Arik the barkeep squints at you incredulously. "Aye, it's a blessing to have the tavern open. Otherwise, we might notice that our town's been overrun with the walking dead and that many of our loved ones have been killed, eaten, or raised as zombies. We're so relieved."
"Pfe, adventurers...", he mutters, plunking another glass down on the bar. "Look, I know what everyone knows. Three nights ago, in the wee hours of the night, the town was attacked by these stinking zombies. Those of us that could get free gathered together here and we built those fences with spit, binder twine and old timber to keep them out. Now we're waiting here to die."
"So, what'll you have?"