Grabbing the pot, she gave it a quick rinse at the nearby sink before filling it with more water and pouring that into the top of the machine. Then out of sheer force of habit, she grabbed a rag from under the sink and started wiping off the counter.
Harley watched without comment.
Marisa cleaned in silence, scrubbing the rag in small circles. It was a chore repeated so often she could have done it with her eyes closed. The waitress made her way down the counter, picking up and moving shakers and paper towel holders with automatic efficiency, while running the rag beneath them. The only sound in the darkened room came from the rain drumming against the windows and the rhythmic squeak of her rag on the countertop.
She never once glanced at the black figures in the windows.
It was something to do...something mechanical, requiring no thought...but in about a minute the inevitable happened and she reached the end of the table.
Marisa leaned forward and rested her weight on both hands gripping the edge of the counter. She stared at the polished surface, feeling six kinds of fool, before straightening and turning to face the shadowy man in the battered hat. She could barely make out his face in the dim yellow light filtering in, but it didn't take a genius to know he had been watching her throughout this entire little performance.
Putting her hands on her hips, she stared back at him for ten long seconds before finally speaking.
"Thank you," she spoke it like a challenge, "for saving my life in the store earlier. I guess I owe you one."
"You're welcome," Harley pushed his hat back, and his almost ever-present grin cut through the darkness. "But you already evened that score when you thought of the keys and saw to it they got out here before I got tired and let those things in. You saved all of our asses."
Marisa thought that one over for a second.
"That's not really the same thing," she replied.
"We were in trouble and you found a solution. Then you acted decisively once you knew what needed to be done."
"Maybe," she conceded, "But a lot of it was your friend. He did most of the hard stuff while I was mainly bossing him around."
Harley laughed softly in the dark..
"That sounds like Deke," he chuckled. "He's a good kid. He just needs somebody to point him in the right direction and light a fire under him from time to time. How's he doing back there anyway?"
"Oh he's doing great," she snorted. "Stacey is sleeping under his arm and he's got this big goofy look on his face like he's stoned stupid. You wouldn't know to look at him that he was injured and surrounded by killer dead people."
That brought another chuckle from the shadowy figure.
"I'm glad to hear it. He's been worshiping her from afar for almost as long as I've known him."
"Hmph. Well, he's got her. She thinks he's 'nice', and Stacey likes nice."
"Good." Harley turned back towards the coffee pot as it started to fill, "So how about the others? How are they doing back there?"
Marisa rubbed her arms and looked at the kitchen door.
"Benny is still out," she sighed, "but the Doc is looking after him. She thinks he'll make it if he gets time to recover. She won't say so, but I think she's more worried about Grandpa Tom."
"Grandpa Tom?"
"The old trucker back there. He isn't injured or anything, but he doesn't look so good."
"Okay."
"I guess that leaves the jackass and his dishrag of a girlfriend."
"Gerald and Holly."
"Whatever." Marisa pulled a tray out from under the counter and started refilling the square sugar bowls with little packets of sugar. "They're alright too...unless he mouths off to the doc again. I think she's about ready to neuter him. So that's where things sit."
Finishing her self-imposed chore with the sugar packets, she returned the tray under the counter. She stood back up to see Harley's dim figure reaching for the now full pot.
"You're forgetting somebody," he replied mildly as he poured himself some more coffee. The sound of the hot liquid filling the cup could barely be heard over the storm, yet at the same time it seemed to thunder in the silence that fell between the two of them.
Marisa stiffened, then took a deep breath and forced herself to unclench her jaw. It wasn't like she hadn't been expecting this.
"You mean me."
"You're the only somebody left."
She gathered up the plates that had belonged to Grandpa Tom and Leaping Larry. Remembering the kitchen sink to be full of bloody rags at the moment, she headed for the little sink behind the counter instead.
"I'm not injured," she replied. Her voice sounded flat even to her own ears.
Harley said nothing.
Pulling a cabinet door under the sink open with her toe, Marisa dumped the contents of the plates into a small wastebasket within. She could feel the man watching her...evaluating... and stood up again with gritted teeth before dropping the dishes into the small sink with forceful emphasis. The second she did it the girl knew she had messed up and clenched her eyes shut.
The crash of broken platters added fresh new edges to the humiliation that already cut through her.
"Look, Harley," Marisa turned and tapped her breastbone with a finger. "I'm hurting, okay? But that's not why I came out here. I came out to say 'thank you.' That's all. I wasn't hunting a shoulder to cry on."
"Understood." He watched her over the brim of his cup as he took a drink. "But that really wasn't why I asked."
"No?" She eyed him doubtfully. She had to concede, at least to herself, that he hadn't shown the slightest hint of anything but concern...but on the other hand, the next man she met without an ulterior motive would be the first.
"No."
"Okay, then," she sighed and leaned back against the sink behind her, "you were just being nice. So that's one 'thank you' and now one apology I owe you. I'm running up a score tonight."
"Hey," Harley set down the cup and spread his hands. "I didn't say I didn't have my reasons for wanting to know. Actually, I do. I just wasn't trying to hit on you."
"Oh, really."
"Yes, really," he continued. "I'm looking for backup."
That caught her by surprise, and she tilted her head in curiosity.
"Backup? What do you mean?"
"I mean," he picked up the cup again and took another drink, "sooner or later, this situation is going to go fluid again...probably in the morning, once the rain stops and they can see inside the windows...and I've got to start working on a way to get us out of this. If things get ugly, and I need to take chances, then I'm going to need a 'wingman'...somebody to watch my back. My first choice would be Deke, but he's hurt."
