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Billie pauses for a few moments. "My brothers are upstairs and the dogs are here. Mischief and Tank. Pit bulls. Nice dogs, but they don't like strangers."

You only met Peter and Matthew Taylor when they delivered vegetables to your house. Both are large and husky football stars from the local high school who stayed on to work their family's farm instead of accepting scholarships to college.

"Mom and dad aren't here, but they should be home early tomorrow. What about you?"

"I'm home alone."

"I'm right down the road. If you need anything, just ask. Once the curfew or quarantine or whatever the government calls it is over, I'm heading out, and I'm making your house my first stop."

You listen to a few more minutes of Billie ranting about the outbreak and finally turn to a new topic…

You call Billie and ask if she has any food ready to send over. She tells you to check your back door in a few minutes. You head into the kitchen and check the path leading to the back door, and sure enough, a black-and-white shaggy dog is coming towards your house. She trots at a fast pace, and her color blends so her fur looks like crumbled Oreo cookies.

The wind blows outside, and leaves rustle on the ground. An odd smell floats in the air, something stale and earthy, but as you try to place the odor, you become distracted by the dog turning around the back fence and walking into the yard. You unlock the door and swing it wide open, and Mishy struts into the kitchen. On her back, a canvas bag hangs off the side. Her tongue hangs out, and she pants, looking around the kitchen as if checking the place out. You untie the bag and open it: steaks, pork chops, chicken thighs, and an assortment of vegetables. There's also a few candy bars. A note inside the package reads, Enjoy the meat, or as I used to call them: Brutus, Penelope, and Rocky.

Mishy stands after you finish with the bag, and she shakes her body, raining fur on the kitchen floor. You write a short thank-you note and pin it to Mishy's collar. And with that, the border collie trots outside and makes her way back up the road.

You put the food away and consider your next move.

You check the time—4:00 pm.

Your head throbs, so you crack open a beer and drink it fast. The cool liquid feels smooth going down, though the accompanying belch tastes terrible.

As you look around the living room, you realize your supplies and gear are scattered around the house. It's time to gather everything up and inventory your resources. Searching through the entire house, you gather a variety of useful things: a backpack, a knife, toiletries (two bars of soap, half a bottle of shampoo, half a tube of toothpaste), extra blankets, a bottle with some whiskey in it, a hammer, nails, and some wood, along with a half-full bottle of pain-killers. Being out in the country, you have the advantage of well water on your property, so you're not too worried about running out. In a closet in the living room, you find a GPS and flashlight with a pack of batteries. You create a pile on the first floor so everything is accessible when needed.

After the initial search, you move through the house more carefully and collect anything else that might be of use.

From storage, you take a shovel.

You were hoping to practice with your close-combat weapon while on vacation, so you take out your…