Ancient God Above

Gunderson had detoured from Interstate 80 westbound onto U.S. 50 alternate at Fernley because of an accident blocking the road. The moon hung halfway between the mountains and its zenith, marking it early morning, before 3 a.m.

He drove over the rise and started downhill when he saw the lights of a building half a mile ahead.

“Am I to Hazen already?” he thought.

The old building had once been a general store and gas station. Now, it was a diner. Gunderson pulled into the gravel parking lot, rolling up next to an old tow truck that seemed more rust than metal.

The bell overhead rang as he stepped inside, and the five sets of eyes turned to look at him. The air was thick with a tension that prickled his skin. He had the feeling he had interrupted something,

“Coffee, black, please,” he said to the waitress.

She was a petite woman, around 30, with black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, green eyes, and red lips. Unlike the short-order cook, she smiled at Gunderson as she poured his coffee, but something was unsettling in her eyes.

“Menus on the wall,” the waitress said, sounding too cheerful for the early hour. “Where you coming from?”

“Elko,” he replied, his voice a bit wary.

“Nice place to visit,” she responded, her smile never reaching her eyes.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t wanna live there,” Gunderson said, trying to shake off the unease.

“Must be from California,” the heavy-set guy, whom Gunderson assumed belonged to the tow truck, said.

“Not for forty years,” Gunderson replied.

The guy glared at him and snorted before returning to his cheeseburger and fries. Gunderson had been looking at the man, then noticed the couple sitting quietly in a booth in the far corner, their eyes fixed on him.

“Don’t mind him, darlin’,” the waitress said. “He’s always like that. Can I get you something besides coffee?”

“A bowl of chili, please,” Gunderson said, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Coming right up. Eddie, you heard the man. A bowl of chili,” she half-shouted through the window where the cook stood, glowering at Gunderson.

A minute later, the waitress slid the bowl in front of Gunderson. “Any cheese, onions, or sour cream?”

“No thanks,” he said, picking up the spoon she had provided.

The chili was delicious, but there was an odd aftertaste that he couldn’t quite place. He said, “That is one of the best bowls of chili I’ve ever had.”

Still, the cook glowered before turning around to act busy.

“More coffee?” the waitress asked.

“Yes, please,” Gunderson said.

She poured the coffee, set the glass pot on the counter, and leaned forward. She reached out with her right pointer finger, and its bright red nail traced Gunderson’s lips. “You have a beautiful mouth.”

Gunderson felt himself turn red. It had been a long while since any woman had flirted with him, let alone a woman half his age.

“Ah, shucks, darlin’, don’t be embarrassed,” she smiled, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

Again, Gunderson felt his face and ears brighten as the couple in the corner got up and headed for the door.

The man, in a heavy parka, slapped him on the left shoulder a little too briskly and said, “Good luck with her, California.” The woman in a denim windbreaker smiled and passed by, her eyes lingering on him a moment too long.

Suddenly, Gunderson felt a sting to his neck. “What the fu…?” he started but never finished.

Gunderson was slow to wake. The sky was full of clouds, and it was cold. Then he realized he was naked and that he couldn’t open his mouth.

As he tried to sit up, he found himself staked to the ground and spread eagle. Just then, it started to snow. That’s when he realized how chilled he was and shivering violently.

He struggled against the leather braids that bound him to the stakes and held him to the ground. He screamed, but the sound came out dull and distant.

He tried to open his mouth, finding that it refused, and the more he tried, the worse it hurt. Gunderson ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth and attempted to push it between his lips, but there was something in the way.

Strands of something held his mouth shut. Again, he investigated the area with his tongue. His mouth felt jagged, ripped, and raw, and the strands, he realized, were pieces of rawhide. His mouth, or what remained of it, had been sewn shut.

He thought of the waitress and her complimenting his mouth while tracing her fingernail gently around his lips. Suddenly, his head was spinning, and he fought harder against his bindings.

The violent shivering he had experienced earlier turned to a general warmth, and Gunderson relaxed. He tried not to, knowing the outcome was certain death, but his mind surrendered to the cold anyway.

Then he felt the tremor in the ground, and again, as whatever was happening seemed to grow closer. He raised his head to see a giant bird perched on a jagged rock near him.

“Oh, Christ, I must be hallucinating,” he muttered.

The bird was large, much bigger than any he had ever seen, yet it seemed familiar. It had an elongated head and membrane-like wings that the thing kept folding and unfolding. Gunderson could not tell if he was looking at feathers or fur. Either way, the vision was frightening.

Then the thing screamed louder and longer than a wildcat. Gunderson laughed because he couldn’t scream, though the beast made him want to, especially when it began to rip his flesh from his body.