"I hate Virginia weather," thought Marcus as he stared out the downpour that was hammering the diner windows.
His shift still had half an hour left, and he knew that raining weather made for idiots on the road. Wet roads and drivers who forgot how brakes worked–tonight's ride home would be a circus.
Most of the dinner rush had cleared out. Mel's Grubs and Go was half asleep now, the neon sign buzzing over an empty parking lot. Only four cars remained, three of them belonging to employees, one to a customer finishing her pie in silence.
Marcus pushed away from the counter, ready to find his manager and ditch the diner early tonight, when the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then half the diner went dark.
The back kitchen door swung open and Carla–his manager–walked out, wiping her hands on a rag. The smell of frying oil and coffee followed her as she approached Marcus.
"Hey Marcus," she called out, "Before you clock out, check on the generator, mi hijo. Can't have the fridges going off overnight."
Looking up from the window, he sighed.
"It's broken again? You know that thing almost electrocuted me last time I looked at it. Can't we get a professional to look at it? Or we get Henry to handle it in the morning?"
He really did not want to go out there right now in the rain. He still had to get home and do homework for his online class, but arguing with Carla would take longer than the repair itself. Still, the overtime he would get was not worth the loss of sleep in his eyes.
Carla tilted her head, a smile ghosting across her face.
"Come on, mi hijo. You're what, twenty-five? Don't tell me a little rain scares you. You've got more energy than that old machine and me combined. Just get it running tonight and I'll talk to the owner tomorrow. Don't worry about overtime."
He groaned under his breath. No way out. He still had twenty minutes left on the clock, which meant he was still on her time.
The remaining lights blinked again as Carla turned back toward the lone customer, muttering something in Spanish he couldn't quite catch.
Heading in the back, he grabbed his jacket from the hook before shouting to the grill cook.
"Aye, if I ain't back in twenty minutes, y'all call the fire department okay?"
"Fifteen," the cook said, while grinning. "After that, I'm locking up and I'll say a prayer to the Lord for you before I go home."
Marcus smirked. "Appreciate the faith."
He pushed through the back door into the storm.
The heavy rain and wind instantly slammed into him, cold and sharp. He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders and yanked his hood up.
"You'd think that since it was sunny all day that maybe it be a cool night, but no welcome to Virginia. Sunny one moment and taking baths the next."
The air felt strange as he moved closer to the generator–charged somehow, heavier with every step closer. The hum of the generator was rising and falling like an old smoker coughing up his lungs.
"I swear Carla," he muttered to himself, "If I die yout taking care of my mom and sisters."
He crouched beside the generator, leaning over by the metal hosing as he pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. Shining the beam over the rusted bolts, he ran his hand over the access panel.
A sharp snap stung his fingers as static shocked him slightly, dancing up his arm. He hissed through his teeth as he shook it off.
"Yeah, we definitely need a professional. Can't tell me we are passing OSHA standards."
He started to turn away–then stopped. The generator's coughing fit seem to worsen considerable until it erupted into a roar. Sparks crawled along the edges of the metal, explodiing outward before Marcus could fully react.
"The world turned white. The machine exploded. Then everything went dark.