[b]John Benson / Matthew Benson - Gas Go markets gas station[/b]

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[i]Bandera Overview[/i]
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[i]Bandera Zoomed in[/i][/hider]

John sat silently on the cold tiled floor of the backroom of the Shell gas station, his son Matthew lay near by, his breathing was slow and steady the sign of someone who was sleeping peacefully enough. That sediment was however was not shared by the forty year old man, his eye's were red by now with black bags underneath them, his once shaven face now caressed with a thickening beard, his hair more grey in the past six months then it had been his whole life. The man who sat on the floor cloaked in a dim failing light from the Coleman lantern in front of him, in all honesty, looked nothing the man who had once been a simple assistant manger at a small General Store. In fact at this point he more then anything looked like a homeless man, his beard, his ragged look, his clothes now torn in several places and splattered with blood only supported this. It had been a long six months, in fact it felt very much like six years or maybe even sixty, everyday was just another day of moving from one place to another, walking in the thick heat, trying to just find some food, water, and shelter for the night that just seemed to come too quick. To the young boy who lay on the floor in peaceful slumber, this world was not as bad as it seemed, but then again an eleven year old boy should not have to deal with a world such as this.

John slowly moved his head as he shifted his body leaning slightly, the rifle he kept beside him shifted with him as he let his eye's observe the room that was for the time concealing them not only from the dead, but possible looters who would look to do them harm. The room was medium in size, around them old shelves were tipped over, empty and void of any items of interest, now covered in a thick layer of dust. Against the wall the working mechanics of a pop machine could be seen, it too was void of any items itself, even the syrup looted god knows when, all that was really left here now was empty worn boxes and shelving. Across from John was the door in which he kept his eye's trained on, it was a basic metal door, the lock long broken, a broken shelf lay jammed under the knob now to keep it closed and secure, and an old towel covering the crack underneath to cloak any light from being seen on the outside. John did not expect any looters honestly, this place was picked clean as it was, and as long as they had no encouragement the dead would not find their way in here either. But this was a moot point to John, if he had learned anything in the past six months, it was that nothing was a sure thing anymore in this world.

Reaching down into his jean jacket pocket John revealed a crumpled pack of Newport menthol's and a lighter that was almost empty now. Opening the pack there was only three left inside it an not another pack in site. He was not really a smoker, never was, in fact he always thought of it as a death sentence back when the world was not like this, but not anymore. The days of playing it safe and just enjoying a long life was over that was obvious, and if he was going to die anyways, he would rather die of lung cancer compared to being torn open and eaten alive. John shakily put the cigarette between his lips, with a couple clicks he brought the lighter to life and lite the tip take a rather long deep drag. Truth was, that John had never been predisposed to situations like this, he had grown up in a small town with his father and mother who were good and simple people. The town was small, a place where everybody knew each other, bad things had almost never happened, he used to spend weekends fishing and camping and hunting, and the weekdays helping his father do small vehicle repairs for the locals in town. So naturally when you see for the first time in your entire life, a man torn open from chest to stomach, and watch his insides get torn out as he weakly tries to fight, your never the same again.

John was thankful that Matthew had not witnessed such a terrible site, that his young son still held onto his innocence... the question he had however was just how long he could shield his son from the true nature of the world now? John blew smoke from his nose and mouth as he looked at his son's face in the dim light, all he had ever wanted was for Matthew to know a good life, a simple life away from the bad things that existed in the world. When his mother Hanna had passed away, he was but a baby so he did not understand fully the reasons for her not being there, and John had tried to conceal the facts the best he could. His own grief was almost enough as it was, the only thing he had in the world when Hanna died was his son, and he had vowed to keep him safe, to keep him happy, to always be there for him. But now everyday all he could think about was how much longer he had with Matthew. John slowly reached his hand over and put it on Matthews cheek, then reaching down he pulled the blanket up covering him up with it. How much longer did either one of them really have left, that was the true question that ran through his mind day in an day out. John was not afraid to die, if anything now death seemed like a hell of a lot better option.

However no matter how good of an idea it seemed, John could not take his own life none the less his sons, there was a harsh truth to face now, and that truth was simply that this was the end for humanity. There truly seemed to be no way back from this hell, and it was hard to have hope after the countless images of people dieing plagued John's head day and night. John took the cigarette from his mouth as he dragged the remains across the floor, the embers slowly went out as he got up from the floor. Making his way across the room he slowly removed the shelf from the door knob, turning his head Matthew was still sleeping soundly, carefully removing the shelf from the knob he kicked the towel aside and slowly emerged from the store room. Pulling his hunting pistol from it's holster had clicked off the safety and looked around through the growing darkness, he heard nothing and saw nothing, it was just silent and... dead. Turning John closed the door tightly as he made his way behind the smashed counter and then into the back. Walking into the dark bathroom he removed a small LED flashlight and clicked it on, walking up to a shattered mirror he looked at his reflection in it, he barely recognized the man looking back at him.

Reaching out he turned the knobs on the sink with his free hand setting the flashlight down, however no water came out, setting the pistol on the edge of the sink he placed his hands on the sides of the sink he bent his head down as he did not wish to see his own reflection anymore. Closing his eye's various images flashed through his head, some were good but many were bad, he could feel his heart beating so fast in his chest as he tried so hard just to cope with everything, but how much longer could he keep going on like this? The nausea hit John hard and fast out of nowhere as he suddenly gagged and vomit exploded from his mouth, John threw up at least three times before he was merely dry heaving. John backed away from the sink and hit the wall behind him, sliding down to the floor he shakily put his hand to his head, his head was burning furiously as his eye's burned wanting to shed tears. There was no denying it... John was not long going to survive this mentally, how much longer could he hold onto the good man he was until he became like the others out there, raping and pillaging and killing indiscriminately? Everyday he felt like he was slipping into a darkness he just couldn't avoid, and the only thing he had to hold onto was Matthew and John knew it was only a matter of time before his life too ended.

When John heard the scream of his young son his head bolted up so fast his neck cracked harshly, quickly regaining his feet he nearly bashed his head on the sink as he grabbed his gun off the ledge and bolted through the darkness smashing his knee on the smashed counter. John cursed to himself as he quickly made his way through the door to the backroom, quickly opening it his burst through as he saw his son moving on his sleeping bag screaming. John quickly went forward and slid to the floor, grabbing Matthew he pulled him shaking him lightly.

"Matthew, Matthew wake up its Daddy I'm here."

John spoke in a rough lightly accented voice as Matthew's eye's suddenly popped open and he stopped failing around. Matthew immediately saw John as he wrapped his arms around his neck squeezing hard. Matthew was breathing hard as his heart was racing against John's chest, John wrapped his arms around Matthew as the young boy started to cry. John had no idea what had happened, a nightmare was the best thing he could think off, rubbing his hand down Matthews back he shushed him quietly as he tried to calm him down.

"Daddy's here buddy, shh, daddy's here its all right."

Matthew shook hard as he kept his tight grip around John's neck, John kept him close as he tried his best to soothe him, he must have a bad nightmare to shake this much. John could only imagine what his son had dreamt of and it broke his heart to think he was this scared right now.

"Its okay buddy, were gonna be okay, I promise it was just a dream, shh."

It took some time but Matthew finally calmed down enough that he slowly slid back into sleep. John still held him in his arms as he positioned himself back against the wall and rested his sons head against his arm. Leaning his own head back he looked at the open door across from him, the darkness seemed to almost suck the life out of the room. Breathing in deeply then out John sighed lowly, the road ahead was going to be anything but easy, but as long as he had breath in his body, he would walk through hell fire to protect his son, and no matter how much his mind changed, that would always remain.