The tires came to a screeching halt as Simon braked hard, his foot pressing down on the pedal.
The gas station was just up ahead, and it was nothing like what he had expected. He'd half-anticipated it to be completely deserted, a hollow reminder of the world that had once been.
But to his surprise, it wasn't. There were cars parked here and there, with a few people milling around. It seemed people were surviving.
That fact both comforted and unnerved him in equal measure.
Simon pulled his car into a space a little further away from the station. He was careful not to park too close; too much attention would be drawn to his vehicle. And if anyone saw the amount of supplies he'd managed to stash in the back seat, they might come after him.
In a world where every last resource was a treasure, that kind of attention was more dangerous than any pack of zombies.
He stepped out of the car, scanning the area around him. The silence was almost oppressive, save for the distant hum of arguments and shouting coming from the gas pumps.
No signs of grunts or strange movements. No infected nearby. It was eerily peaceful for a place that should've been swarming with the undead.
He was far enough from the gas station that he could stay hidden, at least for now.
His eyes darted around as he jogged to the back of the car. He fumbled for the keys, his fingers slightly trembling. There was too much at stake today.
This wasn't just another fuel run — it was a calculated risk. A chance to restock for the coming days. He inserted the key into the trunk lock, twisted it, and lifted the heavy lid.
Inside, a keg sat next to a stash of canned goods, a few bags of dried food, and his rifle, the last few things that hadn't fit in the Back seat, which was tucked carefully into a corner.
He grabbed the keg and slammed the trunk shut.
Simon was in a hurry, moving fast but staying as quiet as possible. The last thing he needed was to attract attention. As he neared the gas station, he saw the chaos unfolding.
It wasn't just the usual desperation; people were arguing. Shouting. One man, holding a nozzle, was gesturing angrily at another, demanding that they take their turn in line.
It wasn't even an orderly line — just a cluster of impatient survivors trying to claim what little gas was left.
Inside the small shop at the station, the air was thick with tension. The door was propped open, and Simon could see through the glass that there were a few people inside.
Some were rummaging through shelves, desperately searching for anything worth taking, while others shouted back and forth.
It was obvious the place had been picked over already, but people weren't willing to give up. They were fighting over scraps.
Simon couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance.
These people — these survivors had clearly given up on decency long ago. Survival came first, no matter the cost.
They weren't just scavenging; they were willing to kill each other over gasoline, over food.
It didn't matter how much they needed it; it was the last vestige of control they had, and they weren't going to let it slip away without a fight.
He stood for a moment, watching them, his fingers tightening around the handle of the keg.
He hated this kind of situation — hated it with every fiber of his being. But he also understood it. People were scared, desperate. And in a world where Zombies roamed the streets, who wouldn't be?
The line for the pumps was long, but not unmanageable.
It was thinning out now, and Simon didn't hesitate to get in line. The murmurs of frustration and impatience from behind him felt like a distant hum, like the background noise of a place that had ceased to be civil.
It was a brutal reminder of what the world had become.
He waited, silently, watching the others. The survivors in line kept their distance, but Simon noticed that they were all eyeing each other, watching for any sign of weakness.
As he neared the pump, the bickering behind him grew louder, but Simon wasn't concerned. Not yet.
He stepped forward and began filling the keg, his hand steady despite the tension in the air.
The nozzle clicked into place, and the steady rhythm of fuel pouring into the container calmed his nerves, just a little.
'Maybe I should look for a few more kegs, I need
But then, something shifted in the air. The noise from the argument had faded. There was an unsettling quiet now.
Simon's gaze flicked upward, toward the small shop where the sounds of chaos had been just moments ago. His gut twisted as his eyes widened.
It wasn't the usual kind of silence. It wasn't the kind that suggested relief. It was the kind of silence that only came before something terrible.
Simon's gaze moved toward the store entrance, and his stomach dropped. He could see them now, standing in the doorway.
Not one. Not two. But almost five of them. The zombies were in the store, swaying in place, their bloated, decayed bodies a grotesque mockery of life.
Their eyes were vacant, their movements sluggish, but their rotten teeth were unmistakable. They were hungry.
The survivors at the pumps noticed at the same time Simon did. They froze, all of them, staring wide-eyed at the undead.
For a brief moment, no one moved. No one even breathed.
Simon's heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears. The group of survivors didn't seem to know what to do.
One man slowly backed up, his hand trembling as he gripped the nozzle in his hand. Another woman cursed under her breath, the panic starting to bubble up and a child wanted to scream, only for her dad to press his palm against her mouth.
Simon didn't wait for them to decide what to do. He finished filling the keg with quick, decisive motions, his mind working furiously.
He couldn't afford to waste any more time. The longer you waited, the more you risked everything.
Without sparing another glance, Simon yanked the nozzle from the pump and ran for his car, hoping to get out of there before it turned into a bloodbath.
It was survival, plain and simple. And in this world, there were no guarantees.