'Til Death Do Us Part

thought sourly. I am going to have to watch her carefully.

Mrs. Deneaux smiled broadly as Gary looked at her through the rearview mirror.

The Pinto may have been the ugliest thing still on the road, but it ran and that counted for a fair amount. They had just crossed over into Virginia on Route 85 almost to the 95 interchange when Gary noticed that the fuel gauge hadn’t moved since they’d left Old Fort nearly some two hundred miles ago.

“I think we might have a problem,” Gary said.

BT, who had been lost in his own thoughts, sat up. “What’s the matter?” he asked looking around. BT thought Mrs. Deneaux might be sleeping but he couldn’t tell; the old bat had one eye open.

“Fuel,” Gary said pointing to the dash.

“It says we’re three-quarters full,” BT said moving his head so he could see.

“Yeah…and that’s what it said when we left.”

“Then maybe you should find a place to get some. Did I really need to point that out?” Mrs. Deneaux said opening her other eye.

“Maybe if we’re real lucky some gas will spill on you, and the next time you light a cigarette, the world will find itself a slightly better place,” BT said turning to face her.

She lit another cigarette in response.

“Come on, BT, we’re all we have left,” Gary said, trying to make peace.

BT wanted to tell him ‘And ain’t that a shame.’ But he could tell the elder Talbot was already hurting enough. He wouldn’t swear it on a stack of bibles, but he thought he had seen Deneaux stick her tongue at him as he turned back towards the front. “Bitch,” he mumbled.

Gary pulled off the highway. BT made sure his rifle was fully loaded as did Deneaux with her pistol. Gas stations, for some reason, tended to be a hot bed of zombie activity.

“Should we siphon some gas or just find another car?” BT asked as they pulled into the service lot.

“Find another car?” Gary asked. “Really?”

“Oh you can’t be serious?” BT asked back. “You like this car. This car was a pile of steaming crap when it left the factory. They should have saved the metal and made waste baskets.”

“I’m kind of attached to it now,” Gary said as he patted the dash board where it instantly cracked as a result of dry rot and ministrations of the driver.

“Yeah she’s a beauty,” BT said sarcastically.

“Well I think she’s a darling little car,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she hunted for an ally.

Gary pulled up to a pump.

“What are you doing?” BT asked.

“Getting gas, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Do you think maybe you can have the attendant check the oil, too?”

“What’s the matter with you, BT, they haven’t done that in years,” Gary told him. “Oh.” The light of recognition coming across Gary’s visage. “The pumps aren’t working, sorry just habit.” Gary was about to start the car up.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll just find a can and get some gas, let’s try to find a screwdriver, too, the last time I siphoned gas, I drank about a quart of it,” BT said.

“What’s the screwdriver for?” Gary asked.

“Gonna punch a hole in the fuel tank and just let it drain into the can.”

“Kind of wasteful isn’t it?” Gary asked.

“You plan on coming back this way again?”

“Maybe…if not to bury my brother than at least to say goodbye properly.”

“Sorry, man,” BT said meaning it. “We’ll find a few cans and make sure we get it all.”

“Probably should have left the car running,” Gary said as they cautiously walked towards the front of the service station.

Mrs. Deneaux exited the car and was leaning with her back against it. She arched her back, her long aristocratic nose fully turned towards the heavens.

The store had been completely ransacked; what wasn’t gone off the shelves had been torn into by rats if the droppings were to be believed. Although they were some industrial-sized rats, Gary thought.

“I hate this part,” Gary said as they made their way over towards the far side of the store. “Okay, I’m going to pull this door open and then get out of the way. You shoot whatever is on the other side.” Gary got ready to open the storeroom door.

“Ready when you are,” BT said.

Gary pulled hard, his hand slipping off of the handle, the door didn’t move. “Shit…it’s locked.”

BT smiled.

“Should I kick it in?” Gary asked.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” BT said as he twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The door swung effortlessly inwards, BT stepped back, it was too dark inside the small room to see anything.

“I could have done that,” Gary said trying to salvage some face.

“I know, it’s alright, I won’t tell anyone,” BT said as he went into the closet after he realized there was nothing in there. He pulled out a mop and bucket. “That’ll work…the bucket is for the gas,” BT explained.

“I knew that, I just didn’t know what the mop was for.”

“Steering wheel,” BT said as he pushed the bucket across the floor. “See if you can find something to puncture a tank and either a funnel or something we can make a funnel out of.

Gary came out a few moments later with a broken windshield wiper fluid bottle and a small knife meant more for display—a tourist’s memento as opposed to something that could withstand use, but it was all he could find in such short notice and he didn’t want to have to stay in there alone any longer than he had to.

“Here let me see,” BT asked as he put his hand out for the knife. “Kind of flimsy, but it might work. I’ll make the puncture, you just be ready with the bucket. When it’s about half full go use it to fill the Pinto and we’ll keep doing that until we top it off.”

Gary was nodding as he cut the bottom of the windshield fluid bottle off.

BT walked over to the end of the gas station lot; a white Toyota Camry was parked on the grass awaiting a repair that would never be forthcoming. “This will do,” he said as he slid under the car. He hoped there was enough gas in it to make it worth their while, he hated being stationary; stationary meant exposed and exposed was not what anybody wanted to be these days.

“That’s a nice car,” Gary said just as BT was about to try to drive the knife home. “Kind of a damn shame to wreck it.”

BT drove the knife blade into the metal. “Dammit!” BT yelled. “Blade snapped, gimme the bucket.” BT’s right arm was flailing about looking to grab the gas catcher.

“You said the blade broke, what do you need the bucket for?” Gary asked, even as he began to smell gas.

“It made a pencil-sized hole and it’s starting to splash around my damn face. Give me the bucket or I’m going to drag you down here with me.”

Gary pushed the bucket under.

“This is going to take forever to fill, go see if you can find anything I can use to make this hole bigger.

From BT’s vantage point, he could only see the bottom of Gary’s legs and when they didn’t move away, BT reiterated his request.

“He can’t ‘cause he gots a nine on his back.”

BT started to scoot out from under the car when he heard the unfamiliar voice. “Cuz, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Another voice said off to his left. “Man ain’t chu a big un.” Obviously referring to BT.

“Listen,” BT said, “we’re just trying to get some gas.

“See that’s the problem…that’s our car.” The first voice said.

“See I told you it was a nice car,” Gary said.

BT didn’t think it mattered which car they had used, any of them would have been a problem with these two men.