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There are two knapsacks lying on the ground, and you can only guess by their bulging appearance that they're filled with supplies your group needs.

As you move closer to the spruce tree, the man rises to his knees and lowers the barrel of the gun above your heads. His movement tells you he's more apprehensive than afraid. Even in the darkness, you can tell he has blond, almost white hair which falls past his shoulders, a thin beard, and wire-rimmed glasses.

As you reach a short distance from the pair, Reilly lifts his shirt to show a pistol tucked into his belt. "Don't worry—this guy tilts that rifle at us, and he's tree food."

"If he flinches, shoot him. We can't take any chances," you say.

The woman on the ground flinches, and vomit expels in a gush from her mouth. Chunks of red and green hit the grass. She wheezes and fights to draw breath, which turns into a coughing fit. Through harsh spits of air, she murmurs, "Finn. Help."

The man turns his full attention to her.

"Layla! Layla!" he yells, and as he shouts her eyes pop open, her hand reaches to his face, and her lips part with a low moan. Her eyes are clear but sunken, teeth flat and rounded, and skin pale though stained with blood and bile. Her gestures appear purposeful but not aggressive.