The two miles felt like two hundred, each one a white-knuckle odyssey of lurching stops and heart-stopping weaves. Danny, hunched over the wheel like a gargoyle, had progressed from painting drunken S's across the asphalt to maintaining a wavering, mostly-straight line in the center of the deserted road. The speedometer never crept above twenty-five. But they were moving. The green sign for the gas station exit appeared, and Danny managed a jerky, wide turn that sent a hubcap clattering into the ditch.
The station was a lonely, squat building of tan brick, flanked by silent pumps. A flickering neon "OPEN" sign was dark. Four other cars were haphazardly parked near the doors, one of them with its front end crumpled against a concrete pillar. The utter stillness was more unnerving than the chaos in the woods.
Danny killed the engine. The sudden silence was heavy, ringing in their ears. He pulled the keys from the ignition, the jingle absurdly loud. "I think… I think I got the hang of it," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself.
"Just enough to not kill us," Leo breathed back, cradling his arm. The pain was a constant companion, a throb that synced with his heartbeat, but the drive had given him a fragile, adrenaline-fueled clarity.
They slipped out of the Jeep, moving with an instinctive caution they hadn't possessed three days ago. The glass front door was unlocked, one pane cracked into a spiderweb. Inside, the air was stale and thick with the smell of old coffee, mildew, and something coppery underneath.
The place had been looted, but not stripped. It was a graveyard of commerce. Shelves were knocked over, bags of chips and candy bars littering the scuffed linoleum. The cooler doors at the back stood open and dark, their refrigerated hum silent. The cash register drawer hung open, empty.
Their desperation quickly overrode their fear. They moved in a frantic, silent scurry. The drink coolers, though warm now, still held treasure. They grabbed armfuls of plastic bottles: off-brand colas, bright orange sports drinks, and a few odd bottles of "Aloe Vera Splash Water," which contained weird, gelatinous chunks of aloe Vera floating in vaguely sweet liquid. It looked alien, but it was wet. They found a stash of packaged snacks that had been overlooked or deemed not worth taking: beef jerky, bags of pretzels, and, on a bottom shelf, a clear plastic tub of hard, stale hot dog buns. They didn't touch the warm, fogged cases that once held milk or lunchmeat; some basic, primal understanding of spoilage held them back.
Leo, searching a lower shelf near the floor, froze. His eyes widened. He was looking at rows of cans and bags. Brightly colored labels featured happy dogs and contented cats. He looked up and met Danny's eyes across the aisle. Danny came over and crouched down, his face pale.
"Dog food," Danny muttered. He picked up a can of "Beefy Bites." The ingredient list was a blur of chemicals and promises. "Cat food, too."
They stared at the labels, two sixth-graders whose biggest nutritional concern a week ago had been avoiding vegetables. Leo's mind flashed to a nature documentary, something about survival. "If… if it's full of protein and stuff…" he said, his voice low. "For them. It must have, like… vitamins. Right?"
Danny's face twisted in disgust, but it was warring with a stark, pragmatic fear. They had jerky and stale buns. That wouldn't last. He looked toward the empty road outside, then back at the cans. "No one's here. No one's coming. We should… we should take it. Just in case."
It was a surrender, a crossing of a line they hadn't known existed. Leo nodded, a grim set to his jaw. He found a discarded plastic shopping bag under the counter, and they began loading it with cans of "Chicken & Liver Pâté for Felines" and "Savory Stew for Senior Dogs." The bag grew heavy, a shameful, metallic secret.
That's when Leo saw it. A dark, rust-brown streak smeared across the linoleum near the beer cave, ending in a drag mark that vanished behind the counter. Blood. Old, but unmistakable. The coppery smell had a source.
A fresh wave of terror, cold and slick, washed over them. They weren't alone in their memory of that smell.
Then, the noise.
From outside, beyond the broken glass, came a sound they now knew in their marrow: that slow, shuffling drag through gravel. Then another. And a low, wet groan.
All three of them froze. Their eyes locked. No words were needed. A survival instinct deeper than thought screamed at them: QUIET. HIDE.
They moved as one, a silent, frantic unit. Leo gestured with his head toward a door marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" behind the counter. Kayla, her good eye wide with panic, reached it first and pushed it open. They spilled into a tiny, windowless office reeking of cigarette smoke and old sweat. A desk was piled with invoices and a half-eaten sandwich, now furred with mold. Leo and Danny put their backs against the door as soon as it clicked shut, sinking to the floor. Kayla slid down beside Leo, pressing herself into the wall.
The only sound was their own ragged, suppressed breathing. Kayla clapped a hand over her own mouth, as if to physically silence the whimpers fighting to escape. In the dim light from the crack under the door, Leo finally looked at her eye properly. It was a horror. The glass shard was a wicked centerpiece in a swollen, angry mound of purple and red flesh. Yellow pus crusted at the edges. It wasn't just a wound; it was a ruin. A wave of nauseating sympathy washed over him. His arm was a bonfire, but her pain… it was in her face, in the very thing she used to see the world.
They sat, hearts hammering, listening. More shuffles. A thump against the outside wall. A guttural, questioning moan that seemed to drift right past their door. Minutes stretched into an eternity.
Then, Danny moved. He slowly, carefully, got to his feet. His face was set in a mask of fearful determination. He pointed at them, then at the floor: Stay.
Leo reached out with his good hand, grabbing Danny's pant leg, shaking his head violently. No.
But Danny gently pried his fingers loose. He had to know. He couldn't sit in the dark and wait for the door to open. He put a finger to his lips, turned, and with infinite slowness, turned the doorknob. He cracked the door open just enough to slip out, pulling it silently shut behind him.
Leo and Kayla were left in the terrifying quiet. Every second was agony. Leo imagined the worst: a scream, a scuffle, the door bursting inward. He held his breath until spots danced before his eyes.
Then, a soft click. The door opened. Danny's pale face appeared. He wasn't panicked. He gave a sharp, urgent wave: Come. Now.
They scrambled up, grabbing their pitiful bags of loot. Danny led them, not back through the store, but out a grimy back door Leo hadn't even seen, which opened into an alley behind the dumpsters. They scurried around the side of the building, staying low. Danny pointed wordlessly toward the tree line at the edge of the parking lot. There, between the pines, they saw them: three figures, moving with that same aimless, relentless shuffle, their backs to the station. They were wandering into the woods, not towards the building.
The Jeep felt like a fortress. They piled in, Danny in the driver's seat. He fumbled the key into the ignition, his hands shaking again. The engine roared to life.
"Don't stop," Leo whispered, his eyes glued to the rearview mirror. "Just go."
Danny threw the Jeep into reverse, backed out with a spray of gravel, then slammed it into drive. They peeled onto the road, leaving the gas station—and its lurking shadows—behind.
Only when they were a half-mile down the road did the tension in the cab ease a fraction. Danny let out a long, shuddering breath. "They were… just in the woods. Wandering. They didn't even look at the building."
It was a small, chilling mercy. They drove in silence for a while, the weight of their new "supplies" in the footwell a constant, shameful reminder of how far they had fallen.
A green highway sign materialized in the headlights, bleached by the grey afternoon light. It listed destinations: ASHEVILLE - 45 mi. And below that, an arrow: CEDAR CREEK - NEXT EXIT - 3 mi.
A town. People. Or what was left of them.
Leo looked at Danny, then back at Kayla, who was leaning her head against the window, her good eye closed, her ruined one a silent scream. The road stretched ahead, leading them toward the next unknown. They had food, of a kind. They had wheels. They had each other. It wasn't much, but for three lost, wounded sixth-graders, it was the only currency they had left in the world.