"My parents died in a car accident when I was a child. I must have been about nine then, my brothers were all younger, and poor Delilah was just barely out of diapers. There was no one left to raise us but Gramma Agatha, and she was not exactly your typical doting granny. She was the sheriff of this county back in a time where most women didn't work outside the home, much less wear a badge. She worked seven days a week - all of us kids were pretty much raised in their sheriff's station. I never saw her out of uniform, or without a gun strapped to her hip. I can't tell you how many times we ate cold chicken at her desk, chatting with the deputies over the police band as they drove their patrols. How many times she tucked us into bed in the empty holding cells. By the time I was eighteen, I couldn't sleep without the police band on - I was just used to the sound in the background. Even now, I sometimes lie awake in the night for hours before I can sleep. It haunts me knowing that there's no one out there looking out for us.
I heard the last of them die the night before we lost the power station. Poor Charlie... calling and calling for back-up that couldn't ever come, for men that were already dead. I actually considered fighting my way down to the station to get on the dispatch and tell him to get the hell out of there, to run - there was no way he could hold that barricade alone. but the zombies were just too thick. I couldn't get out.
And then the whole town went dark."
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