The young girl seemed to utter more words than Mark could care to hear, but she seemed afraid and lost, uneven. Mark let out a brief sigh as his conscience kicked in and made him suppress his complaints, it was either he took this girl to a safer place or leave her here for dead. His wife wouldn't have wanted that. He turned his head leftwards as the two walked, he then let out one last sigh, and readied his wrench. 
"Rachel would do for now. Rachel sounds good, I can work with that. Keep it down, I don't want us outnumbered by walkers and eaten. We will speak more when it is safe, move." 
Dying while being thirsty, not an option, Mark thought. -Heh-. The two had almost reached the gas station, Mark pulled out his wrench and gestured Rachel to ready herself. 
"Put that gun away kid, stick to the blade. We are near the city, god knows what a gunshot would attract." 

They arrived at the gas station, it was abandoned. There was an old pickup truck that was halfway through the small grocery shop. Flat tires, some grass grew around them, this wasn't recent. There was a body laying on a chair just by the sign that said 'Monty's Corner, gas and chips'. Mark couldn't tell the facial features of the body, its head was blown open, somebody did this. The scene at the gas station was horrid, the place was probably looted, to the very last straw perhaps. Nevertheless it had to be searched, when you are thirsty you are desperate. Mark walked closer to Rachel and looked at her face for a moment. God. 
"Rachel, I will go inside and check whatever is left, you stay here and keep my bac-- just stay here and watch out. You can look around Monty over there, check his pockets," Mark pointed at the body sitting in the chair, assumed it was Monty, "Be careful."

Watch my back. He almost said it, he almost relied on a stranger, he almost trusted a nobody. But it was just a kid. He was conflicted again. He took one last look at Rachel then slowly moved towards the pickup. Mark stayed careful as he moved closer to the pickup's door, the glass was broken, there was a dead body in the driver's seat. Brains all over the windshield, a neck hang in the air, the head was completely blown off. Shotgun. There were evidence of heavy firepower, the other door had its window completely broken, some gunshot holes in the leather that covered the door's interior. Mark looked around, there was nothing salvageable, only an old cassette tape that said "Moonlight Mixtape".
Mark walked into the store, it was Chaotic, and looted to the last bag of Doritos. There was absolutely nothing edible, or usable, or smokable. Mark let out an angry fit. 
"GOD DAMN IT". His lungs felt heavy, his little cry didn't grab any undead attention, he wiped his lips and moves over to the broken fridge. Looted. Beer, looted. Water, looted. There was a carton of expired skimmed fat milk, Mark grabbed it and shoved it in his Jacket's pocket. He kept looking around for any expired trash.