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Peter sat in the greasy diner’s corner booth, the dull hum of the overhead lights pressing against his temples. He stared into his black coffee, swirling the dregs but not drinking. The television flickered above the counter, the colors bleeding together, reading reports of far-off wars and disasters that had long ceased to matter. The world outside was always burning, but Peter's only concern now was food and then sleep, if it would ever come.
That’s when he heard the first shout. Frank, the wiry owner with a voice that grated like sandpaper, was arguing with someone at the far end of the counter. Peter glanced up, barely curious—until the yelling turned into a wet, gargled scream. A man was standing over Frank was biting into his neck like a starving animal, blood splattering onto the cracked linoleum floor. Frank’s hands, twitching, grasped at nothing. Time stalled, the horror unfolding in dreamlike stutters, as though Peter was watching it through fogged glass. The other customers stood frozen, caught between disbelief and terror, their faces contorted but motionless.
Bobby Joe, the local hunter who never left home without his pistol, fumbled to draw it, hands shaking. The first shot rang out, echoing through the diner like the blast of a cannon, but it missed—wildly. Shattered glass rained down as the front window exploded, a sharp crack cutting through the chaos. Someone screamed as another patron hit the ground from the stray shot. Peter’s breath hitched. His body moved on instinct, hands fumbling for the crumpled bills in his jacket. He tossed them onto the table, barely noticing as they fluttered uselessly to the floor. His feet carried him to the back exit, slipping into the alleyway as if it had always been his escape route.
The cold night air hit his face, a slap of reality, but the nightmare still clung to him. His mind replayed the scene, over and over, like a broken reel that refused to stop spinning. Frank’s blood, the man’s teeth sinking in, the deafening gunshot. All he knew was he needed to keep moving. Far away. He had to run before the nightmare caught up.
