Flight

Status: Uninfected

Your Equipment: Battered sandal, 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

As the Infected charges you, your eyes fixate on its' cock, swinging freely between its' legs. While you're no virgin, there's something demented, terrifying, about being charged by this...thing, and that spurs you to movement. You spin and flee, sprinting downhill for all you're worth.

You don't make it far, though. With no head-start to speak of, by the time you get up to speed, the Infected is on your heels, and it's a rather easy task for it to tackle you. You slam into the ground face-first, your breasts cushioning the rest of you from the fall, and slide several feet further downhill, feeling every branch and stone you slide over.

The Infected, however, barely seems to notice the impact. It simply crouches, hands clawing at your shorts, already lining its' 9 inches up to spear you as soon as it can. Thankfully, its' not really holding you right now, just trying to rip your shorts off.