Chapter 4: Spoiled Inventory

Ram screamed.

He didn’t know why—it just came out of him. Loud. Sharp. Raw like his throat had forgotten how to make noise.

Then—

SLAM.

The freezer door burst open. Joseph skidded to a stop, mop clattering behind him, and Willie—still in his uniform from the register—leaned into the doorway with a bag of nickels in his hand.

Both stared down at Ram, who was sprawled on the floor, eyes wide, clutching a plastic clamshell of sealed hot dogs and an orange beer koozie like he’d just been yanked out of hell.

Joseph broke the silence. “Dude. What the—”

Ram sat up, gasping. “I was gone.”

Willie frowned. “Gone where?”

Ram shook his head violently. “I don’t know—I was here, then I was... not. I was in a different Survival Stop. In Montana. There was snow. And these two women—Clara and Linda. They fed me. They knew what was happening. It was real. I had to picture the freezer to get back.”

Joseph held up a hand. “Wait wait wait—you left the freezer... through the freezer?”

Ram nodded furiously. “Yes! I phased out or something. They called it phasing in. They gave me these hot dogs. Vacuum-sealed. Look.”

He shoved the clamshell toward Willie, who took it slowly and inspected the label.

“Inventory received: 23:48 CST,” Willie read aloud. “They stamped it. Who the hell stamps hot dogs?”

Ram pointed to the koozie. “Cerveza Johnny Mecuerdo. Tagline says ‘One More, Por Favor.’ Same koozies they had up there. They even had a rack of them by the register.”

Willie looked from the hot dogs to the koozie, then to Ram’s face.

“You high?”

“I’m serious,” Ram said, eyes glassy. “They said they keep hot food ready in case someone phases in. It’s not the first time it’s happened. I told them where I was from, and they said y’all owe them buns.”

Joseph let out a long breath, then crossed his arms. “You’re telling me you popped out of our walk-in cooler, appeared behind a gas station in Montana, got fed, picked up branded merch, and popped back in twenty minutes later?”

Ram just nodded.

Joseph blinked. “...That’s metal as hell.”

Willie took a step back, still gripping the hot dogs. “Where’d you say it was?”

“Kalispar. Survival Stop, just like ours. Big parking lot, snow everywhere. Clara ran the register. Linda was the one with the clipboard. Looked like she ran ops for a militia.”

Willie looked at the clock. Almost midnight. The store had been about to shut down.

“Well,” Willie said. “We’re closed anyway.”

Joseph’s head whipped around. “Wait, you wanna go there?”

Willie grabbed his jacket off the hook. “Why not? If he really phased out, maybe we can figure out how. Or at least confirm he’s not losing his damn mind.”

Ram sat on a crate, still shivering. “You won’t find Noe.”

Willie paused in the doorway. “What?”

“I don’t know why I said that,” Ram muttered, staring at the floor. “Just... don’t expect to find him.”

They stood in the freezer. Side by side. Silence thick as the frost around them.

Joseph took a deep breath. “So we just... what? Think about Montana?”

Willie nodded. “Think about the snow. The yellow lights. The beer cooler to the left. The freezer mat.”

They closed their eyes.

And stepped.

A crunch.

Snow beneath their feet.

Halogen buzz overhead.

They opened their eyes.

The cold hit instantly, but so did the familiarity. They were behind a Survival Stop—not theirs. The dumpsters were different. The air was clean, crisp, pine-sharp.

Kalispar.

They walked to the front. Lights still dimmed. The door jingled when Joseph pulled it open.

Inside: warm, quiet, eerie.

Clipboard on the counter. A rack of koozies. Poster above it:

Cerveza Johnny Mecuerdo
One More, Por Favor

On the corkboard:

PHASE-IN PROTOCOL:

• Feed.
• Identify.
• Swap if necessary.
• Stamp & record inventory.
• Send them home.

The burrito warmer was still humming.

Joseph scanned the log. “Here. Ram. Phased in. Took hot dogs. Timestamp—yep, 23:48 CST.”

Willie nodded slowly. “Well, damn.”

No Clara. No Linda. Just the hum of ceiling fans and the quiet ghost of something they couldn’t name.

They didn’t stay long.

Back in the freezer, they pictured home. The mop bucket. The smell of bleach. Ram’s dumb face.

They stepped.

Back in Texas, the clock read 12:20 a.m.

Ram was sitting on the counter, sipping from a juice bottle like he’d aged ten years.

“You went?” he asked.

Willie held up the clipboard.

Joseph grinned. “Y’all owe buns.”

They didn’t sleep. Just waited, eyes wide, until first shift showed up.

Ram hadn’t moved.

And the freezer door stayed open just a little longer than it should’ve.