LONE STAR ZOMBIE - a post apocalyptic action adventure
CHAPTER ONE
Before.
I stopped watching the news because I read somewhere that
successful people focused on things they could control.
It’s hard to control the news.
It’s designed for shock value, and in a game of ratings,
most news reporting started to rely on shock value.
I feel I may have missed out on a lot.
Sometimes, I’d watch gas prices shoot up and wonder what
happened to affect the price.
Then I’d click into a station and hear that the President
was making remarks about the Middle East, which would make oil prices rise, and
speculators would rush in to change the price of a barrel. Then gas stations
which were owned by conglomerates working in the Middle East would raise the
price of gas.
It made a lot of investment guys rich and took money away
from most of the working people I knew at the time. Twenty bucks a week more
for gas didn’t hurt someone who made six figures a year, but a single mom would
suffer from the loss.
I thought about that as I stood guard over Brian.
He worked a hand pump he had rigged to siphon gas from a
fuel tank at a gas station we had stopped the bus at.
I set up Tyler and the Boy to eyeball one direction on the
road, and I covered the other. I kept the rest of our group on the bus.
This was a simple grab and go.
“It’s got water in it,” said Brian. “But I can make it
work.”
Most fuel held in underground tanks have a layer of water in
them. I didn’t realize that until we started scraping the bottom of the tanks
for scraps of gas in hard hit areas.
“I don’t want to do it here,” I reminded him.
I didn’t need too. He wanted to get back on the road as much
as I did.
“I can get us another twenty miles on the tank,” he said.
“This will get us forty more.”
I nodded.
I wasn’t too worried about the twenty miles.
There would be a place we could pull off, set up camp and he
could re-refine the refined gasoline.
The forty miles wasn’t a problem either. We’d make the Gulf
Coast before then.
I wanted some gas for a boat.
And I was afraid a big boat would need diesel.
I glanced at his little hand pump.
Diesel fuel was thicker than the watery gasoline we were
sucking up into five gallon containers.
I didn’t know if it would work.
“We’ll figure out the rest when we get there,” I told him.
I wasn’t sure who I was hoping would believe it more, him or
me.
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