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.Maybe we should stop there and see what’s going on.”I was hesitant.We came across a bunch of military renegades at Newark Airport in New Jersey before we entered Manhattan six months previously.The situation hadn’t gone well.“Are you sure about that? Last time we encountered military guys, you got shot and I got drugged, remember?” I was sure the injection of mescaline I’d received at the Airport had some bizarre, long-term effect on me and helped cause my hallucinations.Smith pondered over the map for a moment.“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered.“But let’s keep the Air Station in mind.We may have to head there at some point if the shit hits the fan in the city.”I had a horrible premonition that things were bound to get heavy in New Orleans.Tall, chain wire fences were torn open in places where people had either cut their way in or tried to escape to our left of the river bank.Several wandering zombies meandered a few feet inside the fence.One or two were dressed in remains of work clothes.I thought the area around a military establishment would have been a safe haven but it would take only one infected person to spread the disease.Then, trying to flee the base if it was in lock-down would have been virtually impossible.I remembered how difficult it was for us to get away from Newark Airport while being held by a renegade military faction.“Looks like your Air Station was overrun, Smith.”Smith gazed out of the window, studying the remains of the fence line.“I really thought they’d be somebody left there.”“Maybe they’re all hidden away, living inside quarantined buildings,” I suggested.“Maybe,” Smith muttered.His thoughts were somewhere else.A flashing red light on the control panel and an audible warning alarm broke the silence.“What the hell is that?” I shouted over the noise.Smith took a look at the control panel and pressed a button, silencing the alarm.“We’re low on diesel, that’s the warning alarm.”“Have we got enough to reach the harbor?”“Depends on where we’re headed.The river runs right through the city.New Orleans is a big place, you know.” Smith brushed by me and headed to the door.“Whatever we’re going to do, we better let his Lordship down below know.He’s in charge; he can make the fucking decisions.”He ducked out of the door and strolled across the floor to the lower deck hatch.I slowed the boat to a crawl to try and conserve the diminishing fuel supply.Smith reappeared on the upper deck few seconds later, followed by Tippy and Headlong, who still carried the assault rifle and hobbled along with the aid of his make-shift crutch.They headed towards the control cabin with Headlong muttering and cursing.“You can see the warning alarm for yourself, dipshit,” Smith said, pointing to the flashing light on the control panel as they burst through the door.“Fucking guy thinks we’re jerking his chain,” he said to me with raised eyebrows.“Watch your mouth, you schmuck,” Headlong growled.“Remember who’s got the fucking gun.” He took a glance at the flashing warning light.“Fucking retards were supposed to keep this tub gassed up.”“They obviously forgot,” I said, with a hint of sarcasm.“Well obviously,” Headlong mocked.“Thing is, what are we going to do about it?”“Where did your mob keep the diesel?” Smith asked.“Back at the old slaughterhouse, of course,” Headlong snapped.“We got gallons of marine diesel back there.Too far to turn back now.”“Well, obviously,” I mimicked.“Don’t get smart with me, friend,” Headlong threatened, thrusting the rifle barrel in my direction.“Have we got enough fuel to get where we’re going?” Smith asked.“We’re not far from the city limits according to the map.You’re the only one who knows the location.” He pointed at Headlong.“Where are we? Where’s the damn map?”Smith turned to the counter top and picked up the map.“We’re right by the Naval Air Station, here.” He placed his finger on our location.Headlong leant on his crutch and snatched the map out of Smith’s hands.He studied the distance from our position to the undisclosed destination and shook his head.“No way will we make it up there,” he said.“We’ll need to get gas from somewhere and I reckon they’ll be some in that there military camp.” He pointed out the window to the battered fences.“That’s an air station,” Smith said in a slow tone like he was talking to an idiot.“This boat runs on marine diesel, not aviation fuel, understand?”Headlong sniffed, ignoring Smith’s mockery.“Still should have a diesel dump for the trucks and stuff.This boat will still run on regular diesel.”“The place is crawling with zombies,” I protested.“It’ll be a suicide mission going in there.”Headlong let out a wheezy laugh.“And guess who’s going in to get the gas?”Smith and I exchanged glances.No prizes for guessing that he and I would have to go on a diesel hunt without any guns.“That’s right, fellas.” Headlong smiled and nodded
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