The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and deep purples, when Marcus finally pointed. "Up ahead. Looks like an old logging cabin. Could be solid."
Relief, sharp and sudden, coursed through Ethan. His body ached, every muscle protesting, but the thought of a roof over their heads, however temporary, spurred him on. The **Anomaly Sense** remained a distant hum, indicating no immediate, overwhelming threats.
The cabin was nestled deep within a thick grove of pines, almost swallowed by the encroaching wilderness. Its windows were shattered, and one side of the roof had caved in, but the main structure seemed sturdy. A narrow, overgrown trail led to its front door, which hung crookedly on a single hinge.
They approached with extreme caution, weapons ready. The air around the cabin was still, devoid of the usual buzzing flies or the faint, sickly sweet scent of decay that marked infected presence. Marcus pushed the door open, revealing a single, dusty room, its fireplace choked with leaves, a thin layer of grime covering everything.
**\[Survival (Shelter Discovered) Experience Gained: 15 EXP.]**
**\[Current Experience: 565/600.]**
"Clear," Marcus announced, scanning the corners. "Looks like no one's been here in years."
They quickly began to secure their temporary refuge. They reinforced the sagging door with a heavy, fallen beam they dragged in, and jammed broken furniture against the window frames. It was rough, but it was solid. They even found a small, rusted metal box hidden under a loose floorboard. Inside were a few dusty cans of preserved peaches and a tattered, waterproof tarp.
"Jackpot," Marcus grunted, his grim features softening slightly at the sight of the food.
As darkness settled fully, they shared the peaches, their sweet, syrupy taste a luxury after days of bland rations. The small, smokeless fire Marcus built in the fireplace cast dancing shadows on the walls, pushing back the encroaching chill.
The physical relief of being safe, even for a few hours, was immense, but the psychological toll of their journey began to set in. The silence of the wilderness, once a welcome contrast to the screams of the infected, now felt heavy, isolating.
"You doing okay, kid?" Marcus asked, his voice low, staring into the flickering flames. "You've been through a lot."
Ethan sighed, leaning his head back against the rough wood of the wall. "I'm just… tired. The constant vigilance. And not knowing where Anya and Jax are." He ran his good hand over his bandaged arm. It still hurt, but the searing pain had dulled to a persistent ache. His **Hardened Constitution** felt like a constant, subtle reinforcement beneath his skin, quietly fighting off infection and accelerating his recovery, even when he pushed his body to its limits.
"They'll make it," Marcus reassured him, his tone firm. "Anya's too smart, and Jax is tough as nails. They're probably skirting around that town right now, just like we did."
The words were meant to comfort, and they did, a little. But the distance, the endless miles of infected territory, weighed on them both. They were two small specks in a vast, broken world, holding onto a sliver of hope that was hundreds of miles away.
"We need to keep going, though," Ethan murmured, more to himself than to Marcus. "That research institute. It's the only chance."
Marcus nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is. But we got to be smart about it. We can't afford another run-in like Millwood."
They attempted to hail Anya on the walkie-talkie once more, but the airwaves remained stubbornly silent. The lack of communication, though frustrating, also served as a harsh reminder of their situation. They were truly alone, for now, in the heart of a wilderness teeming with danger. They needed to rest, regain some strength, and prepare for another grueling day of pushing west, one cautious step at a time. The fate of their small group, and perhaps even a flicker of humanity's future, rested on their ability to endure.