"This is Cassandra Wilkam's reporting in live from New York. Widespread terror has struck the heart of our country, spawning in our own fair state, spreading to Boston and Philadelphia in a matter of hours," The reporter looked over her shoulder. An explosion smoked the sky a few buildings back. She turned, blue eyes wide, nervous, struggling to focus. Her hands gripped tightly to the microphone, knuckles freckled white and fierce, anxious red. "The dead walk the Earth." She paused, almost as if she didn't believe what came from her mouth. "Roger. Zombies? Honestly?" Cassandra digressed and continued onward with what was prompted. "There have been allegations from a scientific underground group..." She struggled, plucking the microphone from her ear. There must have been a thousand reporters shouting in it, reporting their findings, screaming for mercy as mindless teeth found warm flesh. She chewed a manicured nail and looked once, twice behind her. In hindsight, everyone had a chance to see what they were dealing with.
"Oh my god, Roger," her voice was tight with terror, watching a man fall beneath four or five mangled, bloody zombies. His screams were enough for the camera man to reach forward and snag her wrist. The microphone dropped. The screen went in and out on partial, covering sneaker, heel and sidewalk, the view behind, what was in front.
--- To Rose... ---
That was all that Rose needed to see. She'd clicked the television off and scampered elsewhere. Everything stuffed in her car. It was first to Fowlerville to see if her mom was still alive. She hadn't gotten any calls from family. She'd packed all she could manage into her truck and booked it before traffic hit, taking the backroads down to the dentist office.
When she arrived, of course. The panic. The sterile (read: explosive) components inside. It could have only led to disaster. Her mother's Mazda was tipped over outside... and she was inside of the burning building. There had been many unfortunate events in the family, in Rose's life that she manage to stiffle the grief, get out of her own car and bust the window to the black Mazda. A tablet later, she had GPS. A dial later and she was on the phone, reaching her brother as she carefully watched the road. "Sam?"
"Y-yeah," her brother sounded as if he'd been crying for a long while. There was the tone of relief. He'd been worried about her. "Sam, I'm on my way. I'm not going to stop for anything but gas until I get there." An exchange of 'I love you's and 'I'll see you soon's was passed. She rested the phone between her legs and kept her eyes to the road, chewing her lip raw in a few places. There weren't zombies in Michigan. Not yet. But there would be soon. It used to be a good thing that they were surrounded by water. Now it seemed like the biggest curse.
She weaved through the streets of Chicago, passing rummaged cars, broken and burning homes. It was a half a mile past a zombie and her tire found the sharpest thing affordable on the road. The pop was loud, almost like a gunshot. "No. That is not what I wanted!," her voice trembled angrily. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing but knew that would not last. It was time to say goodbye to easy transportation. Backpack was snatched from the backseat, the dates of her Nana bumped hard against the lip of car door. "Ouch-" came a hiss through clenched teeth. Her messenger was taken from the passenger, phone tucked safely inside after a text of 'detour, be back on road soon, ly'.
By the time she arrived at the bar, there had been a few too many undead at the front for her comfort. She snaked through the alleyway to the back, wedged her bags through a window and made her way to the depths below. Wide eyes drew to the dark. It was the stock room. Liquor. Food. It was time to eat. Her entrance was a strange one, bags still with her. From the back, a few bundles of what-have-you in her arms. She bustled past Casper and Genesis with a thin glance up and down each of them, a tight smile, "Hi." Only stopping a second before she advanced behind the bar.