Chapter 62: The World Was Loud
Winter rolled his shoulders as he made his way through the forest. He had yet to encounter any humans or mutated creatures, and things had been quiet. Snow clung to everything—branches, rocks, the soles of his boots—and muffled the world into a suffocating silence.
Too quiet if you asked him.
He hadn’t fired a single shot today, which was good. Ammo was precious, and every bullet counted. But he hadn’t fought anything either, which was strange because he was in the forest.
He was supposed to be seeing and hearing things everywhere.
Something was up.
A strange fog had also begun to roll up, as usual he couldn’t tell if it was from the Mist or just a normal weather phenomenon. Worse, the zombies out here were less predictable. Their moans and growls weren’t muffled by buildings or concrete; they carried, ghostlike, on the wind, impossible to trace.
Winter sighed, his breath clouding in front of him. He glanced down at the map he’d taken from the hunter’s cabin two days ago. The paper was yellowed and fraying, but the markings were clear—someone had scrawled a route leading to a ridge that merged into the highway.
The highway.
The open highway loomed ahead, though he couldn’t see it through the trees just yet. He’d been navigating the forest to avoid it for as long as possible. The forest was safer, he reminded himself. Well, nothing was safe now, but that was beside the point. It was safer than the open roads or the chaos of cities. Here, he had cover. Fewer wandering zombies. No scavengers with twitchy trigger fingers.
Winter folded the map and tucked it back into his coat. He didn’t need it to see where he was going; the faint outline of the ridge loomed ahead, jagged and steep. The thought of scaling it with his injured arm was unpleasant, but the alternative was to stay in the forest where visibility was worsening by the minute.
A distant sound broke through his thoughts, sharp and discordant. He froze, every muscle in his body tensing as he scanned the forest around him. The sound came again—a low, guttural growl, followed by the distinct rustle of movement through underbrush.