Ride the storm out

Your Status: Unknown (Possibly Infected)

Your Equipment: Ragged shirt, Jeans

Your Inventory: Sheath Knife

You watch the Infected leave, as you shimmy and squirm in an effort to pull your soaked jeans back up. You can feel the Infected's cum inside you, more oozing forth to mix with your juices and run down your thighs. Strangely, you're not as worried about it as you would have been. You've already been fucked by one Futa, and haven't turned. Maybe you're immune?

It's not something you want to keep testing, however. With your jeans in place, you turn and head back to the RV. Along the way, your foot lands on cold, hard metal. Reaching down, you realize you found your pistol. It's a small blessing in this fucked-up world.

Back inside, you ensure you lock the door this time, then close the window. The bed is soaked from the driving rain, and you groan. Its' going to be a miserable night.

You then look yourself over, stripping as you do so. You have only minor cuts and bruises from your encounter with the Infected. Your shirt is well beyond salvaging, though, and you pitch the tattered remains into the corner, adding a shirt to your list of necessities. Your jeans come next, and are draped over a seat in the RV to dry. You then dig through the RV's tiny bathroom until you find a few **** wipes and clean yourself up as best you can.

After doing so, and having air-dried a bit, you curl up on the RV's couch, and attempt to doze. Sleep is hard to come by, and you toss and turn, contemplating the next day's course of action. You've got a few days of food and water now, but clothing is still an issue, as is weapons. There might be some back up at the lodge, if you were to go back. The city is farther away, and has probably been heavily looted, but there will definitely be more supplies that way.