Uphill, towards the lodge

Status: Uninfected

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

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

With the lodge still being the best place to find supplies, you decide to head farther uphill. You step back inside just long enough to grab your gear, then set off into the woods once again.

With time running short, you push yourself onward, one eye on your surroundings, the other on the sun. The forest is quiet, the rhythmic crunch-SLAP of your footsteps punctuated occasionally by the call of a bird. Before long, the hill grows steeper, slowing you somewhat. On the other hand, the brush is growing thinner, and the ground rockier, the farther you climb. You can feel the air thinning, your lungs working harder for each breath as you go. The thin sheen of sweat building on your skin accentuates the growing chill in the air, making your nipples stab at the thin material of your tank top. Your breasts bounce uncomfortably with each step, your legs burn, and your feet feel every rock beneath the thin soles of your sandals.

Several hours later, you pause, chest heaving, as your left foot crunches into something different, followed by a cold, wet caress against your hot skin. You recoil in surprise, nearly losing your sandal as you do so, and look down. A small, glistening pile of snow greets you, reminding you yet again of how **** your situation is. If there's snow here, there's certainly more up at the lodge. A cold breeze blows through, and you shiver, as you look up-slope again, spotting the cabin almost immediately. It's about a quarter-mile away, though a large tree-branch fell on it, collapsing part of the roof. There's no car parked in front of it, so you're fairly certain no one was staying there when the infection broke out.

You skirt the snow pile, and a few more, as you approach the cabin. When you're a few hundred feet away, you pause a moment to catch your breath, drawing your pistol as you do so. With the gun held awkwardly in front of you, you slowly approach the cabin, eyes and ears straining for signs of life, but you find none.

After your last encounter with the Infected, you aren't too keen on making a lot of noise. While you do have a gun, you don't have any experience with firearms, and the last thing you want to do is trust your non-existent shooting abilities past spitting distance. While you don't have any idea as to whether the Infected sleep or not, you want every advantage you can get, so you opt for the quiet approach.

Stealthily, you slip over to the door, and test the knob. When it turns freely, you slip your sandals off, wincing slightly at the cold ground against your bare soles. Leaving them next to the door, you slowly ease the door open. It creaks slightly, sounding as loud as a gunshot, and you freeze, but there's no sound to indicate a reaction, so you finish opening it, and gently step inside.

The interior is neat, organized, and covered in a layer of dust that implies the cabin hasn't been occupied in a while. It's a simple, one-room affair, with a bed, dresser, and small armoire in one corner, and a couple of chairs next to a fireplace on the far wall. The tree branch smashed through the kitchen area, destroying most of the cabinets. You quietly walk around the massive branch, ensuring there's nothing behind it.

Before you can get any farther, you hear what sounds like footsteps outside. You immediately move to the nearest window, your heart freezing in your chest as you spot a pair of Infected ambling towards the cabin, all of two hundred feet away. Your mind races. You've got limited options, and even less time, to make a decision.