Gunnar set up the small propane stove in the aisle near his cart of survival tools while Trevor went off in search of the food items for the smores. There were pretty easy picture instructions on the stove, so he figured out the set-up pretty quickly.
Trevor came back and handed him a fork with a bright white marshmallow pierced by its prongs. He showed Gunnar how to hold it just over the flame burning bright blue.
"I wish my ex-wife could see me now," Trevor said with a sigh.
"Wife one or two?" Gunnar asked.
Trevor chuckled. "One, she said I was never fit to be around kids."
"I'm a not really a kid."
"Well, you're not really an adult either," Trevor said with a laugh. "I could have been a great dad."
"Yeah," Gunnar agreed, although he really had nothing to compare him to. "What stopped ya?"
"One thing or another kept coming up, neither wife really wanted them. I guess those were just the cards I was dealt."
They kept roasting marshmallows over the propane stove. Gunnar watched them go from white to golden over the next few minutes. Trevor would move the fork every time the flames licked the sides of the marshmallow so it wouldn't go up in flames.
"Now that these are almost ready, we need chocolate," Trevor said, standing to look through the cart that Gunnar had filled a few days ago.
"No chocolate, man. I didn't make it that far. Ya stopped me here, remember?"
"Yeah, I'll go get some then. You can eat those in the meantime; it's a bit of a trek to get to the front of the store."
Gunnar waited until the marshmallow was a bit darker, like the colour of Mischa's eyes. He had to stop thinking about her or he'd go crazy. She was gone and that was the end of the story. He pulled off the marshmallow and stuck it in his mouth. The thing was sugary as could be, but not half bad. He stuck another one on the fork and started at it again.
Two minutes later, there was a smash. Gunnar flicked off the stove and stood up to see what was going on. It sounded like glass had been smashed at the front of the store, which was strange because Trevor wouldn't bother with that for a chocolate bar.
There were more voices, yelling and a loud thwack before he heard someone fall to the ground. Gunnar couldn't help but think that sounded a lot like the sound of a 2 by 4 cracking against a human skull. One of far too many memories he'd have for life.
"Hey, you scrawny lying bastard. Come show us your pretty little face so we can rearrange it."
Shit! The pissed off bandana gang must have realized that he had double crossed them with the gas-o-tea mixture. He quickly gathered everything he needed and shoved it in the oversized backpack that rich people used when they wanted to be homeless. It fit a hell of a lot. But, he really had no idea what he was shoving in there since he was moving too quickly, in such a panic. He quietly shut the propane stove and awkwardly shoved it in too, not bothering to disassemble to propane tank.
There was a loading dock at the back where he could sneak out before the bandanna gang found him. He had to grab the gas can to erase any trace that he had been here. It would be nice if he could come back at some point, once they moved on. If they moved on...
He didn't realize he was shaking until his hands fumbled with the lock on the loading dock door. He looked behind him, but no one was there. Calm down ya spaz, he told himself. They had no reason to actually believe he was here and wouldn't be barricading the exits or anything. This gang didn't seem smart enough to do that. They weren't as organized as the Shadows were and this was probably just to scare him.
The door opened to a blast of very cool air and darkness. Good, it would help with his cover for the night. He remembered the layout of the landscape and headed for the small access road that crossed the main highway, stepping over the coals of the fire he and Trevor had built. The gravel road wouldn't be a place he assumed the gang would go. He would have to walk off to the side to avoid any traffic that should come his way. The rain continued to splatter down on the rocks and soak the big bag. He walked quickly as the backpack's straps dug into his shoulders.
The night was calming. The coyotes called out in the night and the breeze ran through along with the rain that had slowed down. Few other sounds met his ears. He would keep walking until morning or until he came across a place offering decent shelter. Moving would keep him warm tonight and avoid the need to walk through the daytime heat. The jacket he slipped out of the pack was nice, soft and new with tags hanging from the zipper. It smelled like new clothes, a mix of chemicals and cleanliness. It was also saving his ass from this rain.
Every time his mind began to sway from his survival plans, he steered it back into focus. This wasn't the time to be thinking about people who used to be part of his life or Trevor. This was about finding a way to feed, clothe, and water himself for the rest of his life. He needed a permanent solution now because things weren't about to change for the better. They would only get worse from here. That was how life worked.
He remembered watching riots in Egypt when he was a little kid and then the ones all over the world when droughts would turn people into animals over drinking water. The rich had no problem watching the poor die of thirst while they watered their golf courses and sat in their Jacuzzis. Bastards. The same thing would happen soon with food and fuel between the survivors. The remaining bones of past infrastructure were all that he could pick away at until the day he stopped breathing.