Six Underground

“I must be either desperate or out of my mind.”

I squinted through the grimy windshield at the intermittent flashes of sun filtering between the giant oak trees that lined the uneven driveway. Silvery Spanish moss hung from the branches and swayed diaphanously in the welcome breeze that flowed through my open window. The air-conditioning on my little car had crapped out somewhere between the last place on earth I wanted to be and here—wherever here was.

The road banked gently to the left and the trees gave way to a massive and obviously old wrought iron fence. An equally massive gate took up the center, and that was when a sign flashed into view: “Hallowed Hills Burying Ground—est. 1806.”

The days and times for visitation were printed in bold black script, and as I steered the car carefully along the winding road, a veritable ocean of tombstones and mausoleums came into view. Some looked ancient and were mottled with lichens, while others looked fairly new. Fresh upturned earth graced the newer graves, and the various floral displays and wreaths created a riot of color over the neatly manicured lawn.

A great stone angel held court beneath the gracefully bent arms of an obviously old oak tree, its expression serene. The place was positively massive, and I drove a good five minutes or so before reaching the exit gate at the other end of the drive. A sign in an antique-looking font cheerfully thanked people for visiting and wished them good health and cheer.

Seems a bit counterproductive, given that it is a cemetery. I found myself smiling at the irony, which quickly faded when an indicator light began to flash on my dashboard.

“Shit, shit, not now!”

Dismayed, I realized that the “Check Engine” light was lit up like a Christmas tree and that my fuel gauge had dwindled down close to Empty.

So no A/C, the engine is either about to stall or blow up, and I’m almost out of gas.

Awesome.

My cellphone had died about two hours ago, and if I didn’t find a working phone and a service station soon, I was going to be stranded and would have to bunk down here in one of the mausoleums overnight.

At least the dead can’t hurt you—a cemetery’s the safest place in the world after all.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. “Come on baby, just a little bit further and then you can rest.”

The indicator continued to flash, and frustrated and near the breaking point, I slammed my hand down on the dash. This whole “escape plan” of mine had Bad Idea written all over it from the get-go, and with these latest developments, had now hedged into full-on critical mode.

“Please, please, just….” I sighed and shook my head. “I need some help here.” I’m tired, hungry, and I need something to prove to me that the universe isn’t as lame as I think it is.

To answer my earlier question, I wasn’t crazy, but I was beyond desperate.

The uneven road gave way to smooth pavement, and I realized that I had left the borders of the cemetery and had come to an intersection. To my left and right a few cars rolled lazily by, and across the street was a modern building made up of brick with a shiny metal roof. Ample parking lay all around it, and in the front was parking space reserved for “Bikers, Bad-Asses, and Bitches.”

Someone had scrawled “Tino, Luz, and Dani” in permanent marker under each of the sign’s headings, and wandering what I had gotten myself into, I steered the car into an empty spot near the front door. An elaborate neon sign in the shape of a skeleton lounging on the lid of a coffin stood above the entrance, and the name of the place, “Six Underground Bar and Grill,” ran nearly the full length of the front porch. The sheer size of the sign must have made it stand out for miles, which given where it was located, made it all the more intriguing.

“Who would build such a place across from a cemetery?” I shut the engine off and sat for a moment debating what to do next. I could go in, ask to use their phone, inquire if they were hiring, and if I was really lucky, snag some peanuts or pretzels from the bar. My stomach growled at the thought of food, which it hadn’t seen for almost two days.

“Okay. Here goes nothing.” I opened the door and stepped out into the muggy heat that seemed to hang like an invisible haze over everything. I could already feel my clothes beginning to stick to me, and after smoothing the front of my tank top to hide the fact that I’d been sleeping and living out of my car, I walked up the front porch.