Zombie Contingency Plan?

This morning I dreamt that I was in the warehouse of the Detroit Institute of Arts with maybe seven other people as it was under siege from a horde of zombies. As in any movie of this type, the seven people represented a variety of experiences and ethnic backgrounds. I don't really recall any explanation for how exactly I got to the DIA, which might not be the first place I would run if the living dead roamed the earth, but this was a dream, and I sort of got the impression that I (as a viewer) was coming in late. There was one guy in particular who seemed to have been appointed the leader -- a guy remarkably like Hurley from Lost -- and he was making all sorts of plans about how to make sure that when we died, we would not have a chance to come back, jonesin' for da brains. Mostly his solution amounted to pointing a shotgun at our heads and pulling the trigger. Before he could follow through, I asked if maybe he could wait a while, because I wanted to run to Wayne State's Library to retrieve my thesis, to see what my professor had to say about it. WSU is only two blocks away from the DIA. He grudgingly agreed, and told me to stick to the shadows (even though it was full daylight). He also asked me to pick him up something to eat, and then everyone else said they were hungry, so they started giving me orders to pick up from the Student Center.

I never made it to WSU, though. I was trying to be as stealthy as I could, and while I never saw any zombies (actually, no zombies ever actually appeared in my dream), I freaked out once I got as far as the Detroit Public Library, and ran all the way back to the DIA, i.e. across the street. There were no cars on Woodward, and there were no pedestrians, although, being Detroit, that's not overly surprising.

I tried calling my mom to see if she was all right, but the call couldn't even ring through. Forgetting that I should be going for the warehouse entrance, I went right through the front door of the building, the interior of which looked oddly similar to a lobby for an overly-ornate bank. At the top of the steps, on one of the out-of-place loveseats that suddenly appeared, were my mother and my cousin Leslie (who normally lives in Rochester, NY), with her eldest son Will. My mom told me something that I can't remember except for the wave of relief that passed over me, as if I knew that it was over, and we were safe. I hugged them all, and then woke up. It was odd; up until that point, it really was a nightmare, although in my retelling it doesn't sound as harrowing as it felt.

* * * * *

My dad should have gone into surgery this morning at 8:30AM. I'm assuming he did, although I assumed he had last week when he didn't. Hopefully he will be OK -- cranky, but OK.