It was early in the morning, but Karen struggled falling back asleep. Old, outdated diner booths rarely made for a good night's rest, nor did the endless worries she had been having ever since the initial outbreak and panic. She couldn't believe that the dead were walking, or that people she had known since her childhood were eating their neighbors. Was this truly the sickness the State Police were trying to quarantine off? What of her Michigan relatives; were they alive? Dead? For all Karen knew, they could've even be among the cannibalistic undead by now.
Kaylee was looking forward to graduating this year. God, I hope she and her parents made it out in time.
With an exhausted glimpse at her watch, Karen forced herself out of the booth she had been using as a bed and walked behind the counter to start brewing a pot of coffee for the group, feeling that she needed something to calm the nerves. Even if they were living a nightmare that was thought to be purely fiction, her instructors at FLETC stressed the importance of keeping a level head on your shoulders. Then again, they didn't quite prepare their class for the whole"zombies eating people" thing either.
"Good thing I don't have a problem with black coffee," Karen quietly mused as she dug through one of the creamer baskets sitting on the front counter. "But surely you have the good stuff somewhere, old man. Don't tell me you left us in the apocalypse with the choice of half and half or half and half."
Of course, that seemed to be the case for all of the counter bowls. Looking over at Jenkins' granddaughter, Katherine, Karen pondered asking her, feeling that if anyone knew where the good creamer was, she'd know.
Maybe I could ask where her grandfather's been, too. I'd hate for him to be mixed up with all of this.