Phil mation's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Phil did not sleep. By first light he walked the food court and checked every truck. Each counter was bare. Frankie's warning was true. By morning the crowd would wake up hungry, and the park had nothing left to cook. Phil needed a fresh supply, and his park sat too far from any town to fetch one in time. He climbed into his old office, a tall building with rounded windows and an offbeat orange face. He pulled out his ledgers and his delivery records. One name kept appearing. A farm supplier a day's drive out. Too far to reach and return before the crowd stirred. Phil pressed his hands to the desk. He had drawn the whole realm here. He could not let them leave starving. Then he looked out the window at the restored bus. The battered thing wore a banner that read HORRIBLE HALLOWEEN across its side. It had carried forty cars to his gate. It could carry crates back. Phil ran down and fired up the bus himself. He drove through the dark toward the farm, the banner flapping. The supplier met him at a loading dock, half asleep and unimpressed. "We don't deliver this far," the man said. "Not for one load." Phil did not argue the distance. He opened a crate of cash from the night's receipts and set it on the dock. Then he pointed at the painted bus with its grinning pumpkins. "Forty cars followed that thing yesterday. Your whole county will hear about my park by next week. Load me now, and I'll buy from you every week after." The man eyed the bus. He eyed the cash. He waved his workers forward. They stacked the bus with crates of eggs, flour, meat, and produce until the floor groaned. Phil drove back faster than he came, racing the sun. He reached the gate as the sky turned gray. Frankie stood at the orange restaurant doors, bow tie already straight. His mouth fell open when he saw the loaded bus. "Phil. You found food?" He clapped twice and performers swarmed the bus, hauling crates toward the kitchens. Frankie laughed. "Only you would feed a mob from a parade bus." Grills hissed before the first child woke. The crowd ate. The park held a second morning. But Frankie caught Phil's sleeve again, holding a scrap of paper. "I counted heads this morning. Phil, zey are not leaving. Word spread. More cars came in ze night." He pointed past the food court to the gate. A fresh line of travelers stretched down the road, longer than the first. "We fed yesterday's crowd. Today's crowd is twice as big, and our new supply is already half gone." Phil looked at the swelling line and the emptying crates. He had solved one morning. He had made the park too popular to feed.