Back down the mountain

Status: Uninfected

Your Equipment: Battered sandals, Ragged Panties, Hunting Jacket, Ragged Tank-top, Ragged shorts, Hunting Knife, Pistol (3/7)

Your Inventory: Canned food (7), Bottled Water (15), Flashlight, Batteries (2), Duct Tape (3'), Twine (12' roll, 15' length), Blanket, Tattered Sundresses (2), Ragged Panties (3), Cabin Keys, Pistol Ammo (23), Pistol magazine (7/7), Tarp, Beef Jerkey

Realizing that it will be both easier to run downhill than up, and that your half-shredded shorts and beat-up sandals provide no protection from the snow, you conclude that it would be a wiser choice to head down the mountain. With your mind decided, you take off downhill as quickly as you dare, cutting slightly away from the keens and howls of the approaching Infected. You'd figured you'd head back to the cabin you'd spent the prior night in, and hole up there if it was safe to do so. If it wasn't...well, you'll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.

It isn't long before you discover the downsides of running downhill. Your feet and knees protest every step, your weight crashing down on them as you sprint. Less than a hundred feet after that, a slightly misplaced step sends your left sandal sailing off your foot again, landing and tumbling nearly thirty feet from you before it finally comes to rest, upside-down. You're unable to suppress the pained yelp that follows, as your suddenly bare foot slams painfully onto a twig.

Cursing your shitty luck, you scramble down to where your sandal has come to rest, sliding to a halt next to it. You reach down to flip it over, and as your hand touches it, a loud howl resounds from a short distance away, just over your right shoulder. Instinctively, you freeze, looking back over your shoulder. You find your eyes locked with an Infected about sixty feet away, as several more howls answer from not too much farther off. Another wave of fear courses through your veins, as you hastily contemplate whether to shoot it, or just run.