Bunny nodded, making the safe assumption that, while the gummy bears were for the shelter's children, the vodka was not. That liquor would be in great demand in the Austin wasn't a surprise, and for a moment Bunny found herself thinking of the moonshine that was popular in Harlan. As fond as the memory was, she didn't let herself dwell on it too long. That was the past, and the past was like a swift-moving river: stop paying attention for a moment and you could be swept away.
"Kentucky," she replied. "I've come down from a little town called Harlan, about two hours north of Knoxville, Tennessee." There wasn't hardly any closer city to use when explaining the location of her home. "I traveled now and then with other folks, but mostly I've been on my own."
The buildings in Austin were more worn than Bunny had expected, some of them starting to crack and crumble apart. Someone at the hospital had told her it was from the gas that had been dropped on the city to try and take out the undead. It hadn't worked, of course, destroying the buildings more than the walkers. Though none of the latter were in sight, thankfully, as they started down the street toward the store that North had pointed out.
"I've never been to Michigan, or anywhere that far up in the country. Were you here, or did you come down after?"