Normally, you liked forests. And winter was also not a bad season. However, the combination was very uncomfortable, too cold to survive outside for long and too dark to feel safe.

Slowly, you picked your way between the trees. The snow crunched under your shoes and made it difficult to remain undetected.

Shadows danced across the ground. It smelled like wet wood.

It was so quiet that an uneasy feeling grew inside you. It felt like you were being followed, like something dangerous was lurking in your neck. But maybe you were just getting impatient.

Suddenly there was a sound. Alarmed, you whirled around, your rifle raised. Snow fell from the trees and landed on the ground with a dull sound.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm getting paranoid...", you growled, approaching the snow to take a look for safety.

But as your eyes wandered over the ground something caught your attention and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

There were footprints. They were deep and fresh, no more than an hour old. At worst, they were only a few minutes old. But something about them struck you as odd.

The tracks were messy, as if the person had been running. Or the person was limping. But that seemed very unlikely to you.

"Hopefully not an infected one.", you growled and followed the footsteps with your eyes.

Fortunately for you, they led away, into the darkness. At least that's what you thought.

Suddenly, a low growl filled the silence.

You froze.

Your grip on the rifle tightened.

Something moved behind you. The smell of decaying flesh rose to your nose, mixed with the warm feeling of breath caressing the back of your neck. Holding your breath, you slowly turned your head, glancing over your shoulder.

It was a clicker.

Its eyes were completely overgrown by the fungus, the head pulled down so hard by the weight that it could barely hold itself upright.

Luck of the draw, this kind of infected was blind and only reacted to sounds. However, they were masters at noticing the slightest sound. And they were much more aggressive than their normal counterparts.

Until that moment it didn't seem to have noticed you, it just stood there, sunk in the snow up to its ankles, making irregular clicking noises.

Cautiously, you looked around, hoping there wouldn't be more of the monsters nearby. But everything seemed quiet. Swallowing hard, you turned back to the clicker.

The strap on the rifle jingled. You tensed. A silent curse left your lips.

Suddenly, the clicker jerked its head up. Excited by the sound, it began to twitch, its joints cramped and it looked as if the bones would shatter on the spot.

Your legs twitched and wanted to run away, but you wouldn't have been fast enough for that.

The clicker's mouth opened, thick strings of saliva dripped into the snow. A shrill scream shattered the tense silence. Leaning forward, it came running toward you, arms outstretched.

Reflexively, you raised your rifle, your finger already on the trigger.

You shoot.

But the clicker was faster.

With all its weight it threw itself at you, sharp fingernails dug into your skin. A searing pain stabbed your shoulder. You bit your tongue and stifled the scream.

The heat of blood mixed with the cold of winter.
The clicker screamed.

Hastily you raised your arms, twisted the riffle and pushed it between you and the infected to put a saving line between the two of you. All that weight pressed down on you. The strain, mixed with the wounds in your shoulder, felt like a fire burning under your skin.

Through clenched teeth, you suppressed a gasp and gathered all your strength to keep the beast off you.

Steaming saliva dripped from the clicker's torn mouth and onto your face. The touch burned and itched.

Screaming, it lashed out.

The long claws caught your face. Breathing heavily, you suppressed a scream as skin tore open and long scratches stretched across your cheek. Blood gushed out and wetted your face. Slowly the red threads dripped over your chin, down your neck and into the snow.

Red mixed with white and tainted it.

Cold sweat formed on your skin.

You gasped. Your arms began to tremble under the pressure. The crooked and yellow teeth of the clicker came closer and closer, threatening to tear the flesh off your face and turn you into something as cruel as itself.

Desperate under the strain, you squinted your eyes and tried to push the monster away from you.

But your body was too weak and the pain too strong.

Your mind could hardly resist the burning and the weakness that slowly settled in your brain. The feeling of blood on your skin was the only thing that kept you in reality.

Gasping, you fought back.

So this was how it would end. This was the death you least wished for. It would be a ridiculous death, not risky but just stupidity.

Suddenly a shot tore your ears apart.

You flinched, startled. You lost your focus and slipped away.

The rifle spun, dropping with a click onto your chest.

Your breath flinched.

The clicker fell on you, its weight pressing down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs. A whimper escaped your lips. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. It felt as if it would burst into a thousand pieces.

Holding your breath, you closed your eyes and waited for the end to come.

But the clicker did not move.

Confused, you opened your eyes to check on it. It had been shot. A perfectly placed hole adored its forehead, the bucket was still stuck in the back of its head.

Dark, almost black liquid was dripping from the wound.

Tearing your head up, you looked around and spotted someone between the white and trees.

Carefully, the man still held his riffle high.

You gasped.

"I'm human!", you screamed in fear he might shoot you too. "I'm not infected!"

"Are you bitten?", he asked, still cautions.

Tapping your body to check it yourself, just to be sure, you shook your head. Blood was covering your face, dripping into your close and soaking into the fabric of your clothes.

"I'm fine.", you assured. "I swear, it's just scratches. Check it yourself."