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to let that happen.
    "Jake, why
don't you and Will take these people inside and talk to the ones
already in there. I'm sure they can go to Rose's when it's safe; the
more people, the better. I'll stay here and keep watch, then one of
you can trade places with me so I can use the restroom. Sound good?"
    "No, you go
ahead. Jake and I will take turns keeping wa―"
    " No ,
damn it! I would rather do it the way I said. Please, just go. I need
a few minutes," I interrupt Will and beg him silently to do as I
ask.
    Relieved,
I watch as the two men get out - not happily in Will's case, I might add - and escort the elderly couple to the
door of the gas station. After a few minutes of convincing the people
inside to let them in, they finally do. One of the men that was
already inside locks the door immediately behind them.
    When I see Will and
Jake's heads disappear as they make their way to the restrooms in the
rear of the store, I turn the truck on and leave the parking lot.
Turning back west, I drive straight past the turn for the highway,
speed down the main street, leaving the small town behind on the
other side. Now it's just country roads all the way.
    My
phone starts playing "Payphone" over and over again, and
the tone of insistent incoming texts never stop. I shut my phone off
without looking at the messages and slip it into a pocket of my
fatigues. I force myself to forget my phone - forget everything and everyone .
    My mind races as I
try to figure out where to go. I entertain the thought of just
killing myself, put a bullet in my own brain, but I quickly dismiss
it. I'm too much of a coward to do that. So I just drive and keep my
eyes open for a good place to hide out.
    I refuse to let myself think about anything else.
    About anyone else.
    I will protect my family, even if I have to protect them from myself.

Chapter
Eight
    Twenty miles or so
outside of Hill City I see a driveway, and in the distance, a house.
I turn on the road that will take me to it, driving slow and keeping
my eyes open for undead - and now, the dangerous living.
    "More
dangerous than you?" my conscience asks me.
    My body droops with
the realization that I am just as bad - if not worse - than those men in the truck were. No,
I would never do anything close to what Grit did, but I'm damn sure
not a good person anymore. I made it possible for that man to be
attacked by the undead. I forced it to happen. And I don't feel at
all sorry that the woman got her revenge...or for any of the rest of
it.
    Shaking my head and
refusing to listen to any more crap that my conscience might have to
say, I focus on my surroundings. I don't see any undead on the
property, so now I just have to worry about the house. I stop the
truck behind the house and just sit here, looking at the building.
It's not a two-story, but the house sits high enough from the ground
on cement that nothing can get in without using the stairs. Both the
front and back porches have about a dozen steps to reach the
platform, which makes me wonder if this house might be near water and
made to withstand minor flooding.
    This is perfect!
    Uh, well maybe
not.
    Your foot is
broke you idiot! How are you going to get up those stairs?
    Shut up! I'll
manage.
    I've
stopped between the house and a large two-car garage - which
will be great to hide the truck in - and am now just staring at the windows of the house, looking for
any movement behind the curtains.
    Nothing.
    My heart rate has
picked up even more just by sitting here, than it has since I made
the decision to take off. The reality that I'm truly all on my own is
setting in...and I'm pretty sure it was a stupid thing to do now. I'm
afraid to call out or honk the horn, because I don't want to attract
any undead - or even the living - that might be in the area. But I'm
afraid to get out and get my ass shot by someone inside the house
too.
    Damn, this
sucks.
    I guess I better
just do this. I can't stay in the truck forever.
    First things first,
I reload my