"So you want me instead?
"Well," he started ticking off his fingers, "outside of Deke, there are only three other men here. One is unconscious. One is old and apparently sick now. And the last one is Gerald."
"You don't have any confidence in Gerald?" her sarcasm dripped in the darkness.
"I need somebody who can move fast, think fast, act decisively, and who can think of other people besides themselves."
"Oh well," Marisa rolled her eyes, "so much for Gerald."
"Yeah," Harley's easy smile widened, "It's not personal, but I don't think I'm brave enough to have him watch my back."
"That wouldn't be brave," she scoffed. "It would be suicide."
"Can't argue with the truth," he poured himself another cup of coffee, "but it don't change the fact, come morning, I'm gonna have to find a way to get us out of here...and that means trying to get to one of those vehicles in the parking lot."
Marisa gasped and stared at him.
"What? Are you crazy? They're too fast!" She surprised herself with the intensity of her objection, and quickly toned it down. "Look, even if you somehow got past those things and outran them to a car, you probably couldn't get it open before they were on top of you. And you want me out there with you?"
"No," Harley stated firmly. "If I make a run for my truck, then it will be by myself. But even then I would like to have somebody I can trust manning the door, in case I can't make it but still have a chance to turn back."
Marisa considered that for a moment.
"I can do that," she nodded. "But then what? How does that help us?"
"I've got a .45 automatic and a box of ammo under the seat of my truck. Maybe I could draw these things away and thin them out a little bit at the same time."
"They're dead, Harley. I don't think getting shot is going to bother them all that much."
"Maybe," he shrugged, "but I'm remembering the one I tangled with in the store. If breaking their neck paralyzes them, then their brain still runs things...even if it's that lizard brain the doc was talking about. So I'm bettin' blowing their head off will drop them."
Marisa winced at the memory.
"I guess," she agreed doubtfully, "but it still sounds like one of those plans you rednecks come up with right before you yell 'Hey guys, watch this!' and die horribly."
"Thanks a lot!" Harley laughed again as he leaned back in the stool and against the rear wall with his hands behind his head. "You're just a bundle of optimism, aren't you."
"I just don't want to watch somebody else die, okay?"
The memory of those monsters feeding in the store, and the whimpering wreck in front of the counter, rose in her mind again. That image, alongside the one of the monstrosity that was once her sister, caused her to swallow hard and suppress a shudder. It was all still so fresh.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
He hadn't changed position, but his face was dead serious.
"I'm okay," she snapped, recovering with an effort. "I'll be your 'wingman', if you want. I'll hold the door for you if you try that stupid stunt, and I'll cover your back if I can otherwise. But I want you to promise me you haven't already settled on this dumb idea, and stopped trying to come up with something else."
"No problem. I promise. I'm considering a lot of contingencies and there are some things I'm going to check out and get straight before I do anything. At the moment, I'm just figuring out what we're up against and who I...waitaminute.."
Harley came to his feet so fast it made her jump.
"What is it?" She whirled, half expecting to see one of the monsters had somehow found its way inside.
"They moved."
"What?" She followed his gaze to the front windows. The line of cadavers still loomed outside the large windows. "Where? They're still there."
"They've turned their heads." He glided forward through the dark room on cat feet. "They're watching something...something towards town."
Now that he pointed it out, Marisa could see many of the skulls were now in profile. Several others were slowly turning their heads to match them.
"What is it?" Despite Doc Sutherlands demonstration of how these things couldn't see into the restaurant when it was dark, she still didn't feel comfortable approaching the windows. "What's going on?"
Harley slowed as he approached the front window, and eased forward. Careful not to put a hand on the glass, he leaned against a window sill and looked in the same direction as the cadavers.
"Police lights!"
"Really!" Hope leaped in her chest. "They're coming?"
"Three cars with lights flashing...no...four of them! The police are coming!"
Rising Waters - Rachel.
"Hey, everybody! The police are coming! They'll be here in a minute!"
Rachel jerked herself out of a semi-doze and looked up just in time to see Marisa fly back through the door and into the restaurant.
The kitchen around her came to life as the waitress's words sank in. Gerald and Holly tumbled off the counter and rushed for the door. Deke was already in the process of gently attempting to wake the sleeping girl under his arm, and even Grandpa Tom had started to his feet.
Hope gave an energy to the air that only seconds before had been heavy with despair.
Rachel headed for the door, then hesitated. She glanced back at the form of the janitor on the floor and bit her lip. Over the past couple of hours the man seemed to have stabilized, and there were signs he might even regain consciousness in the future, but the idea of leaving him back here unattended still didn't sit right with her. At the same time she desperately wanted to see what was going on out front.
Indecision tore at her.
"Hey, doc?"
She looked up to see the old truck driver giving her a knowing smile.
"Why don't you go on out there," he nodded towards the door as he sat back down on his crate. "I'll watch our friend here and let you know if anything changes. He'll be okay."
Rachel considered this proposition with reluctance.
"Are you okay?" She eyed the man doubtfully. His color and demeanor had improved over the past two hours, but she still worried. The last thing she wanted would be for him to suddenly drop with a heart attack with nothing but an unconscious man for company.
"I'm fine," Grandpa Tom insisted, "I'm just old and a little out of shape. On the other hand, you're the only one with any medical knowledge and it might be necessary for you to be up there where the action is going to be."
"Are you sure?"