Chapter 31 – Arrival at the Gas Station
Hanks forced himself to suppress the waves of heat and exhaustion burning through his body.
The post-burst crash hit him again and again like pounding surf, threatening to drown his nerves in weakness.
But the sharpness in his eyes never dimmed.
"Move. Gas station."
His voice was hoarse, but the command was absolute.
He grabbed Glenn—who was still slumped on the floor gasping—and hauled him up.
"Officer… please… just one more minute…"
Glenn's legs felt like two chunks of lead.
"You want to rest? Then stay here and wait for walkers—or the buddies of those idiots back there—to come keep you company."
Cold.
Cruel.
Real.
Glenn jolted upright instantly.
"G-Go! I'm going! Right now!"
They shouldered their heavy packs again.
Glenn also struggled to drag the bulky storage bin behind him.
They slipped out the back door of the house and merged once more into the shadows of the ruined street.
On the way to the gas station, more lone walkers began to appear—
likely drawn by the earlier chaos and gunfire at the supermarket.
Hanks avoided them whenever possible.
If avoidance wasn't an option, he dispatched them silently with his now slightly bent Phillips screwdriver.
Glenn stayed behind him, conserving energy and protecting their hard-earned supplies from being splattered with walker gore.
Soon, the neon sign for Quick Stop Gas came into view.
The place was a wreck.
A few abandoned cars leaned at odd angles beside the pumps.
The convenience store's windows were shattered, its interior chaotic and pillaged.
Hanks signaled for Glenn to stop across the street, just outside another shop's doorway.
"Glenn," he whispered, eyes scanning the station like a hawk,
"those empty fuel cans you mentioned—where would they usually be?"
"Uh… in the back! Either the employees' break area or a storage shed next to it!"
"When I used to deliver food, loads of gas stations stored their extra cans like that!"
"Good. I'll check the back for cans and a pump. You watch from here."
Hanks patted his shoulder.
Little angel's still reliable… if only he'd stay away from that damn baseball bat.
"Yes, sir! You be careful!"
Glenn straightened his cap, determination flickering through the exhaustion on his face.
Hanks dropped his heavy backpack beside him, then darted across the street—silent, swift.
The back of the gas station was fenced with wire mesh, its lock long since broken.
Dried gore hung from the twisted metal.
He slipped through, and the stink of gasoline and rotting trash hit him instantly.
In the corner—
there they were.
Several intact portable 20-liter fuel cans.
Two of them full of gasoline.
Beside them: a manual fuel pump and a length of rubber hose.
"Beautiful."
Relief flashed through Hanks' chest.
He grabbed two cans, ready to haul them back first—
Clatter.
A faint sound from the shattered back door of the convenience store.
Something had been knocked over.
Hanks froze mid-step.
He lowered his body slowly, silently, until he was crouched low to the ground.
He set the fuel cans down without a sound.
His right hand drew the P226.
His left curled around the bent-up screwdriver—reverse grip.
A low growl drifted from inside the dark doorway.
Not one voice.
Several.
Hanks held his breath.
Using the junk piles and a rusted mini fuel transport cart as cover, he crept toward the door, every muscle coiled and ready.
He pressed himself against the wall and slowly leaned just enough to see inside.
The interior was dim, shelves toppled over, merchandise strewn everywhere, mixed with dried blood and an indescribable stench.
Four or five walkers wandered aimlessly between the wrecked aisles.
Some wore convenience store uniforms.
Others were dressed like ordinary customers.
All of them were trapped here—
waiting for the smell of the living.
Near the back of the convenience store, beside the shattered refrigerator units, more vague shapes shifted in the gloom—
more walkers, lurking deeper inside.
"Damn it…"
Hanks cursed silently.
He wasn't afraid of the small walker nest itself—
He was afraid of noise.
The more walkers he fought here,
the more would be drawn in.
A firefight at a gas station—
with its underground fuel tanks—
was the last thing he wanted.
The access hatch to the underground tank and its manual pump port
would be in the front lot, near the fuel dispensers.
If he didn't lure these walkers away or thin their numbers,
he risked getting trapped between the store horde and outside stragglers.
A death sandwich.
Hanks made his decision quickly.
He slipped back into the rear yard and scanned the area.
His eyes landed on an empty metal fuel can lying in a corner.
Perfect.
He inhaled deeply—
then slammed his foot into the can, kicking it hard toward the street on the far side of the gas station.
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!
The can bounced wildly, rolling across the asphalt, crashing into abandoned cars until it finally slammed to a stop in the middle of the road.
The explosive clangs cut through the silence like a thrown boulder hitting calm water.
Inside the convenience store, the walkers' heads snapped toward the noise.
Their groans turned frantic and hungry.
They shoved past each other, stumbling aggressively toward the front doors
and the source of the racket.
Hanks pressed himself tightly against the wall, waiting until their shuffling footsteps moved away.
When the timing was perfect—
he grabbed the two fuel cans and retreated silent as smoke back to the shop across the street.
"Officer! How'd it go?" Glenn rushed over, gripping his baseball bat tightly.
"Two cans of fuel," Hanks said between breaths.
"But the convenience store is a walker nest. I sent them to the front."
His voice was strained, his breathing uneven.
"Not much time. Wait for my signal—then call Kenny."
He shot Glenn a firm look.
"You stay here. Guard the supplies and the fuel."
"Officer… let me go with you. I can help—really!" Glenn said, gathering what courage he had after seeing Hanks' exhaustion.
Hanks pointed at the manual fuel pump on the ground.
"You know how to use this?
Know how to draw fuel up from a buried tank?"
Glenn stared at it, then shook his head honestly.
"Then stay."
Hanks' breath was ragged, but his voice was iron.
"I'm fine. Your only job is to watch the gear. Understood?"
"Understood!" Glenn nodded fiercely, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.
Hanks didn't waste another word.
He drew one deep breath—
then slipped back across the street into the gas station's rear yard.
He grabbed the hand pump, the rubber hose, and several empty fuel cans—
then darted toward the front lot.
In the station forecourt, several walkers surrounded the loud, rolling can he'd kicked earlier—
pawing and snarling at the useless object.
More wandered nearby, distracted by the noise.
Using the pump and abandoned cars as cover—and his earlier reconnaissance—
Hanks quickly located the round iron hatch leading to the underground fuel tank.
He jammed his screwdriver into the seam—
CLANK!
and pried it open.
A blast of raw gasoline fumes surged upward.
He fed one end of the rubber hose through the small central hole, pushing it deep into the underground tank.
The other end he connected to the intake of the manual pump.
He positioned the pump's outlet above the first empty fuel can.
Then he gripped the handle—
And began to pump with all his strength.