[original] Last Ride Together
Sep. 9th, 2013 07:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perfectworrytitle: Last Ride Together
verse: original/none
community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse
prompt: Challenge #03: Table o' Doom: Genre: Zombie
word count: 690
rating: PG13
summary: Katie and Jack make what might be their last stand at a Citgo station in what might have been known as Nevada.
notes: I found this again, so here it is.
Katie stood beside Jack under the last flickering light of a long-abandoned Citgo station, smoking the second-to-last cigarette. It might be the second-to-last one in the world, for all she knew; it was definitely the second-to-last cigarette, in the last box, in the last gas station, in what used to be known as Nevada. Or maybe they had made it as far as what used to be known as Utah before their little hybrid Prius sputtered and died for the last time.
The second to last time it had shorted out on them not far outside of Las Vegas, and only a miracle and an abandoned eighteen-wheeler had saved them. It had been long since looted of whatever goods it was carrying, and the logo had been long since scrawled over with graffiti, but they found spark plugs in the dashboard and the keys still in the ignition: just enough to get their little car chugging again through the endless desert.
This was where they would make their last stand. They scouted out the Citgo after a long, dry trudge on foot across a barren landscape, but found it still well stocked with cans of beer and soda and, cross their hearts and hope to die, sports drinks; huge unopened cartons of chips and jerky. If the world was going to get better, they would have time to wait it out right here, if…
If.
Katie noticed the shambling, scraping sound first. Without turning her head, she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw a telltale scramble of shadow, too tall to be a coyote. Their scent must have been picked up from the abandoned car, and followed down the open road. Jack read somewhere, when there were still things to read, that the best way to escape was crossing open water to break the scent trail, but of course there was none of that here.
So they settled for the second best way, luring their pursuers into a trap. Jack stood several feet from Katie, dangling the gasoline pump loosely in one hand like a gunslinger dangling a big ol' revolver, like something from a movie. Katie held the cigarette far enough away while the gasoline oozed over the tarmac and the hunters drew closer.
Jack began beating his retreat, still spraying the gasoline out as he went. The first one appeared on the road, clearly visible now: grey skin sloughing off naked bodies, eyes bulging, chest sunken and deceptively frail-looking. It was joined by others, maybe ten, maybe twelve. Katie didn't bother counting, but ran back to their safe house in the Citgo storeroom.
Heedless of the danger or the stinging pain of gasoline, their hunters pressed forward. They moved slowly, but never slept. Katie began to worry that the second-to-last cigarette would burn down to the quick before it was time, and they'd have to waste the very last cigarette on the conflagration. Secretly, she hoped to share it with Jack, along with a can of Magic Hat, in a victory celebration once this whole affair was over and done.
But then all of the slow mutants were standing in the gasoline. Jack dove into the bunker beside her, and she threw the cigarette butt with a softball fast pitcher's force; years of college sports payed off, and it landed in the gasoline trail, flaring up immediately. Jack dragged her back and they slammed the door shut; it clanged only an instant before the unmistakable whump of a gasoline inferno.
The dead didn't scream. They couldn't feel pain. They just melted. Katie had seen it on the news, back when there still was news to see. She didn't mourn the loss of civilization just then, though: she celebrated being alive to remember watching it on her TV. She and Jack had survived for now, and soon the disease would run it's course and they could find other survivors and rebuild society. Katie allowed herself to feel optimistic.
For now, at least.
Sitting with Jack amid a veritable bounty of supplies, Katie lit the world's last cigarette in celebration.
verse: original/none
community:
writerverse prompt: Challenge #03: Table o' Doom: Genre: Zombie
word count: 690
rating: PG13
summary: Katie and Jack make what might be their last stand at a Citgo station in what might have been known as Nevada.
notes: I found this again, so here it is.
Katie stood beside Jack under the last flickering light of a long-abandoned Citgo station, smoking the second-to-last cigarette. It might be the second-to-last one in the world, for all she knew; it was definitely the second-to-last cigarette, in the last box, in the last gas station, in what used to be known as Nevada. Or maybe they had made it as far as what used to be known as Utah before their little hybrid Prius sputtered and died for the last time.
The second to last time it had shorted out on them not far outside of Las Vegas, and only a miracle and an abandoned eighteen-wheeler had saved them. It had been long since looted of whatever goods it was carrying, and the logo had been long since scrawled over with graffiti, but they found spark plugs in the dashboard and the keys still in the ignition: just enough to get their little car chugging again through the endless desert.
This was where they would make their last stand. They scouted out the Citgo after a long, dry trudge on foot across a barren landscape, but found it still well stocked with cans of beer and soda and, cross their hearts and hope to die, sports drinks; huge unopened cartons of chips and jerky. If the world was going to get better, they would have time to wait it out right here, if…
If.
Katie noticed the shambling, scraping sound first. Without turning her head, she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw a telltale scramble of shadow, too tall to be a coyote. Their scent must have been picked up from the abandoned car, and followed down the open road. Jack read somewhere, when there were still things to read, that the best way to escape was crossing open water to break the scent trail, but of course there was none of that here.
So they settled for the second best way, luring their pursuers into a trap. Jack stood several feet from Katie, dangling the gasoline pump loosely in one hand like a gunslinger dangling a big ol' revolver, like something from a movie. Katie held the cigarette far enough away while the gasoline oozed over the tarmac and the hunters drew closer.
Jack began beating his retreat, still spraying the gasoline out as he went. The first one appeared on the road, clearly visible now: grey skin sloughing off naked bodies, eyes bulging, chest sunken and deceptively frail-looking. It was joined by others, maybe ten, maybe twelve. Katie didn't bother counting, but ran back to their safe house in the Citgo storeroom.
Heedless of the danger or the stinging pain of gasoline, their hunters pressed forward. They moved slowly, but never slept. Katie began to worry that the second-to-last cigarette would burn down to the quick before it was time, and they'd have to waste the very last cigarette on the conflagration. Secretly, she hoped to share it with Jack, along with a can of Magic Hat, in a victory celebration once this whole affair was over and done.
But then all of the slow mutants were standing in the gasoline. Jack dove into the bunker beside her, and she threw the cigarette butt with a softball fast pitcher's force; years of college sports payed off, and it landed in the gasoline trail, flaring up immediately. Jack dragged her back and they slammed the door shut; it clanged only an instant before the unmistakable whump of a gasoline inferno.
The dead didn't scream. They couldn't feel pain. They just melted. Katie had seen it on the news, back when there still was news to see. She didn't mourn the loss of civilization just then, though: she celebrated being alive to remember watching it on her TV. She and Jack had survived for now, and soon the disease would run it's course and they could find other survivors and rebuild society. Katie allowed herself to feel optimistic.
For now, at least.
Sitting with Jack amid a veritable bounty of supplies, Katie lit the world's last cigarette in celebration.
