Gas and Indigestion

It wasn't even noon yet but it was already scorching. Everything felt thirsty, especially the car. It needed gas if they were going to make it out of town. Little rippling waves of heat rose up off the pavement and made it look wet and glassy. The city had been mostly cleared out by now. There were no cars and no motorbikes, all the metal police blockades had been removed. Everywhere there were still the evacuation posters and leaflets littering the street like pieces of post apocalyptic confetti. They were colorless and half erased, bleached from years of rain and sun exposure. On the walls of buildings they stuck lifelessly, peeling and thin as cicada shells. Some of the windows were shot out, others were smashed and broken. Looting had cleaned out what was left. The car rolled through the city, panting, looking for a gas station that would surely be out of gas. Gas and groceries were always the first thing to go; food, water, canned goods, gasoline, batteries.

On either side of the street were tall buildings that blocked visibility. They were in a concrete canyon. Only when they approached an intersection were they able to see around corners. Up ahead, about four stoplights away, was a small Shell station. They would have to be in and out. They pass the first light. Then the second. Third. The hood of the car passes out under the fourth light. On the righthand side another car is approaching, about half a mile away.

"We're gonna have to be real expeditious about this, Doc."

"In and out, Bennyboy. Let's go."

The speeding car grows larger as it barrels toward them. Benny leaves the car running and jumps out. He jostles the gas handles and squeezes to see whether or not the nozzles are dry. One handle, then another, and another. It's the same on the other side. It's no good. He can hear the car now. It's close. Benny pushes open the gas attendant's door and looks around the small room. He kicks over a stack of plastic red gas containers and they all scatter but one. Bingo. Benny runs out back toward the car and hops in.

"That's it? That's all they left us? That's a quarter tank at most."

"That's all there was."

Their conversation is halted by the arrival of gunfire. Bullets whizz over the car and crash into metal and brick. Doc hollers at Benny to drive. The car is coming fast and gaining. It's armored and black. The windows are all tinted. A man with black hair, wearing a black bandana and black sunglasses is leaning out the passenger side shooting at them. Their tires squeal as Benny and Doc pull out of the station.

"Of all the gas stations in all the world," Benny says, lighting a cigarette.

A bullet hits the rear window and shatters it. Glass rains down into the backseat and Doc screams in frustration. He picks up the rifle from the floor and takes aim through the blasted out window. He fires off a wild shot that touches nothing but sky as the car hits a sharp corner and turns right down a side street.

"Keep her straight!"

This street isn't as tidy as the other one and Benny swerves to avoid hitting a displaced dumpster. Doc misses another shot.

"God damnit! I said keep her straight!"