Lilly's steps were cautious; all survivor steps were cautious - you didn't stay alive this long without learning a trick or two, even for a pampered, upper-class housewife who had actually tried throwing her high heels at some of the first undead she ever encountered. Lilly was a different woman now, but not terribly so. More careful, a little more charitable. Definitely seen a lot more blood than she needed.
That's the reason why she didn't automatically recoil in horror at the mess she found turning the corner.
The source of the crying - couldn't have been more than fifteen years old when whatever had happened to her, happened. A bloody mess, stiff with frost and caked blood, grime, and way too many injuries to survive.
Lilly's hand on her son's sleeping back tightened, and instinctively she froze. Don't wake Jacob. His wail would draw every runner and climber in a three-block area. She couldn't call out. All she could do was slowly... back away. Before the thing saw her.
Unfortunately, the sharpened keening cry that came out of the things gaping, broken toothed mouth signaled the alarm. It'd seen her alright, and it lurched forward.
Holding her breath in a hard gasp, Lilly secured Jacob to her side and wheeled around to run.