(http://www.tribute.ca/tribute_objects/images/stars/cherry_jones.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">CLAIRE ANDERSON</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Forecourt of a gas station in Wellington<br/><strong>With:</strong>Lily and Olivia, Marcus and Desi.<br/><br/>With all the girls bundled into the cruiser I waved to this unknown guy to get in the front seat. I hated inviting strangers into our group - there had been some heated and unproductive arguments back in Denver between cliques of survivors who argued endless plans and ideas and made too much noise... but right now we were flat out of options and had no time. I couldn't leave this pair here with - I noticed glancing over the car back towards the street - more hunched and stunted shapes lurching towards us.<br/><br/>With the guy in the front right seat I had to run around the hood of the car to get in teh driver's side. On that side the Hopper had almost reached the car. I fired a third shot that went into his neck. A gush of fould black-red matter and blood squirted out and with a guttral maon he went down, rolling about and spewing blood. It was revolting. Why didn't he die? Any normal person would have. I slid into the seat and cranked the engine before my door was shut. The big Chevy V8 rumbled to life and I  selected gear. The car lurched and bounced forward to ding a fender against a fuel pump, sending one of those plastic glove dispensers flying, the ones gas stations used to supply so customers filling their own cars wouldn't get the smell of petrol on their hands. The blue thin gloves spilled out and fluttered everywhere, all across the windshield.<br/><br/>There was a thump and a scratching noise behind as the former cashier-girl banged her fist on the side window. One of the girls shrieked. I revved the engine and the car roared away, tyres squealing. I did a full circle of the forecourt, right around all the pump stands and stopped on the gentle ramp that led back to the street. I wound my window down and took my gun from the glove shelf. Three bullets left in this cylinder. As the cashier and Charlie moved towards us across the forecourt I had a clear shot. Sticking my arms out of the wndow and holding the gun steady, peering carefully down the sights I paused.<br/><br/><em>I'm sorry, Charlie, I'm sorry. But no way will I leave you like this.</em><br/><br/>Then I squeezed the trigger. Two shots rang out, the first clipped Charlie's shoulder but the second caught him full in the face, a big spurt of blood gushed from the back of his head. He'd been such a strong person. Such a good face too. Kind. Caring.<br/><br/><em>Sorry Charlie...</em><br/><br/>I pulled my arms in and with another thump on the back of the car from the things that had arrived from along the street, drove out of the gas station and swung back west, towards the edge of town and away from the freeway.