by Brad Fawcett
Hank pulled into the gas station and drove up to the hatches for the underground tanks. In the passenger seat, his son Josh slept on a pillow pushed against the door. Hank popped the trunk and quietly exited the car.
Hank pulled a siphon from the trunk. On the end of the siphon, a garden hose was attached with duct tape. The hose was necessary to reach the last bits of fuel that could be found in the tanks.
Hank let out a huff as he turned the cap on the ground. These caps became more and more difficult to remove as the years passed. As he screwed it off, there was a small pop and the cap came loose, followed by a rush of foul odor.
Dammit, it’s gas.
An orange cap sat a few yards away. It probably contained the diesel fuel that Hank needed. Hank had switch to a diesel car two summers ago. Gas was becoming scares and he quickly discovered that the diesel reserves were practically untapped. Hank gathered his supplies and moved to the orange cap. A few quick turns, another pop, and he was met with a smell similar to paint fumes.
Hank lowered the hose into the hold. He could hear the end of the hose scraping the bottom of the tank. There wasn’t much left, but it should be enough reach the next stop. Hank walked back to the car and slid the siphon into the fuel tank. After a couple of pumps on the siphon, diesel started flowing up the hose.