CHAPTER 62: 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.

Zombies.

His jaw tightened. He crouched low, moving silently to a cluster of rocks for better cover. From there, he saw them—a small group, maybe three or four, shambling through the slush.

Their movements were sluggish, their decayed limbs struggling against the icy terrain, but they were moving.

Winter weighed his options. He had the ammunition to take them out quietly, but any noise—even suppressed gunfire—might attract more. Besides, they were moving away from him, heading deeper into the forest.

"Let’s keep it that way," he muttered under his breath.

He turned toward the ridge, his eyes tracing the steep incline. The climb would be brutal, especially with his bandaged left arm. The wound wasn’t fresh, but the muscles still screamed in protest whenever he pushed them too hard. He adjusted the strap of his rifle and began the ascent.

The first few feet were manageable, though the snow-slicked rocks made for treacherous footing. He gritted his teeth, planting his boots carefully and using his good arm to steady himself against the outcroppings.

Halfway up, the sound of movement below reached his ears again, louder this time.

He glanced down and swore softly. The group of zombies had changed direction, their sunken eyes now fixed on the ridge. One of them had stumbled into the fresh tracks he’d left in the snow.

"Shit," Winter hissed. He had made the mistake of thinking they were a part of the blank zombies. They didn’t seem like hunters because they’d have been scaling the walls by now if they were.

The lead zombie let out a guttural moan, and the others followed suit, their shuffling growing more intense.

Winter redoubled his efforts, gripping a narrow ledge with his good hand and pulling himself up. The pain in his injured arm flared, sharp and electric, but he ignored it. He could hear the undead below, their groans rising in volume, their movements faster now that they had a target.

A chunk of ice broke loose under his boot, tumbling down the ridge with a loud crack. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness, and Winter felt his heart clench.

"Damn it, keep moving," he muttered to himself, his voice tight with strain.

The ledge narrowed as he climbed higher, forcing him to press against the icy rock face. His fingers burned from the cold as they dug into crevices, searching for purchase. Every muscle in his body screamed for relief, but he didn’t dare stop.

The zombies were getting closer to the ridge, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to climb and didn’t want to waste to find out. He could hear the crunch of snow beneath their feet, the guttural growls that sent a chill down his spine.

One of them slipped, its decayed body crashing into the others below. The brief delay bought him a few precious seconds, but it wasn’t enough.

As he neared the top of the ridge, the ground beneath him shifted. The ice cracked ominously, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought he was going to fall. He scrambled, his boots slipping against the unstable surface, but his hand found a jutting rock, and he hauled himself up with a desperate burst of strength.

He collapsed onto the flat ground at the top, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

The zombies’ groans grew fainter as they struggled on the icy slope below, unable to follow him. Winter rolled onto his back, staring up at the gray sky.

"Too close," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cold.

A sudden rustle behind him made him spin, his rifle snapping into position. He lowered it a moment later, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

A crow perched on the edge of the rusted guardrail, its black feathers gleaming in the weak sunlight. It cocked its head at him, unbothered by the weapon in his hands.

"Yeah, laugh it up," Winter muttered, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder.

The bird cawed once, a sharp sound that echoed across the empty highway. Then it took off, its wings beating against the cold air.

Winter watched it go, his mind racing. Birds weren’t so easy to find out and about any more. Most birds were shot down during the freak lightning storms or melted by the acid rain. The more resilient ones managed to survive those and the mist but were mainly inedible as they were forced to eat carcasses strewn about to survive.

A lot of them also adapted to hunting in groups and he had seen them go after live humans to kill. Especially initial birds of prey or scavengers.

Scavengers turned predators, some hunting in packs, their beaks and talons sharp enough to tear flesh from bone. He’d seen it happen—a flock descending on a man too slow to cover his face. The memory was enough to make him pull his scarf higher over his mouth.

Winter’s gaze swept the surrounding trees and the highway beyond. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, muttering, "Better not have friends lurking around." But the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease as he pressed on, boots crunching over the icy, cracked pavement.

The crows continued to caw in the background as he picked his way through the melting snow.

As he had suspected, the highway was littered with cars and decomposed bodies from those who fell into the arms of the zombies at one point or the other. Bleached bones, frozen corpses, dried blood on cars and such.

He sighed, having a car would be great as it would reduce the travel distance he would have to cover on foot. "Would there still be a working car around here?" He wondered out loud as he walked through the wreck. "I doubt that."

He came across a gas station and wondered if there was a reason to check it out. The wind picked up and he frowned, squinting at the sky. Of course the weather would suddenly change in him when there were fewer cars to hide inside.

A blood curdling scream came from inside the station. Winter tensed, hand on his rifle immediately as he dropped to the ground, assessing the situation.

There were no follow up gunshots or projectiles flying around, so he hadn’t been noticed yet. The scream came again, desperate and fierce. It sounded like a woman and that pissed winter off, what could be happening that would lead to her screaming in this manner.

A jaded part of his mind whispered to him. ’Was it some sort of trap to lure people in?’

No, he shook his head. They wouldn’t know what sort of people would be passing by and risked giving away their location to zombies or other scavengers. He hurried towards the door where the screaming and sounds of struggles became louder and his jaw clenched when he heard another sound beneath the woman’s voice.

’These fucking bastards,’ he thought, aiming his rifle as he made his way into the building.