Shell Station

Ghost town. That really what you could call it. Though “town” was kind of stretching it. It was really just a gas station on a long road of nothing that gave the vague impression that there was a dusty little backwoods town somewhere nearby. Daniela pulled up on her motorcycle. At one time in her life, it could have been a polished Ducati. Not now, no. It was a little Yamaha, a sporty black YZ6R. Her dirty fingers tore the helmet from her head, then wiped her forehead, beaded with sweat. It left a trail or dirt where she touched while the breeze twisted away at her dark curls.

Daniela peered at her surroundings first. Her time on the road had taught her caution. Behind her, the road, and a thick line of pine trees. Most of them looked dead or scorched, their branches looking sad and twisted like lame, reaching hands that begged for pity. Was she in Tennessee now? She thought she must be. Daniela snatched her keys protectively, jammed the kickstand down, and looked at the gas pump with acute irritation.

The whole station looked awful, like the sort of place a horror movie would be filmed. Dusty with flecking, dull paint and rust and grease. A bug-filled light flickered above her head. Daniela kicked the gas pump, which was either long dry or simply no longer functioning. She wasn’t going to last long without fuel.  

The woman brushed her dark curls over her shoulder, bundled her jacket that much closer to her body, and headed from the entrance. A flashlight came from her pocket as she reached the broken glass that heralded the entrance. Careful not to cut herself, she slipped in. The flashlight illuminated dust more than anything, filtering across the beam intrusively. Most shelves were long empty. Looted, most likely. Money was useless now anyway. At least there were no people here, hunching in the darkness and hissing like feral cats at anyone who invaded their haven.

Daniela snatched the few remaining Slim Jims from the floor. Gallon of water. She was surprised they were there at all, but considering the distance from civilization, perhaps she shouldn’t have been. It wouldn’t have been the first place people fled to when the end came. It was kind of lonely. An unloved gas station, left to rot. Gutted. Forgotten. Alone.

But they were all alone.