Lady luck had smiled upon them today, that Nick was sure of now. He and Ro had ventured into the service area of the dealership in search of a hose or some piping to help their efforts in pumping the tanks of the other vehicles on the lot, and in their exploration they stumbled across an entire cache of full, bright red two-gallon gas cans.
Or well, mostly full. Some of them were a little short by a pint or so...
They had been stacked hidden behind a large plastic green tarp, alongside two foldable camping chairs and a couple discarded pump shotguns. Several empty and loaded shells alike rolled freely around on the smooth concrete, along with a medley of smashed beer bottles of various brands. It looked a shoddy set-up at best. He didn't know who had done it, or what happened to said individual or individuals that caused them to leave it all for the taking, but that was a-ok with him since they were the ones benefiting from having discovered it.
He and the Ro had taken turns carting the numerous containers to their vehicle, keeping watch for one another as they poured the gas into the tank until it reached capacity, placing the three extras in the back beside the medical supplies that served to separate them from the loaded guns. No need to test Miss Luck.
A small mizzle had turned into a steadier light rain, and Nick found himself even more thankful for their acquisition that would shelter them from the errant weather. Nick chose to take one last perusal of the garage while Rochelle sought refuge in the hybrid, wanting to see if he could grab anything else of use that might be hanging around. He made thorough search, finding a case of Bud that would likely make the kid happy and a couple boxes of shotgun ammo for Coach. Even found a couple packs of Marlboro cigarettes; he decided to take them though he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with them… he'd quit about the time most people started, eighteen, and hadn't touched one since. He was just about to depart with the supplies when his eyes caught on a little metal box shoved under a refrigerator-sized standing toolbox.
The cardshark set down his newly-found possessions and kneeled to pry it out from underneath the heavy roller. It was a lockbox, made for stashing paper currency, and it was quite hefty. His curiosity piqued and he stuffed it under an arm to grab back up the other things; he'd pick the lock on it later.
A shotgun cocked behind him and Nick froze as a rough, grating voice followed the threatening sound. "Drop it, pretty-boy."
Nick turned slowly and set everything back on the floor, fairly certain the command was in reference to the lockbox, but better safe than sorry. His green eyes flitted over his captor quickly, sizing him up. He was a middle-aged white guy about like himself, only significantly more scraggly around his jaw and ears, slightly taller but more hunched; he had a wild-eyed and broken appearance, a large bloodied mess on his forehead, a limp in his right foot. The apocalypse, it would seem, had not been good to him. Figures the first person they came across in two weeks had to be half-dead and half-crazy to boot. He eyed the double-barrel pointing his direction.
"Right then, I seen you an' yer woman stealin' cans from me," the fellow drawled. Apparently when it had been the two of them, they had been too much a threat, but now that it was just him, the native had decided to 'come out of hiding' and get the drop on him. Nick couldn't help but chuckle at the concept of Rochelle as 'his woman'. The man obviously didn't take kindly to his laughter however, rattling his shotgun to get his attention. "Hey. Gas's eighteen bucks a gallon. You got enough to cover that?"
The conman's face curled into a wide grin, now piecing together the little 'operation' that had been going on in the back of the dealership garage. Rip desperate people off, sell them cans short the amount they actually 'paid' for. Charming. Though apparently not well executed, considering there were two camp chairs and only one man. "Of course," Nick smiled. "You take plastic?" he joked with casual air, reaching for his back pocket.
"Greenbacks, or ya get a stomach full of buckshot," the straggler snarled, waving his weapon, the gambler's flippancy obviously going over his head.
"You know," Nick mused, "if I were in your current position, I'd probably be bargaining more for medical supplies and a couple decent meals." He motioned his head at the scattered beer bottles. "I don't think you're going to last long with your injuries and nothing to drink but piss-water," he stated with calculated logic and a raised eyebrow. In the back of his mind he wondered how long it would be before Ro came looking for him; he wasn't too keen on the muzzle still aimed at his torso.
"Jimmy went to go git food," the man snapped argumentatively. He trembled slightly, still looking furious, but a hint of fear had settled in the frenzied blue orbs.
"Yeah… how long ago?" Nick frowned.
The native clutched his gun tighter, finger playing about the trigger. "That's none'a yer business! Now gimme e'erythin' ya got! I won't be toleratin' no more stallin'!"
"Everything?" Nick chuckled. "That's a bit of a step up from the three hundred and twenty-four I owe. Or more like three hundred and six, since all nine cans were short about a pint." If you wanted to be really precise, it was actually only $303.75 since there were eight pints to a gallon. But either way, he'd lost his wallet in the drink when 'smokey' decided to take him for a swim.
That, though, set the man off. He gave a yowl of rage and Nick detected the flinch of his trigger arm, throwing himself to the side just in time to avoid the shot that fired where he previously stood only a split-second before. He was probably lucky as fuck the asshole had been drunk. He quick-drew his right Deagle and nailed him clean in the forehead before he could turn and fire off the second round in the other barrel, no remorse to the action at all.
The commotion of the two fired shots, however, did get attention, and he was shortly joined by all three of his compatriots, looking alarmed as he holstered his smoking gun.
"Holy shit!" Ellis commented, stepping back away from the dead man's body as soon as he'd looked down and seen it.
Coach gave a grunt, brown eyes slowly examining the situation. "Nicholas, did you just shoot someone who weren't infected?"
Nick felt his lips pull into a tight line at the accusation. "Had just about the same intent to kill as one," he muttered.
Ellis' blue eyes went round as dinner plates. "He shot at'cha…?" he stated incredulously. "Goddamn, man, yer lucky ya ain't dead as a doornail instead'a him!"
Yeah, thanks for that Lady Luck. He gave a small snort, folding his arms.
"Where the hell did he come from?" Rochelle wondered aloud, her head shaking incredulously. "We searched every corner of this garage."
"Beats me, sweetheart," Nick shrugged, not particularly in the mood to re-live the moment to make any guesses. He turned to pick the lockbox back up from the floor, but before he could, Ellis rushed forward and threw his muscular arms around his middle.
The resulting squeeze just about crushed his ribs and drove all the wind out of him, but the implication of the southerner's gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Nick gave a cough to regain his breath as Ellis let him go, and there was a moment of silence between all four survivors, along with a few passed glances.
"Guess it weren't quite as safe 'round here as you'd hoped," Coach said sternly to the younger man. Nick lifted an eyebrow at the odd put-down as the football player turned to lumber off towards the car through the rain.
Ellis dropped his gaze, frowning hard, little brow wrinkled into a knot. Nick would have mistaken it for hurt had he not been able to see the fire in his blue eyes, the younger man repressing anger rather than holding back sadness. "Said there weren't no zombies…" he mumbled, only Nick close enough to catch it past the pitter-pattering on the asphalt.
"Come on, sweetie…" Rochelle said softly, extending her hand to the youngest survivor, bangles jingling and expression kind.
The mechanic nodded and took it, offering her his cap with his other hand. A thin eyebrow lifted on her head and he quickly explained with gentlemanly charm, "So yer hair don't get messed up."
She laughed and took it, plopping it over her head. "Thanks, Ellis."
"Hey, what about my hair?" Nick quipped.
The hick shot him a look with an overly-large grin.
They headed back to the hybrid at a jog to keep from getting too soaked. Ellis even held the door open for the girl before hopping behind the wheel and snatching the keys out from where they were lodged between the roof and sun visor. "Don't even hafta hotwire her this time!" Ellis laughed, giving the fob a little jingle. And Nick was glad to see the kid already returned to his beaming self, but he had to wonder what had been said inside the dealership between football player and mechanic that had them at one another's throats.