A/N: Italics generally denote thoughts, flashbacks, and similar things.

It was taking Gilly a little while to sort out the events of the past several minutes. There were only two things she was quite sure of.

She was cold.

And she was very dead.

Being dead took a little less getting used to than she had expected. But then, she didn't feel dead, other than having a distinct lack of pulse, forgetting to breathe (more importantly, being able to forget to breathe), and the lovely bluish-gray tinge rising in her skin.

She couldn't be properly dead. No light at the tunnel, no out-of-body experience. No floating up into the clouds and being given a harp and bedsheets. Just a great, great chill…

She knew Riversgill was not a good place to be wandering around alone after dark, even if it was just a largish-sized town that couldn't quite be classified as either urban or suburban. It wasn't certain death like in Philly, but it wasn't a good idea, either.

Dammit, only one lousy month until her permit and her own car. Then she wouldn't get stuck out in the rain without a ride. Or get kicked out of another person's car by her party-hardy friends when she started voicing her worries over the possibilities of drunken driving.

It was somewhat amusing, in retrospect.

She had no desire to call her mom for a ride and get locked up when the true nature of her little outing surfaced. So, she would catch a bus back to her house, and figure out a story on the way home. The bus stop was even just half a block ahead when she got dragged into the alleyway.

"Gimme that bag," said a voice as rough as the hands that pinned her side against the building wall.

"Ow! Fine, fine! Get off!" If she had a little more common sense and a little less stubbornness, she would have given him the bag and run away, instead of kicking him in the leg when he let go a little to allow her to relieve herself of the bag, and then running away.

She heard him curse, felt him grab her arm, then felt the blinding pain of the knife piercing her flesh. Thick, warm blood spilled out of her chest.

Knife to the heart. Quick and painful.

He kneeled down to where her body lay, dead and bleeding, pulled off the small backpack, and started to search her coat pockets.

Her eyes flickered. With a groan, she sat up and stared confusedly at the mugger.

He must have had lots of practice in running away, because he sure was fast.

She wondered if instant healing or colorblindness were zombie features. Because there wasn't a giant stab mark in her chest where there should have been one, and everything looked like she was in one of those old black and white TV shows.

She waited for her body to mutate into some hungry, rotted corpse. Nothing happened. She kept walking.

She could smell him. And suddenly she was very hungry.