The morning sun, dappling through the dense forest canopy, offered little warmth to Ethan and Marcus as they began their arduous trek west. The initial hours were a blur of pushing through undergrowth, clambering over fallen logs, and navigating by the faint compass reading on Marcus's old military watch. Their progress was painfully slow compared to the speed of their lost motorcycles.
Ethan's bandaged arm throbbed, a steady drum against the silence of the woods, and every step sent a jarring ache through his ribs. His **Stamina** (now 13, despite the injury penalty) was their greatest asset, allowing him to push through the constant discomfort, but he felt the drain on his reserves. Marcus, though uninjured, was also feeling the strain of moving at such a relentless pace.
"Stick to the game trails," Marcus advised, his voice hushed. "Less brush, and less chance of stumbling onto something unexpected."
The **Anomaly Sense** in Ethan's mind was a low hum, a constant background awareness of scattered infected. They weren't coordinated, no longer the terrifying, driven hunters of Sierra One, but a lone shambler could still be a deadly surprise in the dense woods. Their strategy was simple: avoid contact at all costs.
Their first real encounter came mid-morning. As they skirted a small, abandoned hunting cabin, Ethan's **Anomaly Sense** flared, pointing to two shamblers inside. The cabin offered potential shelter and supplies, but the risk was immediate.
"Two in the cabin," Ethan whispered, pulling his hatchet. "Might be supplies. Should we risk it?"
Marcus nodded, his hunting knife glinting in the dappled light. "We need to resupply. Our water's getting low, and those MREs won't last forever."
They moved with practiced stealth, using the terrain for cover. Ethan slipped around to the back window, peering through the grime. He saw one shambler shuffling near a broken table. Marcus took the front door.
A quick, silent entry. Ethan dispatched his shambler with a swift, clean strike to the head, the Hatchet (Tier 1) doing its work. Marcus, equally efficient, eliminated the other.
**\[Low-level zombie eliminated! Experience Gained: 10 EXP.]**
**\[Low-level zombie eliminated! Experience Gained: 10 EXP.]**
**\[Current Experience: 425/600.]**
The cabin yielded a few meager but valuable supplies: a half-full bottle of antiseptic, a small bag of dried beef jerky, and most importantly, a dusty, old canteens full of surprisingly fresh water from a still-functional well. It wasn't much, but it was a lifeline.
They tried to contact Anya again, but the radio remained silent, crackling with only static. The terrain, or their distance, was making communication impossible. The knowledge that Anya and Jax were trying to find them was a comfort, but also a growing source of anxiety. They were alone for now.
As the day wore on, the challenges mounted. They crossed a murky, slow-moving creek, the cold water chilling Ethan's injured arm and sending shivers through his body. They scaled a steep, rocky incline, his muscles burning, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Each mile felt like an agonizing victory.
They found themselves navigating a stretch of old, abandoned farmland as dusk approached. Broken-down fences, skeletal corn stalks, and a dilapidated barn stood against the fading light. This area felt more exposed, less forgiving than the dense woods.
Ethan's **Anomaly Sense** pulsed. Not a specific target, but a general, pervasive presence. He scanned the horizon, feeling a familiar unease settle in.
"Something's out there," he murmured, his voice low. "Not just a few. More."
Marcus squinted into the gloom. "Think it's another horde? Or just a collection of stragglers?"
"Hard to tell," Ethan replied, his hand instinctively going to his pistol. His arm injury prevented him from holding it steady for long, but he knew he could still fire it if needed. "But it feels... spread out. Like they're moving across the fields."
The prospect of facing even a disorganized group of a dozen or more infected on open ground, injured and exhausted, filled Ethan with dread. The wilderness was one thing, but open farmland offered no cover. They needed to find substantial shelter, and fast, before night fully fell.
---
What kind of shelter will Ethan and Marcus find, and how will they deal with the threats in the open farmland?