She rang up the food, then leaned back toward the office. “Hey Linda? Got a fresh Phaser out front.”

A moment later, a woman stepped out—mid-40s, tactical pants, clipboard in hand. She looked more like a manager for a prepper warehouse than a convenience store.

“Welcome,” Linda said. “We try to make sure every surprise arrival gets fed. And if you’re not too rattled, we usually do a swap.”

Ram blinked. “A... swap?”

She handed him a small plastic case containing twenty hot dogs, vacuum-sealed and neatly labeled. “You brought nothing in, so we’re even. But protocol says I have to offer a courtesy trade. Inventory’s tight up here.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean... yeah, I can take these back if I can figure out how to get back.”

Linda smiled. “You will. Think of where you came from. Picture it as clearly as you can. The freezer. The floor mat. The light. Then step through.”

“Like time travel?”

“Not quite. More like restocking across timelines.”

Ram took the hot dogs, the koozie, and his food.

“Thanks,” he said. “Do I owe you anything else?”

Linda nodded toward the clipboard. “Sign here. And next time, try to arrive during business hours. I hate surprise inventory shifts.”

Clara waved. “Tell your crew they owe us buns.”

Ram smiled. “Deal.”

He stepped back out into the cold, clutching the hot dogs.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Back to Texas. Floor mat. Freezer. Beer cooler to my right. Joseph humming something dumb...”

The snow vanished.

The cold snapped off.

The freezer door creaked open behind him.

And he screamed.