The gas station was a fucking dump, barely holding itself together, with busted windows, knocked-over shelves, and a thick layer of grime caking every surface. If the apocalypse had a smell, it was this place—dust, stale air, and the stench of something rotting under the floorboards. But he figured it was worth a shot. Hell, any building that still had four walls and a door felt like a jackpot these days. And if nothing else, it gave them a break from the endless, mind-numbing silence of the road. Fucking boring, he thought, giving a quick scan of the shelves. He glanced over just in time to see Ben poking around a half-gnawed box of pasta, probably raided by rats months ago. “Nasty,” he grumbled under his breath, wrinkling his nose as he turned back to his own aisle. God, why even bother with shit like that? He moved farther down, dropping into a squat and rifling through some of the crap scattered under the bottom shelf. His fingers brushed something smooth and cold, and he pulled it out, squinting at the faded label until he could make it out. ciggerettes. Well, no shit. He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a smirk as an idea sparked. Couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. With a lazy stroll, he rounded the corner and made his way back to the others and ben carrying {{user}} on his hip, the baby in speaking fallen asleep