WHO: Addison & Tom to start, maybe Shaun? WHEN: Mid-morning, 07 May. WHERE: Gas Station at the mouth of town. SUMMARY: Addison stumbles upon honest-to-god non-zombie peoples. STATUS: Incomplete WARNINGS: Probably language?
Aged and rusted, the beat up truck sputtered along down the highway seeming to be a perfect representation for how Addison felt in this moment. The glowing numbers on the dash cruelly informed her that she had about 40 miles of gas left… with two sleepy towns between the endless highway and certain death on foot. Towns meant a few things: the ability to find a new car with a full(er) tank of gas, supplies, an actual bed to hijack and/or people who might be able to contribute to mission Keep Addison Alive. So far, her mission had been successful with only a few very close calls here and there. Who knew that a flare gun to the chest was such a great zombie deterrent? Both because of validity and fire. Well, now, Addison did.
Flipping songs on the CD player, she made a mental note to make sure that the next car that she boosted had a better CD selection because if she had to listen to Patsy Cline I Fall to Pieces one more time, she was genuinely considering that Zombie life and actually falling to pieces might be a better alternative than that particular ear worm.
With a jerk of the wheel she pulled off at the next exit — of all things, she knew how to play the odds: the more towns she drove through, the better chance she stood. Maybe, this far north, she would actually be able to find a gas station that hadn’t been drained dry and use one of the many, various named credit cards shoved into her backpack. Good thing about zombies, at least, no one checked ID anymore.
The town sat a ways off the highway, quiet and idyllic. The kind of place that she’d never have driven through, much less contemplating staying in, before all this. Now, the cities were overrun and suddenly, suburban life had it’s appeal. A town where everyone knew your name had always been a nightmare of hers, but, well, you couldn’t spell CHARM without HARM and what was the harm, now-a-days, right?
Saying a silent prayer to the Gas Gods, she pulled the truck up next to one of the pumps at the gas station which already looked like something out of an old west movie, dirt caked across the screen which barely glowed beneath the grime caused by over a year of neglect. Hopping out of the truck, she used the sleeve of her flannel shirt to wipe away the grime. Out of service.
“God fucking damnit,” She cursed with an errant kick to the pump as she ran a hand through her hair.