Apocalypse Of The Damned (BMC fanfic)

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A/n: Okay, so first off, thank you guys so much for all the positive comments! I'm glad you guys like it so far! Second, I'm super sorry I haven't been updating my books recently, I've just been really stressed and busy with my mental illnesses. I'll spare you the details, but I'm back now~!

Embers floated through the air, the only sound that filled the night being the crackling of the fire in front of the two. Michael watched Cameron trying to stay awake, her head bobbing up and down. 

Michael chuckled, standing up and scooping her up in his arms. She fell asleep in the few seconds he held her, lying peacefully in the backseat of his cruiser. He shut the car door, returning to the fire. He sat against a log, staring into the fire absentmindedly, lost in his own thoughts. 

What if he didn't find Jeremy? What if he didn't find anyone, and it was just him and Cameron forever? Or at least until they died. Cameron has to grow up with this. How will that affect her when-- or if --this all blows over? How would this affect him? What if he did find Jeremy, but he was already dead? What if Jeremy went back to their neighborhood and Michael was gone? What if--

...He felt his cheek, realizing that he'd been crying. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. He doused the fire, getting into the car to keep moving. He figured that there was no point in staying where they were, because he wouldn't get to sleep.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Cameron woke up seeing a field outside her window. Michael was setting cans up on a fence, god knows where he got them, and smiled when he saw that she was awake. She got out, rubbing her eyes against the sudden light. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was holding out a pistol. She stared first at it, then at him. He shook his hand, and she hesitantly took the gun. It was cold and heavy, and she felt uneasy with it.

They spent hours with the weapon. Michael taught her how to use it, and how to tell the difference between living and undead. It wouldn't be too hard, but she still had to know. She practiced for a while, beaming at Michael whenever she'd hit one of the cans. He'd always beam back.

After a long while--perhaps a good few hours--they got back in the car and started driving again. Michael heard a familiar beeping and groaned. 

"What's that mean?" Cameron asked, staring at the 'Low Tank' light.
"We'll have to stop somewhere." Michael said, silently thanking the universe that he didn't have to pay for gas anymore.
He stopped at the first gas station he saw, pulling up to one of the rickety gas pumps to salvage as much as he could. He tried each one, but each time was met with disappointment. Just as Michael was about to give up and leave, he hear a man's voice.

"You won't find any gas in those."

Michael looked up at an older man with gray hair and a kind smile. He was tall and round, holding a shotgun in his hands. It looked like he'd just come from the convenience store. 

"Why not?" Michael asked, stepping in front of the window of the passenger seat, hiding Cameron. 

"Empty. Only gas 'round here's in these ol' tanks." He lowered the butt of his gun, tapping a few red Jerry cans next to him.

Michael looked down at them, then up again. "Well, could we have one?"

"Well, sure," The man smiled, giving Michael a bit of hope. However, the hopeful feeling fizzled out at the man's next words. "For a price."

"What do you want?" Michael asked, his hand closing around a pistol in his back pocket.

The man leaned to the side a bit, trying to look around Michael. "Well, she's a doll, ain't she?"