Chapter 60: The World was Tainted
The forest stretched endlessly before Winter, if it could still be called a forest. Now it was more of a dense tangle of skeletal branches and stubborn patches of melting snow.
Winter’s boots crunched softly against the damp ground as he made his way though the uneven terrain beside the highway to CIty H.
He had decided to avoid open spaces on this trip. The highway would be a deathtrap, teeming with scavenger groups, feral animals, and the occasional roving horde of zombies.
Here, hidden beneath the canopy of blackened pines, he could move unseen, even if the forest was far from safe.
The rifle slung over his shoulder felt heavier at the thought. Winter adjusted it absently, his gloved fingers brushing the cool metal as his other hand gripped the worn hilt of his machete. His sharp green eyes scanned the shadows ahead, all senses on sharp alert.
As he moved though the woods, something caught his attention. A faint silhouette emerged through the thinning trees: a small, dilapidated cabin. Its roof sagged under the weight of snow and non maintenance, and one of the door shutters hung askew, creaking faintly in the cold wind. Winter hesitated at the tree line, his grip tightening on the machete.
Abandoned cabins were rarely abandoned for long.
He crouched low, stepping silently over a rotting log, his eyes darting for movement in the cracked windows.
Nothing.
Winter reached the cabin’s door, pressing his back to the frame. He held his breath, listening intently. A gust of wind rattled the walls, and inside, something shifted—a loose beam or maybe a squirrel. He wasn’t taking chances.
In one swift motion, he kicked the door open, his machete raised and ready.