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Rachel drops her hands to her hips. "I'd be happy to discuss all that if I were allowed in. I have matters of urgency to discuss. As you can see, I'm unarmed and not dressed for a home invasion, so you have nothing to fear. Now, zombies might be lurking about, so if you please?" She raises her eyebrows and nods her head towards the doorway.

You step aside and let her in. She has a bit of an accent—maybe British—and she slaps and shuffles her sandals as she walks. She pulls her hat off, and light brown hair falls just above her shoulders, appearing sharply cut at the ends. She shakes it and then folds it up in a bundle to place under the hat again, this time backwards.

"Sorry to show up unannounced," she says, leaning against the stove, her bony hip almost turning on a burner.

Rachel glances around the kitchen and stares at the light overhead. "Your electricity working is brilliant. It's off in Vince's place."

"So how is Vince doing?" you ask.

Rachel tilts her head down to gaze at the floor. She stays this way for a moment, then looks up, her expression somber. "Not sure. He left several weeks ago on an emergency business trip. He mentioned a matter of grave importance, and since he works for the CDC, I figured it was some outbreak of meningitis or some such thing. Really, he was very hush-hush about his work. Now that I know about the Zeta virus, I can't but wonder if he was called away to deal with early cases."

"And he hasn't contacted you since?"

"No. That's not unusual when he's on assignment. He stays incommunicado for long periods. I've come to stay with him for a month or so at a time every year since the early 2000s. This happens all the time."