You bolt.

The woods on either side of Snaketail Road are thick, a tangle of underbrush rising up to obscure line of sight very far into the trees. In the space of a breath, you're barreling through the underbrush, pricklers and weeds catching at your jeans, branches whipping at your face. You try to look where you're going to avoid tripping.

Maybe there's someone else out here in these woods. If you scream, will they hear you and come to your rescue?

Stay as quiet as you can while you run. [[Go to Chapter 68.]]

Call for help. [[Go to Chapter 69.]]