Run for the Border: Free Story for November
This is the Shoemaker.Space free story for November 2026. You can also purchase it for Kindle.
I took the receipt from the girl behind the counter. She immediately forgot me, turning to the werewolf in line behind me. “Can I take your order, please?”
The werewolf was too far in his transition for intelligible speech. He pointed at the video menu behind and above her, and he growled.
Unfazed by the fur and the fangs—they saw much worse in the Oasis—she turned around, looked at the menu, and said, “The burrito supreme?” He nodded and made a noise that sounded like uh-huh. “Chicken?”
“Steaaa…” The werewolf managed to say.
“Steak?” Again he nodded, holding up two fingers. “Two steak burrito supremes. Anything else?” He shook his head. “Is that for here or to go?”
“Earrr…”
“That will be $9.78.”
I was curious to see how he would pay—how could he use a credit card with those claws?—but just then my order came up. I grabbed the bright red tray full of food, and I turned to the drink machine.
I almost tripped over a couple of dwarves out of Niðavellir taking their kid out for a late dinner. The husband held the little guy up so the kid could fill his cup.
“I’m sorry,” the wife said with an apologetic smile as her son filled the cup with a little shot of every flavor in the machine. “Kids, you know?”
I smiled back, remembering the childish pleasure of mixing undrinkable concoctions—and then stubbornly drinking them. “He’s fine,” I answered.
Finally I got to the machine and poured myself a Diet Mountain Dew. Then I went to a booth near the front door. I set my tray down where I could sit facing the door. Just outside the window, a pale-skinned android with blue eyes and silver hair sat astride a motorcycle. Nine-X, a regular at the Oasis. He nodded at me, and then he bit into a fat, dripping gordita.
I unwrapped my chalupa just as an actual old brass school bell rang from the Oasis rooftop, reverberating across the parking lot and into the seventeen worlds that met at the reality fault line. I looked up from my chalupa, smiling, and remembered the first night I had heard that bell. It had been long after midnight, and I had been hungry and lost. Thirty minutes later, I was only lost.
“Is anyone sitting here?” I looked down from the ceiling and to the short, greasy, black-leather-coated man who stood next to my booth.
Conroy.
“You like to live dangerously,” I said.
He held his arms out, gesturing at the restaurant. “The Oasis is neutral ground, Clive. I don’t have to hide from you here—or anywhere within an hour’s travel.” He set his tray and cup down on the booth table, sat across from me, and began unwrapping a taco.
“I could just follow you when you leave.”
He poured fire sauce on the taco. “You could.” He bit in, and the shell crunched loudly. He chewed and swallowed. Fire sauce ran down his chin and into his beard. “If you can. Better men than you have tried. If I were that easy to follow, you’d’ve brought me in by now.”
I took a big bite of chalupa to conceal my reaction. He wasn’t wrong.
Conroy continued, “Or, ya know, you could take me now.” Crunch. “Or you could try…” Crunch. He finished his first taco and held his empty hands up where I could see them. “Here I am, ‘Han’. Shoot first!”
Then he unwrapped his second taco. “But you won’t. You’re the good guy, right?” Crunch. “And maybe you’re not sure that would stop me. We’d have that fight we’ve been putting off for years. And you’re worried. You might lose.”
He swallowed the rest of the second taco in two quick bites. Half his beard was now red. Then he continued, “And even if you survived, you’d be banned from the Oasis. You could never hear the bell again. Is it worth it?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t want to answer. So I swallowed the last of the delicious fried tortilla, beef, cheese, and veggies.
No. It wasn’t worth it.
The End
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Copyright © 2026 Martin L. Shoemaker
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Cover image: Bell – Series Neon Signs.
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