Call out

Status: Uninfected

Your Equipment: Battered sandals, Ragged Bra, Ragged Panties, Ragged tank-top, Ragged shorts, Hunting Knife

Your Inventory: Canned food (4), Bottled Water (11), Flashlight, Batteries (2), Duct Tape (3'), Twine (30'), Blanket, Tattered Sundresses (2), Ragged Panties (3), Cabin Keys

"Hello? Anybody home?" Your voice rings out in the crisp air, easily covering the 50 feet between you and the door of the cabin. You figure this is the best option, as a survivor might not take kindly to a surprise, and if there's Infected inside, it should draw them out.

There's sounds from inside the cabin, then a person appears, except something's wrong. He's naked, with a 9-inch cock dangling between their legs, tip glistening in the early evening sun. This must be an Infected, and it's about the strangest thing you've ever seen. It looks around for a moment, then its' gaze fixes right on you, and it starts to charge you.

Despite all your efforts to commit what information made it over the radio to memory, and all the times you had rehearsed what you would do when this day arrived, you panic. You attempt to backpedal, but your left foot catches on a root. There's a faint 'snapping' sound, and you tumble backwards, landing on your pert ass with a yelp. Some small part of your mind, seemingly detached from your situation, notes your sandal lying on the ground. As the Infected bears down on you, you scramble backwards, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase in the loose soil, heedless of the rocks and branches jabbing your hands and foot.

You manage to clamber back to your feet, chest heaving, as the Infected crashes through the bushes you were hiding behind. Your arms and legs tremble, fear and adrenalin driving you. Time seems to slow, seconds stretching into minutes. You have seconds before it's upon you.