““Sir, it’s time.” Startled, John looked about in surprise. Daylight streamed through the blown-out doors and windows of the store, and he sat up, shocked by—of all things—the smell of coffee. One of his troopers was kneeling down by his side, smiling broadly, holding out a cup. “I remember how you used to come into class every morning with a steaming cup—black.” John nodded a thanks. “Where in the hell did you get this?” “Sir, they must have a couple of thousand MREs back there and cases of tha...t survival food. Check this out.” He offered John a plastic container filled with something dark red and in slices. “Freeze-dried strawberries. We each got a handful. Just stick them in your mouth; it’s a real treat.” John tried one and nodded again. It did indeed taste heavenly, and so did the real coffee. When was the last time? And then it hit him: Forrest had given him a cup every morning while he was a prisoner. But other than that, coffee had run out within the first month after the Day.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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