3. Farren
Farren
O ne Week Later.
I sighed heavily as I looked down at my cooling mug of coffee. I found myself at yet another truck stop, this time hundreds of miles from where I last took any form of lingering rest.
Ever since I had fled the darkness at the last town I called my temporary home, I rested only when I absolutely had to. Sleeping only when my body couldn't move another step, ducking into gas stations, truck stops, and fast food restaurants to satiate my remaining needs.
Now I found myself in a medium-sized city, just waiting until I could wake up enough to stumble my way to the bus depot without looking like the walking dead.
On the wall behind the counter where I sat hung a small television playing the news, both local and countrywide. Normally, I would ignore something like that, what with all the negativity that usually took up air time. However, when I glanced up, I saw the current story was about the town I had just fled.
The warehouse where I worked was no longer standing, though the missing toll was incredibly low. Only about half of the staff that would have been on site around the time of the attack had gone without a trace. So at least, while I may have lost my home, I was able to save a few lives. I guess, in the end, that was the most crucial part.
I sighed as I took a swig of the now room-temperature beverage before me as I watched the news change topics. Back to more standard topics, the upcoming election, featuring the business mogul making another run at the presidency.
A great yawn escaped my lips as my vision grew fuzzy in my effort to stay awake and upright at the diner counter. I swear that though the screen blurred some words came in bright and clear, words that didn't seem to make a lick of sense to my exhausted brain. Spell. Hallow. New York. Gather. Coven. Family.
That last word shot alertness through my brain as I bolted upright and rubbed my eyes to clear away the fog of sleep.
“Maybe you should consider getting a room at the hotel next door, love. That is if you’re so tired that you can’t even stay awake long enough to order your dinner.” The waitress, an older lady, looked down at me from the other side of the counter with her notepad in hand. “You feelin’ okay, darlin’? You’re looking a little pale.”
I nodded before placing an order for the first thing I could focus on enough to read.
Was that what I wanted to eat? No. Did I even want, or possess the energy to eat? Again, no. However, I also knew that the moment I gave my body half the chance, I would find myself passed out for several days. So, I decided that the plan would be to order the first thing I could. Eat said food once it was delivered. Mosey my skinny, white ass over the hotel suggested by the kindly waitress, obtain a room and sleep off the last week of running for my life. How hard could that be?