Dave jerked the steering wheel of the SUV hard to the left and felt the satisfying thud as one of the undead bounced lifelessly off the cattleguard. Behind him his son pumped his fist and marked another tally on the window “Another one for Mad Dad: The Roadwarrior,” the teen quipped and got a snort of amusement from his older sister. His wife just rolled her eyes and gave Dave a withering glance before closing her eyes and trying to get some more sleep. Humor had gotten them far in this hellscape the world had become. Whenever things started to feel hopeless one of them would spit out something absurd and have the rest in fits trying to stay quiet. Through thick and thin they had made it and, though still bleak, it was starting to look better. They were almost there.

     After months of cowering in one hideout after another they had finally secured a vehicle and enough gas to get on the road. With no real indications of civilization having survived they had decided to head cross-country from California to Florida. The southwest had punished them hard for that decision but they had persevered. Halfway through Texas and a few days ago they had picked up a radio broadcast that had left them all incredulous but excited.

     “Ya’ll come on down to Waffle House for a hot and fresh meal! Due to the circumstances our menu options are limited but we will remain open!”

     Dave had been forced to pull over so everyone could burn off the excitement without risking an accident. By the time they had gotten back on the road the plan had changed.

     Ahead Dave spotted the golden promise and black block letters of the sign and he shouted. “There it is kids! Look!” The two in the back pressed forward around the front seats and ooo’d and awe’d appreciatively at the lit sign that glowed above the trees in the distance. Dave noticed that the cars along the interstate here had been cleared away to the side of the road and blessedly clear lanes spread out before him. As they approached the off-ramp though, he found himself slowing for the chainlink fence that stretched across the roadway. Two men in white uniforms with black aprons greeted him, assault rifles in slings held at low ready in front of them.

     Dave, slack jawed pulled the SUV forward and stopped as one of the two men gestured for him to do so. “Let me do the talking?” He glanced to his wife who nodded back to him, their kids huddling away from his window as he rolled it down.

     “How ya’ll doing tonight?” The man greeted, giving them a friendly but gap filled smile. “My name is Jimmy and I’ll be your gate man, but before I get ya’ll through to the WaHo I’m gonna have to ask a few questions and get ya’ll to sign this form.” He gestured to a clipboard that was tucked into his apron. “First of all. Any of ya’ll been bit? I know. Silly question, but corporate you know?”

     Dave listened to the man and offered a quick shake of his head no to the question. “No bites.”

     “Any weapons?”

     “Uh.. Yeah.”

     “That’s good, ain’t safe out there. Gotta leave em in the truck though, understand?”

     “Yeah, no problem.”

     “Anything to declare for trade?”

     “Trade?”

     “Oh yeah. We don’t take money no more. Eggs, cheese, grits, bacon if it’s fresh. Napkins. Sweet-n-low packets. We’ll trade for most anything.”

     “Oh.. We don’t have anything like that. We do have more canned beans than we really want though.”

     “Beans? Oh yeah we can work something out. Now we’ll open the gate and ya’ll park off in the parking lot. They’ll check ya for bites at the entrances. Don’t you worry none we got ladies and fellas sections and nobody has to go alone.”

     Dave swallowed the dry lump in his throat and nodded. He quickly read the paperwork that was offered, noting that it was a liability form and consent to being quarantined or exiled if any bites were discovered during the checks. A list of acceptable and unacceptable behavior, found in every pre-apocalypse Waffle House was also attached causing Dave to laugh as he signed. Letting himself be guided through the gate before they drove up the on ramp.

     “Dad? What’s going on? Where were his teeth?” Jack asked quietly, turned to look at the two men guarding the gate.

     “We’re getting some breakfast Jack. They’re just adapting to the times, I guess? Remember. No making fun of the wait staff. We don’t need to get kicked out.” He passed back the list of rules to his kids. At the apex of the ramp the building finally appeared and Dave couldn’t help himself. “Holy fuck.” His wife slapped him on the arm out of instinct before she caught sight of the diner and echoed his sentiment. “..holy fuck”

     The once humble brick and yellow diner was surrounded by an impromptu fortification. Chainlink fences ringed the entire intersection, on and off ramp included, while deep ditches ringed the store and parking lot directly. On the flat roof he even spotted what looked like a sandbag bunker and a machine gun aimed towards the interstate. Next to it stood another employee with binoculars hanging from his neck and a radio in hand. Dave felt like he was having a fever dream.

     Once parked all four piled out in short order, stretching and shaking the road off. “No weapons inside, leave them in the car. Knives too Jack!” The lot was surprisingly full of vehicles and each one had their own unique blend of function and form but they all screamed ‘murder machine’. A lot could change in a year.

     There was no line for inspections. Probably because they were no-nonsense and done quickly within curtained off sections of the entry way. Glass barriers protected the employees and curtains protected everyone’s modesty. When they regrouped inside each were awed at.. The normalcy of it all.

     It looked just like any Waffle House from before. Sure, the lights may flicker once or twice and the windows were barricaded from the outside. But the diner floor was clean, and several patrons sat around at booths and enjoyed their limited breakfast options. Seating themselves at a booth they looked down at the hand written paper menu containing one line.

     “Hashbrowns”