Something was bothering Junie, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was something about the town’s name… where were they again?
She knew she was in a police station: there were uniforms everywhere. Also bodies, but that wasn’t typical of a police station, unless it was a really, really bad police station. There was an unpleasant smell of blood, rot and gun smoke on the air, and the sounds around the room weren’t much better: mostly a smattering of moans and panicked jabbering.
Junie turned to Shavian, who was sitting quietly in a chair, wide-eyed and muttering. “He was right,” she said to no one in particular. “He was right all along…”
“Shavian,” Junie said, sitting down next to the redhead and putting her arm around her shoulder. The younger woman looked at her, grateful for the comfort. “Shavian, where are we again?”
Shavian quirked an eyebrow, and the snarkiness returned. “I should have known you were too dim to understand human emotion… We’re in Portland, Junie.” Maybe having someone to be irritated with was what she needed because Shavian seemed to snap out of her torpor, and she got up off the bench and stormed away.
Portland.
Portland.
What is in Portland?
Coffee is in Portland.
Oh, hi,Bob.
You’re not just going to let the coffee go, are you?
Treeville Coffee Company, one of the best in the world, was based here. It all came back to Junie in a flood. A few years back she’d met the founder of the company, Don Christianson, and she thought at the time she might have been happy having his babies. Instead she planned to honor him with a very special brew named after him, but that hadn’t panned out either. As it turned out, civets were very hard to get a hold of and the Seattle weather just didn’t agree with them. But that was an issue for another time…
She had other things to worry about: if the zombies were here, Don was in danger. So was the coffee. She must save Don’s coffee babies!
Well, maybe not the babies but the coffee, definitely, Bob said.
A little ways away, Elliott, Roger and Fipps were talking with two cops… Well, if you could consider it talking when one guy only used a single syllable at a time. Fipps looked up and saw her, smiling at her with a little wave. They looked like they had everything under control. And they were only worried about the beer. What about the coffee?
Resolute, Junie stood.
Don’t forget your mug, Bob said. Junie took up her mug and made her way through the station, stepping over fallen zombies and men alike. She didn’t even hesitate as she walked out the door, and no one noticed her leaving, or the fact that she pulled on a beige trench coat from the coat rack by the door, giggling as she hunched her shoulders like a world-weary detective.