Gas, Guns & Goons

Chapter 8: Gas, Guns & Goons

You ever notice how gas prices never go down, even after the world ends?

Seriously, I expected the apocalypse to bring some benefits—no taxes, no internet outages, and free gas. But here I was, pumping fuel like some broke college kid, watching the gauge rise at the speed of an elderly snail while my truck chugged gas like a frat bro on spring break.

Then, just as I was admiring the zen of slow-ass fueling…

BANG!

A bullet zipped past my foot, kicking up dust.

Now, any normal person would panic, duck for cover, maybe even pee a little.

Me? I jumped straight up like a cat landing on a cucumber.

"ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!" I screamed, arms flailing. "WHO THE HELL SHOOTS NEAR A GAS PUMP?! DO YOU WANT US TO BECOME A FIREWORK SHOW, DIPSHIT?!"

I spun around, fully prepared to beat the absolute IQ points out of whoever just tried to turn me into Swiss cheese.

And there they were.

Three walking clichés.

Goon #1: Tall, bald, and wearing sunglasses. At night. In the apocalypse. (Very cool. Very original.)Goon #2: Short, scrawny, holding a pistol like he just learned what a trigger does.Goon #3: Built like a fridge, but with the intelligence of one too.

They stood there, looking at me like I was some rare zoo animal.

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"Great," I muttered. "Side goons. And we're not even ten chapters in. What a wonderful fucking life."

Goon #1 stepped forward, puffing out his chest like that made him less stupid.

"That's a nice ride you got there," he said, real smug. "How about you hand over the keys, and maybe we don't put another bullet in the dirt next to you?"

I stared at him. Blinked. Slowly looked at my half-filled gas tank.

Then looked back at him.

Then back at the gas pump.

Then at him again.

"You do realize," I said, slowly, "that if you shoot me while I'm holding a gas nozzle, there's a 50/50 chance we all go BOOM, right?"

Goon #2, the short one, actually took a step back. His survival instincts were barely working.

Goon #3 just scratched his head like this was a math test.

Goon #1? Oh, he was fully committed to being an idiot.

"Hand over the truck," he repeated, pointing the gun at me. "Now."

I sighed. "Alright, fine. You want the truck? Let me just—"

I yanked the gas nozzle out and whipped it straight at him.

Gasoline splashed all over his face and chest.

He froze.

His eyes widened.

Even Goon #2 and Goon #3 backed up, suddenly realizing they were one cigarette spark away from being featured on an 'Apocalypse Fails' compilation.

I grinned.

"NOW, lemme ask you again," I said, pulling out my lighter.

I flicked it open. The tiny flame danced in the night air.

"Still want the truck?"