Chapter Eight #4
“Ask her. Know for sure what you’re dealing with. If she hasn’t told anyone else, don’t. People will kill for gasoline right now, and the situation will get worse.”
She looked uncertain, and he wished she was more street savvy. “People here in the valley won’t—”
“Some of them will. Gasoline is money, and you have drug addicts here the same as everywhere else. Food doesn’t matter to
them as much as getting their next dose, nothing does. Are your tanks locked?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Eventually gangs and looters will start working their way here. Hell, if the population in the northern half of the country
has any sense, they’ll be walking south right now. Wears Valley isn’t on an interstate but some people will come through this
area. Start hiding what you have or you’ll lose it.”
She slowly nodded, her gaze turning inward as she processed the realization that the valley wasn’t as secure as she’d assumed.
“The gas is a problem. Ethanol gas is good for about three months, so you either use it or lose it. Pure gasoline is stable
much longer, but—”
“I have a pure gasoline tank,” she said. “Not a big one, but I keep it because people like pure gas for their lawn mowers
and such. It’s on the left side of the station, with a separate pump.”
He’d seen the small pump, and assumed it was for kerosene. That was a resource he hadn’t expected, and it was available because
she’d had the foresight to turn off her pumps. A couple of other stations in the valley had been pumped dry, with the owners
making as much money as they could while they could. Both views had merit.
“Do you have any fuel stabilizer in your store?”
“Some. Not much.”
“Okay.” He thought a minute. “It’s a balancing act. I won’t tell you to hoard the gasoline, because it’ll go bad. But if you
let people have access to it now, a good portion of them will use their generators right now, instead of waiting for colder weather. I say wait another month before you sell it, or barter with it. The weather will
be colder and they can save firewood by using the generators. Use the stabilizer when you sell the ethanol blend, but keep
the pure stuff for yourself.”
“That’s selfish.” She sighed. “And pragmatic. It isn’t just me, I have Carol and Olivia to think about.” Her smile this time
was crooked. “This survival-of-the-fittest stuff is challenging.”
It never had been for him, but Sela was made of gentler stuff. He doubted she’d ever been shot at; that made a difference.
“Anyway, I wanted to ask if you knew of a way to pump the gas out of the tanks, without electricity? I intended to check online
before . . . well, before . . . but I got busy and never did.”
“A suction pump system will do, like siphoning gas from a car tank. Let me know when you’re ready to let people have the gas,
and I’ll get something rigged up.”
“Thanks. I figured you’d know.”
She’d had confidence in him, even though she knew nothing about him, his background, his experience. Just like that, he absorbed
a hard punch to the chest, because his squad members had had confidence in him, followed his lead, looked to him to know what
to do. For the most part he’d carried out his missions and got his guys back alive, but his unit had absorbed casualties and
fatalities like every other unit. The deaths added up, and one day the weights of those deaths had been too heavy for him
to carry. All of it had crashed and burned for him, the dumb-ass orders, the incompetence of people in command, the cost paid
by his men and others like them.
He wanted to leave. Like the night they’d sat on the steps, he’d suddenly crossed a mental line and needed to get away from
everyone, be alone for a while—like a month or so. It was all he could do to remain seated, and only the fact that this was
Sela kept him there. Being here was his choice. Talking to her was his choice. He made himself finish the small amount of
tea left in his glass, because he didn’t want to offend her by being too abrupt.
“I should get back. I just wanted to make certain someone checked on the Livingstons,” he said as he stood.
She stood, too. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know.” She took a step toward the screen door and the movement
brought her close to him, so close her arm brushed against his abdomen. She faltered and stopped, as if the contact had rocked
her. He looked down at her, noting that the top of her head didn’t quite touch his chin, that her hand shook a little as she
reached out to open the door. His wrists were almost twice as thick as hers.
She looked up at him, and her brown eyes were wide, both soft and a little alarmed, as if she sensed what he was thinking.
He was thinking that he’d need to be careful with her, that he wanted to feel her pussy tightening around his dick, and that
he wanted to make her scream while she came. He could feel his expression changing, becoming hard and intent, knew he couldn’t
hide it from her.
“I need to get away from you,” he said softly. “Right now.”
She didn’t protest as he took the dog’s leash in his grip and went down the steps. He didn’t look back.