"Jesus, a rhino?" Molly asks, pulling a face, though it's hardly the strangest thing she's heard over the last few days. Phyllis Jameson was killed by a moose, after all; she hadn't even known there were moose in Darrow. And what little information she gleaned from the text about Orrin Fillby was pretty disturbing, too. If Russell was bitten by a raccoon, that's a hell of a lot better than all sorts of alternatives she can think of, in the wake of hearing about yet another dead council member and knowing her boss is still in the hospital. That's the only reason she isn't more unsettled by his having said so. "Your hand's okay, though? Nothing too serious?"