Mornings within the walled off, reclusive world are the worst part of an already fucked up life. The smell of decay mixed with body order, sprinkled with a constant moaning.

The moaning was worse then the stench at times. A twisted symphony of pain expressed in guttural “Ohhhhs” all day and night.

Tommy stared at the dangling plaster above his head. The room had seen better days but as was the world.

Zombies milled under his window waiting like dogs hungry for breakfast

“Tommy!” Shouted Mary , the station chief. “We have a breach! Get the hell down here.”

Tommy leapt out of bed and dressed. He pulled a leather gun strap from the door. Placed two pistols within the holders, strapped the leather to his waist and chest. His bedroom was upstairs. The stairs lead to the kitchen.

The kitchen was immaculate and cooking on the polished stove was a skillet filled with rice, onions, peas and carrots. On a counter to the left was a dozen beautifully polished red candied apples.

“Tommy, I need a hand!” A woman pleaded. Tommy stared at candied apples wishing to take a big bite.

“I’m coming… I will be there in two shakes.”

Tommy pushed open the kitchen door to the restaurant. A large counter stretched from left to right, on the counter sat a neatly placed set of napkin containers and utensils.

In front of the counter was a row of tables, chairs and a middle-aged woman attempting to hold back a mob of zombies with a large sheet of plate glass that had been pushed in.

“We can’t lose this station.” He looked up to see the entire window had slipped from the frame. The glass was holding but the size of the sheet made it almost impossible to prevent the invasion of the madness. Men, woman, and other creatures once thought to be fantasy, stricken with a rage against the living.

“Oh my god, how did this happen?” Tommy asked as he attempted to help her push the mob back.

“They got lucky. They always get lucky,” the woman said as she grabbed a tall bar chair from beside the counter and wedged it between the counter and the glass.

“Mary, we can get through this,” Tommy encouraged.

“Fuck off, with your patronage and false encouragement,” Mary shot back with a growl.

Tommy laughed. He pulled a knife from a scabbard, on the gun strap near his shoulder, and began to thrust the knife into the temple of as many angry zombies as he could.

The punctured zombie stopped fighting and fell limp, which wasn’t helpful because they prevented Mary from closing the window.

Tommy began to pull the twice dead zombie from the window. He stabbed a few then repeated the process. The floor was littered with bodies. Tommy and Mary managed to pull the glass into the diner. They wedged the glass flat against the small slices of lumber keeping it from falling into the parking lot.

A parking lot filling with undead due to the noise and activity.

“We have to get this sealed up,” Tommy said as he held the window forward. He watched as the glass bounced in and out with the slapping of vicious hands against the window.

“I will grab the extra pieces the Network sent. That should work perfectly.

“Is that why we pay dues? So the Network can send us pieces of wood to help us seal up crappy stations. I’m so tired of this life, Mary.” Tommy complained. “I just want to live without the obligations.”

Mary disappeared for a moment then returned with a selection of wooden pieces. They both installed a frame around the bottom and sides of the window to prevent the barrage of meaty punches from pushing the window back in.

“Listen,” Mary said as she began to reset the tables and chairs.

“Your 23 years old, born within Station 14…”

“Station 13.” Tommy corrected but Mary returned a stern look.

“14…” she replied then added. “You were not born outside this zoo. You know nothing of crap. Try having freedom then being in-prisoned and in fear of your life the rest of it. I long for what I had 25 years ago every day.”

“You know nothing of freedom.”