Liminal Space Gas Station Novels & Stories

“Ah. Well this just got awkward. Shall we carry on then?” She melts into the air and leads us away, out of the forest that rings her valley along the ridge, then across another open meadow to a narrow dirt road. At a distance along either side, human homes dot the landscape, but never grow denser before we reach a boarded-up service station directly off the grated street. There’s a sun-bleached metal sign angled on bent stakes in the corner of its crumbling lot that says: ‘Welcome to Mountainrose’.

She had particularly enjoyed giving Grant a manicure finished up with sparkly black polish. "Just checking, you need anything? Bathroom, drink, snack?" Grant took a left turn into the parking lot of a gas station and pulled into a spot near the shop entrance. "I need to use the facilities." She was about to say no when she glanced out the window. Before her was the largest, cleanest, most pristine gas station she'd ever seen. No chipping paint, no litter blowing around the lot, no weeds in the sidewalk cracks, with a steady stream of customers flowing in and out. "Are we in Blood Lake territory now?"

Our bond burned brightly within me, reminding me that he was still alive--still safe, for now. Sean pulled over at a small gas station on the outskirts of town. The lights in the little cube-shaped building were off, and not a single person was in sight. This gas station was technically off of Asher's territory, but it was close enough to need evacuation. I flashed Tristan a grateful glance as I looked at the deserted store.

Helotes appears quietly, the way small towns do on this stretch — Stone Churches on either side, the country dance store where concerts are often held. The Helotes gas station is on the right: white stone, country rustic appearance with clean lines, the kind of place that has been kept up and shows it. A couple of vehicles are parked at the pumps. Some customers are entering and exiting the store. Gracie pulls in, cuts the engine, and swings her door open into a wave of still air. Even hotter without the highway moving under her. The air thick and stuffy, barely breathable. She releases a sigh.

Unlike my big pick-up truck with the lift and extra large tires and a souped-up engine. We wove through traffic at a mad speed, straight through downtown Rutberg, to the big brick building that housed La Forge. Jack pulled up to the valet parking attendant and climbed out of the vehicle, dropping the keys in the uniformed woman's hand. I smirked when I saw the way her eyes followed his backside. Jack had that effect on women, without even trying.

Heather whimpered under her breath, and I could feel her fear through our mate bond; which we had consummated before we left. “Hold tight, babe.. I’m going to pretend we’re turning into get gas here. When we’re done, I’ll find us a side street to go down.” I pulled into the gas station for the pump. I had just filled up in Richmond, so I only needed a dollar or two in gas. I made it seem like I was almost empty, waiting while the numbers went nowhere.

The "Universal-Drain" was a place where physics went to die. It was a staggering vortex of "Anti-Information," a region where the "Grey-Planes" of dead-logic drifted like icebergs in a sea of static. The Liminal-Foundries were not anchored to stars; they were tethered to the "Structural-Ribs" of the First-Engine, floating over the abyss. These stations were brutalist, functional hubs of "Entropic-Extraction," designed to perform the impossible: to take "Absolute-Nothingness" and hammer it back into "Something."

Her mind stayed awake but she let Kendra have the quiet. The sky had begun its first grey suggestion of morning when Kendra pulled off the highway. A gas station. One pump, a small lit interior, a single car in the lot. The kind of place that existed for the middle of nowhere, staffed by someone who had seen enough strange things on night shifts to have stopped asking questions about them. Kendra cut the engine. They sat for a moment. The silence after hours of road noise had its own weight. "I need to call them," Kendra said.

The closer they drew to the station, the stronger it throbbed. “This place is wrong,” Nolan said quietly from the passenger seat. His eyes scanned the treeline. “Too quiet.” “Too obvious,” Lira added from the back. She rested her hands on her knees, coiled like a spring. “They want us to come here. The question is why.” Emma slowed the car to a crawl, headlights slicing across chain-link fencing topped with barbed wire. Beyond it, the relay station bristled with transformers and steel towers, their insides glowing faintly as if lit from within.

Her emotions weren't ones of aggression or anger, just fierce protectiveness and a professionalism that most people could never accomplish. An hour of mountains and steep inclines passed before we had no choice but to stop. Both Dex and Carson agreed on stopping at the smallest, most decrepit gas station to ever grace this earth. It was nothing more than a small shack, big enough to fit a handful people at the very most. An old-fashioned cash register sat on top of a fold out table. A very disinterested looking man stood at the table, picking at something beneath his nails.