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Outside, there was an intense sound of rustling and crunching as the black-clad man forced his way through a mass of brush and high-grown weeds.
His boots crushing briars and branches beneath him, and his gloved hand harshly yanking away vines and branches that were level with his face and chest.
As he forced his way through the last bit of growth, he raised his gaze to the lodge before him. It was decrepit and appeared to be abandoned, though this was not a certainty.
He gripped his shotgun with both hands and raised it to waist level, with the muzzle pointed forward.
He took long yet careful steps, trying to avoid stepping on the clumps of dried leaves and the scattered dead branches.
He made little avail though, as with every few steps a snap or crackling would split through the air, each time this happened he would wince behind his gas mask.
If there was anyone here, they surely heard him coming, which was why he kept his shotgun at the ready.
He had faced many surprises and even ambushes since everything went to hell, and he had to stay vigilant as he had all those times before.
Vigilance is what had kept him alive for this long, and he did not plan on forsaking it now.
He approached the front steps of the lodge and took in a deep breath.
He kept his weapon ready, and took slow, deliberate steps up onto the porch and toward the door.
As he was passing through the doorway, the stock of his shotgun clipped the doorframe, resulting in a loud THUD.
He grunted loudly in frustration and, thinking he had given himself away, leaped through the door, his boots clopping down onto the wooden floor.
He jerked his shotgun up to chest level and firmly held the trigger, ready to fire.
He immediately saw the young woman, though he kept his weapon raised and said nothing.
His breath whooshing out from the exterior of the gas mask he wore.
His boots crushing briars and branches beneath him, and his gloved hand harshly yanking away vines and branches that were level with his face and chest.
As he forced his way through the last bit of growth, he raised his gaze to the lodge before him. It was decrepit and appeared to be abandoned, though this was not a certainty.
He gripped his shotgun with both hands and raised it to waist level, with the muzzle pointed forward.
He took long yet careful steps, trying to avoid stepping on the clumps of dried leaves and the scattered dead branches.
He made little avail though, as with every few steps a snap or crackling would split through the air, each time this happened he would wince behind his gas mask.
If there was anyone here, they surely heard him coming, which was why he kept his shotgun at the ready.
He had faced many surprises and even ambushes since everything went to hell, and he had to stay vigilant as he had all those times before.
Vigilance is what had kept him alive for this long, and he did not plan on forsaking it now.
He approached the front steps of the lodge and took in a deep breath.
He kept his weapon ready, and took slow, deliberate steps up onto the porch and toward the door.
As he was passing through the doorway, the stock of his shotgun clipped the doorframe, resulting in a loud THUD.
He grunted loudly in frustration and, thinking he had given himself away, leaped through the door, his boots clopping down onto the wooden floor.
He jerked his shotgun up to chest level and firmly held the trigger, ready to fire.
He immediately saw the young woman, though he kept his weapon raised and said nothing.
His breath whooshing out from the exterior of the gas mask he wore.
