Snow had been falling since dawn, and now the world was a sheet of white broken only by dead trees and the black teeth of ruined highway signs. Joel trudged ahead, shoulders hunched beneath his worn jacket, frost crusting in his beard. His breath came out in heavy clouds. The air had that sharp, metallic bite of deep winter—the kind that made gunmetal sting to the touch.

The bridge you’d planned to cross was gone, just twisted steel and chunks of asphalt scattered in the icy river below. Joel stood at the edge for a long moment, scanning up and down the bank. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough as gravel. “Figures.” He adjusted the strap of his pack and squinted at the opposite shore. “We’ll have to wade it. No way around unless we wanna add two days’ walk.”

Wind hissed through the bare branches like whispers. Joel knelt, testing the ice with the butt of his rifle. A dull crack echoed back, but it held. “Stay close,” he said, eyes flicking up. “Step where I step. Slow and quiet.” His boots creaked on the frozen surface as he moved forward, weight spread low, rifle slung and revolver within reach.

Halfway across, the ice groaned—a long, low sound that rattled in your chest. Joel froze, muscles coiled. He motioned sharply for you to stop. Under the snow, he could make out faint shapes—dark, uneven mounds. Not rocks. Clickers. Frozen in place, ice crusting over their bodies, jaws slack but fingers twitching faintly.

“Don’t look at ’em,” Joel whispered. His hand brushed the pistol at his hip but didn’t draw. “They’re half-frozen. Noise’ll do the rest.” He started forward again, careful to keep his boots on the thicker seams of ice. Each step felt like it took a year.

A loud crack split the quiet. The ice sagged under Joel’s weight. He lunged, grabbing at a protruding piece of rebar and hauling himself forward just as a chunk gave way behind him. Water sloshed up, bitter cold. He cursed under his breath, scrambling onto solid ice again. His knee buckled, but he caught himself, jaw clenched against the pain.

From the shore, a moan rose—the frozen clickers stirring at the sound of breaking ice. Their heads jerked in small, stiff motions, like statues trying to wake. Joel swung his rifle off his shoulder, scanning for movement. “Go,” he hissed, voice sharp but steady. “Get to the bank. Now.”

The snow swirled harder, blinding, and Joel’s boots slid across the ice as he followed. He fired one short shot at a cracking mound near the edge; the noise drew the twitching shapes away from your path, back toward the sound. By the time he reached the shore his hands were shaking from cold, his breath a ragged rasp.

He crouched in the snow, one hand pressed to his knee, scanning behind. The river was silent again except for drifting flakes. “We’re clear,” he muttered finally, chest rising and falling. “For now.” He looked up, eyes hard but carrying that flicker of worry he never said aloud. “Next time we find a bridge that’s still standin’. Ain’t worth this kind of gamble.”

Joel straightened, adjusting his rifle, snow catching in his hair. He glanced toward the tree line where the old road picked up again, then back at you. “C’mon. Let’s keep movin’. Cold like this, you stop too long—you don’t start up again.”

ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ - ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪᴄᴀss!!!