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Just old lady Baker from down the street," Billie says. Her voice becomes muffled and distant. "Get away from there, Mishy!"

You glance through the window. The sky is clear and powder blue, and birds circle a field in the distance.

"Sorry about that," Billie says. "My dog was getting in the trash. Anyway, old lady Baker was walking up Somerpoint Hill earlier, and she was walking faster than normal and without her cane. When she hit the crest, I saw her face was all pale and yellow, and she twitched as she hobbled. I thought to call out to her, but Mishy started yelping and carrying on. I pet her for a few minutes and went back to the window. Old lady Baker was gone. Nowhere to been seen, and you know that hill—nothing nearby for three or four acres.

"Later, when the news came on and word came down for us to stay inside, the anchorman described the symptoms of the disease and could have put up a photo of old lady Baker. If I had called out to her, there's no telling what could have happened. Mishy saved my life. What about you? Seen any of them around?"

You describe the events from earlier today and your first run-in with the infected. After ten minutes of chatting about the outbreak, you change the subject…