Chapter Thirteen: What Just Flew By?

Beside him, Madison, who was gathering toiletries and razors into a plastic bag, heard the sound of chewing and quickly poked his head out to call to Gavin.

“Enjoying your food, buddy? Don’t forget about me!”

“Mm-hmm, just about to finish. Have a Coke first and refresh yourself.”

Gavin tossed a capped ice-cold Coke toward him, and Madison deftly caught it with gentle hands.

For football players, throwing and catching are second nature—even if you threw them a soft lump of something unpleasant...

Well, okay, that wouldn’t really work, and no one sane would throw that.

In any case, Madison took a big gulp of the icy Coke and immediately exhaled with relief.

“Damn, that feels fucking amazing!”

“Even if you asked me to clear out this whole store, I wouldn’t run out of energy right now. It’s exhilarating!”

With that, Madison quickly took another swig of the cold drink.

But just as he was hydrating, Gavin suddenly frowned and glanced toward the shattered glass.

From that direction, he thought he heard a faint engine sound.

Gavin immediately set down his combat knife, switched the burger to his left hand, took a fierce bite, then drew his gun with his right and headed toward the door.

“Madison!”

He called out, then pushed open the convenience store door and made his way to the gas pumps.

Inside the shop, Madison heard his name, silently set down the Coke and the bag, grabbed his shotgun, and stood at the entrance.

Under their alert watch, a Ford F-150 suddenly roared past at no less than 100 mph, speeding off toward Dallas.

Vroom!

The engine noise swept swiftly past the gas station.

Madison gaped, holding onto the doorframe in shock.

“Fuck, what just flew by?”

“Haha, good one,” Gavin replied with a smirk.

Watching the Ford’s retreating silhouette, Gavin stepped back a few paces with his gun in hand and joined Madison.

“But now’s not the time for jokes. We have to move quickly. I’m worried that truck just brought back the zombies that were lured away from the gas station—or maybe even more.”

“Uh...” Madison squinted hesitantly and cautiously asked, “That truck was too fast, way faster than us. Even if the zombies heard the engine, they couldn’t catch up, right?”

“True, they can’t catch up. But have you tested how long zombies will chase a sound once they detect it?”

Gavin replied while holstering his pistol and biting into his burger.

Convenience store burgers aren’t gourmet—thicker buns than KFC’s, smaller cheese slices and patties—but Gavin ate it with relish.

Not because he was hungry, but because his stomach was still suffering from the alcohol.

Feeling the burger’s filling effect, Gavin continued to explain to Madison.

“At the estate, whenever there’s a noise that attracts zombies, they quickly gather at the source because the sounds come from fixed locations.”

“But if the fixed source is replaced by a moving one, and the source moves faster than zombies can chase...”

“Then the zombies who can never actually reach the source—do they stop when the sound disappears, or do they keep moving in the direction where the sound vanished?”

Here, Gavin patted Madison’s shoulder.

“Until we witness it ourselves, we shouldn’t base our actions on guesswork or luck. This is survival, not a Mark Twain adventure. I don’t like to take unnecessary risks...”

“You don’t like risks, I get it,” Madison interrupted, nodding firmly.

Gavin smiled with relief and went back inside to pour himself another Coke.

He wasn’t worried about Madison’s thinking—after all, football is the most tactical sport in the world.

Anyone who’s made a name for himself in football may not be a genius, but they can remember and understand tens of thousands of plays and make split-second decisions in chaotic games.

As long as Madison didn’t get overly nervous, he rarely made mistakes—just like on the field.

Gavin swallowed the last bite of his burger, took a big gulp of ice-cold Coke, then gathered all the raw patties, buns, and even leafy greens into three large bags.

At the same time, the microwave beeped.

When Gavin pulled out the heated burger, Madison was loading four full bags into the truck bed.

Returning to the store, he found Gavin waiting with the burger in hand.

“Wow, honored! The team captain’s actually handing me a burger. Next time I towel off by the water cooler, my moves will be that much stronger,” Madison joked, taking a heavy bite.

After eating more than half the burger in one bite, Madison glanced behind Gavin and smiled wryly.

“Is that it?”

“Eat something to fill your stomach first. Or do you want to stuff yourself full and then, mixed with Coke, stop by the roadside to take a leak—risking zombie bites on your ass?”

Gavin snorted and continued scavenging the convenience store.

Madison shrugged without a word and swallowed the second bite whole.

Finishing the burger, he grabbed the empty Coke cup and refilled it to the brim.

After a good gulp, he burped contentedly and said to Gavin, who was packing cigarettes,

“This is the day I’ve had the most Coke since college.”

“I love football because it gave me so much, but I also hate it because it took away my happiness. Damn it!”

He slung the shotgun over his back and headed to the store’s storage room at the back.

Looking at the closed door, he knocked heavily to make sure there were no zombies inside.

Then he opened it and scanned the room, eyes falling on neatly stacked empty fuel cans along the wall.

These spare fuel cans are common in America and often appear in many games—square cans with a spout and a hose extension.

Madison reached out with a big hand, grabbed four cans, and brought them to the pump, trying hard to drain the fuel.

Their exploration was methodical—Gavin wasn’t lazy, and Madison wasn’t careless.

Before long, the T-Rex pickup bed was filled with their haul.

As he continued loading four barrels of diesel into the bed, Madison frowned and complained.

“Shit, so many cans—tomato, corn, beans, fruit, meat, soup, fish, shrimp...”

“Do I seriously have to live off these cans from now on?”

“Plus a dozen cans of oat flakes that taste like crap?”

He didn’t expect a response from Gavin, set down the fuel cans, and went back to refuel.

But as he headed back into the store, distant car noise made him stop abruptly.

“Gavin, there’s a car coming from the Dallas direction!”

He shouted and took the shotgun off his back, holding it in his arms.

Inside the store, Gavin, hearing Madison’s warning, put down the plastic bag filled with gloves, socks, and underwear, drew his gun, and stepped outside.

They exchanged a glance, Gavin listened carefully, then spoke with a strange expression.

“Old Mac, doesn’t that sound familiar to you?”

“Familiar?” Madison listened a moment, his eyes widening in surprise.

“That’s the Ford from earlier!”

As Madison concluded, the Ford speeding at least 100 mph roared in from the Dallas direction again.

As the vehicle closed in, Gavin rolled his eyes.

It had gotten even faster—now at least 112 mph!

The truck sped toward the gas station, and from inside came a rough, hoarse shout growing louder.

“Shut your fucking mouth, William, I don’t need you reminding me!”

“I just killed an entire film crew. You think I’m scared to kill you too? At least I’ll chop off your busted toes and shove them in your mouth!”

Vroom!

The Ford thundered past the gas station, its echoing roar lingering in the dim night sky, refusing to fade.

Listening to the fading sound, Gavin swallowed hard and exchanged a dumbfounded look with Madison.

Meeting Gavin’s gaze, Madison swallowed nervously and muttered,

“I guess he didn’t know about the zombies when he first drove toward Dallas.”

“I think you’re right...” Gavin began to reply—

Screech!!!

Before he could finish, a piercing screech of brakes rang out from afar.

The truck slammed to an emergency stop!